Thufferin Thuccotash - Laughing & Suffering

Party Time

2012-01-30T06:23:00.000-08:00

Modeling my niece's prom dress.
Will someone please ask me to the prom?

As a part of the Living Life Well, I've been busy living my life well instead of writing. Though I need to set some time aside to bore you with my tomes. I should have made this my resolution for 2012.
I'm grateful that I didn't.

Part of living life well includes enjoying my pets. My cat and Bella are in cahoots. The cat visits her litter-box. Bella watches the cat "litter." The cat howls (like she does all night long, every night - for hours on end ever since I had her diabetic sister-kitty put to sleep a few years ago) and jumps out of the box having done her "doody." Bella clamors like a short-legged corgi inside the litter-box, tosses the cat poop out onto the carpet in a scattering -- like a tray of horses-doovers at a classy party. Then in place of the poop, resting just so, like it seems to do - on top of the litter, Bella leaves a Made in China chicken jerky treat that we aren't supposed to feed our pets any more because they found out that the Chinese provide most of the chicken in these "treats" but someone found out that the chicken is made out of melamine or something awful and can kill your dog instantly. This cat-poop-jerky trade says a lot about those treats. I mean, when a dog prefers actual animal poo over what passes for purchased food -- the food must. not. be. edible. It's worse than crap.

I attended another neighborhood gathering a week ago. I met new people who's names I will never remember and saw people I've noticed driving down the road for years though rarely speak with because we live somewhat secludedly which is why we live in these mountains -- so we don't have to see people.

I took a small tray of Trader Joe's mushroom something or others inside a packet of foil because I gave away all my dust-gathering party-type dishes years ago - and foil is so shiny, like a crumpled, shiny party in my palm. When I arrived at the gathering I unfolded the warm foil packet and put the mushroom clumps on a paper plate because paper plates are so papery. My food tribute felt a bit pathetic. I quickly walked away from the table because food isn't important to me (any longer). Plus I was trying not to feel embarrassed by my attempt at "plate-ing" which has become so important in the food industry, nearly as important as the actual food on the plate. I wanted to announce to anyone within sight of my dumping the mushroom wads on the paper plate "Those aren't mine!" Which is similar to what I say about my dog when she runs away from me when I call out her name or she stands in front of the school bus as it attempts the daily drive by my house with all the kids inside screaming "Don't hit the dog!" I say to anyone within distance -- "That's not my dog." Or "This isn't my dog." Or "See that dog way down there on the beach about a mile away? She ran away because she hates those hang-gliders. But she's not my dog. I'm walking her for someone else."

At the party I announced, "Those old mushroomy things... I brought those on the suggestion of my dog, who is a food critic, caterer and a big time foodie."

Enjoy!

BellyJean is Not My Lover

2012-01-11T14:57:00.000-08:00

Wow, already January ~~10th~~, 11th 2012!? I'm stunned how quickly time passes. Pretty soon it will be next year and I'll be wondering where the year went, writing a boring blog post about how quickly time flies.

Three American Girl dolls.

A few people have inquired about Hannah. Seems our together days are mostly in the past since she now has the wicked stepsisters living with her. Competition is fierce. They all received American Girl dolls for Christmas ~~even though one of the sisters is 17 years old~~ and immediately threw them in a heap on the floor with the rest of their loot. Merry Christmas, baby Jesus! The wicked stepsisters then asked where my gift to them was hiding? I didn't buy them a gift. Well, I bought them Lifesaver® packets because I have no money and Lifesavers® aren't that expensive. But then I gave the Lifesavers® to my neighbor because he had threatened suicide -- plus a pound of coffee! Stay awake and eat! My solution to many of life's problems.

This is the first Christmas I bought Hannah a present - a tiny knitted sweater and pants for her American Girl doll. For some strange reason I've yet to determine, she got the American Girl® wheelchair and crutches kit to go with her doll. As if life isn't difficult enough in reality, now we pretend to be disabled, less-abled, wheel-chair bound with our dolls? I don't get it. What ever happened to Barbie, her three wigs, the Corvette and the hot-tub? Maybe to some those items might seem like disabilities, however, those are the kinds of perks with which I might fantasize. Not a wheelchair. Give me the American Girl doll with lymphedema in both legs and a cancer- filled uterus in a bucket next to the hospital bed any day over perfection. Give me the American Girl doll who is HIV positive.

Two American girl dolls and their ticks

Yesterday Hannah came over to the office and laid in Bella's dog bed with Bella (reluctantly) on her lap. ~~A not so subtle note to The Reptilian race~~ -- because the global warming is real, I've been pulling ticks off of Bella, right and left. I'm sure the dog bed has its share of ticks too. We've had a very warm winter so far without rain. Last year I remember whining about ~~everything~~ the rain because it seemed to never stop. This year every weekend, Bella and I go to the beach, both days. (We have no life.) The sky is blue, - sun, warm and lots of stinking animal carcasses for Bella to wiggle inside. She is my flower blossom! With all the carcasses on the beach now, I predict in 20 years or so, we won't refer to the beach as the beach because the beach as we have known it will be covered with bones, feathers, and other miscellaneous body parts which as a scientist I must inform you - are the basic ingredients in sand.

Last week Bradley said to me, "Do you have any belly-jeans?" I immediately felt defensive because I thought he was making fun of my pants (aka mom jeans) when all he wanted was some candy.

The Promise

2011-12-27T10:19:00.000-08:00

One of my most fave things to do with Bradley other than wrestle with him is to go for a drive on the woad (as he says.) We load up Bella (who would rather skip it) and with Bradley sitting on my lap, we go for our drive. Below is a video where I make him promise me not to drive like a maniac.

If you see us coming, stay off the woad!

See? I Told You

2011-12-23T07:11:00.000-08:00

Through all the ancestry work I've been doing the past many months, ancestry and history with which I've become addicted -- I've discovered a tragedy. Since this discovery I've felt crushed, however, I imagine that I will survive (until I croak).

I am related to Jacob See. Jacob was my second great grand uncle. He spent a few years in San Quentin for sheep rustling back in the days of yore. He ran for sheriff after getting out of prison. That takes some kind of nerve though politically, this path is on par.

Jake See - he was as colorful as his past

But, and it nearly makes me weep as I write this...I am not related to Mary See of See's Candy fame (and fortune!). Rumor has it that she came to this country from Canada. (BL!!!)

So see? Mary See is nothing to me. And although I have been a huge (both in girth and enthusiasm) advocate of her wondrous candy goodness my entire life -- ever since having had WLS the thought of eating that candy kind of makes me want to RALPH. And that makes me sad. Alas I'll choose to suffer occasionally in order to keep peace between our countries.

Traitor!

The Best Gift of All

2011-12-22T14:05:00.000-08:00

Last night I got everyone on my Christmas list the same gift. The idea came to me in a flash. I felt the idea was just this side of genius.

I had my eyebrows, chin hairs and nose hairs waxed so anyone with any kind of eyesight won't have to feel as if they are watching a Bravo reality show about hunting for Yeti when they see me on Christmas day.

This gift cost $36.00 plus a tip. I was generous with the tip too. This time of year I find myself feeling more compassion. I give a lot of thought to the gifts that benefit the most recipients while still keeping finances in check.

Unsung Heroes of the Forest

2011-12-21T11:33:00.000-08:00

This is a beautiful montage on the banana slug. They are the ultimate recyclers.
Bright yellow and going green.

Start singing!

(When the ranger mentions "most fascinating and interesting," I was almost thinking he would start talking about me. Alas...)

A Rogue Holiday

2011-12-16T12:41:00.000-08:00

The holidays just haven't been the same since that one year Rogue spent the day in the shadow of Carol Doda.

Fashion Fixes for Frumps

2011-12-14T10:41:00.000-08:00

I was reading through the January issue of Oprah when I came upon an article about problem areas on women's bodies. While reading the article I discovered that I have turkey neck, bat wings, frump butt, muffin top, a pooch and cankles. To correct these faults I need to buy hundreds of dollars worth of shapewear to remodel my far less than perfect, frumpy, agey butt, some gray tape to tape up my bat wings, a hacksaw for my cankles and a plastic bag to put over my head to end it all.

Before the days of chub-rub

The experts say not to wear a turtleneck to cover up the turkeyneck but to wear a V-neck, perhaps something with a brightly colored, enormous arrow pointing down and away from the turkeyneck to the pooch area -- which is the area of the belly that sticks out like a spare tire over ones sagging, graying genitalia.

On a kinder note, I do not have armpit fat, double boobs, and something the magazine referred to as chub-rub. This calls for a celebration in part where I cancel my subscription.

Word to the Wise

2011-12-05T15:06:00.000-08:00

Bradley has been taking photos. I let him use my camera and he shouts "CLOSE YOUR EYES!" which I guess is new age for "Say cheese!"

In that instant, he takes a photo of himself because the camera is aimed at his own face.

I got Bradley to sit still long enough so we could take our photo together. Gawd -- I remember sitting close to my elderly aunts and uncles and being scared to death of those pointy chin hairs, weird facial crevasses, moles and skin tags, missing teeth parts and the assorted bacteria lurking within.

My family wasn't raised to be a very huggy, touchy family. Sitting near these old folks was horrifying. Our being raised as less-huggy was most likely in direct proportion to the mystery hairs and crevasse levels of the individual with which we might be forced into a hug.

I'm pretty sure spiny hairs and fissures are one reason Bradley, prior to taking his photos has learned to shout out his warning.

"CLOSE YOUR EYES!"

Revenge in the End

2011-11-23T11:00:00.000-08:00

After receiving a phone call from the surgical coordinator at the hospital, I have decided not to have the colonoscopy procedure. My copay, they told me, is $1080.00. I thought I had pretty good insurance though good is relative and with insurance companies, good is also subjective and the definition probably changes by the minute. Don't get me wrong - I am very grateful for the insurance I have. Yet like so many people (in this economy) (though not congress or Wall Street types) I can't afford to spend that kind of money right now -- not because I would have spent it on Christmas gifts, because I refuse to go consumer crazy out of principle. Just yesterday I received a propane bill for $700 (now THAT's consuming crazy!) Propane is how the "renters" (who can barely afford to pay rent) that live downstairs, stay warm. Upstairs - I use wood, sweaters, and fleece sheets which I highly recommend, btw -- if you can afford them, which you can if you shop at Ross (and I hate to hawk the big box stores but in this case, I have not found fleece sheets elsewhere) because the sheets are about $24 bucks for a set and one set will last you a year. Do the math --that's cheap, warm sleep.

The hospital coordinator said that because I presented with an issue (a small amount of bleeding -- though only on one occasion, and certainly not to make light of small bleeds because that is exactly how the uterine cancer I had was diagnosed) I must pay the $1080.00 copay though if my colonoscopy were routine, Blue ~~screw~~ Cross would pay 100%. Their rationale for payment doesn't make sense to me. If they find nothing inside me during this colonoscopy, then it would be routine but if we wait until something tragic appears and I am diagnosed with something icky, requiring more medical care, isn't that going to cost more in the end? If a person becomes sick, that person not only has the sickness to deal with but the ever mounting stack of medical bills and stress from having to pay those bills, however if a person is healthy and "routine," Blue ~~screw~~ Cross pays?! Gradually (hopefully) if a person gets sick or sicker, they use more medical supplies and suck the system dryer before they croak, probably leaving any living family with medical bills to pay off. This is why the powers that be invented cardboard coffins.

When I turned 50 I had a routine colonoscopy mostly because five years before that time, my husband died of colon cancer. I was nervous - I had seen what he went through; the suffering. I knew colon cancer wasn't contagious -- at the time my only symptom with which I presented was grieving widow. I guess insurance paid for the 'oscopy' though I don't recall -- I've slept since then.

I guess this is just one of the tricks the insurance companies use to encourage people away from testing, unless a test is considered routine which for me will now be when I turn sixty, in 5 years. If any cancer returns by that time, I am vowing to suck down as much chemo and invasive procedures as my body can handle in order to rack up medical bills. This is the only mature attitude I can take. I'm not going to own a phone so the bill collectors can't reach me. They will have to send mail which means that if the USPS is out of business, there will be no way to reach me except with a visit to the chemo room or perhaps a quick visit to my hospital bedside to ask me to sign a check over to them. Maybe the Pony Express will be back in service by then since we seem to be moving backward in this country rather than forward.

My mom offered to pay the copay, however, I'd rather she bought turkeys for the homeless. She gave birth to five kids and if by some chance we all start to bleed at the same time, this will become for her, a Sophie's choice moment. Having to make those kinds of choices is too high a price to pay for health. I'll make the choice for myself, but the added encouragement and support of Blue ~~screw~~ Cross.

Road Dents

2011-11-18T16:35:00.000-08:00

As usual, I am apologizing for being MIA. Yet, how arrogant to believe anyone is even reading especially without my posting for so long.

I write in my head almost daily, however the software required to get these "writings" from inside my head to blogger has not been perfected, -- most likely won't be perfected in my lifetime so these writings come and go.

Speaking of going, I am going to have a colonoscopy in early December which will be my second colonoscopy in the last 5 years. There is an issue though I do not think the issue is all that serious and more importantly Blue Cross will probably think the issue is not serious enough to pay their share. All remains to be seen, literately and figuratively. The liquid clean-out stuff cost a buttload

Recently I visited both the regular oncologist and the gynecological oncologist, both of whom suggested the colonoscopy. Yesterday I visited the colonoscopee-r. She was great fun (for a doctor) so we decided to go ahead with the procedure because there's nothing more fun than a laughing doctor with a colonoscope. Did you know that the chance of a perforated colon is about 1 in 1000 and if the colonoscopee-r perforates your colon, you get to have (near) immediate surgery?

BTW, Bella says "bark!"

And Bradley said, "Janell, did you see the banana slug?" And I declared with gusto, "I did not!" -- though there are plenty of them to see, even some left over from last year -- because with a bit of heat here this summer, banana slugs flourished. We see the same slugs over and over. Bradley said he wanted me to see the banana slug. I said, "When it comes to seeing banana slugs, if you've seen one, you've seen them all, unless they've been hit by a car in which case they are all different." I was thinking about the design of a run-over banana slug. To which Bradley replied, "Seriously, shut up!" A phrase I taught him in part -- the "seriously" part.

Last Sunday I got together with some of my neighbors for whine (yes, I know that's not how you spell the liquid) and horses-doovers (yes, I know that's not how you spell the food). This was the 3rd get-together for me in the history of my living in these mountains. I do not know now if I am more social now because I am thinner (since the WLS) or if I am more approachable because I am thinner - me thinks it's probably a combination. I wish I knew the exact explanation though I can't explain why I wish I knew. The neighbors and I had a great time or at least I had a great time and would do this getting-together again. *hint*

It is sprinkling rain outside this afternoon. I have several finished scowls though I keep putting off taking photos and posting the photos though 'tis the season!'. The colors are really beautiful, stylish and I have changed the beading. I can't figure out my feelings of procrastination, -- what's causing me to put off some of the more important things I need to do unless it's because I'm busy writing in my head, knitting and dog walking.

Bella and I took a walk up the road and there was a coiled snake, a small one that I did not see until the snake, disturbed by a sniffing corgster, struck out at Bella -- though no permanent harm was done. The snake was only a small King snake with a get-some-warmth complex. Why do snakes have to sit in the road? Bella was alarmed enough by the snake so that when we next approached a coiled rubber-band, she was on high alert and knew not to get too close. She jumped about 2 feet waiting for the band to strike. And we were slightly disappointed yet relieved. When we walked by the snake a bit later that afternoon, it had been run over by a car. There was no striking this time. Just a much cold(er) tiny, less strikey-er snake carcass -- no longer needing to stay warm. In fact, the snake looked a lot like many of the banana slugs I've seen of late.

Double Toil and Trouble

2011-11-07T13:08:00.000-08:00

I've been sick with a chest cold-type, mucous-y illness for well over a week now. They say it's going around. I have not gone to the doctor, well, the mucous doctor -- though last week I went to the gynecological oncologist who told me to get a colonoscopy -- he's the same oncologist who frequently declares *during* the rectal exam that "if you aren't getting a rectal exam, you're being cheated." Then he adds a cheery "Do you think I enjoy this?" To which I twistingly reply "Aaarrggh."

I don't want to be told that I have a cold or a upper respiratory thing that's going around. I'd like to stay off antibiotics. Mostly I try to suffer in silence (except for the hacking, mucous-filled cough, occasional wheezing and nose-honking). I use a Neti pot. I am writing about my sinuses (not to be noisy and let you in on my suffering because I'm not really suffering in the scheme). Believe me, this is nuthin!

I'm writing to offer a healthful hint.

No matter how plugged your sinuses, do not attempt to clear them using boiling water in your Neti pot.

Holler Days of Yore

2011-11-04T13:35:00.000-07:00

Bradley walked around the corner from the back deck, shrieking the words "poop! poop!" as loud as his voice could shriek. I panicked, "WHERE? In your pants?" He shrieked back, "No! Shoe!" I looked down at this tiny sandaled foot and saw that he had stepped in a pile of fresh Bella poop someplace nearby. I immediately took his shoe off, rinsing it in running water. We set out to find the offending pile-o-poop.

The pile looked totally innocent (to me), sitting alone, though now, disturbed on the back deck, t'was quite nearly fresh as a, well, fresh - we'll leave it at that --with a tiny sandaled footprint planted perfectly in the center of the pile. A work of art! The teeny footprint entrenched deep in the doo.

I shuddered.

Who does that?
I mean, really, who does that?

I said to Bradley, "Why did you do that?" To which he replied, "I don't know."

Remember when you were in pre-school and someone -- let's say it was your teacher -- instructed the class on how to make your hand imprint in plaster of paris? This craft would become a holiday ornament with a neatly tied red ribbon, cherished by all for years to come. Yet no one ever asked "Why did you do that?"

The Cole sisters in the days of yore

There but for the Grace

2011-10-18T14:57:00.000-07:00

On Sunday I stopped to talk to what I assumed was a homeless guy though perhaps he was simply a trendsetter without much of a following. There don't seem to be many visibly homeless in downtown Soquel. Or at least I don't see them. There are a couple of card-board-sign holders by the Safeway (my sister-in-law suggested these sign holders were part of the Wall Street takeover as in Take Back Soquel). In a small town with one major intersection, and at any given time, only a few people milling about, this guy stands out. He's shaggy and scruffy ~~and scooby!~~ and who wouldn't be after sitting on the cold cement curb?

I stopped for gas and then pulled up along side him as he sat there. He turned his head and asked, "You got any herb?" I have herb at home. In fact, I have some basil he can have, planted in a pot that would really spruce up that location.

I told Brandon that because I was going to the grocery store, I'd pick him up some food. I don't have much money but still I have a heart (somewhere). Brandon continues our conversation by offering a list of food items and I'm thinking OMG he's a vegetarian -- with a grocery list. How must it be to be homeless and a vegetarian? It's difficult enough being one or the other but both!? My heart went out to him. "I want hot tomato soup," he says, "and can you get some crackers too?" I sort of waved him off at that point. I figured I'd still be there if I waited for the rest of his wants. As it was I had to go to Whole Foods to get hot tomato soup at that time of day. Do you know how much their soup costs!? I also bought him an organic apple in case he had a conniption about organic verses non-organic produce. I didn't want to hear that argument when I returned with his free groceries. I bought him a jar of organic peanut butter, praying he wasn't allergic to peanuts. Finally I picked up a small bag of nuts mixed with chocolate (must.have.chocolate.) from Trader Joe's. If I were a homeless vegetarian without a peanut or chocolate allergy -- this is the kind of quality food I'd like to eat -- sitting on the curb by the gas station all night in the cold without herb.

I hurried back to ensure the soup was still lukewarm to the curb where Brandon was still sitting. He arose and sidled over to my car. ~~Thank goodness my nose quit working years ago~~. I asked Brandon if needed clothes which was truly a dumb question. This guy needed a make-over! He definitely needed a shower and a new homeless guy outfit. He needed a tent and some blankets and pillows and a chair and probably a flat panel TV. He told me (maybe it was a hint that I wasn't going to take) -- "I'm trying to find a place to live before the rains come" which seemed like a worthwhile goal though since he was sitting on the curb when I first saw him and still sitting on the curb about an hour or so later, I figured he may not have felt all that motivated. It wasn't raining yet. He said he'd been kicked out of several places. I asked what his drug of choice was? Herb. I asked what happened? Herb and family problems. I asked him why he wasn't downtown where the majority of homeless services are and he said "I get hot waiting in those lines." Plus if he stays in downtown Soquel, he's sort of a shelter of one with not a whole lot of competition.

Years ago I volunteered with a group of people who helped (one day a month) feed another group of disenfranchised and homeless people at a church over the hill. The guy who organized this particular evening hadn't done the greatest job of getting the food together yet still we had plenty of hotdogs (poor vegetarian homeless!!!), chili and other side dishes. The whole meal was sort of not all that well thought out I guess you might say. The volunteer group used their our own money, asked for contributions and cooked the food themselves. This effort took time and money when I could have been home with my family watching The Simpsons. Volunteering felt good, like I was doing something worthwhile for people less fortunate. Until this one night -- this one big guy standing in line waiting for one of us to hand him a plate with the lone hotdog, some chili and fruit -- obviously tired of standing in line, tired of being tired, tired of the curb-life and most likely a vegetarian with a peanut and chocolate allergy, belligerently critiqued "You guys need to get your sh*t together!"

If I recall correctly that night was the very last time I volunteered with that particular group. Now with Brandon and his shelter of one, he seemed far more appreciative of anything I offered (though he could still use some herb!). If by some chance Brandon had an allergy to any of the foods I purchased, by the time he mentioned it - I was nearly home, grateful I have a home I can go to for shelter once the rains come.

Of Squirrels and Men

2011-10-14T14:05:00.000-07:00

I met Jesse late yesterday in Aptos at Zameen's. We ate their version of Mediterranean food. Jesse's the ex-bf's son and in spite of that connection, Jesse has turned out to be a thoughtful, compassionate young man - must have gotten the good traits from his mom. I've known Jesse now since he was 13 years old - we stay in contact though we don't see each other often. He is very tall. I'm 5'8" and shrinking so you can just imagine his height - if you're bored. We had a fun time, shared a lot of laughs and some sadness. We talked about our dead relatives, his mom, my husband. We talked about relatives that may as well be dead. He offered interesting gossip about one relative (of his) in particular though I mention no names. ;-) I'll simply reiterate that I seriously dodged a ~~trailer-trash, alcoholic, pot smokin, unconscious, not-that-there's anything-wrong-with that~~ bullet. Everything makes so much more sense to me now.

Not to change the subject but...
Lately when I take Bella for our before-work walk, it feels as if I'm accompanying her on her own version of grocery shopping. We walk down the dead carcass isle first, then we hit the assorted wild animal poop piles among the other gross, smelly, on-sale foresty things in the "store." I quickly scooted ~~kicked~~ a squirrel fur carpet - laid out just like a fancy bear rug right before Bella scooped it up in time to put in her cart (so to speak) and underneath the squirrel carpet was another layer of carpeting - maggots. We escaped just in time though Bella would have lingered - longingly, lovingly, devotedly after all the other shoppers left the store.

The weather has been super-de-dooper. Last weekend, I was filling cracks in the driveway with tar. (You're right, I don't get out much.) Bella was really interested in what I was doing. She was sniffing tar and standing between my legs as I bent down to fill each crack. Ultimately, she got tarred on the back of her head, one ear and under her chin which you can kind of see in the photo. Now everyone who pets her has to be forewarned that her fur is crunchy and that I am a bad pet owner though someone offered feathers to go with the tar just yesterday, and that sort of seems like a fun idea especially with Halloween around the corner. Another helpful person suggested I use peanut butter to remove the tar when I know scissors will work too. Bella would try to eat the peanut butter and she'd be covered with tar and peanut butter. I can't use scissors because Bella is allergic to anything remotely clean-related (broom, vacuum, rake, shovel, hand vac etc.). Scissors would cause a frenzy while tar (or maggots) near her fur don't seem to bother her at all -- along with the poop stench she purchased earlier while on our walk through the ~~(store-e~~~~st)~~ forest, toting stink like a reward. Don't get me wrong, Bella's still cute as can be as long as you don't pet her much. It's a relief to know that she is crate-trained for sleep at night so she can keep her stinkin, crunchy, tar-covered, poop-smelling body to herself -which brings me back to the some memories of the dodged bullet in the paragraph one.

Down on Boone's Farm

2011-09-28T14:08:00.000-07:00

I am a dud.
I admit it. I've been ancestoring still and I am addicted, I suppose, to the aged and aging. And why not? I'll be there any second, I mean, now.

As I occasionally have been reporting on facebook to anyone who'll listen, I found out I am related to the famed woodsman (woodsperson?) Daniel Boone. He is my 6th great grandfather. So now I've decided to be addicted to Daniel Boone for awhile. Through Ancestory.com I've met (online) several relatives, approximately 6 of them so far.

I also discovered that the long-er ago your death -- the more people there are out there looking for you. In the case of my grandpa, I'm one of the 3 people who care yet in the case of Daniel Boone, there are some several hundred kinfolk, kinnin' 'round for information. Or in the case of just about anyone that old and dead, they have flocks of followers. What this means is if you die any time soon, you'll have a long wait before you become famous enough to be among the long sought after dead.

Bella is still wonderful and Bradley is still cute and funny as heck. Hannah is busy with kindergarten and turning kind of snooty but that's to be expected. I never grew out of snoot.

One other thing is, with lymphedema, I have to wear wide width shoes which are somewhat difficult to find. I mean, I haven't hit the transvestite shoe stores yet though I'm not the type of gal who will wear stiletto heels with puffy lymphedema-ed feet looking like Bridgeford dough rising up out of the pan, sticking out of the sides of my shoes. I try to find regular (I-like-to-think) looking, athletic-type, casual shoes. The shoes all look like tickytacky and they all look just the same. And once I had a blind date with a guy who told me at the end of the date that he had a foot fetish and I never went out with him after that. Then I told him I had cancer so he'd leave me alone. Then I got cancer. Word to the wise.

The other day Bella was playing with a pair of my shoes (as if I have oodles of shoes to choose). And I snatched them away from her. I gave them a quick once-over, tossing them in the trash and with that toss went my most recently purchased pair of shoes because all my shoes look alike (and I might as well have let her chew on them because at least one of use would have gotten some use out of them). I need new eyeballs or at least new vision. Well, actually, what I need now is a new pair of shoes.

My most recent cute Bradly pic.

Most recent scowls (both SOLD!)

Bella wondering where those two motorhomes (aka my shoes) went?

Week Notes

2011-09-19T12:49:00.000-07:00

On Friday I got a fb note from Jesse about meeting him for lunch on Saturday. When Saturday came and our time to meet passed, I decided not to sit around, waiting. I had done some shopping early in the day, then gone home to knit. I finished (almost!) two projects over this weekend. Worked on a lot of beading. Went to the bead store without my glasses so I could only buy BIG BEADS or at least I hope that's what I bought!

I hate to forget my glasses.

Joanne rescued me for lunch, and as it turned out, dinner too. We decided to walk from her place to downtown Capitola and take a chance on the new(ish) Britannia Arms because they have outside seating; the dogs can hang out with the humans. I'm glad we didn't make it all the way to the village after reading the Yelp reviews. Ugh. The weather was very hot and I was projecting all sorts of neuroses on Bella. Her limping, sweating, short-legged, panting and me with no ~~camera~~ water. We turned around and walked back to J's house. We decided to go to Zameen where they have an outside patio and although I don't ask, I assume mostly locals hang out since the restaurant isn't near the ocean, though the outside patio on a sunny day is wonderful. We split a salad with a few shrimp and drank wine. I got stung by a bee and discovered I'm not allergic. People are cheerful -- they greet you and we converse with random strangers. These people also want to talk about corgis - a lot. One woman walked by from a distance and shouted, "Oh, how cute!" And I said, "Thank you!" She said, "And the dog too!" ;-)

Bella and I got home just in time to catch the cat sidling up to her litter box, getting ready for the big job of the day. Bella, anxiously awaiting the outcome (as it were) as if the cat were serving THAT. DAY. ONLY. in a cone instead of the daily Swedish meatball-effect, cat turds bedecked throughout with scented gravel only because I haven't switched the cat litter over to white rice yet. Rice is probably less expensive than litter now. Watching Bella eyeball the cat reminded me of standing in line at a Foster's Freeze only I would have, in a previous life, taken my cone double-dipped.

Sunday, we went to Trader Joe's, then took a walk and met up with Bella's cousin, Cowgirl. Cowgirl may have finally earned that name with that belly of hers while Bella just looks puzzled though I think her puzzled look may be me projecting again.

Cancer Support Groups - Celebrate Life Together

2011-09-16T06:00:00.000-07:00

David Haas is a cancer survivor and awareness program advocate at the Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance. David often blogs about programs and campaigns underway at the Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance while creating relationships with similar organizations. Being that I have come this far (nearly 5 years out from my original cancer diagnosis), I suppose I might be considered a similar organization. Below is a guest post from Mr. Haas for your enjoyment.

Hannah has been my support

Cancer support groups inspire survivors to find healthy ways to cope with their disease. The resources, advice, and personal stories survivors share with each other are both practical and encouraging. One study of breast cancer patients who attended weekly support groups showed significant improvement in survival time. This is just as likely for those with thyroid cancer, mesothelioma, skin malignancies, and other forms of cancer. Even if life expectancy does not improve, quality of life surely does.

Many cancer patients find it hard to talk about what is happening to them. It may be awkward, uncomfortable, or painful to talk about the disease, even to family and friends. Talking to doctors and nurses can be just as hard. It may seem easier to ignore the issue, but talking can help. While some cancers are curable and most are treatable, almost all survivors face an emotional crisis. Cancer can be the scariest challenge of someone’s life. Talking with others who are going through the same thing reminds survivors that they are not alone.

There is not a “right” or “wrong” to deal with cancer. Each person copes in his or her own way. But talking about it with other survivors, or writing about it in journals or blogs, is therapeutic. Knowing that other people are listening helps survivor’s better cope with the challenges they face.

Some people find it hard to reach out to others, especially if they think they have nothing to give in return. Many cancer survivors are surprised to discover how many people want to support them. Partners, families, and friends can be disappointing sources of support because they are dealing with their own emotions. Most healthcare communities and some churches have support groups, provided by people who simply enjoy helping others. Hospice teams offer support during the last months of life.

An online group like the American Cancer Society “Cancer Survivors Network” is a valuable resource for cancer survivors. They celebrate life together by supporting each other and telling their stories. Discussion boards are a good place to meet other survivors and build friendships. Internet chat and instant messaging allow for real-time conversations. And cancer support blogs offer useful information and insight.

Cancer patients face similar fears and uncertainties. Support groups are important whether someone has treatable breast cancer, an unfavorable pancreatic cancer prognosis, or a short mesothelioma life expectancy and prognosis. Talking about cancer with people who understand is priceless. Support networks give survivors a sense of belonging and a safe place to vent. Group involvement is known to reduce stress and improve health, for a better quality of life. And that is something every cancer survivor wants and needs. Other online resources can be located at:

Inspire.com

Caring Bridge

By: David Haas

Ground Zero Redux

2011-09-12T07:33:00.000-07:00

While many people (at least in the media) seem to be reflecting on 9/11 over this weekend, I wanted to write about my own 9/11/01.

Greg was in the process of dying from colon cancer. He had been an avid news freak, and when 9/11 occurred, I had to turn off the radio and the television because being heavily medicated with morphine, and other assorted painkillers, Greg was stressing out. He wanted to know what was happening; he heard us quietly whispering.

The morphine caused some pretty crazy hallucinations. Greg had signed with hospice on August 1st, 2001, and by 9/11, 2001, he was extremely anxious about dying, what was happening to his body and what was left of life. He occasionally talked to ghosts -- I heard him talking. He had a full blown conversation with Louie Dorcich; Louie had recently died earlier in the spring. Greg begged me to take him home to California yet that's where we lived. He kept tugging, pleading for me to take him home.

On September 11 th, 2001, like everyone else I heard the shocking news about the Pentagon, the World Trade Center, and flight 93, though I could not pay much attention to that news like so many people. In my house we had lost contact with the world. We were dealing with our own disaster. We didn't have the time or strength to deal with the latest horrific public disaster.

When you receive a cancer diagnosis -- something attacks your body from out of nowhere, a plane flies through your building - so to speak. You automatically assume that you're going to die, and the world has the nerve to keep on going as if you didn't exist, didn't matter. People still have babies, get married, divorce, people die, and planes fly through buildings. For the majority of us there's no media attention. No fanfare. You are pretty much on your own, sort of like those folks at the top of the World Trade Center right before the towers fell.

Greg sleeping with our dog - 41 days before his "tower collapsed."

(Post originally published here on Sept 11, 2008)

The Days of Yore

2011-09-11T06:18:00.000-07:00

Photo taken from the top by me

I visited the World Trade Center once. It was the late 90s. I had gone to NYC with my son. His girlfriend at the time was going to NYU - she's a lawyer now - beware!. All they wanted to do at that time was to get stoned and have sex. So I was on my own. I was afraid of heights but I wasn't going to give up the opportunity to visit the WTC because of my fear. I kept thinking that I'd never have this opportunity again in my lifetime. I was right -- as usual.

View taken from near the bottom. (not a good photo)

Rogue's True Identity

2011-09-09T10:04:00.000-07:00

While Rogue anxiously awaits her father's return from working the night shift at the Hong Sing Chinese Takeaway, her sister smiles deviously as if she knows something she can never reveal.

Tender at the Bone

2011-09-02T16:37:00.000-07:00

Last night both Eric and his gf were at the top of the driveway trying to pick up messages on their cell phones. No signal.

I told Eric not to bother with his voicemail because his only one voicemail was from me. The voicemail was about a dead (as opposed to a live) deer leg he had discovered --- that I had deposited in the trash. Don't worry - the deer leg was right on top of the other garbage. Eric didn't have to dig far. Eric and I were having a discussion about whether the deer leg should be considered organic or meat.

Meat goes in the trash. Organic goes in recycle.

Do the math.

Bella (aka meat) rolling in something gross and smelly on the forest floor

Random Assortedness

2011-08-26T13:46:00.000-07:00

Marth Vilate Shaw McAllister, my great, grandmother
One of the original scowl wearers.
I gotta get me one of those hats!

I have not forgotten about you. I've been ancestering (isn't a word) and freaking out about ancestors and it's very addictive like a facebook game. Finding death certificates and birth certificates and, as I mentioned to a not-quite-relative I met through ancestry.com, I hope one day that someone gets as excited about my death certificate. One can hope.

I'm knitting every night. I'm working on two scowls for women I've met through Shelley's blog. I'm working on having more scowls ready for an open house at the end of September at my niece's salon and bootie-Q. She already has some artwork in there that she's "selling." And my scowls are more affordable and functional yet still artwork. Remember, the scowls cover those unfortunate hickeys, unsightly neck sag and vampire bites among other disgusting things you might acquire in day.

I had to take my car into the dealer to get some thing replaced that had been recalled by VW. Too bad they didn't recall the car. What was slightly funny was that I kept thinking that time was just whizzing by me. I made the appointment at the dealership for Aug 25 at 1pm but then showed up on Aug 24th at 1pm and insisted that it was the 25th. I met a few folks who love corgis and one lady who loved knitting, while I sat and knitted, chatting and insisted that it was the 25th of August. I got the thing replaced. I'm at that age where ditzy is expected and I'm loving it.

I spend more and more time with Bradley. He is my "date" so to speak several nights a week, along with Bella and my knitting needles though when Bradley is with me, I cannot use the needles in the way I'd like. By poking him with them.

Last weekend I walked with my sister and Bella on the beach. I notice a lot of bird carcasses. Mostly because Bella thinks every time we go to the beach, it' smells like ~~teen spirit~~ Thanksgiving.

Be the Diaper

2011-08-19T13:55:00.000-07:00

When you are in counseling and the psychiatrist office, remember they are the people who
are doctors and the counselors. That's why they went through all the schooling.
We are just the dumbsh*ts out here in the real world trying to cope. We need their help.
When we go see them - we are the patient which is why we have to be patient and listen to what they say without getting pissed off at them (too much) (even if they are nutjobs).

And if you disagree with what they say or have a different opinion -You have to disagree calmly and try not to freak out so they are tempted to call the guys in the whitecoats.
The good thing is that *you* can be a diaper in the psychiatrist office. It's good to absorb the info they give you.

Eventually you'll discover the reason people become counselors and psychiatrists is because they are f*cked up in the head. But they were there (fucked up) first and knew they needed help so they got some. Now they make the big bucks and we make crap on a stick. Somehow it all works out which is exactly what will happen with your life too.

Bradley deserves a sane, calm mommy. He really does. Because when he's 5 years old and ties you up with rope and turns the stereo on and off and puts a chair by the light switch and repeats "on and off" each time he flicks the switch, you'll need your sanity at that time. Seriously.

The Jewel in the Crown

Taking Notice

2011-08-12T12:33:00.000-07:00

Lipstick begonia

A 6-Year old forest fairy casting a spell

Since the WLS a year ago, I noticed that my butt has become so much smaller that my rear looks more like a set of horizontal blinds than butt-cheeks.

My sister suggested I buy some underwear with the built-in butt-cheeks. I'm not so sure I want to spend money on appearing to have a big butt when it cost plenty to have the surgery (not just money) -- especially when everything else on my body continues to shrink and fade, if not with weight-loss, then with age. By the time I'm ready to die, I hope to have caught up with myself, fading into dust and more things horizontal.

Today, Shelley has featured one of my handmade scowls on her blog A Journey to Fit. I'm pleased and very happy she likes the way the scowl turned out. She looks stunning in hers. I'm making more of them, and having a lot of fun with artistic license.

Driving Lessons

2011-08-10T12:02:00.000-07:00

There is a woman who drives a beater Honda who lives somewhere on the same road as I live. She's a speeder. She tailgates. Her driving behavior is obnoxious. My son referred to her as "an old bag." I'm afraid she's probably younger than I am so the "old bag" comment stung for a split second until I forgot he said it which at my age usually takes only a couple of seconds. My neighbor was tormented by the same woman speeder and he told me a story of how he blocked her on the road and read her the riot act about her tailgating. (My neighbor lives behind a tall fence with a menacing gate.)

But me, -- I used to speed like this woman when I was much younger. Though now I drive much more slowly - like aged molasses lava-ing its way down the neck of an upturned bottle. I'm futzing along home on a barely-paved road with potholes the size of a certain someone's pre-gastric-bypassed ass. I've lived out here long enough to know that deer spring up out of nowhere appearing like a sort of magical unicorn where nothing stood only seconds before and more often than not, there are more than one deer right behind - sometimes the babies with spots who don't know to move quickly. They haven't learned the rules of the road. I've witnessed smaller foresty-type animals practically committing suicide as I've driven down my road at wheel chair speed. I once ran over a snake I thought was a stick - a very slow moving stick, warming itself innocently in the center of the road where the sun beats white hot on a summer afternoon. Nothing spoils an nice afternoon like killing something even if it was an accident.

I moved to this area to get away from speeders (not really - I moved here more for the beauty of the area). I moved in the middle of the forest so no one could build a home dumpo across the street or Fried Electronics one block away from my home and then proceed to hold Grand Opening sales several times a month; delivery trucks backing up - a steady BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP at 4am even on weekends.

Yesterday, this woman tailgated my car as I was driving with Bella - sitting half on my lap, half on the center console. A casual jaunt home in the late afternoon warmth of a forest-dappled sun, top down in the VW. We were doing my usual 20 mph, avoiding the potholes. Bella was curious about the tailgater so she stood up to admire the stranger out of the back of my car. The woman was yelling out her window at us - maybe shouting "What a pretty puppy!" I couldn't discern what she was saying as the speed of my car pushed the wind carrying the decibels of her voice to the back instead of forward to my ears. Maybe the woman was annoyed, assuming my dog was sitting too close, interfering with my ability to speed at a pace this woman was more comfortable with though I think that my increasing inability to speed was interfered with by this woman being so close to me.

The downside to forest road-rage is living isolated. We have one road. The woman drives by my house daily - speeding ultimately to her death, We'll all turn to dust some day. Why rush it? Whether she's hurrying to hit a deer or slam into a redwood tree; she's stacking odds. Whatever her goal, I'd rather she not share it in the same forest with me or with a deer or even a tree.

I wonder if she thought about our shared experience as much as I did once she arrived at her destination? I wondered if she drove home, jumped out of the car, slammed the door, walked into the trailer and started shouting about "this idiot old bag who was driving with a dog in her lap!" I wonder if after she got home, she felt nervous because she lives alone in the middle of a forest? All I can say to that is I sure hope so.

Assorted Piles

2011-08-04T10:28:00.000-07:00

So I'm talking to Kaffy last night. We were discussing the finer points of knitting. (Try not to stop reading yet). Bella was annoyingly kind of quiet, sort of like the time my twins had gone down for an afternoon nap and about a half hour later they started laughing and giggling. I was taking college courses at the time and diligently studying - I let them laugh and giggle and have their fun. Later when I walked into their room, there was baby-poo smeared from floor to ceiling and a pair of baby-poo covered humans. We had to replace the carpeting.

Back to last night and Bella...I find Bella in the hall chewing on a piece of once white-colored foam rubber stuff. I try to get the piece from her but that's a joke. It's a big game where she runs around the house dropping pieces of white foam and I'm a fool for ever thinking I could outwit a corgi and her prized piece of foam rubber. I play Gretel for awhile, walking through the "forest" picking up the pieces of foam. Kaffy is laughing at our game. Kaffy has a huge soft spot for Bella - hopefully it's not make out of foam rubber.

So now I'm wondering what I once owned that was this pile of foam rubber? I searched high and low for a torn covering or a shoe or a bra or a pillow or an expensive piece of lymphedema medical equipment or a knitting project but I found nothing. I'm stumped.

Years ago as a family, we owned a pair of dogs, Fang and Pretty. Fang was mellow - a short-fat German- shepherdy-corgi mix (corgis will pretty much do it with anything) while Pretty was a black lab mixed with a schizophrenic homeless guy. The moment Pretty moved in with us, our house started falling to pieces. While we were at work, both dogs (I think) ripped off and ate the window sill in the kitchen. Then they started in on the couch and every day they worked at eating more and more of the couch until there was hardly anything left. We were able to toss it into a trash can piece by piece. I didn't get upset. You can't get upset once there's a huge bite taken out of your couch. Well, I take that back. You *can* get upset though you'd be wasting precious energy when you could be knitting.

Give me your best guess as to the foam rubber pile. While you're pondering where the foam came from - I have a short, somewhat musical interlude in the form of a video of Bradley accompanied by my commanding voice.

Good News, Bad News

2011-07-29T09:55:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Hannah's 6th birthday. I was invited to celebrate with them last night. She opened a pile of presents --enough gifts to outfit a shelter of homeless kids. She wanted us to sing happy birthday during her dinner, not just when cutting the cake. She hugged me and told me that I smelled good which was a miracle because I had not showered that day.

This morning I'm filled with sadness because our co-worker, Matt died this morning. I tried curing him with all sorts of strange things and none of my "cures" worked. He recently turned 44 years old.

I wrote about Matt for A Taste of Yellow last October. He died of metastatic melanoma so put on your GD sunscreen. He leaves behind his young, beautiful wife, Julie and his two lively children among assorted tons of other family members. He leaves behind us and we are sad.

Photo courtesy of LodiDesignStudios

The last time I talked to Matt was two days ago. When I say "talked," I mean exchanged emails. He sent my sister an email saying he was back in the hospital and they wanted to do more brain surgery. I said something like "How can they do brain surgery on something that doesn't exist?" Or some such compliment. I never heard back though Matt would have smiled. Turned out they could not operate because they found a large blood clot in his lung. Just yesterday the doctor came in and said it was time to stop treatment (in other words it was time to stop the torture). The doctor's announcement must have been the permission Matt needed to stop fighting. He wanted so badly to stay alive for his family. Can you blame him?

In an email to my sister, Matt wrote, "Get some work done. I'll beat this thing..."

Brain or no brain, Matt, you will be missed by many.

Careful What You Wish For

2011-07-22T11:13:00.000-07:00

We are left on the ground with empty arms. Staring into the sky.

Therese Johannesson

Over the past couple of months my niece was feeling a bit dissatisfied at the hair salon where she worked so she decided to open her own place. At the old salon there was some politicking going on that made her feel uncomfortable. She decided to set out on her own, opening her own shop. She found a quaint (tiny, needs work) shop on the other side of town between a scuba dive shop and an environmental business. The landlord, a man and his wife owned the building and worked in both the scuba shop and at the environment business that actually sandwiched the hair salon. Lots of people and business coming in and out especially to the dive shop.

Opening day for the hair salon was July 5th, a Tuesday. Lots of elbow grease, hard work, money, and late nights working while the kids stayed with grandma. Special preview opening for stylists was held on Sunday, July 2nd. Ran sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

I stopped by the new salon on July 7th, a Thursday, to pick up Hannah, take her back up the mountain to my house so Bella, Hannah and I could hang out. When I pulled up to the salon with the top down on the VW, sun-shining bright, the girls, Hannah and her wicked step-sisters rushed the car along with a white standard poodle that belonged to the landlord, the man who was standing just inside the door of his environmental business watching all he commotion in our arrival. His assistant, a woman came out to greet Bella. She loves corgis! Who doesn't? It was a big moment of chaos though lots of fun, this greeting. Everyone was excited, the dogs nuzzling each other. One of the stepsisters wanted to go with us. I said "Not enough room in the car. Sorry."

We said goodbye to the ebullient assistant and their big white poodle, the wicked step-sisters. I remember we had a great afternoon. Hannah, Bradley, me and Bella hung out. Bradley had put his arms around Hannah in greeting, a very sweet moment. I remember wishing I'd had my camera but I was too lazy to get it out of the car. That very afternoon while we were having fun at my house, the man who had been watching our joyful chaos in the parking lot, and his family were killed in a plane crash in Watsonville.

My niece is still in her new salon, alone most days except for people visiting the scuba dive shop to leave flowers and offerings of grief. Both the environmental business and the scuba shop are closed. I visited my niece yesterday. I walked over to the scuba shop where there are messages on the windows written from friends and family on the windows, mementos, fresh and dead flowers, expressions of grief.

My niece opened her own salon; she was diligent and worked hard, accomplishing the dream of owning her own place There'll be no politicking at this new place -- for the present, not a soul to bother her at all.

Turning Point

2011-07-21T07:15:00.000-07:00

“It’s disheartening when I go for occasional lymphedema treatments and you see people who are not really living a life that is very full. Of course, I would love people to see me and be like, ‘Listen: I’m not an exception. I’m just stubborn.’"

Deborah Cordner

I found someone who's quasi-famous and admits (proudly!?) that they have lymphedema.

Deborah Cordner believes the right activities help her manage lymphedema.
(While I believe it's safe to say that the right activities help us manage life.)

Read Deborah's story From 16 to Zero and Back.

And more inspiration here.

Feel inspired.
And while you're at it, try not to whine.
Whining never makes anything better.
*whine*

See?

I once was in a support group with a whiner. Each month was the same whine. Nobody knows the troubles I've seen etc. It was a post-cancer treatment group. I thought I was dying but each time this woman spoke, I knew life was going to end soon enough, either for her or for me.

I finally said something to try to encourage her to STFU. I'm not sure she ever STFU'd (didn't seem like the person who'd actually 'get it' though I do not hear her whining anymore. When I hear other people whining it causes me to bristle which is a sort of physical whining I suppose. I guess I have to figure out a way to stop my own physically whining. Maybe physical whining can be managed by doing the right activities. Revelation!

Tea for Two Year-olds

2011-07-20T12:59:00.000-07:00

Bradley turned 2 years old in April. I had just met him around that time. He continues to amaze me. Last night he dropped by for a visit and a spot of "tea."

First we put on our music which is usually Michael Franti's Crazy, Crazy, Crazy. Then as I slave ~~cook the microwave popcorn~~ over our food, we ~~layer the towels~~ set the table with the tea set. When ~~the microwave buzzer sounds~~ our food is finally prepared, we sit down to enjoy our repast and talk of the days events.

Feeding Bella a fine cheese blend of hand filth & dog hair

Waiting patiently whilst singing Crazy, Crazy, Crazy

Pouring the "tea" (check out the manicure)

(tea) which is really blood orange soda

Tea table setting consists of 33 layers of toweling - like the princess and the tpea

Flinging popcorn out of the bowl

Okay, 5 minutes have passed. What do we do now?

Oh, the Drama of it All

2011-07-19T16:24:00.000-07:00

I'm doing well. Though not in the mood to write about doing well. I've been knitting (Shelley's new scowl), walking the dog, working on the road (because the county is too broke to do the work) and visiting with neighbors. I met new neighbors this past Sunday. They invited me over for wine and horses-doovers. They invited the neighbors that live next to my house which I've lived next to since 1993 but never really talked with them much. We are out in the middle of no-where so the next door neighbor could be a mile away (or not).

I'm dealing with slight inner turmoil; drama derived from association with a family member who is dealing with a close friend who has a disorder. This disorder has caused issues though I'm still living life and keeping drama at bay as much as possible. This too, shall pass.

My client from Womencare died on July 3rd. I didn't cry but not because I am unfeeling. It's because I was prepared for her death. She seemed to not want to live anymore. So not crying for someone who wants to be dead made sense to me. It's a long(er) story. (boring!)

I guess I'm on a blogcation of sorts.
Watch, now something will happen and I'll feel compelled to blather on about it.
Oh, Hannah is here.
Bye for now.

Someone Knows the Way

2011-07-08T12:01:00.000-07:00

I have been knitting even though we've been experiencing a mini-heat wave. I'm knitting more scowls which I wrote about previously. A scowl is a cowl/neck warmer. If you want one, let me know your colors. I'll charge you - but the scowls are totally worth the money because these are beautiful once finished and they serve multiple functions by covering your double or triple chin(s), your neck wrinkles, crepey, hanging skin, chin hairs, neck blemishes, hickeys (yeah, right) and in a pinch, the scowl can also serve as a feedbag in church. Plus *I* am knitting this item which means you'll have the extra benefit of a few Bella hairs mingled in with the yarn. In addition I am desperate to supplement my increasingly meager income to buy more See's candy. The final price of your scowl depends on quality of yarn and whether or not I've had a glass of wine during the actual knitting process. Email me. We'll talk.

I have been working on ancestry.com in my spare time of which there seems to be plenty enough time to spend on ancestry.com and plenty of time for knitting and reading books (just finished The Camel Knows the Way) and hanging out at the beach. On my mom's side of the family I found peeps back to the mid-1700s. Finding this information is thrilling (at least to me), a knitter, avid book reader, occasional exerciser, admirer of oxygen and H2O. Ancestry.com costs money, sure, and they keep you coming back - if you like this sort of thing. Then again if you'd actually talk to your parents you might discover info with which you do not need to pay, other than attention to them. Just putting that thought out there.

Last time I visited my doctor she said she didn't think I should lose any more weight. Since that visit I'm down a few more pounds - below high school weight now. I was in the parking lot of a shopping complex yesterday afternoon when a woman called to me from across the parking lot. Last time I saw her was at a Weight Watchers meeting over a year ago. I'm nearly 100 lbs thinner and she still recognized me. Dammit.

Hannah asked for some lipstick so I gave her some old cruddy stuff I had laying around. Then she smeared it all over her lips and then wanted to put make-up on me -- I figured why not? One day I'll be dead and she will have fond memories of sprucing up her auntie's craggy lined face. (All I remembered of my great aunt was her long chin hairs.) Hannah layered different shades of blue on my eyelids, she acted very professional while mounding blush on my cheeks - I looked stunning. Last week when she was over to my house I let Hannah use the bronzer. She piled bronzer on her beautiful skin until her face and neck shone brick-orange. Bella, with an added spring to her step, carried the bronzer applicator between her teeth, and lay on the carpet, feasting. I told Hannah she looked beautiful if not super healthy! Really building up this little child's ego while I stared at her orange face. She kept gazing at her reflection in the mirror. Hannah was most likely puzzled by a disconnect between what she was seeing in the mirror (orange!) and my showering her with positive comments. When she got to her grandma's house, her grandma thought Hannah had a bad sunburn, saying "Who let you sit out in the sun so long?"

I took off work early yesterday and picked up Hannah. We hit the dog beach at Rio Del Mar. There were a lot of folks hanging out there. One might think it was summer...except for the knitting.

Strange Bedfellows

2011-06-29T11:46:00.000-07:00

This year due to all of the rain, my gardening consists of taking the huge pair of lopping shears across the road from my house and chopping off branches, broom and scrub. Last night it was pouring down rain. I got a bee in my bonnet to get over there wearing my bright (too large) orange rain coat and start the lopping process on the branches that were drooping over the road - heavy with rain.

What makes my gardening behavior legal is the county used to do this work when they had money, keeping trees and branches off the road. Though I'd really rather do this work myself because when I do the work, it gets done without ten county employees standing around scratching themselves while leaning sideways on a shovel, talking about last night's game. Let's face it. I'm cheap labor plus I don't need a shovel just to stay vertical.

This morning upon climbing out of bed, I noticed a strange object on the carpet right next to the bed. I bent down to pick it up, realizing the object felt kinda armor-ish, I tossed it quickly onto my dresser. Turns out it was a scorpion body. To my relief it was dead. I probably rolled over on it in the middle of the night and crushed it under my bones, knocking it off the bed.

I didn't think too much of it, we had a scorpion in the clothes once. I wanted to photograph it. I put the scorpion in a biodegradable plastic-type container made of cornstarch. I put the container in my dog toy bag (always carry a dog toy bag now).

Arriving at work, I told my sister about gardening and the run-in with the scorpion carcass - relieved I wasn't stung because if it had stung me - OW.

I took the container out of my bag to take a picture and the scorpion waved to me. When I die, I'm hoping someone will put my carcass in a biodegradable container made out of cornstarch so I can come back to life too.

Bagging Lingerie

2011-06-28T13:10:00.000-07:00

As I was dressing this morning I pondered my old undies (from the days of yore) and the idea of purchasing new underwear (aka car covers) since losing nearly 100 lbs. My old underwear still fit my much smaller butt except for some sag in the cheek area - something one might expect to see on a woman my age who had lost 100 lbs. Don't worry, you'll never have to see the sag. Even if we decide we're game to snuggle, I'll be fully dressed as if I were doing Hugh.

I discussed this underwear issue with an old friend, Tricia. She told me I needed to celebrate my weight loss by buying myself nice lingerie, to throw out my car covers; that my self-esteem was at stake.

Do you really think my self-esteem is at stake about my underwear? Are there bigger issues than baggy pants? Is this a battle I want to fight? I don't care about lingerie because I'd rather have money for my house payment, food and gas, or vice versa. I only have to see my baggy panties for a second and then if they look that bad, I can look out the window and think about the birds singing or check under the bed for dust rhinos and add to my to-do list.

People with lymphedema aren't supposed to wear tight clothing, anything that interferes with the flow of lymph if there is any flow at all (at least not mid-leg). I had an MLD therapist who would (slightly) holler at me with my too small underwear though I never bought bigger undies because she hollered. I really seriously thought that I was THAT size. When I was a size 28, it didn't matter that my jeans were skin tight either, I didn't buy larger pants because I didn't know if anyone made larger pants. A fat person wears what they can find that fits. Either that or they visit Omar and have tents made.

The way I see it, I can give up my anti-depressant and my corgi in order to have money to spend on new lingerie so that my self-esteem doesn't plummet. But the thought of living in a cardboard-box home with fancy lingerie doesn't seem like it will assuage my esteem. While money is tight -- for the first time in my life, my underwear aren't. That in itself is a celebration.

How Do You Do, Hugh?

2011-06-27T14:30:00.000-07:00

Bella under the table at the restaurant

We've been experiencing spectacular weather here in central California. Yesterday was absolutely perfect. Lots of (too many) tourists. Other than the streets being blocked with people who have no clue how to drive, my weekend was phenomenal. I'm sorry for all the complaints during rainy weather. If it makes a difference, the weather report calls for rain late tonight into tomorrow. Guess I'll survive.

I met some new people over the weekend. A kid who just got out of jail, begging for money in the Safeway parking lot. I gave him a small bill but also gave him a lecture. I asked him why he was in jail and he said he beat up a guy who was talking to his fiance. I love it when the youth use the word fiance especially when they've just gotten out of jail. He was a real (wanna-be) tough guy. I told him "You don't look so tough - begging for money in the Safeway parking lot!" (How embarrassing - at least use a fake gun or rubber band!) I mean, be tough or be a wimp but don't ask a woman old enough to have given birth to you twice over pay for your get-out-of-jail breakfast. I'd have scraped gum off the ground to sustain my hunger before begging from me! Anything to stay out of a lecture.

Sailing school outside the harbor

In the Trader Joe's parking lot, a man came up to me asking if Bella was a corgi (duh!). He was older, 89 to be exact, carrying a plastic shopping bad with his assorted doodads. We had a great conversation, seriously (never mentioned Fiat once). He fought at the Battle of the Bulge (me too!) He mentioned other wars. War of the Worlds, the War on Drugs etc. I was reminded of Hugh Hefner especially when my new beau was talking to me about all his money. He pointed over to the credit union saying he had "half a million over there!" He had inherited a mow-bile home which totally cinched this coming into money idea in my mind. I guess I could be arm candy for an 89 year old man! As long as when we snuggle it's fully clothed. I can't be bothered for much more than a snuggle. The bad thing is what if he lives to be 105? His dad died at 100 years old! He told me he had a 1991 Ford (somekindofcar) with 17k miles on it. What a go getter this guy is...I was charmed. I was positive my mom would like him.

Santa Cruz boardwalk

On Saturday, I'd had a conversation with Joanne about how much money it would take for us to "do" Hugh" since Hugh's girlfriend dumped him a week before their wedding. I mentioned that I wouldn't do Hugh for any amount. Joanne decided she would do Hugh for 50 billion. Yeah, that sounds like the right amount. I brought this subject up to my sister earlier this morning, discussing the amount Joanne had settled on to do Hugh. My sister said "He wouldn't do either one of you guys!"
As if we were serious.

Surgery-versary

2011-06-15T11:00:00.000-07:00

Today is my one year post-gastric bypass anniversary. I've lost 94 lbs (give or take on any day) when initially I assumed I wasn't fat enough to lose that much weight. I only expected to drop around 50-60 lbs.

My lymphedema is much smaller in both legs -- I wish I'd measured but the only person who has my measurements is my lymphedema therapist. Years ago (ten at least) I wore a size 26 pant. Now my pant size is a 10, the size 12 jeans can be pulled off without unfastening them (something I do all the time, mind you). My legs are not tiny and will never be completely normal but I can see now that the lymphedema resides mostly in the bottom of my legs, at the knee and below, with some fibrosis in my knees, my feet and of course, my "creepy toes."

With this weight-loss came an increase in movement I was able to witness so clearly because the weight came off so quickly. Mobility was my biggest concern going forward. As we age, the majority of us tend to move less and less until someone else must pick our carcass up and stick it inside a coffin. Excess weight exacerbates our inability to move so it makes sense that weight would take away years from one's life.

I have no regrets about choosing gastric bypass.

None.

The only real regret(s) I have is how much time I wasted dieting, talking about dieting, obsessing about food, starving myself, overeating, sitting in Weight Watchers meetings (though the people were lovely), attending a few O.A. meetings, eating too much, drinking too much, eating at night, thinking about eating at night, writing blog posts obsessing about being fat or dieting or what I was going to try next in order to quit eating so much, or how I was going to distract myself from thinking about eating or dieting or eating at night or drinking too much or telling others what they should be eating, or reading diet books or thinking "that's the diet I'll pick and it will finally work like magic!" or discussing my food with (skinny) "counselors" or all that money spent at other diet places or on diet pills (years and years ago) or taking phen-fen or non-fat foods vs low-fat foods vs whole fat foods or how I was going to eat fish for breakfast every day or how I could never eat a bagel or a scone or a muffin or bake again or eat eggnog fudge or See's candy. I regret the time I was riding my bike when I was younger, and someone yelled out "Where's the seat?" though I could certainly feel the seat. I regret sitting on the sidelines, not fitting in the ride at Great America because the safety bar wouldn't come down over my legs. I regret the money spent on hypnosis, on special meals, on liquid protein. I regret not water skiing. I regret carnival rides I went on where I squished whoever sat next to me. (Sorry!) I regret being obese for years and then being diagnosed with uterine cancer because obesity is such a huge risk factor for certain types of cancers (breast, colon, prostate, endometrium (uterine), kidney and gallbladder) - something like 8-42% of these cancers are attributable to a BMI above 21 (I'm still doomed!) I never thought a cancer diagnosis would happen to me. I figured I had been pre-disastered having been born with lymphedema, having a husband die at age 50 of colan cancer. There was no way I'd get cancer too. The world does not work that way. (Obesity causes brain damage. I ought to know.)

Gastric bypass is not a miracle but a method. I would chose it again in a heart-beat. For someone who has lymphedema and is overweight or obese or just pain fat, and who was given a cancer diagnosis, I lessened the chance for recurrence, my risks for other cancers and increased my mobility for the time I have left on this planet. Gastric bypass surgery provided better mobility with weight loss (in a timely fashion, I might add). Gastric bypass made my lymphedema better which means I'll have few, if any, infections. More mobility, activity provides better overall health. Movement is life affirming. Time is very precious - at least I know this now, and have grown to appreciate and act on this knowledge.

Gastric bypass bought me time though I wish it would have been nice if it bought me a new wardrobe too.

Biting the Bullet

2011-06-14T13:37:00.000-07:00

I bit the bullet and ordered one of those canvas-type prints. It arrived yesterday and it's cute as heck. Maybe it's just the subject matter that's cute. I dunno. I was really impressed with their work. I had to pay for S&H only which if I remember correctly was $14.95 delivered by UPS.

Cute subject matter on canvas
photo was taken August 2010

I didn't receive anything promotional from the company to rave about them.
They did a great job. They have the same deal I got (8x10) when you click on the link below.

CanvasPeople.com

Other than hanging out and looking at photos and real life cute kids and dogs, I got a call to go out to dinner with the director of the organization with which I volunteer (a local cancer organization). Dinner should be interesting. She asked, "Do you drink?" I thought, "Heck yeah!" (especially if we're going to talk about cancer!) though I only replied "Yes." So we'll meet in the bar. You should have heard me describing myself to her. After my description I'm scared to meet me!

Ultimate Cheap Date

2011-06-13T12:29:00.000-07:00

Popcorn and water, a bit of music, some dancing and not too much conversation. A perfect afternoon.

Get educated with Bradley...

The Inner Schmuckdom

2011-06-07T13:16:00.000-07:00

We have all done something cringeworthy in our lives. So that when Congressman Weiner insisted over and over again that he didn't tweet photos of his body parts, I felt a stirring, a tap, tap, tapping at the chamber door of my Cringe-O-Meter.

When the meter starts going off it begins with a feeling like I need to wash my hands, maybe a shower (not a cold one), then I feel the need to wash my sheets, perhaps set off a bug bomb. With each passing lie, my Cringe-O-Meter edges past 50%, heading quickly up to 75%, then maybe steam starts coming out the backside closer to 100% - sparks out of the electrical outlet. I'm holding my stomach wondering why oh why do people have to lie like this so publicly involving their spouse and families, their young kids (in some cases or maybe their young kids from several wives or husbands)? What is the lesson that needs to be learned at age 30-something that we couldn't have gotten out of the way at let's say, age 10? With the lies about a mystery hack and a refusal to state whether the body part in the photo was his or not, Congressman Weiner just could not back off of his made (maid??)-up story. (I'll bet he felt about 10 years old!) I'll be the first person to claims my own cringiness. If I took a photo of one of my body parts, I'd recognize it. Especially if I took photos of my creepy toes. There'd be no mistaking those toes.

When you're creating a big ole fat cringe-athon, my advice is to fess-up early, say you're sorry and take your lumps or it's gonna come back to haunt. This string of reaction to your action never seems to fail. Don't keep digging a hole with lies because you'll get tangled in that web and end up looking like a lying schmuck. People won't trust you any longer. Trust is a big deal.

If you're a public figure and I'm watching you on MSNBC or Rachel Maddow or gawd forbid CNN or worse, and you are lying to your spouse about the affairs with the janitor, your toe-tapping behavior in airport bathrooms, your 276 sets of twins you've had that you didn't pay child support for, the public is going to find out because otherwise a lot of reporters would be out of jobs. Please stop lying. Please if possible, stop cheating & stealing. Stop being a schmuck. That way I don't have to deal with my own feelings of schmuckdom that your actions caused to stir up inside of me.

To a Literate Coyote

2011-06-02T16:55:00.000-07:00

"If you notice anything it leads you to notice more and more."

- Mary Oliver

"Dammit!"

-Janell

An Open Letter to a Coyote who has internet access, reads, writes, etc.:

Neither Bella nor I are smart enough to avoid the path with which you poop. Don't get me wrong. We will avoid stepping in your poop because you make it so obvious, however, we're not translating the sign of your poop as THE STOP SIGN. Besides, Bella likes to sniff poop. Your poop makes her day. No one ever said that to me so I'd take the statement as a compliment. In fact, if I had not pulled Bella away from your pile with a very stern (a-hahahaha) "leave it!" (loosely translated to muhmehmahbleh inside Bella's pointy head) she probably would have gobbled it up like that free sample at See's. (No offense, See's. That means it's really good stuff.)

The idea of your presence is a marvel to me, yet still scary like waiting to see if the doctor is going to say your cancer has returned. Since I had cancer once, I know what that kind of fear is like. I live it daily when and if I remember to think about it but I usually don't think about it because I'm busy avoiding piles of poo. Bella and I refuse to live our lives as if you might eat one of us for a snack (and at this point, I'm definitely thin enough to be considered snack-worthy.) We refuse to live our lives as if the return of cancer is a given. We're going to trod where others refuse to (or even know how to) trod whether or not we are welcome, and as long as there is no NO trespassing sign posted because I really hate to trespass when there's a legit sign (as opposed to a poo sign).

We have places to go, people to meet and trails to trek. As long as Bella and I have the ability to cavort through the forest, your poop will not rain on our parade or stick in our paws. We refuse (and I take the liberty to speak for Bella at this point) to be fearful of everyday things (like cars, kites and diesel engines, barking dogs or dogs with huge, thick, brick-shaped heads or their look-a-like owners, brooms, vacuums and inexplicable noises that come from household appliances even if those appliances are supposedly considered discreet) -- for the same reason (and I am going out on a limb here) that you cannot show your fear of us (a lot of crying and howling noises for starters). We won't avoid our walks because you might show up (in one way or another - nice try with the poop!). We will step around your poop or kick it to the side after it's dry. We will avoid your cancer-y-like ways. You are tricky though since I'm also a trickster, I'm watching you as much as you're watching us - only in actuality, I've really only seen you once (in the past week) though I've now seen your poop twice -- so pretty much I'm only watching your poop and (ever so slightly) concerned with why you keep making your poop obvious (though I know from what I read on the internet it's so we can take the hint and stay away from your trail).

How would you like it if I left a big pile where you walk, huh?

Somehow, someway we have to maintain a balance between safety and risk just so we can get out of bed in the morning. We can't live our lives as if our next step is going to feel spongy underfoot.

Then again, maybe this topic is too deep for you. (Or maybe you didn't pay your online access bill this month). (Who knows!?) (I can't even believe I'm writing a blog post about a coyote pooping.)

We may seem fool-hearty, somewhat careless to others, clueless for walking where you hunt and live; so few undisturbed options for you. It is said (someplace I read on the internet) that if a coyote enters your life, you need to look at things you've been avoiding. Well, we've been avoiding you, Coyote and when we can't avoid you because you poop right smack in the middle of the pathway, we can kick your sh*t to the side and keep on walking. Even though we can't see you because you are cunning (like cancer!), if Bella gets close enough to smell your poop pile, we will continue to act as if you don't exist (with a hearty, convincing leave it command along with a pull on the harness and if that does not work, I'll pick her up and carry her away) otherwise, we'd be living in fear, frightened out of our wits, afraid to move in the world because we don't always take the time to notice the mess beneath our feet.

image courtesy of radioparadise.com

"Coyote is a complex symbol of humor, cunning, and survival. Coyote is often portrayed as the 'wise fool', helping people to see the truth in difficult situations. Coyote medicine is often strongly tied to learning to be adaptable, seeing the humor in even the worst situations, and being able to cope with even the toughest things life can throw at you."

(Foxfeather)

June 1st 2011

2011-06-01T17:03:00.000-07:00

Ferns that are tired of the rain

Dearest Sister,

As you're enjoying your vacation, I thought I'd update you, perhaps daily, depending on the amount of phone calls, orders and extra doodies (I know that duties is not spelled that way) you've left me with. I hope the weather is good where you are.

It's raining today on and off -- as it was yesterday -- only today is June 1st. Mom is afraid it's going to snow on her when she's driving to Oregon tomorrow. There is a threat of snow on Mt. Hamilton above 4k feet. It's cold here. I built a fire before I left home this morning. It's June 1st! The inside of my house temp was 48 degrees when I woke up. Before falling asleep, I put that artificial fur blanket on top of all the other blankets. I have not used that blanket all winter. Hopefully while I'm at work someone will break into my house and be able to enjoy cozy, warmth of the fire as I'm sure the embers will be down to coals by the time I reach home tonight.

I'm craving celery so I bought a whole bunch and pack that to eat like a snack. It's delicious. This is kind of funny. I keep making myself slightly sick of foods by eating them to excess. By 'excess' I don't mean tons of food at any one time. I mean too much of one food and this can be over the coarse of days or weeks. It happened with ice cream which means it can easily happen with celery. It happened with watermelon. I think it's nearly happened with microwave popcorn. We shall see. My body is probably craving actual nutrition from the celery as compared with the popcorn. Maybe I'll drop some more weight.

Tom installed the new printer today. It works well but doesn't staple or 3 hole punch so my job continues to branch out creative into areas I never imagined. Life is good.

I'm sure you're at the pool bar wearing the bikini you spent months looking for online though I'm seriously not jealous.

I spent some of Sunday with Hannah. She was a joy as usual. She coiffed Bradley's hair which was in dire need of coiffing if you are an almost 6 year old stylist.

I spent part of Sunday with Joanne and Joe. We ate horses-doovers and drank wine. Joanne is a bad influence though I still love her. Maybe her bad influence is why I love her. Or maybe it's Winnie. Bella gets along with Winnie while Winnie doesn't always get along with other dogs. Bella can poop in their backyard. No one complains. In fact, I think Joanne welcomes the additional poop. When he goes outside to pick it up, I hope Joe doesn't think it was me that left that pile.

I have not seen the coyote at work but then again who wants to go out in this rain?

Someone suffered an accident on the way home from work yesterday. I nearly got caught in the traffic snarl though at the last moment, flipped my car around (nearly causing another accident) and took a different route home. Bella had to hold on for dear life because the alternate route was circuitous. This accident happened on Old San Jose Road. I couldn't find any news in the local papers though my neighbor said he thought it was a fatality as he drove by the scene. I talked to my neighbor for a long time last night when I was supposed to be walking Bella. Bella breathed in diesel fumes for a half hour and we walked back home. Fun for everyone.

Someone sent me an email and told me that my blog is on a list of Top 50 Weightloss/Maintenance blogs for a personal training website. Woo hoo! I can retire.

Good thing I'm still knitting (and enjoying it) because we need all the scowls we can get for this winter-like weather occurring in the late spring/summer. Plus worn strategically, the scowl doubles as a feedbag. Just imagine all the celery a person can eat!

Pax phoned to say they had tornado warnings. He was phoning from under his desk.

Send photos of you wearing that bikini.

Love,
Your younger sister

P.S. IF THREATENING WEATHER APPROACHES YOUR AREA... TAKE SHELTER IN A STURDY BUILDING.

P.S.S. The only time I have questions about the Anthony Weiner thing is every time Anthony Weiner talks about it. (Plus I want to know who's idea was it to change their last name to Weiner instead of keeping it at Weinersteinhalt?) (Just sayin...)

Me and My Shadow

2011-05-31T12:52:00.000-07:00

At the SAL-on with Hannah and "client."

I had a great weekend. I saw Bradley. I spent time with Hannah. I brought Hannah over to my house and we spent several hours together. She played with Bradley and "did" his hair. She tried to put barrettes in his red curls. He didn't seem all that thrilled. I took ~~blackmail~~ photos.

"Does this hairstyle make my butt look big?"

Joanne and I took our dogs to the dog beach on Saturday. Afterward we parted ways, I drove back home. Kaffy came by the house in the afternoon and helped me finish my scowl. It's supposed to be a cowl though when I took a photo and sent it to Joanne's phone, she replied with a "You could smile." Right then I decided the item was more of a scowl than a cowl so I've chosen to call my scowl pattern "Whine after 9-O-9" because if you saw the actual pattern, you'd know I wasn't in my right mind at that time of the night (for whatever reason). And because I chose black yarn to make the scowl -- you can't really see all my mistakes unless you have eyes.

My Scowl,
let me know
if you want one.
(Helen - this is my Andy Rooney shot)

When Hannah and I were taking Bella for one last walk late yesterday, we noticed our shadows stretched out before us in that last glimpse of afternoon sunshine. Out of the blue, Hannah says "Aunt Jan, how come when we see our shadows, we can't see them smiling?" And even though typically you can't get me to STFU, I couldn't think of an answer to her question (other than the obvious which would have been some flippant smart-aleck remark like "You can't see anything in a shadow - duh." Probably something I would have said to my own kids, ruining them for life.) So we spent a few moments making gestures with our bodies in a way that made our shadows seem as if they just might be smiling though ultimately none of what we did mattered. We twisted and turned, using our hands, flapping and holding them out above our heads. To anyone watching, we must have looked ready for the nut-hatch. Moments before Hannah had said "I really like being with you!" We were happy because we were in each others presence and we didn't need a shadow smiling back as proof.

BTW, it's raining this day before June 1st, 2011 and the weather is still cold enough to cover oneself in a scowl. Just so you're not tempted to make comments about it, I'm seriously much happier than I look in the photo with my scowl. That photo was taken for promoting the scowl and PR purposes only.

Memorial Day 2011

2011-05-29T12:06:00.000-07:00

This photo was taken last year. I still love it. Hannah has slimmed down quite a bit since the picture was taken but then haven't we all?

Have a good rest of the holiday and try to remember why we celebrate this day (so you can remind me later).

A-Pork-A-Lips

2011-05-20T11:07:00.000-07:00

I don't even know why I'm writing except perhaps to say goodbye since tomorrow is supposedly the end of the world.

So in light(? haha) of the world ending, I'm take care of some neglected blog-keeping.

A friend of mine "decorated" this photo of Bella for me. Those are his words, not mine though he is aware of the reason that dogs roll around in dead stuff. He explained the reason why at length via email. I don't think anyone should explain anything at length knowing the end of humanity is at nigh.

I'll post one last photo of Hannah and me taken earlier this week. Hannah was so cute when she was here. She said I was "anoxious" which in chemo-brain language would be translated as annoying and obnoxious. She's right. I am, and she's the one in the photo with her tongue sticking out.

Because tomorrow is the end of the world, I'm only a bit disappointed that I had the gastric bypass surgery nearly a year ago because I could have spent this last year eating like a mad-woman or other words eating the same way I've eaten for years. Then again if I hadn't had the surgery, I wouldn't have discovered what it's like to wear a size 10. Or discover how easy it is to walk up a hill without a load of lard in my britches. Or have my physician tell me only yesterday that I should not lose anymore weight because "you're at that point where your face will really begin to look gaunt." I told her that I smile to find my cheek apples when I put my cream blush on, but when I'm not smiling the blush ends up at the sides of my neck. I would have never seen that coming though mostly because as I continue to age I can't see much of anything.

Just like I didn't see the end of the world coming until someone invited me to the post end-of-the-world looting party, assuming I guess that I'm not worthy of being one of the few lucky plucked individuals for the rapture. So I think we can all see where this is going...

It's been nice knowing ya!

Stylin at Its

2011-05-17T13:38:00.000-07:00

I'm eating home-made chili for lunch. Eric's gf made it last evening. I love coming home from work to someone offering a plate of warm food. This chili was not just a steaming bowl of goodness but spicy too! I asked for more and received more chili so I could eat more for lunch today. The downside of chili is the beans. I told Eric to tell his gf that the chili tastes fantastic, and I'll see them in a few reeks.

Bella and I went to Its beach with Joanne and her pahpahpah-recious Pomerainianainainaannn, Winnie (Winston) last Saturday. The weather folk had been announcing rain; the tide was high but FOLF had the coffee and donuts out for us as usual. (It started to rain late Saturday night and it's still raining today *snort*.)

Bella guarding her breakfast

Bella explored a dead carcass while we were there. She seemed to get worn out pretty quickly though when we reached the top of the stairs on the way back to our cars, she puked and one could instantly tell she felt better.

Bella seems very independent and is becoming more so with each passing ~~gas~~ day. She is quite the explorer too. I find myself busy watching other dogs, I'll temporarily lose her location and I'll find she's up on a rock or dog paddling in the surf.

Bella's no longer the most beautiful puppy dog on the beach because Winnie has taken Bella's place especially with his new summer ~~hair~~ do ~~n't.~~

Winnie (after)

Winnie (before)

Bradley

2011-05-09T16:38:00.000-07:00

It's a Small World After All - Rogue Trippin

2011-05-05T12:19:00.000-07:00

Here we find our young (super heroine) Rogue (far right - obviously in disguise; snazzy cardigan cape) waiting with family outside Aunt Jemima's Kitchen in downtown Frontier-land, Disneyland, Anaheim, California. Rogue thinks this photo was taken in the 60s when/where the public ~~took for granted~~ was completely oblivious to a conspicuous display of hateful symbols. Rogue's pretty sure she didn't have/get to go into the restaurant because back in those days there were far too many mouths to feed in her family (and from the looks of the photo, those mouths ate quite a lot) even if your basic menu was bacon, pancakes and racist images of black women and the south. Rogue appreciated being allowed the trip to Disneyland regardless. Had she even been aware, she would never have posed for this photo in this location, ~~in THAT outfit~~. Rogue is old enough to remember the demise of the Sambo's restaurant chain too. Rogue is happy to move onto new battles.

Rogue believes this was the very same family vacation where, when they ate at some random Italian restaurant (walls most likely covered in depictions of Italian stereotypes, Luigi), Rogue's brother choked on a bay leaf strategically planted in his food by a menacing top chef, vomiting spaghetti noodles hither and thither - one of many vacation highlights among which included riding the brand new Pirates of the Caribbean ride while one of the pirates asked Rogue on a date, and the penultimate score - singing lyrics to It's a Small World After All thousands of times in one lifetime, and to this very day even if the world has gotten so much bigger than Rogue can even fathom.

Downlow on Doctor

2011-04-30T08:04:00.000-07:00

Corgis at the beach - April 23

My visit with Dr. LePew was interesting and funny. He asked me how I was doing? I told him I was feeling a bit apprehensive. He said, "Because of ME!?!" And I said, "NO! shaking my head (like he was some sort of doofus) -- "because of the nature of this appointment." Rectal exam, pap smear, exam with crowbar, horseshoes etc. It feels as if the doctor sticks everything he owns up there. Everything he owns but one thing. It was funny that he thought I might be apprehensive because of him. I wonder what he would have said had I confessed that my apprehension was about him?

He told me that I'd lost 30 lbs since I last was there in Oct last year. He was really pleased. I've lost just under 100 lbs. Although the urge to eat; the addiction was not surgically removed. I still feel the urge at times and feeling it is interesting which is one of those non-compliment compliments.

I have lost the ability to stuff things that I crave inside of me -- which so far is fine with me. It's sort of like being a smoker and having your lungs partially removed. The doctor comes back into the room and says "You can only smoke an inch of that cigarette and you can only smoke it 3 times a day." The way you used to cope no longer works. Sometimes I just sit and think about how I have to sit and be aware. That's all I can do. Though sometimes I knit.

The doctor asked if I would be able to eat a hamburger, fries and a milkshake? I said, "No, why are you asking me on a date?" He was really only curious about the effect of the surgery and had told me previously that his wife has friends who've had the surgery and one of them had gained weight back. Maybe he saw her eating fries and drinking the shakes. If I ate that stuff, it could only be a bit of it and then I'd spend too much of my time on the toidy so forget it. Not worth it. The doctor felt nothing (join the club) and there was no sign of cancer. I got the lab report back too and they were "pleased to report..." For now, I'm living.

Another plus about the appointment is judging from the amount of skin hanging off my ass since having gastric bypass surgery, I don't need to use those paper covers they give you to cover up once you get into the exam room. Now I can cover myself with my own butt skin and I stay a lot warmer waiting for the doctor to arrive to quiz me about my apprehension.

Hip Hop with Hannah

2011-04-29T14:01:00.000-07:00

Aside from these glorious photos of Hannah hip-hoppin, please go visit this blog to read the rest of the story.

Below Hannah is showing off some of her hippity-est hip hop moves to her student Bella. It's easier to show your moves to a dog than another human because the dog isn't going to critique you. Hannah has been shy about showing anyone her moves. I don't blame her. I'm more of an observer than a server.

Some day if Hannah discovers that I'm writing this stuff and posting pictures she will want to murder me. I'll wait until she's about 14 years old before I tell her. That should be the perfect age for the big reveal.

Fierce!

Stylin

When the student is ready...
the "student" will be sitting at your feet wearing a pink collar & sniffing your shoes

Bella carefully focuses on Hannah's fancy foot work in case there's a good smell on her shoes

Plenty more focus on Hannah's shoes - Bella loves shoes.
Especially on little kids.

Now Bella is eating Hannah's shoes.
Bella believes Hannah is a herd of sheep.

Hannah's over giving hip hop lessons.

Seriously over it.

I Met Shelley

2011-04-27T09:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had the pleasure of taking the afternoon off of work. Throwing Bella in the dry-crusty dog-barf & hair-beachsand mobile, I drove to Santa Cruz to spend time with Shelley who blogs at My Journey To Fit. She's visiting her good friend in Santa Cruz all the way from Texas. She and her friend are run/walking the Big Sur Marathon next Sunday. Rots of ruck you two!

It's think it's fair to say that between our visit to the dog beach, a quick jaunt over to See's where we purchased a few goodies to have with our late afternoon cup of coffee, and Bella being on her best behavior ~~except for that bout of massive puppy diarrhea at the beach~~, we had a great time. Shelley is dear and tolerant.

Shelley got a tattoo in honor of her mother. Whereas I only purchased a small box of See's to send.

A Dear Poo & Lizard Tale

2011-04-19T12:01:00.000-07:00

My sweet lamb

Tomorrow I return to Dr. LePew, my French-speaking gynecological oncologist for a 6 month check-down. Hopefully there's no sign of cancer. I do not feel cancery though that's the bummer about cancer. You usually don't feel cancery until it's too late. That's when you finally feel cancery.

I've taken Bella on two walks so far this morning. Due to a lack of spring weather we're under the constant threat of sprinkles, the ground is always wet. Bella's belly gets soaked - good thing she has a double fur-coat. First thing this morning my sister petted Bella and declared "She's all wet!" I said, "Well, we went on a walk!" She said, "Where? Niagara Falls?" You probably had to be there.

During our walk Bella feasted on deer poop and part of a dead lizard. She ran away from me with the lizard dangling out of her mouth. When I got close to her, I could hear crunching sounds. She wanted to gobble the lizard before I could get it away from her. Eventually I can stop buying dog food altogether. Who knows? Maybe deer poo and lizard are part of a real diet. They're part of Bella's.

Mistress of Spices

2011-04-18T15:30:00.000-07:00

I had a couple of good choices for Saturday night fun though I put those fun choices aside to go to the ER for an infection that felt as if it sprang up out of nowhere ~~aka my bladder~~. I left Bella with my son's gf, and my son drove me to the ER. I became sick quite suddenly -- thinking the infection might be cellulitis which is more common in some lymphedema patients. I didn't think I could drive myself to hospital and thought I might have to call an ambulance. I recall the nurse saying my thoughts as I repeated them to him, were all red flags. I was released after a few hours to a waiting room filled with other misfits. I certainly know how to add excitement to an otherwise uneventful weekend.

Antibiotics under my belt (so to speak), Bella and I visited the dog beach on Sunday morning. She loves the ocean though watching her dive head first into the waves makes me kinda nervous most especially at 8:30 am. But she is a brave girl --very much a tomboy dog if that's possible. I don't know what I was expecting - maybe a Dream Barbie corgi.

Because in the dream I touched on briefly when I wrote the other day, the Pioneer Woman complained about my needing to use more deodorant, I went to her website to check out some of her recipes. Yesterday I made her recipe for Spicy Shredded Pork and nearly croaked when I took my first bite. It The meat was far too spicy for me and I have been known to enjoy lots of spice in my food ~~and elsewhere~~. If you make her recipe, use a smaller can of the chipotle peppers in adobo sauce.

What might be funny to someone (anyone?) is I go to a lot of effort to cook a ~~spicy~~ scrumptious meal just so I can eat about two ounces of the meat after which my gastric bypassed stomach pouch is full. No way can I eat the tortilla, all the fixins the PW has photographed so beautifully throughout her recipes. After I'm done cooking and I've taken the three minutes required to eat the 2 oz of meat protein, I have enough left-overs to feed a small homeless encampment or better yet I could feed that man I saw jump (or get thrown) suddenly over the twelve foot retaining wall -- flopping face first onto Highway 17 early this morning carrying a plastic bag with all his worldly goods. Bet he has room for spice in his life or at least inside that bag.

I guess there's no real point to this post except to let you know (~~as if you cared~~) that sometimes I'm not allowed the opportunity to make the fun choices when deciding what I'll do on a Saturday night, even if the male nurse was cute, and despite the doctor, upon my telling him that I had lymphedema (when asked about my condition(s) and while he was staring at my creepy toes), "Oh, is THAT why your legs look like that?!" I thought my physicality would improve when I got to the ER, and it did though I'm thinking I'll need to go someplace else to gain back some self-esteem after his comment. Granted there are some real weirdos in the ER in Santa Cruz so maybe my lymphedema-ed legs slipped me into the weirdo category from this doctor's perspective -- though I'm guessing it was the splash of pink in my hair AND the creepy toes and now that the Pioneer Woman says I need to use deodorant, I fit right into creep.

We have a 60% chance of rain and throughout the week the weather folk say to expect more of the same. The skies are gloomy. I've already taken Bella on three walks just this morning and watched a gopher eat a whole freshly blooming tulip out of my garden. Can't gophers look go someplace else to spice up their lives? Like maybe the middle of highway 17?

So Much Pretty

2011-04-15T08:37:00.000-07:00

I had a dream that The Pioneer Woman told me I needed to use more (or better) ~~or some~~ deodorant after she gave me a hug. I don't read her blog that much though I think my sister visits her blog almost daily. I cannot figure out why I'd have this dream unless I had really stinky armpits though I know dreams aren't so literal.

I had my taxes done (finally). Walked out of the tax office on the Alameda in San Hoseh and a woman was walking her beautiful sable-colored corgi (named Caleb) down the sidewalk. We had a quick, lovely chat and I didn't even have my dog with me. I don't dare take Bella to the tax guy's office. He is very weird. He's got googly eyes and always looks off in the distance when he's speaking to you. I'm getting some money back so if I owe you anything now's the time to let me know.

The week is slow at work. I'm blaming it on Spring break even though the temps around here have been unseasonably cold. I had to build a fire two nights ago to warm up the house. Today offers more sunshine and the promise of warmer temps over the weekend.

There's a book give-away at Wild Mountain. Sign up for the book so that when you win, you'll be reminded of me and Hannah. The book is called So Much Pretty. Read more about it here.

This weekend and next is a film on forgiveness that you could watch. I'll be watching Forgiveness: a Time to Love & a Time to Hate on my local PBS station. Forgiveness is something I'm constantly attempting.

Over the weekend I'll be working on forgiving myself for having a dream about The Pioneer Woman's weird comment about my stinky pits. Since it was my dream, I've got to start my forgiveness at home as usual. Hope your weekend is warm and rich with forgiveness.

My Social Media

2011-04-12T15:20:00.000-07:00

Me vene quase 'na malincunia

Man the harpoons!

I like to pretend I'm a solitary sort of person and enjoy spending time alone hanging out with Bella and my anti-social cat, Luka. In recent months I have rekindled some neighborhood friendships - more kindled than re yet still, I'm actually speaking to humans that live nearby, (I rarely spoke to them when I was fatter, living behind my girth-fence) - my neighbor Kaffy (& her husband Mike) come to mind. We have a friendship (almost). A woman and her husband who live at the ~~last~~ Willows resort - her name is AnnMarie, and I like him because he laughs at everything I say and what's not to like about laughter? The reason I can remember her name is because when she first introduced herself to me, I thought, Oh, THAT Girl! (get it?) Her name stuck. She usually takes her walk near twilight so that

while I'm driving home some nights, I nearly ram her "bumper" with my bumper because it's impossible to see her in the dusky forest light (sounds so romantic, huh). Hopefully I'll stay on her good side which is another way of saying the opposite side of the road and we can continue our chatting when we meet on walks.

A young couple I talk to occasionally, a woman & her husband, Robert and their dog who's a cheee-who-a--who-a mix of some sort are turning into frequent visitors. Their dog is trained to understand Spanish commands only. "Donde esta Bella?" he barks. Their dog walks with his head smack under Bella's butt - he fits in that space as if he were the car made for that garage - there must be a Spanish command; Bella's butt as Mr. Minidog's sombrero. The woman's name escapes me -- Victoria, Vanessa, Vagyna. I can't recall though she's very nice as is her husband though he does not speak much except to his dog. (It must be their little secret - the "garage" parking command.) We've walked our dogs together. One day they took Bella on some sort of ~~provocative~~ dog walk without me - I guess they didn't want me to witness the shenigans so I stayed home, using my time alone wisely by vacuuming up dog hair, worried that I'd never see my dog once they reached the border.

It's all I can do to remember these people's names (these folks that walk my dog yet know her butt intimately). I think it's because I have early onset age. Yet I'm becoming more social with my surrounding community through my dog. Maybe I can blame part of the challenge of remembering on chemo-brain though it's been 4 years since I had chemo and most of my brain is still ~~slightly functional~~ around. Had I not had chemo, would my brain be the same or better, more brainy or would it have changed as drastically as it seems to change (even though I can't remember if it's really changed or not) or does it matter because the point is moot. The damage is either done or not done. I haven't a clue.

There was a birthday party held at my house over the weekend. There were (too many) people there (for my taste) so I had to physically get away from the house which meant I had to be sober. I tried phoning my neighbor Kaffy but she must have used caller id and refused to pick up when she saw who was calling. I tried my sister who's phone went straight to voicemail - she must have been forewarned; a premonition.

So Bella and I took off for the beach by ourselves. We hiked the stairs down to the sand, passing the chronic exercisers, people who use the stairs for their health only rather than as the ~~cheap~~ free-way to the beach. When I was much heavier, you would have never caught me on these stairs, down or up. I would have died walking them.

While on our way down the stairs some people remarked of Bella's cuteness. Some folks shy away though many women (and children) seem to take to her immediately. They ask if they can pet her. They ask me questions about her age. Some of these folks have dogs with them though many do not - yet they still want to talk and the talk isn't always about the dog. One lady asked me where I got my shirt saying she thought it was cute. She even looked at the label (maybe she was checking my size.) People are forward at times. I let this stranger read my shirt label (behind my back!)

It continues to amaze me how having this dog around has increased my sociability. Yet if you asked me a simple question about my hobbies or how I spend my time, I have to really think about what I do (other than dog doo). I walk my dog. I look at my vacuum collecting dust as it sits. I read. I am cleaning up the forest or at least my part of it while I'm living in it. By "cleaning" I mean, pulling out that damn scotch broom and those damn thistles. Last night I was heaving branches off the trail. It's fun and productive. It's exercise. I can do this work while Bella sniffs for deer poop pellets and waits somewhat patiently for me to heave a stick in her direction that she can chase until she sniffs some other wild forest animal poop.

At the beach two women using the stairs wanted to pet Bella. "Is that a corgi?"one asked while the other talked about how dogs extend your life though "being unemployed does not extend your life!" She volunteered that she had been unemployed now for over two years, owned two dogs and no one would rent a house to her with those two dogs. I heard her life story in less than five minutes. I gave her an idea for employment - how to make money by doing other people's laundry even though it's an idea I borrowed from my son's entrepreneurial-minded girlfriend.

Further down the beach I spoke to another woman who said she just got a chocolate (See's!?) lab. Her family had promoted the purchase. She mentioned that she is 70 years old though upon first glance I could have sworn we were the same age. I tried to get her excited about her puppy, show some encouragement. "Dogs add years to your life," I said, "it's a well known fact." She said "That may be but I'm not sure I want to live longer," adding that she had enough things to do without adding a dog to her daily list of commitments. We said our goodbyes. "Have a great rest of the day!"

In many ways, Bella has opened doors socially (or I've allowed her to open the doors or I've allowed myself to notice the doors were open) yet at the same time, some doors have closed. Doors have closed to casual things, to spontaneity, walking into grocery stores, a fruit stand, the farmer's market and restaurants (unless they offer outdoor seating) are off limits. They don't let you bring your dog into a store though some of the folks in the grocery store are easily as questionable as some dogs I've seen. A weekend get-away has to be planned in advance. It's expensive to put a dog at the kennel/boarder though I suppose there's a slight chance she could stay with Pepito, the chihuahua and his "parents."

Bella blurred

I'm trying to learn what things bring the most joy - the biggest bang for my buck. Am I happier walking my dog down the stairs at the beach to reach the sand and sea or would I rather be perusing the grocery aisles reading nutrition labels? Is it more important to walk, stopping for a chat with a stranger, watching shorebirds chased by crashing waves, and after one of the longest, wettest winters I can remember (if I remember correctly), enjoying the warmth of the sun or buy a grocery item that I'm not going to remember I ate an hour later?

A Road Less Travelled

2011-04-06T12:23:00.000-07:00

I can't think of anything to write. I think part of what has been preventing me from writing is I admit I am boring. (Bored and boring, Thanks, Claire Arand!)

The other thing I am blaming my lack of writing on is more obstacles in my path both manifested and un-manifested, and here I thought they had cleared during my last post.

These photos were taken by my b.i.l. using a cell phone. This road is my normal route to work though since the storms last week, I have to take the long way home. What any of this has to do with writing is anyone's guess.

I am blogging (very) part-time at sassybanana. Though I do not know what a sassy banana is. If you visit the blog, see if you can figure out my sassybanana blog moniker. I was very proud of it when I invented it. Today would be a very easy day to get that one right.

Clearing Obstacles

2011-03-29T09:05:00.000-07:00

The rain has stopped for the time being though not before there was plenty of damage to Scotts Valley, Capitola and surrounding areas. The sun is out and the weather-folk say the air should warm to high 70s by the end of this week. I'm grateful for this glorious sunshine.

Sunday we walked at the cement boat beach (Seacliff) and climbed among the logs, trees and tires that had either washed up on the shore or washed down off the mountain. I spent some time wondering whether it was possible for a whole tree to swim down a creek (it must have at some point) or float onto the shore from somewhere off at sea. The amount of trash that had washed onto the beach should not surprise me though it always does. I expect one day to discover a body in that mess. That should be an interesting day unless the body is mine.

Bella has become filthy from the mud so much so that she has natural gray-colored ring around her collar. I've had her groomed several times this winter though she never stayed clean for over an hour or so. There's something not so great about ~~owning~~ being a short dog in relentless rain storms except Bella loves the water and the rain doesn't seem to bother her. She hits puddles full force; leaping and bounding through creeks. She waits hopefully in the foamy froth at the ocean's edge knowing some day she'll be swept out to sea on the next wave on to her next watery adventure.

Since I've lost (so much) weight, have loads of energy and less body to lug around I'm spending time ~~hanging out~~ in the forest behind my house. There's a steep hill leading down a path covered with branches and forest debris although I've been clearing the downed branches and attempting to keep the scotch broom off my property completely, which entails secretly hacking down scotch broom from other people's property too mostly because it reseeds on a light breeze. Do you suppose my neighbors mind if I hack out their thistles while I'm at it? One thistle head is worth 20 thousand seeds/plants. Each time I heave a branch off of the side of the trail, Bella thinks I'm playing her favorite go fetch game and chases after the branch. A good many of those branches could be the death of her. I try to be extra careful but she is a nutjob.

When my husband was alive, he spent hours in the forest often cutting fire wood though there were times I didn't hear the chain saw and he's still be gone for hours. He seemed to appreciate the forest ~~for the trees~~ while I was too fat to get up and down the hill, refusing to walk down that steep hill except for possibly 2 - 3 times in 15 years, each time the labored hike back up to the house, wishing to be air-lifted (but by what!?) in order to get back home, flop down on the couch and praise haysus that I was still alive after my contribution to this feat of human endurance and suffering, and then feast on a box of See's.

Weighing much less now, I sprint up and down the trail, tossing logs and branches off the side, clearing rock, reshaping a place my husband held dear; a contemplative (when not employing the use of the chain saw) time in the forest. Bella exhausted, heaving a breathing drama - her short-lived burnout caused in part by petite legs and quite possibly an occasional klunk to the side of her head from a tossed tree limb.

It's safe to say we are both filled with gratitude that the rains have stopped.

Waiting for a Flood

2011-03-25T15:19:00.000-07:00

I am praying for the rain to stop. It has been a disaster around here the past few days though like any disaster, it's relative. I had an appointment in town yesterday that I'd wanted to cancel because if there's one thing I'm afraid of in this world other than being served meatloaf at a dinner party, it's driving around in (what I deem) treacherous conditions in a car that's low to the ground as opposed to the non-existent Jeep Grand Cherokee that I will never own. I get into my VW, immediately strengthening a nebulous belief in a supreme being, and drive down the driveway into a flood of mud and brown rain water shooting down in torrents from, I think, highway 17. I made it easily to Scotts Valley, when I get a phone call that the appointment has been cancelled because they have no electricity. I drive to the store, grab a couple of items, get back into the VW and drive back up the hill toward work. I want to pick-up Bella and get home asap.

When I got nearby work, Angie, a close neighbor and friend was standing in the middle of the road holding herself up with some sort of sticklikething or maybe a shovel without the shove part. She highly recommended I not drive back up the hill due to fallen debris, boulders, bricks, dog-poop etc. though I was really anxious to pick up Bella. Angie offered rain-boots but since I have huge feet, I had to politely refuse, plus with compression garments under my pants, well, it's just really icky to be so inconvenienced and wetted by wet weather. I asked Angie to drive me up the hill in her truck but she was too afraid. A couple of years ago she drove off the side of the mountain and still hasn't recovered mentally (which probably helps explain why she was standing in the middle of a deluge of rock, mud, water and doggie fecal matter with a pole in her hand.) Then Angie offered to walk up the hill in the flood and debris and pick up Bella. When she came walking back about 45 minutes later, she was carrying Bella in her arms because if she had let Bella walk, Bella would have floated away. But Bella really loves the water so she would have been happy.

The 2nd photo shows another neighbor who owns vicious poodles. He and his wife live in a trailer in the shade. He keeps an old broken-down Fiat parked in the rain under a wet blanket. He paid a fortune for his property at the height of the market and now he probably can't sell it for a buck. His trailer area smells like the county needs to come out and condemn the place. Strange material mixes with mud and rainwater comes primarily from his dogs because my Bella is a sweet little lamb who only poops inside of black recyclable bags while the two poodles poo in poo-dle piles. In the photo I blurred this guy's face because he's wearing crocs but one good thing about crocs is with the holes, they allow for the free-flow of flood waters and around here lately, that's an excellent idea.

Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall

2011-03-22T14:56:00.000-07:00

Fallen twig

We had a big, bad ole rain storm over this past weekend. Saturday night, just when I was getting maximum comfy on my thumper-pedic, a redwood tree branch crashed into the roof just above my head making a horrific scary noise, causing the house to shake. The next morning I was wondering if that branch floated gently down to the roof like a butterfly taking wing from a flower or if the branch charged, dagger-like trying to make me into human shish kebob? Wouldn't that be a hoot if they found me stabbed into my bed by a tree branch? Whenever we're going to have a big bad ole storm, I get philosophical about trees landing on me. Please land on my head and not just my foot or my leg. That is my big wish in life. Make this tree falling in the forest my final act.

Deck with crashed tree branches

On Sunday while Bella and I were strutting our stuff at the blue ball park track, off in the distance a child innocently attempted to fly a kite in-between frequent storms. This was Bella's very first kite sighting so she went completely insane, pulling and tugging at the leash, acting like she saw the infamous corgi slasher murderer. I could not get her to calm down so like any well-trained dog owner, I picked her up and carried her to the car all the while her clawing to get further away from the corgi-assassin kite. Once inside the car, Bella calmed somewhat though she was still shaking from her initiation of this harbinger of springtime splendor.

When that branch crashed into the roof, Bella didn't even make a woof.

I've mentioned Bradley. Well, he is my new personal trainer. Every time he sees me, he says he wants to go on a walk. Then he holds my finger which he says is "too cold." ("Pull my finger, Bradley!") We originally started our walks with Bella though when a car (beep, beep) passes Bella (woof, woof) moves into a corgi frenzy, and becomes difficult to control unless you think controlling a corgi who's spinning at the end of a leash *is* control. I can't risk injury to a 2 year old or a 55 year old. At 20 lbs, Bella's two big handfuls of attack corgi and she has been brought to this earth to ensure that cars either go the speed limit on our road which is zero MPH, or said cars clear out all together.

In this photo Bradley is wearing a fashionable froggy raincoat (inside my house, go figure. I think it's his way of waiting for the next tree branch to float out of the sky).

Bradley's birthday is today. He turns two years old.

Do Not Disturb - Turkeys at Work

2011-03-17T12:01:00.000-07:00

I haven't written lately because I've been very ~~bored~~ busy ~~stuffing envelopes~~ developing a marketing campaign at work.

Bella is fine. She had a sanitary trim which I think is another name for a doggie Brazilian. On the other hand, I did not have a sanitary trim though I did have my nose hairs waxed again. I highly recommend this if you've a hairy nose. The 23-year-old esthetician told me that many of the middle-aged men who come in for their ~~troll-doll~~ ears and nose hairs to be waxed ask her if she is married? We had a good laugh over that one. How is it that as some men age, they become as transparent as their skin?

Marketing Meeting - Hold our calls!

Hannah is fine. We saw turkeys at work. I took photos. She told me she was not afraid of them anymore but then she asked if she got close, would they bite her? I dunno. I think they'll bite. I've seen those turkey attack videos on youtube. Remember when Hannah was traumatized by watching the turkey chase her grandmother around the Prius -- which I understand we may have trouble purchasing in future due to the tsunami. I feel so awful for those folks in Japan. I can't believe no one has blamed the earthquake, resulting tsunami and pending nuclear disaster on the gays yet. Maybe by the end of this week...I hear some of the radiation will be hitting California some time tomorrow. No doubt radiation will be strongest in Hollywood where those free-thinking, left-wingers live.

Soon I'll be writing about Bradley who will turn 2 years old on March 22. He's a red, curly-headed cutie pie who loves me. I can just tell. Mostly his conversation revolves around "Why" so I tell him why and he says "why" and we go around in circles which is similar to a lot of conversations I've had win past relationships. I don't mind conversing with Bradley. I still have time to change him.

I have to get back to my ~~envelope stuffing~~ marketing meeting. I need to get ~~the time to write more posts and have the time to comment on your posts~~ this campaign off the ground soon.

No Country for Old Fat Ladies

2011-03-10T15:38:00.000-08:00

The big b-day is over. I went out to lunch with a friend to Jia Tella in Scotts Valley. Got back to work to find Hannah with her mom, the wicked step-sisters and my fave cake from The Buttery. Had a tiny piece. Was completely grossed out so I had a 2nd tiny piece to make sure it was the cake that made me sick. Sure thing - it was! The wicked step-sisters complained non-stop about the cake too. They don't like lemon curd. They don't like poppy seeds. They don't like cake. They don't like frosting. What's this weird frosting stuff? We can't eat this! Why does Hannah get to hold Bella? Why didn't you buy chocolate? Why is Hannah alive? We need to buy Jan some new glasses instead of a cake for her birthday. Her glasses are crooked and cheap looking on her face. Look at how funny she looks! Why is Jan still alive?

When I arrived home, the front door of my house was decorated with balloons and a package of home-made, decorated cupcakes. The decorating/baking culprit was my son's girlfriend. I was completely blown-away mostly because when I backed into my driveway, I sat in my car for a few minutes and at some point, turned around and saw this door covered in celebratory stuff. I hardly know this young woman (she is afraid of me) and this was really a thoughtful way to help me feel celebrated. Too bad it was a complete (almost) stranger but hey, I'll take it where I can get it.

A good friend sent me a birthday card that read Happy F*cking Birthday only there was no asterisk. The sentiment made me smile. Thanks, Lib!

There's an article in the L.A. Times today called 'Obesity: 'Like the new smoking'. If you're still chubby or thinking of eating that last hunk of birthday cake, you might want to read the article first. One tidbit the item states is "the death rate from uterine (endometrial) cancer was 525% higher for very, very obese women than for women of healthy weight." I did not even know we could have percentages in the 500 range but then I was never any good at math. When I was fat(ter) I had uterine cancer and that diagnosis was 4 years ago now. That means I had (and probably still have) a 525% chance of croaking of uterine cancer over a skinny woman. If that ~~fatoid~~ factoid doesn't make you want to lose some poundage, I don't know what will. Oh, wait! I know what will. Gastric bypass or maybe you can employ the Duck tape diet or you might want to wait until you're dying of cancer because cancer will help you lose weight near the end when you can't eat any longer because you know you're dying and eating becomes pretty pointless when you know you're going to be dead soon. I know this from watching Greg die. He stopped eating in August and died in October. He didn't eat for almost two months. When you think about it, that's kind of a diet though I am not sure of there's the quality of life in that diet that some people seem to selfishly crave.

Enjoy the photos (and be jealous) of the pretty home-made cupcakes (because that's as close as you'll ever get to them). Admire my b-day decorated door which I've decided to leave on display permanently, until the streamers rot into bits of slime muddling colors on the doorstep where I'll smear (what will look like dog-poop stains) on my carpet when I walk into the front door some years from now. When my neighbors walk by the house and notice the decorations, they can ask with enthusiasm "Hey, I didn't know it was your birthday!?" and I can say, "Yes, it was my birthday in early March 2011." (Also in early March 1965 and early March 1960 and so on.)

In the photos, please ignore the lovely pink propane bill laying ever so discreetly upon the doorstep courtesy of Mr. Propane Man, (who's about as sensitive a birthday gift-giver as most of the men I've known), the spiderwebs and other assorted door filth, and the assorted red-ish paint colors with which I've been trying to decide over the past few years to paint my door.

Under no circumstances should you ignore Bella, my vicious attack corgi. She was really eye-balling those cupcakes though she abstains (mostly because she's a very picky eater, Thank Haysus!). We watch her girlish figure with a staunch desire to keep any obesity and cancer stats below 525% unlike someone she knows. Plus we can't afford one of those custom corgi wheel-chairs made out of plywood and used roller skate wheels that you have to tie the dog's belly into. We are working on a top secret prototype for other chubster (not my Bella) dogs.

Thank you for all the good wishes!

An Impromptu Birthday "Wrap"

2011-03-09T12:41:00.000-08:00

First thing out the door
I grabbed poison oak.
Thought it was a stick.
Eyesight is broke.
My face and head itches.
You bitches!

When you reach 55 - be glad you're alive.
Now shut up.

Tutti Frutti

2011-03-04T12:48:00.000-08:00

My birthday is coming up. I'll be more than half 100 years old and almost exactly half of 102.5 years old. Because my sister will be spending most of this month celebrating her SIL's birthday, she wanted to do something special for me. We are taking me out this weekend for some pre-birthday fun. The remainder of the month belongs to SIL, Vegas baby! They do a lot of "celebrating." I am mostly jealous. They already have several cruises and vacations lined up for the year. I think my sister's 2011 calendar resembles a chess board more than a calender.

We're going wine tasting and may(!?) get some food. We'll visit Storrs, Bonny Doon and Bargetto though there are numerous wineries much closer to home. I even have a winery within walking distance if I'm drunk enough. I'll drop Bella at the boarding/training, GITMO.

I took Bella to be bathed late yesterday. When I picked her up, she looked angelic and smelled of strange smells. They sprayed her with cherry-vanilla flavoring or perfume. It was a free service. I don't really like perfumes. I can't use perfumed clothes soap because it makes me sick to smell it on my clothing. I think it's chemo fallout though I'm not 100% sure. I don't understand why they sprayed my dog with this smell. If I wanted to smell cherry vanilla, I would have never gotten a dog.

This morning on our early walk, Bella rolled in something dead on the road (squirrel, bat, deer). Now she looks like she's wearing a special kind of collar only it's a collar made of animal parts, blood and sinews, tendons. She smells like cherry vanilla and dead carcass. She smells like a dog.

The Kindness of Strangers

2011-02-28T13:23:00.000-08:00

There was a bit of snow when I woke up on Saturday. Not much though enough to coat the deck and cars. Bella and I were out walking at 8 am, this time I had my camera but there was little to photograph. Or maybe I just didn't notice.

Snow on the convertible

Bella and I were out early again on Sunday. After loading the trunk of my car with grub for the week, we met up with the folks who originally told me of Bella's existence. They have their own corgi, Cowgirl. They admired (who doesn't?) Bella, and told me that they'd seen Bella's brother and that (of course) he's isn't as cute as Bella which sort of goes without saying.

Later we went to the beach for a walk with my sister. Folks stop to chit-chat about dogs, the weather, the beach and random things. Dog owners simply must be more approachable than non-dog owners/walkers -- even while carry plastic bags of poop. (Would you approach a human carrying a bag of human poo?) Though I believe my theory on the dogged kindness of strangers depends on what breed they happen to be walking. If you're a nun walking an American Staffordshire, I'm not going to ask any questions though seeing Ted Bundy or Charlie Manson walking another corgi or a tea cup poodle might get me asking "How's the weather?" or "What's your favorite See's candy?" When I was dog-less, I didn't approach people much but then again I didn't walk often either. Though if you were walking a puppy, I would approach you simply because of that puppy. Bella still has a bit of puppy in her at 9 months.

Bella pondering grass

As we walked along the beach, we stopped and spoke to a woman with a dog (not me). We were nearly to Rio del Mar at this point, at the mouth of the river. Two young girls were running through the river to a sandbar. I wished I'd brought my camera because the vision of the two girls was stunning out on that sandbar, the sun shining lighting them from behind. There were starfish on the sand and in what might have been considered a tide pool back in the days of yore though now this one pool where we found some of the starfish was more like a cesspool. The water had milky brown residue floating. (Those starfish must have been suicidal.) Out on the sandbar was a half-buried grocery cart sticking haphazardly out of the sand reminding me of the scene with the Statue of Liberty's hand sticking out of sand in Planet of the Apes. Here was this grocery cart in the middle of a sandbar, these two young girls running around the cart rescuing suicidal starfish from the harsh elements - And me with no camera - though I'd given the camera idea a lot of consideration and knew if I left my camera in my car, there would be some phenomenal shot that I would miss, and if I brought it with me, I'd not notice anything out of the ordinary. The beach trip was great despite trash and dying starfish - the day turned out wonderful. One of those that makes a person (or me) grateful to be alive.

Sign of the times

Over the weekend the temps were very cold for this area though much warmer at the beach even if it snowed there on Saturday. Seems like winter arrived, left, and then returned with a vengeance which it often does near the beginning of March when we can hardly wait to greet spring with armloads of daffodils.

The weather will turn to rain cats and dogs later in the week which means while out exercising our dogs we'll be forced to communicate with one another whether we want to or not, unless that nun is out walking her pit bull.

Driving Miss Crazy

2011-02-22T12:00:00.000-08:00

My latest diet tip is that it's nearly impossible to eat at night if you are busy knitting. I can't even look up from my knitting. I have to keep my head down, watching the needles (and my errors) while listening to the Real Housewives of Helltown which is actually kind of a good thing because then I don't have to see all the plastic surgery mistakes.

I was walking Bella over the weekend down at the cement boat beach with my sister and her husband. The beach was lovely, almost crowded with tourists, a balmy 50 degrees. Kids were in shorts and bathing suits. When walking Bella I am often stopped so people can admire and ask about her. She is still such a ~~corgie~~-cutie-pie. ~~Plus these people don't have to live with her.~~

Later my sister tells me that my brother-in-law said that (paraphrasing here) it's too bad that guys don't like dogs or Jan could get a date - I guess with all that attention I get for owning and walking the dog, he thinks I could get a date. Several of the people who stopped to chat about Bella were men (coupled with women). (Thank Haysus!)

But what makes him think I want a date when I have this dog?

'Bout Time

2011-02-14T13:13:00.000-08:00

I caught the hog flu in the plane on the way back from Hawaii. Poor me. In the airport waiting area was a woman who's eyes were red and raw. She held her head down. I saw her trying to nibble on some pastry and she wasn't able to eat it. (You know she's sick if she can't eat a pastry!) Her S.O. felt her forehead. His hand came away in flames. I warned my mom to stay away from them. But then, the guy sitting across the aisle from us on the plane was one of those snot-snorters. Those mucusy-types that have one wet kleenex they use through their entire illness so most of their mucus is snorted back into their body with a resounding honkish snort. One wet kleenex blow every 30 mucus snorts. The mucus rule.

Both mom and I came down with flu-ish symptoms once we arrived home though mom still had to fly back to Baja (to spread the illness on her next flight). Fever, chest congestion, generally feeling like crudenko though I'm working at work through my recovery period. My sister is at Disneyland with Hannah (sweet angel) and the cruel~~la deville~~-step sisters. I doubt it's raining at Disneyland though it's raining locally. Bella is annoyed that we aren't going on our usual (4) 1 mile walks throughout the day. My chest is too congested though I hope my condition improves (soon). I would rather walk a mile than be sickly which proves once again that I'm actually sick.

Sunset view from our balcony

Ahi poke

Hawaii was great. Our hotel was a block from the beach. We had some good meals. I drank wine. Food is very expensive. I ate a lot of fish, mostly seared something or other, ahi poke. I seriously wanted to eat a whole pupu platter though only because I'm such a kid when it comes to pu. With the gastric bypass (shrunken stomach surgery), I had to forego eating a lot of things that I would have liked to eat (a whole pineapple, shaved ice). This is simply (or complicatedly) part of my path ~~illness.~~

We spent good times with Danny. We toured the north shore of O'ahu by car and stopped at a temple, visited a shrimp truck, stopped to watch the surfers at Sunset beach. The beaches are absolutely phenomenal, the water all shades of blue. The weather could not have been more pleasant.

On the "booze" cruise

I thought this might be my last visit (before I croak - whenever) though with this visit, I am rethinking that plan. January and February have got to be premium months for people who like moderate temperatures, Me. We hiked to Manoa Falls. I was a sweaty mess near the end of the hike and I hated my son for suggesting the hike. I was expecting a lot of water though more water was pouring off my neck down my back than over those falls. We walked a lot, touring through Chinatown (quickly) and seeing the new Trump Tower.

We went on a booze cruise our last evening in O'ahu. The cruise people played great music (if you're young and drunk). We watched a pod of humpback whales surfacing, blowing and diving. The sunset - another gorgeous display.

Humpback whales with Waikiki in the background

Not a whale

P.S. All photos taken by me except the last photo was taken by Danny.

Quickie

2011-02-06T17:00:00.000-08:00

I am in Waikiki with mom, visiting Danny and mostly eating fish for meals not including the cookies from the Honolulu cookie company. I've not gotten into a bathing suit though it seems that there aren't many rules for suiting up here. earlier today we hiked to Manoa Falls and we were drenched in sweat. it was the longest, most "strenuous" hike I've done in easily 20 years unless you combine all of the walking I've done combined in that same amount of time.

I miss Bella mostly. Hannah doesn't even know I'm gone. All of my photos are on Facebook so far and inside my camera. we went to the north shore yesterday and watched surfers. some of those young men are very tan.

Please excuse all the errors. I'm using mom's iPad. The keyboard is aa bitch.

Me and Bobby

2011-01-31T17:01:00.000-08:00

Bella sniffing for other dogs (if you get my drift)

On a beach drag with Bella. Notice I have the camera?

I met with my cancery friend again last Saturday morning. We took photos of ourselves together though I don't feel I can post the photos without asking her permission. Plus she's about 10 years older than I and I look ten years older than she is. Why would I want to post ~~more~~ unflattering photos? We had a good visit. She said she wants me to come by her place and pick out some items of hers that she won't be taking with her. I told her I felt honored though mostly I feel sad. I will be seeing her more, at least a few more times per month.

I got to see Hannah over the weekend also. Seeing her was the highlight of my weekend. She spent some time in my car while we were driving from one place to another. The entire time Hannah was kissing Bella telling her how much she loves her. If I were the jealous type I'd be in trouble. I'm really happy that Bella doesn't eat Hannah or vice versa.

Hannah and I watched a bobcat eating something smaller (than us) in the backyard. I nicknamed him Bobby though Hannah was not having any of my "Let's go pet the nice kitty!" routine.

This Too Shall Pass

2011-01-28T10:21:00.000-08:00

I've been thufferin with issues that belong to other people.

I've had a blogger friend suddenly die of breast cancer and two friends with metastases. My coworker, Matt, (I wrote about Matt for Livestrong Day 2010) has brain mets and had to be life-flighted by helicopter to surgery. He's doing well now. He had just returned from Disneyland and wants to go to Hawaii.

The female client with which I've been peer-counseling through Womencare found out she has lung mets. I read her path report and the contents of the report took my breath away. I saw her last Saturday and will see her again tomorrow. She figures she has about 6 months to live. There is no chemo for her type of cancer except she's been on a clinical trial.

Matt gave permission to show his head.

I've sort of felt like the wind fell from my sails. Try as I might, I can't find a lot of humor in this news. My attempt at a joke with regard to Matt was that the surgeons had a tough time locating his brain. Matt laughed and so did his wife, Julie. (Julie concurred with me.)

Mostly a person can't laugh this stuff away, no matter how much I want to do just that. Give me time. I'll think of something.

Hawaii is this next week. Bella and I have been doing good aside from other people's disasters.

She Ain't Heavy

2011-01-18T15:50:00.000-08:00

I watched part of a television episode of the docu-reality show Heavy last night on A&E. Though I am no longer ~~that kind of~~ heavy, I can, and will always relate to these folks suffering. In one of the first segments of the show the producers flashed a sign across the screen that read something along the line of lymphedema is caused by extreme obesity which I thought was really careless of them. That is my paraphrase, however, when I read their statement, I was annoyed. I was not born an obese baby yet I was born with lymphedema as are many people on the planet. You don't have to be fat to have primary lymphedema and you don't have to have lymphedema to be fat. These TV people, whoever they are, pretending to be the font of knowledge (my projection onto the TV gods) need to get their facts straight. ~~Everyone knows that lymphedema is caused by aliens.~~ If you're doing a television show where the obese have pannus of lymphedema hanging from their legs, at a minimum use that moment to inform correctly. The National Lymphedema Network has a page dedicated to the causes of lymphedema.

The TV show should have posted the following statement ~~after asking for my opinion~~ (IMHO):

Lymphedema can develop when lymphatic vessels are missing or impaired (primary), or when lymph vessels are damaged or lymph nodes removed (secondary).

Of course, being obese doesn't help ones lymphedema and having lymphedema doesn't assist with obesity anymore than either of those conditions helps a heart condition, ones predilection to diabetes or a thong fitting properly. Where obesity plays a part in lymphedema or vice versa, is when the lymphatic vessels have been overwhelmed and/or damaged by excess weight gain. Don't take my word for this. Consult a real doctor. I only play one in my mind on occasions.

I weight 187 (at 5'8") which probably sounds (to some folk) like I still have pendulous blobs (pannus) of lymphedema hanging off my body though I've reduced my own leg lymphedema by a third easily or more since having the gastric bypass surgery in June 2010. I do not have measurements, only pants. I now have what "the others" refer to as normal-looking legs. The pounds come off more slowly now though they are still coming off. Again, I have no regrets about choosing the surgery to gain better mobility as I age, the increased energy I experience has been phenomenal, the ability to pick myself up should I fall, is reward, and fitting into much smaller clothing. Anyone who says gastric bypass (or weight loss surgery of any kind) is the easy way out (which you hear all the time because I guess we're supposed to keep on suffering - all together now) can kiss my much-skinnier-than-their-ass. Dieting, occasional binge eating, the constant obsession with food, and beating myself up for failing and flailing was the easy way out (aka death) at a much younger age.

I'm preparing for a trip to Honolulu. My son lives there though -- get this...he's moving back to the mainland about a week after I return from visiting him. By that time I'm going to be sick of him. I mean, if I have to pick him up at the airport, I'll cringe. I'm hoping he'll phone a friend or call a lifeline. Maybe he'll take the cash cab.

I'm not taking Bella with me so can she stay with you? Let me know how you want to arrange for my sending her to your place. She has a lot of toys, balls and chewie things, plus a crate.

I'm going to Honolulu with my mom. She's currently wintering in San Felipe, Mexico. She'll fly back to N. Calif and we'll fly out of San Jose to Honolulu where we'll stay at the Hilton Waikiki Prince Kuhio in a deluxe ocean view room complete with breakfast. (I'll pilfer fish to eat throughout the day.) We get an official lei greeting at the airport.

This may be my last opportunity to visit Hawaii in this lifetime so I'm considering bucket list-type items (lei, drink on the deluxe, ocean view veranda, umbrella in drink, muu-muu fitting, breakfast with Dog & Beth, ~~torture session~~ exercising with Gilad) The lei greeting..., well, my prospects for getting lei'd otherwise are slim.

Move 'Em Out!

2011-01-14T16:50:00.000-08:00

I drove to and then walked at the beach in Rio Del Mar prior to going in to work today. I met my sister who brought me a steaming hot cup of coffee that tasted more like I should be sitting ~~on my ass~~ down to take in the splendor of this cup of joy instead of ~~being dragged by a leash~~ taking the dog for a walk in the dark, in thick morning fog.

The whole point of my walking is to exercise the dog so she will rest which when you think about it is quite a vicious circle. I have a dog. She needs exercise. She needs to sleep. I need to walk her so she gets exercise and so she'll be tired enough to sleep. It's a trick! If I were not a dog owner, I'd be at home asleep but instead, I'm out in the fog on the sand with my sister and my dog, gazing toward sunrise. The only folks out that early are the homeless guy who lives in his Vanagan and a bicycling garbage picker who carries a big plastic bag that increases in size with each stop. There are also a few invisible women in their 40s and 50s but since we can't see them, I won't include their details here. Suffice it to say, invisible women need their exercise too so their children can see them when it comes time to put them in a rest home.

I started writing this post just around lunchtime. Hannah drove up in the back seat of her Grandma's car. I stopped writing. I tried to get Bella and Hannah on my lap for a photo but Hannah was having none of it and Bella, well, she was being Bella. I can't win with these two. We all went for a walk down the hill.

Exercise is finally more important than some things. It helps to be able to move. Moving a smaller body makes the whole exercise experience easier. Maybe that's why I was so rebellious toward exercise in the past. It was a lot harder to move the whole herd than it is to move one animal.

Beach Bunnies

2011-01-10T13:00:00.000-08:00

Saturday I went with Bella ~~(the hun)~~ and met my sister for coffee. Sister phoned Hannah's mom to walk over to the coffee shop to join our klatch. Hannah's mom brought Hannah and the younger of the wicked step sisters. When the girls came within sight of the coffee shop, Hannah started calling out Bella's name. Hannah hadn't seen Bella in a month so Hannah seemed excited to rekindle their 5 year old girl/dog friendship. From across the parking lot to where my sister and I were seated outside of the coffee shop,in the cold, buried under hats with hoods up, scarves, gloves, and contemplating getting the car cover out of the trunk to throw over our legs, the scene looked was reminiscent of two young lovers running towards each other on the beach only with one of the lovers on a leash with a dog toy.

After our coffee ritual, we drove to Rio Del Mar to walk - down and past the cement boat, chasing sandpipers and seagulls most of the way to New Brighton. The sun was shining, all was right with the world. Bella and I went back to repeat the beach walk again on Sunday, and again this morning at 6:30 a.m. just as the sun was coming up.

I'm going to do this more often. The freedom of movement inside this much smaller body of mine is remarkable. Almost no knee pain. No hip pain. The only pain if you can call what I feel pain is from actual movement, like eventually my legs go "ouch." A few times I would jog on the sand. My once upon a time (though no longer) plumpity plump sister running up behind me shouting "Are we running!?"

And yes, we were.
It feels great to be able to run, a simple thing that is not so simple when you are fat.

Dog Eat Dog

2011-01-05T13:12:00.000-08:00

"The dog's agenda is simple, fathomable, overt: I want..."

Caroline Knapp

"As of now, I am in control here..."

Alexander Haig

Bella was with the trainer for nearly three weeks. Of course it rained most of that time and the trainer did not have Bella exclusively (she boards animals too) so she said she would take Bella back for 1-2 weeks time (for free!) and work with her more. The trainer also said that Bella was a pain in the ass and this was due partly to her breed, her age and her personality. I've had this thought that my life was going painfully well for some time now so it makes sense that I chose Bella to enhance my life and along with those fantasy enhancements, I'd get chaos and a complete feeling of dog-owner incompetence.

Bella is much more calm since training. She has not started eating my carpet (again) or climbed up on the kitchen counter since she came home. She sleeps in her crate all night without incident. She sits quietly in her crate at work - not all day long. Mostly she seems calm ~~like a bomb~~, more relaxed and peaceful. My sister suggested that Bella must be on drugs (good idea!) Plus she pees outside all the time, not my sister, but Bella. Before she went to training, I'd take her out to go potty and we'd mull around for 15 minutes while she sniffed at the air and told me in so many dog words to eff off. I'd take her inside and she'd pee right inside the door, usually within seconds. Now all I have to do is take her outside and say "go potty"and she squats within a minute or less, and at least pretends to pee which thrills me no end.

I have been (for two (whole!) days) walking Bella around 6:30 a.m. (Not part of any resolution). The sky is mostly dark at that time (although I've been waking up around 4:30 a.m. so by 6:30, it feels like lunchtime.) Suffice it to say this time of the morn, the brightest objects are stars and (of course) inside my head, the radiant repartee, while the flashlight I carry specifically to guide our way into the darkness casts a faint orange glow. A cigarette would light the forest more brilliantly. Remember, we've no streetlights out here. The sky is pitch black unless the moon is up.

We won't be visiting the dog park much, or going to the dog beach, nor for the time being, visiting with the dogs that live downstairs. There is too much calamity involved, too much unpredictability. Attempts at training Bella when she's ~~alone~~ around other dogs have been fruitless. Once she gets revved up there's no stopping her until she's exhausted, and in some cases, been attacked by other dogs. Exhaustion is okay if that's all it is. But other dogs attacking and pummeling, teach Bella to attack and pummel. Believe me, Bella does not need attack and pummel lessons. (I want to be the pummeler in our relationship.) I don't want a dog with aggressive behavior. I want a fluffy, sweet, lapdog who loves me unconditionally and gazes into my eyes at night - a tiny, cute dog that poops dollar bills and understands english. (Because I'm delusional) I thought a corgi would fit the bill. The Queen has corgis and the Queen speaks the Queen's english. I want to be able to bring my dog with me when I go places that dogs can go and not have people cringe at the mere thought of a visit from us unless those people cringed prior to my owning a dog in which case, cringing burns calories so cringe away.

So it seems I've got myself into some ~~more~~ drama which means I need to keep some distance so I can see the whole picture, clarify and restate boundaries (more radiant repartee!) remember who's in charge (NOT THE DOG!) and love this dog all at the same time.

Ahh, compared to what I've been through so far, raising and training Bella ~~to poop dollar bills~~ should be a piece of cake squared.

Update on Lymphedema Treatment Act 2010

2011-01-03T14:55:00.000-08:00

Happy 2011!
I have Bella back though she's still a nutjob. I'm serious! Enough about her.

Now that it's 2011 and the new congress is reconvening today by placing roadblocks in front of any progress, below is an update of the Lymphedema Diagnosis and Treatment Cost Saving Act of 2010 (formerly HR 4662).

Heather Ferguson writes:

Because we are in between Congresses, and nothing can be done legislatively until our bill is re-introduced this month I have another VERY IMPORTANT task for everyone to work on…help us gain the endorsement of the American Cancer Society!

SEND TO:

http://action.acscan.org/site/PageServer?pagename=Website_feedback;

http://www.cancer.org/Aboutus/HowWeHelpYou/app/contact-us.aspx

One [link] is the main American Cancer Society and the other is their Cancer Action Network. They are staffed separately so sending [a note] to both will maximize impact. Even if you contacted them in 2010 we need you to contact them again at this time. They have agreed to consider supporting the bill once the bill is re-introduced – so now is the perfect time to urge them to do so! Your request only needs to be a few sentences so please take a couple of minutes to complete this ASAP.

In your correspondence with them, please include something to the effect of:
I hope the American Cancer Society will promptly endorse the Lymphedema Treatment Act (formerly HR 4662) when it is re-introduced in the 112^th Congress.

What and how much you say is up to you, but if your lymphedema is the result of cancer make sure to include the part about the Lymphedema Treatment Act.

This news isn't new - my lymphedema wasn't caused by cancer. It was caused by bad karma. Regardless I'll make sure that I click on the links to both organizations listed above and make my voice be heard (again). I hope congress isn't too busy tapping their toes to help get their job(s) done.

Oops there goes that karma thing again.