May 2007 Archives

I’m running the Race for the Cure on Saturday with my best friends from college. We try to get together at least once per year. Now that we’re all runners, I thought running the Race for the Cure would be a fun reason to see each other. I’d be doing it without them if I had to, but it will be so much better with them around. They, along with my family and my friends Laila and Mary Pat, are the people who truly get me. They take me as I am…they get my sense of humor…they love and accept and support me no matter what comes. I can’t wait to see them.

The other day someone asked me why I’m running. Here is my attempt at explaining it.

I’m running for my friends, for the possibility that one of them, or even I could someday face a breast cancer diagnosis.

I’m running because college taught me the meaning of sisterhood, and the value of working toward improving life for all women, not just the ones who are my friends.

I’m running because when I was 29 I found a lump in my breast. It was just the first of many, many cysts, but it was very scary for me until I got the sonogram and mammogram that proved everything was ok.

I’m running because my high school boyfriend’s mom got breast cancer the summer before we started college. One day she found a lump. A week later, it was the size of a golf ball and she was getting a double mastectomy.

I’m running because of the accomplishment I feel when I finish a race. A year ago, I never would have thought I could run a 5k, but now I know I can. Even better, I know that running the Race for the Cure is not only an accomplishment for me, but for all the people who are helped by the Susan G. Komen Foundation research every year.

For information on how you can donate to the Susan G. Komen Foundation, go here.

I didn’t have high hopes for this holiday weekend. My sister in law was coming back in to town, which generally makes our lives exponentially more complicated and I could already tell there was going to be trouble. I was sure my anniversary was pretty much going to be a non-event (and it was. I worked late, went to the grocery store, visited Nora in the hospice, ate dinner with John at 10:30, briefly debated immigration policy with him, and went to bed.) and it looked like we wouldn’t get any time to relax at all.

I’m pleased to say that it turned out a little better than I hoped, although, sadly not for a very good reason. We bowed out of going to the hospice on Saturday since my sister in law, her husband, and their two kids were there to visit, and I was exhausted. Then, on Sunday, against our better judgment, Nora went home from the hospice. She’s going to be home with 24 hour nursing care, but even so, the only people who think this is a good idea are Nora and my sister in law. The process of picking her up and bringing her home when she is clearly too weak and confused to be out of a medical facility was incredibly stressful. And so then when we got to the house, John and his sister had a truly horrific fight. My sister in law crossed a line yesterday, and I’m not sure she can repair the damage she’s done. She knows it, too.

The upshot is, John and I left his mom’s house yesterday at 11:30 or so and have spent the last day and half totally free of any obligation to go near his sister. Since she’s staying with his mom right now, that also meant we got some time for just us, guilt-free. First time in what feels like forever. We took Seamus for a hike in the woods. We hung out and talked about random stuff. We ate Thai food. There may have been some snuggling. I indulged in a little retail therapy, and bought myself that Dyson vacuum cleaner off my list. Holy crap that thing is awesome! My living room carpet is at least one shade lighter now. It’s like using a vacuum cleaner powered a jet engine.

I also read two books (Sara Paretsky’s Fire Sale and Mark Haddon’s A Spot of Bother, both quite enjoyable) and made some decent progress on a third – Jane Eyre. Can you believe I’ve never read Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights? I recently decided it was time to read them. Jane Eyre is actually a pretty interesting story, although sometimes Charlotte Brontë’s writing style is a little on the florid side. All of the books from that time period are like that, but boy am I glad that our use of language has changed. Can you imagine if I wrote this blog like that? My first sentence would go something like this: “Truly, gentle reader, when I contemplated the coming few days, which in the normal course of events would have been cause for celebration, I did not find myself filled with the prospect of joy.” Or something like that, except I probably should have tried to work in a classical reference of some sort.

Against all odds, we actually had a pretty decent weekend. How was yours?

This week in May has been a fairly momentous one in my life over the last few years.

Two years ago, we closed on our house. Living here and the homeowning experience continues to delight both of us. I highly recommend it.

Three years ago around this time, I came back from a business trip to Las Vegas and started this blog. Well, the first incarnation of my blog anyway. I find it amusing now to look back on how much time I spent worrying about whether or not to start a blog. I don't know why it seemed like such a big deal to me, but it did. Of course I got hooked almost immediately after writing my first post.

And five years ago I got married. I can't believe it has been five years already, although I also can't quite remember what life was like before we got married. John, nothing could be better than being married to you. You are my best friend, my soulmate and my beloved all rolled in to one. No matter what I'm doing, I always know I could be having just as good a time, if not better, hanging out on the couch just being with you. I love you so much, and I'm so glad we got married. Happy Anniversary!

P.S. Yes, that is the same photo I posted last year. My useless printer/scanner, which never prints when I want it to, has now started refusing to scan too. It is now officially a completely obsolete piece of crap taking up space on my desk, and will be replaced very soon. But until then, I wanted to post a wedding photo for our anniversary, and this is the only electronic one I've got handy.

…there’s always a meme. Bluepoppy posted this one today, and said that the first seven people to read it should follow her lead and do it too. Or something like that. I considered sneaking away and pretending I hadn’t seen it, but upon further reflection, decided it was the perfect solution for me at this time. I’ve got a couple of fairly serious posts floating around in my head, to go with the serious turn my life has taken lately. At the same time, said seriousness is wearing me out, and I just haven’t had the energy or the brain power to spare lately. So, without further ado, I bring you seven facts you probably don’t know about me:

1. I had red hair as a baby. Then it went to white blonde, and it has been getting slowly darker ever since. Every once in a while I consider dyeing it red again, because I think red hair looks cool. I think I might make a nice strawberry blonde.

2. Sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly unoptimistic about my infertility, I make lists in my head of expensive trips we can take and ridiculous stuff we’ll be able to buy if we never have kids. It doesn’t really help all that much, because I know I’d enjoy a kid more than a Porsche.

3. I once met Roy Rogers and Trigger at the opening of a Roy Rogers restaurant. Or so my mom claims. I don’t remember it at all. I do remember always loading up on pickles at the fixin’s bar, the high chairs that looked like horses, and the “holsters” of fries. Good ol’ Roy Rogers.

4. I think baby elephants are adorable. I’d like to meet one someday.

5. For a child who was pretty imaginative, I was also fairly uncreative at times. Sure, I was convinced I saw one of Santa’s elves at the foot of my bed, and wrote my first “Nancy Drew” novel in 4th grade. I also named my stuffed animals Teddy (teddy bear) Dog (stuffed dog) and my fluffy white hamster, Snowy. There was a fluffy white cat in my neighborhood named Snowy, so I thought it fit the hamster too. If that cat had been named Pistachio, I bet that’s what I would have named my hamster!

6. My favorite color is blue. No, green. No, blue. And maybe I like Monty Python too.

7. My lucky number is 11. I could give you all sorts of reasons why I like the number 11, but I prefer to leave it a mystery. Lucky and mysterious – that makes 11 even better.

If you’re looking for something to write about, please consider yourself tagged. Just leave a comment so I know to go read your facts. For the lazy or otherwise inspired among you, just give me one little-known fact about yourself in the comments section. It’ll be fun!

Warning: I've had two margaritas tonight, and I rarely drink. I'm not saying this is drunkblogging, but it might just be slightly impaired blogging. Oh, and I've been up since roughly 4:30 in the morning, when a parade of people who were most definitely drunk went charging down my hallway. My body is still on east coast time, and that was all it needed to decide that I was awake for the day. I stayed in bed and kept trying to sleep for a while longer, but I wasn't very successful. So I'm tired and choc full o'booze.

I suck at gambling. I'm theorizing that I have a magnetic field that makes the machines here hate me. Practically everyone I work with on this trip has won money gambling except me. I'm down $46. Other people sit down to gamble and their totals go up and down. They get a little ahead, and then lose a little and so on. Not me. I just lose, lose and then lose some more. We were playing this stupid Wheel o fFortune game earlier, and everyone else got extra credits and got to spin the wheel. I never even got to spin it once! At least If I'd gotten to do some of that it would have been fun, instead of frustrating.

I have $20 more or so that I'm willing to risk on giving this whole gambling thing one more shot, but Vegas is on the verge of losing me forever. I see other people win money, and it looks like a good time. I'd like to to do some of that winning, please.

Hey,you know what is harder when you've been drinking? spelling. Or to be more accurate, typing the words correctly. Sorry for any typos.

I'm about to turn in to a pumpkin again. Hopefully the alcohol will make me sleep deeper and not wake up for the fabulous drunky parade this morning.

Well, I've made it to Las Vegas in one piece. I miss John and Seamus already. I do not miss the hospice, or any of the gazillion stressful things associated with my mother in law's situation. I feel a little guilty about leaving, but it's not like I'm here on vacation. I'm not a Vegas vacation kind of person.

I will say that my room here at Mandalay Bay is pretty nice. There's a flat screen TV and a second smaller one in the bathroom. Nothing says fancy like a flat screen TV in the bathroom. My room is conveniently close to the elevators, which will come in handy when my feet start aching after 10 hours in the booth. That makes up for the lovely view I have of the airport runway. Ok, if I stand at the right angle and crane my neck, I can see the MGM Grand, the Tropicana and the Hooters Casino.

Whew, I'm tired. I'm trying to stay up to be on Vegas time, but I think I've made it as late as I can. Vegas, baby! I'm so money, I'm off to bed at 10:15 pm.

I’m sure this is the most boring blog in the world right now, but this is my life. Get up, go to work, go to the hospice, spend time with my mother in law, come home, eat dinner at 10, try to spend a little quality time with John and Seamus, and then go to bed. Hey, next week I’ll be in Vegas. Maybe I’ll see a celebrity or something.

But I’m not there yet, so this is what you get. Tonight I had a little victory, and since I know there’s a good chance it will be short-lived, I’m going to celebrate while I can. See, I went in to visit Nora with a new strategy and it seems to have worked. When I got there and asked how she was doing today, she said, “You’re going to be angry with me. I want to go home tomorrow.” And I said, “I’m not angry Nora. You know you can’t go home tomorrow. That’s not going to happen.” And then I changed the subject and refused to get into a fight. Amazingly enough, it worked. I don’t know if it will work again, but at least for one night, there was no drama, and just nice conversation.

It was good. Among other topics, I got hear about how she was an air hostess, and a time she went hitchhiking in Germany, and what it was like going to Trinity College in Dublin. I hope it happens again. This is the way I hope the time she has left can be spent with us.

My mother in law is still insisting that she can go live at home by herself instead of at the hospice. I thought we had settled this argument. She can’t cook for herself, or even make a snack for herself. She gets exhausted very suddenly and can’t even manage to sit up in a chair. She needs assistance to walk to the bathroom, or anywhere, really. She gets confused about her medication and has, at various times, either insisted that it was not time for her medication or that she hadn’t had any medication at all that day.

And yet she’s convinced she can manage at home. Never mind that she isn’t capable of feeding or bathing herself. Or cleaning her house or going grocery shopping. Never mind that the steroids she’s on could stop working at any second and she could find herself paralyzed or unable to speak or totally incoherent. Never mind that the doctor told her in writing that she needs 24 hour supervision. Never mind that the burden on John and I would triple with her 40 miles away instead of 12 miles away. Never mind that at the hospice they cook for her and clean for her and keep her company when John and I can’t be there, and provide reliable medical care 24 hours a day, with back up medical care on top of that.

I am so sick of having this argument. I don’t want to be angry and frustrated with Nora, but she just won’t listen. I know part of it is the cancer making her confused and forgetful. And part of it is her natural stubbornness. She’s got it in her head that hospice care is too expensive. Of course, we’d be criminally negligent, not to mention hideously immoral to let her go home on her own when she is this ill, and home health care isn’t any cheaper than the hospice.

And my sister-in-law isn’t helping. Some part of her wants her mom to go home, I think because in her mind that means Nora isn’t really dying. Or something. She was telling me yesterday that we should really get Nora in to the doctor to be reassessed because maybe the doctors were wrong and she had longer to live and the hospice is expensive. To which I say (in my head for now, but who knows when I might snap) “Whatever, bitch. You’re not paying for it.” Not that John and I can pay for it forever, but we are paying for it for now. She knows – somewhere in her heart of hearts, she knows – that the hospice is the best place for Nora, and there is NO WAY Nora could live on her own at home. Which means at the very least, a home health aide, and that costs as much if not more than the hospice.

There are all of these people I want to shout at, and I can’t yell at any of them. So far, I’m just being firm, rational and unyielding, but I have my limits. On top of that, I’m not getting to exercise as much as I should…I’m always exhausted…I have a ton of work to do…my house is a messy, filthy pit…there is so much laundry that it could stage a coup…I have to get ready to go to Vegas for work next week…and I still haven’t bought my mom a Mother’s Day gift.

So, heard any good (or bad) jokes lately? Puns or knock-knock jokes, maybe?

There was a time when the prospect of a two day music festival would have filled me with anticipation and delight. Music is pretty important to me. I spent large swaths of my summers on the lawn at Merriweather Post Pavilion. Later, as my musical tastes grew a little more obscure, I spent a ridiculous amount of time at the old 9:30 Club and the WUST Hall (which coincidentally, is the new 9:30 Club). I was at the original Lollapalooza. It was hot. It was poorly organized. They wouldn’t let anyone bring water in, but they also didn’t have enough vendors selling water. At one point they had to start hosing down the crowd with the water from a fire truck. I was in the section of the crowd that got sprayed by Ice T. And unbeknownst to me, my future husband was also wandering around the crowd, but I didn’t know him yet. I was a mainstay at the old HFStival, starting back when they had it at Lake Fairfax and when it may have even been free.

But now I find myself unwilling to shell out $175 per person for two tickets to the two day Virgin Fest in Baltimore. There are even a bunch of acts playing that I like, including the reunited Police, which is a very big deal to me as a Police fan. Now maybe – maybe – if Regina Spektor and Amy Winehouse and the Fratellis and Velvet Revolver and the Police were all playing the same day I would have gone for it. Instead, John and I considered the time, expense, effort and likely hassles involved in going to Virgin Fest, and decided to buy tickets to see the Police up in Hershey instead. Two tickets for less than the cost of one Virgin Fest ticket, an hour and a half drive, and a visit to the home of Hershey chocolate, plus a Police set that isn’t shortened to fit on the festival bill. It may be my encroaching old age, but I feel pretty good about that decision.

Strike two in my incipient fogey hood – a suspicion of teenagers and vice versa. I went running outside today, and at one point I had to pass a gaggle of teenagers. They had been laughing and talking and yelling out stuff at each other, and then they got all quiet as I went by. I gave them a look, like somehow they were going to start harassing me, and they gave me a look, and then they started laughing when I was past them. When the hell did I get old enough to make teenagers nervous? Sigh.

All the stuff I don’t like about running outside:
1) teenagers giving me the eye (whippersnappers are up to no good, I tell you)
2) bugs
3) I can’t watch TV
4) hills that I can’t control
5) the guy who yelled “whore” out the window at me as he drove by. It’s one thing for my friends to call me a whore. It’s completely different when strangers do it. And why whore, anyway? I wasn’t running naked.

What I liked about running outside
1) I saw a really pretty mallard duck sitting by a pond, and then he went swimming
2) I ran to the grocery store and back. It feels like that much more of an accomplishment somehow, running to a place where I usually drive.
3) I think I ran faster than I do on the treadmill
4) I got to look at all sorts of pretty spring flowers

I actually had a third recent example to illustrate my fogeyhood, but sadly, I’ve forgotten it. I guess we can add senility to the list as well.

I don’t drive a fancy car – just a little six year old Honda Civic coupe. It’s reliable as hell, it is nice and fuel efficient, and it is even a little stylish. But most of all, it gets me where I need to go.

The last few days I’ve been driving my mother-in-law’s car, which is a little Hyundai Accent. It’s actually a much better car than I thought it would be. It is a bit noisy, but the engine is peppy and the car handles well. What’s weird is the way that people react to me in the car.

Over the last two days I have been tailgated more aggressively more often than ever before. More people have whipped out from behind me and tried to pass me on the right only to realize there is a car in front of me and they can’t get around me than ever before. And more people have cut me off than ever before. Now, a) the car is tiny, so I’m positive they can see around me…b) I’m driving as fast as I ever do in my Honda… c) yeah, I drove in Boston for five years, so I know how to guard the position in front of my car like no one’s business. I never get cut off like that.

They must be reacting to the car. People do not respect the Hyundai. I find that so interesting. I’ve stumbled on this little pocket of unconscious aggression that I never even knew existed. I have to admit, I do tend to assume that people driving Buicks and Lincolns are going to drive slow, but that’s based on years of observation. But if those other drivers think I’m going to cower just because I’m in a different car, they are sadly mistaken.

Earlier this year my company was acquired by another company. It’s not scary in any way – in fact, it has opened up some exciting opportunities. One of the changes they made was to go from my company’s fairly stodgy corporate dress code to business casual. Now, the definition of business casual at my company is still quite a bit dressier than many other places, but it is a change, and I’ll take it. However, I’ve been struggling quite a bit lately wardrobe-wise, because almost none of my work clothes fit me anymore. Most of my suits are so big I look like a little girl playing dress-up in her mommy’s clothes. The majority of my pants are starting to look like clown pants. It’s kind of silly, and I’m going to have to give in and buy some new clothes.

But that wasn’t any help to me this morning. So I dug deep in my closet and came up with an old summer dress that seemed like it would be at least presentable. And because the formerly draconian pantyhose requirement has been lifted, I decided to throw caution to the wind and wear the dress with open toed shoes. I had my doubts because my legs are beyond pale, but in desperation, I went for it.

All seemed just fine, until at one point this afternoon I crossed my legs and realized I had a stripe of hair down the inside of my leg that I apparently missed when I shaved my legs the other day. Nice. And very attractive too.

You can dress me up, but you can’t take me anywhere.