The Greatest Gift, Part 2

I mailed the birthday card on my last day in the office before The Awesome Husband and I left for vacation.  This was intentional ... if I'd done it sooner, I knew I'd be watching the mail carefully (likely TOO carefully) for a possible reply and would, no question, slowly drive myself to wonder if I'd made a mistake by reaching out at all.  I *HAD* let her Christmas card go unanswered for 6 months after all.  It was totally possible that I'd missed my opportunity.

We started by visiting my parents and largely avoiding the July 4th holiday.  The next morning, we drove to Monterey, stowed our bags at our hotel and visited the touristy places.   I'd remembered a specific on-the-wharf place that had amazingly tender squid dishes, and we found it with very little trouble.  The service was great but, sadly, the food was not as good as my memory told me.

We were driving back to the hotel when The Awesome Husband saw a storefront that he wanted to take a photo of.  One of the major dinners we'd enjoy while on vacation was in Yountville at a private outdoor table at a well-known destination for food-lovers - The French Laundry.  The storefront that had been spotted in Monterey was the Del Mar French Laundry and a far cry from where we'd be dining.

The Awesome Husband asked me to pull over and I managed to drive behind the rather dilapidated building and waited while he walked around to the front to take the picture he'd upload to our fellow diners, as a laugh.

I must have been charging my cell phone because when it rang, I didn't have to hunt for it.  I checked at the display to see if I knew the caller and ,while the number was unfamiliar, the area code was not.  I answered it right away, figuring it could be any of the hotels we would be saying at, restaurants we'd be visiting or (possibly) the REAL French Laundry calling to ask about a few special requests I'd made on the sly to surprise The Awesome Husband as a belated birthday gift.

"Hello?" I answered, in my best business voice.  "Hello - Julie?  It's Karin."

My throat tightened and I blurted out "my God it IS Karin!  Happy Birthday, Karin!!!"  In true fashion, she brushed off that it was her birthday and wanted to know - honestly - how I was doing.  She didn't specifically ask about my Parkinson's, but I knew that's what she was asking.  In the flurry of conversation that followed, I learned that her oldest daughter was a teenager, that her parents and siblings were all visiting per her father's request for his 80th birthday and she was hoping we had a spare space in our travel plan to visit them.

It was about this time that The Awesome Husband came walking around the corner, having successfully taken his photo.  Karin and I came up with a plan for a visit Sunday morning, and as we said our goodbyes, the tears started to really flow.

Oh it was just awful.  I would *just* start to get it together, and then I'd think about how much time I had wasted, how much of a coward I'd been, the amount of pain I'd caused ... and I'd be right back to being a big, snotty mess.  For those of a certain age, you may think about watching Mary Tyler Moore on the Dick Van Dyke Show, where she played the part of Laura Petrie.  Laura had a cry that was funny to watch but  heartbreaking to listen to.

And it wasn't just the 6-minute drive back to the hotel.  It was literally HOURS.  We'd be unpacking or researching our next location to visit and I'd feel this wave of guilt and love and forgiveness and ... it would start all over again.  So my hope was that I'd get myself composed over the next day and a half.  It'd be nice if I wasn't a total basket case when we visited.

The Greatest Gift, Part 1

I won't do this justice.  It may take me several efforts before I capture this correctly.  If (ok, WHEN) I decide to try this again, I'll just name it "The Greatest Gift, Rewrite".  Here goes ...

*************************************

I've always made friends easily.  I can make small talk to break the ice with the best of 'em, and from then on, it's mostly a matter of being interested and active listening.  If we don't hit it off, hey - no harm, no foul.

As for friends who really REALLY know me (and whom I'm not related to or married to), that's another matter.  There's Tim, for sure.  We hit it off immediately and have been great friends ever since.  But even that's not going back to my school-age days.  No, school-age friends would number five.  And school-age friends whom I kept in contact with well after graduation would number two.  And school-age friends whom I kept in contact with until I moved East would number one.

And when I write "school-age", the five would be from high school.  And the "post-graduation" two would be the five from high school minus the three who moved away, got married, went to college or whom I just lost touch with.  And those two?  I have known since Kindergarten.  So for REALLY close school-age friends, we're talking about - no exaggeration - a forty-year friendship.

Of those two, one started making really bad choices and decisions and I was finding myself feeling dread when she'd call.  She asked me to do favors for her that I was pretty uncomfortable with and, when things came to a head one day, instead of being sad at the loss of a very long friendship, I found myself feeling ... relief.  The person I had been friends with for so long had changed so dramatically and became someone I would have likely never wanted to know.

But the other one?  I introduced her to her husband, whom I was friends with in a different circle.  I met their firstborn child when she was less than 48 hours old ... and I held their second child at hour 8.  I had my doubts that our friendship wouldn't change with the addition of her having children - and yes, it DID change - but we could still be our goofy selves.  We could still have talks on the phone (something a lot of parents simply cannot achieve due to the constant interruption of a child in need).  She was still interesting and funny and had interests that didn't involve children.

So when it came time for me to move, I spent the days packing or shipping or finding bubble-wrap and crafting, in my head, a way to somehow say I was leaving.  And - I failed * every * single * time*.  It wasn't as though we talked every day or saw each other every week ... but the idea that I wouldn't have the ability to see her at the drop of a hat made me feel ill.  And when the time came?  I chickened out.  I bailed.  I slunk away and when I DID finally call to say "hey - new address!!", I hung up afterwards knowing I had deeply hurt my closest friend and would likely never hear from her again.

When Christmas arrived a few months later, I received a card from her parents ... but not from her.  I sent one, holding out hope that I had simply misread her reaction to my move - and my not telling her face-to-face about the move - but deep down, I knew what she likely was feeling.  After all, 35 plus of friendship had BETTER teach you how to read the other person.

And then life got complicated.  The search for employment took about 11 months longer than I'd expected, the Awesome Boyfriend became the Awesome Live-In Boyfriend, I became employed again but needed to learn a whole new sector (from technology to education), and - just for added drama - there was, of course, my Parkinson's diagnosis.

Each year, without fail, I would get a Christmas card from her parents with a note that would say something like "hope you're doing well", or "haven't heard from you" or "miss your updates" ... but what was I gonna say?  I'd send them a card, too, but .... well how would YOU write "love my job, gonna get married, have Parkinson's, happy new year!"?  So I simply would write my name and send it off, knowing they deserved better.  Knowing she deserved better.  And there I was - in the foreign situation of really not knowing how to break the ice.

Christmas 2012 came around and, out of the blue, I opened a photo card to see the smile I'd known since walking into Mrs. Denzer's Kindergarten classroom.  I stared at the card, studying the familiar ornaments on their tree (knowing she was alright with random decor placement but that such a thing would keep him up at night) and, still in a daze, flipped the card over to see a whole page of text!  Ages and hobbies of children, vacation news, job updates, boards and committees she was on ... not personalized to me but I drank it in, sat back, and ... cried. I still didn't have any way of writing "love my job, got married, have Parkinson's, happy new year!"  I made a mental note to reach out when I was able to write something informative, sensitive, comprehensive, and not pity-inducing.  This was gonna take some time.

It would take me six months to work up the courage, and two hours to write a Reader's Digest of my life without her in it.  With our birthdays being 12 days apart and with Summer Vacation looming, I purchased a card, folded my two-page letter (which I boldly included my email and phone number and a note we'd be visiting my parents for the next two weeks), sealed the card, and dropped it in the mail.  I went home and packed for our travels, not mentioning to the Awesome Husband what I'd done, so as to save myself from any embarrassment should she not call or write.

My Family Tree Must Have Knotts

This was the year we weren't going to jam.  Last year - we couldn't possibly duplicate that effort.  Over 40 flavors and more than 420 jars ... *whew*.  Sure, we raised something like $2,300 for the Parkinson's Disease and Movement Disorders Center - I'm VERY proud of that - but still, 2013 was gonna be our year off.  We even booked two weeks of travel that involved the weekends we traditionally jam.  2013 - Travel.  NOT Jam.

I blame the visit to the open air market.  And the plums that were there.  They were ... perfect.  Deep color, no soft spots, amazingly fragrant.  I can't speak for the Amazing Husband but that's when I started to crumble.  My own mother was of no help.  "The Blackberry Vanilla.  Definitely my favorite.  Looking forward to more of that next year."  Terrific ... THANKS Mom.

We returned home (after astonishingly good AND not-so-good meals, overwhelming kindnesses by total strangers and a renewed friendship ... I'll write more about those experiences in due time) and unpacked.  The plums weren't foremost on my mind, as there was plenty to be done that DIDN'T involve jamming.  Like - sending jams to old dear friends.  The packing, wrapping, labeling .... all second nature really.  And heck, we HAD jars still from last year.  We had flavorings.  We had everything but fruit.

"Ok well", I started, "we can make Blackberry Vanilla and ... and ... maybe Strawberry something.  Nothing overly detailed or messy.  Strawberry Pomegranate, maybe."

And then there was the purchase of more jars.  "I picked up 7 more packs", said the Awesome Husband.  I was just as bad, managing to buy 6lbs of cherries when I went to the store (forgetting the lemons I had intended to buy in the first place).

Soooooo this last Saturday, in the year we WEREN'T gonna jam at all, we made 5 flavors packed away in 52 jars.  And today?  Today when I was gonna lay low and try to let my body adjust to new medications and crappy sleep cycles and boring days at work?  Today I purchased 12 more packs of jars (plus 2 packs of quart-sized ones ... ya' know, just in case).  And I noticed my local farm has announced the arrival of peaches.

I think I should research my family tree ... see if there are any "Knotts" or "Smuckers" in it.

Newsworthy?

Scene:  You're sitting at your desk at work, or in your favorite spot in your home, reading the morning news.  The headline that grabs you reads

"Guy: 'Incredible' support"

Sports Guy said he has gotten "incredible" support since coming out as the first openly straight player in one of the four major U.S. pro sports leagues, and hopes he may have made the path easier for others to follow.
 Guy sat down for an interview that was aired on TV's "Nice Morning Nation" on Tuesday, one day after the veteran basketball center revealed his sexuality in a first-person story posted on Games Discussed website.

"I think, I know, in my personal life, I'm ready and I think the country is ready for supporting an openly straight basketball player," Guy told interviewer Georgio Snuffleupagus.  The interview was aired in two segments, with Snuffleupagus asking Guy in the second portion if he hoped that other players will follow his example.  "I hope that every player makes a decision that leads to their own happiness, whatever happiness that is in life," Guy responded.  "I know that I, right now, am the happiest that I've ever been in my life."  Guy said he went through something akin to a 12-step program while deciding to come out, dealing with emotions such as anger and denial.

"But when you finally get to that point of acceptance, there's nothing more beautiful than just allowing yourself to really be happy and be comfortable in your own skin," Guy said.

Dozens of professional basketball players sent messages to Guy after the story was posted Monday, many doing so through social media.  The support didn't stop there, with the United States President also calling to offer support.  "It's incredible. Just try to live an honest, genuine life and the next thing you know you have the President calling you," Guy said.  "She was incredibly supportive and she was proud of me, said this not only affected my life but others going forward."

Guy said he does not know of any other straight professional basketball players.  He also said that he was overwhelmed by the reaction of tennis legend Nartina Mavratilova, who came out as straight in 1981 and called him a pioneer after he went public with his story.  "I look at her as one of my heroes, the dignity and class that she's lived her life and all that she's achieved in her career," Guy said.  "She is my role model.  Hopefully going forward I can be someone else's role model."

Guy averaged 1.1 points this season for the Massachusetts Scots and the DC Worlocks.  He will be a free agent this offseason, and plans to continue his career.  "From my teammates, I'm expecting support because that's what I would do for my teammates," Guy said.  "A team is like a family, a brotherhood.  And I'm looking at it like we all support each other, on and off the court."

Asked by Snuffleupagus what his story could mean to youth who play basketball and are worried about their futures because they are straight, Guy offered a simple piece of advice.  "It doesn't matter that you're straight.  The key thing is that it's about basketball," Guy said.  "It's about working hard, it's about sacrificing for your team.  It's all about dedication.  That's what you should focus on."

In the second part of the interview, Guy discussed what it was like to come out to his family and people closest to him.  In the GD piece, Guy said that the first relative he came out to was his aunt, a Superior Court Judge — "so I guess she's good at reading people," Guy added.  "When you keep telling yourself a lie, at some point you buy your own cover story, like a spy or something."  His own twin brother had no idea about his brother's orientation.  "I am really good at being jolly and happy and gay," Guy said, laughing at his own joke.  "Maybe he needs to hang out with my aunt a little more, get a discerning eye like she has."

Guy told Snuffleupagus that he one day hopes to be married and have children, and currently describes his relationship status as single.  "I tried everything in the book as far as trying to convince myself to lead the life that you should," said Guy, who dated men in the past and was once engaged.  "Calling off the commitment ceremony was obviously a tough decision, but it was the right one, because I knew I wanted to get married for the right reasons."

*************

 

Not newsworthy, right?

My point exactly.  Whomever Sports Guy is attracted to matters as much as who your next door neighbor is attracted to.  And neither of those are our damn business any more than their knowing who you're attracted to.  And none of that reflects on who I'm attracted to.  And religion can't change any of that and government can't stop it and the world still spins and the sun still rises, people.

 

When ^that^ is accepted, understood and practiced?  THAT will be the newsworthy item.  THAT will be the headline.

Measured in Moments

Seeing you stand, against the railing of the escalator, waiting.  Not in the crowd, but somewhat further back.  Checking for a familiar face  - catching a glimpse of the me you thought I'd be.

Holding you there, just for a moment.  Everything stopped, and then full speed ahead. Getting my bag. Sitting next to you.  Finally.  Meeting your family.  Knowing your stomping grounds.  Seeing your history through your eyes. Talking.  Laughing.  Crying.  Staring.  Watching.  Falling into the ocean.  Sleeping.  Sighing.  Sharing.  Listening.

Our life together is not measured in minutes but by moments.  We have already had so many.  We'll have thousands of thousands of thousands of thousands of thousands more.

Bring it on.

The Yesterday That Wasn't

Yesterday should have been wonderful.  Light-hearted.  Joyful.  Centered around family.

Yesterday all fresh hell broke lose.  Oh, and my family certainly helped.

Yesterday, February 28th, was my parents golden wedding anniversary.  Not many folks manage to make it to this milestone, and there were times when both parties wondered if they'd get here ... but they did. So it is reason to celebrate.  I used my trusted florist and we sent 50 roses of all kinds of color to my parents, who were so pleased that they'll be sending us photos.

Yesterday was also the anniversary of my second year at my current place of employment.  And I really like where I work and what I'm doing.

Yesterday a member of the extended department did something SO damn dumb and SO lame-brained that I really, quite honestly, wanted him fired.  (And, honestly, I still do today.)  This is a power I do not have in my position but still.  This particular individual believes his educational history gives him superiority and he never fails to belittle and/or talk down to those who are TRYING to assist him and yesterday, he screwed up so big *and* failed to own up to it that I really don't know if I'll be able to hold my tongue when I see him next.

Yesterday my work day ended and, as I drove home, I listened to a voicemail message from my sister - a woman who never hesitates to point out her incredible communication skills and tact - and the message pissed me off so badly that even my commute time home wasn't enough to calm me down.  She managed to tell me what had happened without actually saying it.  It was something like "so I guess you know, but if you don't, call me and I will fill you in, but if you already know you don't have to ..."  It made me yell into the traffic with frustration and disbelief.

So yesterday I came through the door of our home and greeted my husband with a verbal vomit of venom.  "Hi.  My Uncle Denis probably died last night.  And one of the department managers had a team member who had items stolen from his desk and, for reasons I cannot fathom because we're all so stupid compared to him, he decided to NOT call Security OR tell the administration.  And my sister is an insensitive moron and no, I will NOT be calling her back."

And, sadly, my Uncle Denis did pass in his sleep sometime during the night.

Yesterday my own Father, a man I love dearly but who has the emotional maturity of a six year old when it comes to family grudges (a trait I'm told he inherited from his father), left it up to my Mother to drive to my Uncle's home to wait with the Sheriff for the proper individual (the person my Father is avoiding) to arrive to ID the body.  On her 50th wedding anniversary.  Neat, right?

Yesterday leaked into today with my sister calling me to say that she's heard from a reliable source (a Cousin whom I'VE never thought to be reliable for anything other than being a drain on his father's patience) that my Uncle's will wasn't what he always said it was and that she was upset "for both of us" that we wouldn't be getting anything tangible to remind us of our Aunt.  (and I reeeeeeally wanted to say "yeah - that's NOT why I'm upset" .... but I didn't.)

"Oh", she added, "I  heard the flowers you two sent were lovely."

Is It Me?

It's been a month of "just" being on my Selegiline.  Each twitch, quiver, shake, shiver ... each cramp or tilt or swerve makes me wonder ... is this new?  Is this a decline?  Is this normal ... or is this MY normal?  Am I losing weight because Winter is fading and I'm eating less or am I losing weight because I'm eating less due to a loss of appetite (a PD Symptom)?  For crying out loud - isn't ok to just not be hungry anymore?!?

There's no way to know.  Imagine if, once a week, you had to report in depth on ...... how your teeth felt.  Are they feeling cleaner today than last week?  Are the spaces in between the same or different?  Is your jaw tighter than it was last Tuesday?  Do things line up the same?

For my PD, that's kind of how it feels when I notice, for instance, that I sit in my chair with my feet flat on the floor and use them to swing my chair left, then right, then left.  Is this a new thing I'm doing?  Am I doing it because I'm AWARE I want to be doing it - or is this a new symptom?  Did I do this last month?

In happier news, the one driving me crazy with all this is me.  The Awesome Husband is either keeping his concerns to himself and/or realizes that anything he's noticing about me I've already noticed and am already wondering about.  Our daily life is wonderfully, marvelously un-large-eventful.   My diagnosis does not consume either of us ... it just simply is there.  It isn't ME.  It's a small part of who I am today and may be a part of who I will become ... but it's not now and will never be all of me.  It is also not us.

I will always ... WE will always ... I dearly hope, be more.

...And Now The Real Test Begins.

I visited, for the last time for awhile, Dr. M yesterday.  It's hard to believe that I've been in his testing program for 44 weeks already.

Dr. M is part of a group of Neurologists conducting a Phase II double-blind study of an already-FDA approved medication that may - or may not - slow or even halt the progression of Parkinson's.  Dr. M's recruitment for the study went very well, but a few of the other nationally-based doctors didn't have as much luck so, while I'm done with the testing period and interested to know what conclusions have been drawn, it will likely be another year or more before that happens. And I likely will never know if I was even ON medication.  Since it's a double-blind study, neither doctor nor patient are told if medication has been given or if it's a bottle of sugar pills.  After Dr. M submits his findings from the study, he'll be told which group took what.  Honestly, I'm not all that interested to know which group of participants I was in.  For me, the real test has just begun.

See the study had various parameters to it that meant only a small percentage of PD patients could be involved.  You had to have received a PD diagnosis, not yet be taking Carbidopa/Levodopa (C/L), and be taking Selegiline for more than 8 weeks but less than 8 months.  Those don't sound like 3 large hurdles but, in reading through past entries here, I realize it took me 3 years to even decide to get my tremor looked at by a doctor.  And then I went to a Neurologist a couple of months later.  And, a month after that, I got my second opinion.  At that stage, I was on C/L (used to confirm diagnosis only) and was still absorbing the diagnosis itself.  I started taking Selegiline in November and Dr. M timed my trial to start about 2 months later, so that I'd be squarely in the 3-hurdle window.  A lot of PD patients don't have access to Neurologists who are actively seeking and testing new treatments, so *if* they researched trials on their own (which I'm told about 80% of them do), there's a high likelihood they would already be outside the 8-month parameter.  In fact, if I hadn't saught out that second opinion, I wouldn't have known about the trial because my own Neurologist isn't really active in the "trial and testing" community of physicians.  (That may read as a criticism, but it isn't.  Her employer is not a "teaching hospital", so she's not required - and possibly isn't allowed - to run trials and tests of new treatment methods.)

What all ^^that^^ means for me is that in the ~64 weeks since my diagnosis, it's possible that I've spent 44 of them on medication which slowed or halted my PD journey, and and additional 4 weeks on C/L, which masked my PD completely.  Or, using the same math, I only know what my non-medicated standard rate of progression is based on 4 months - a time period which included my (and my awesome husband's) absorption of my diagnosis, a few frantic weeks of MRIs and EKGs and blood work and telling my immediate family and my coworkers and OH YEAH getting engaged(!!) and planning Thanksgiving for ~14 family members and dealing with the holidays and shipping packages and ... well, honestly I can't say it occurred to me to note every little twitch 'cause we were just a tiny bit busy.  And I didn't realize that I'd be part of a testing pool so yeah, those 4 months were VERY much a blur of activity.

So my real test starts today.  I awoke and got dressed and ready for work and it dawned on me that I now take 3 less pills each day.  (Yes, I still take 13 pills in the morning and 4 at lunchtime but 17 IS less than the 20 I was taking so hey, it's a little victory but it's still a victory!)  Today I am aware - maybe a little over-aware - of each twitch and shake and motion I make.  It is, of course, about 50 degrees in the office and I'm practically sitting with the space heater in my lap, but at that temperature, we're ALL shaking just trying to keep warm.

But today I'm "only" on Selegiline for my Parkinson's ... so what's my progression rate and how "bad" am I?

Time will tell.

Bears Do NOT Use Toilets

One semester in college, I took a course in advertising.  I wanted to learn the basics of why we see (and hear) what we hear (and see) on television.  I don't recall why I chose this exact course, perhaps my parents had said something about me watching too much TV.  (If they didn't, they should have.)

All these maaaaany years later, I still notice more about advertising because of that course.  I notice colors, sooundtracks and actions that subtly (and not-so-subtly) drive home the message we're supposed to get.

So when I see ads that show cartoon bears who don't shit in the woods and have problems using toilet paper, I make a note to never, ever buy that product because I find their line of advertising distasteful and stupid.  There were many ways they could've gotten their message across - this wasn't a good choice.

When I hear ads that feature insipidly sweet-voiced singers telling us to drink their magic pink beverage for an energy boost and they'll donate to the Susan G. Komen Foundation, I get irritated at the overall stupidity of the agency who got the account.  Having lots of energy (and being pink, for that matter) has - trust me on this - NOTHING to do with cancer.

And while we're at it, showing your sports car skidding sideways across the TV doesn't show me how cool and sleek your car is.  It shows me you've designed a product that can go fast and lose control at the same time, even with a professional driver behind the wheel.  So thanks, but I'll pass.

Lately there's been advertising for Microsoft Internet Explorer 9.  I know it's for IE9 ONLY because I just looked it up.  It could have been for a laptop or a video game or an animated series.  Anyway, the ad shows all the cool things you can do, create, watch, post, find, and listen to using their product.  My issue is the soundtrack.  Yes, having  thumping, energetic background music was a good call.  But did anyone in the agency listen to the lyrics?

"And it feels like I am just too close to love you", warbles the singer.  Wait so I'm supposed to LOVE IE9?  We're just being introduced.  And yet I'm already too close and I can't love it?

"There's nothing I can really say", continues the song.  Isn't IE9 supposed to help me communicate better?  And now I can't say anything at all because I'm too close?  Or don't love it?  Wait- what?

"I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more, got to be true to myself".  So letsee - pre-IE9, I was lying and hiding and faking myself out with other products?  And now, with IE9 (which, again, I'm too close to and can't love) I can be real and honest.  That's convoluted, at best.

"And it feels like I am just too close to love you, so I'll be on my way" which very much makes it sound like I don't get to use IE9 and I'm walking away without it.  The exact opposite thing the advertiser wants me to do.

While it's not part of the advertising being aired currently, later in the lyrics is "I must leave without you.  You know we're headed separate ways."  Nice going, Microsoft - way to get your customer base locked down.

Now the old Meow-Mix ads ... THERE was some great advertising.  Gosh, those were talented felines ...

A Message To Those Who Ran

This morning marked the first time (in a long time) that I didn't hear any ads for "Prop. X" or "Re-elect Senator Smith", etc.  I realize that there were folks in the US that had such ads for nearly a year.  Those people are easy to spot in a crowd - they're dancing with glee in the silence of the morning.

I did my best to avoid the debates and the proclamations and the cheap shots and the out-and-out lies.  It wasn't easy - especially  toward the end where it was all the news reports would cover.  (Don't get me started on "legitimate rape".)  And just when it couldn't get any stranger, someone angered that thing on the top of Donald Trump's head, which woke The Donald up.  (Whomever is responsible for that should just leave the country quickly and quietly.)

I'm enjoying the peace this morning.  This is not at all what I expected.  I anticipated teams of lawyers and hanging chads and finger pointing.  I expected recounts and recalls and ... and I'm just so glad that's not happening.

I do, however, feel compared to say the following to all who ran for any post in any facility at any level:

You spent time, energy, probably money, and brain power (all not necessarily your own) coming up with plans of action and designing solutions to situations that our country, our states, our cities and townships face.  Homelessness.  Out-Of-Control National Debt.  Equal Rights.  Economic Cliffs.  Job losses.  Benefits cuts.  You - or someone whose message you approved - said you had the answer.  You knew the path to take.  You had it all figured out.  You stood there, with the American Flag pinned on your collar and the National Anthem blaring from loudspeakers, rallied the troops and promised you had found the light at the end of the tunnel for this country you love so much.

It's November 7th.  The confetti has been swept from the floor and the banners have been taken down.  Those problems I listed still exist and you, whether you won or lost, still have the answer.  If you won, you now owe it to those who voted you into office to implement your brilliant plan.  No excuses,  We, the people, hired you for this task and we'll be reviewing your progress regularly.  And if you lost?  Well, if you lost, you now have a choice to make.  You can either share your solution with those who can put the wheels in motion, saving your beloved country, and you'll be the hero who did what those in office couldn't do.  Or you can keep your solution as your own secret weapon for the next election, while the problems continue to grow and your beloved country continues to flounder.

The choice was ours.  The choice is now yours.

Damn You, Opie.

It's all Ron Howard's fault.

"Parenthood" is one of those films I can watch everytime it's on.  If you don't like Steve Martin, don't worry - it's got Tom Hulce.  Don't like Mary Steenburgen?  The next scene has Dianne Wiest.  Can't relate to the "perfect yuppy" family? Wait 'til you see what one of the kids finds during a blackout and you'll realize that NONE of these families have it all together.  Just like real life.

So when I heard that "Parenthood" was gonna be made into a TV show a few years ago, I was ready to watch.  Sure the families were different and the actors and characters had been changed but Ron Howard was still involved.  I've been watching since the pilot and, while not every storyline is a home run, if you just wait a few minutes, it will change ... just like in the movie.  Just like in real life.

Well, last week I got worried.  It felt like one of the characters was being given a storyline that was gonna feel false and cheap.  A lead character was given breast cancer.  She already has plenty on her plate - a child who just left for college, another with Asperger's, an infant, a very distracted husband - and this new story could've gone horribly wrong.

Instead, as the Awesome Fiance and I watched, I found myself pausing the show and saying "she's feeling like no one is listening", "he should just let her vent and not say anything", "the doctor she sees isn't a debate she wants to have".  And, over the course of the show, the Awesome Fiance started asking me "what's she thinking about now" or "how is she feeling" and, just like the movie did so long ago, it reflected real life.

But - fair warning - if anyone gets Parkinson's, I'm removing "Parenthood" from our TiVo.

A Low "Ha!"

I haven't written much - or, really, at all - about the incredible two week vacation that the Awesome Fiance and I took this summer.  We've been back for over a month now so it's probably time to revisit it.

I could write about the travel experience itself but the airline (I'll call it "Untied") would probably put me on the "no-fly" list after reading my tirade.  I'd have to create new, more descriptive words beyond "dunder-headed ass clown" and "inept corporate maggot" ... and I'm just not feeling all that creative today.

I could write about this being the ONLY time in my life I've actually taken two whole weeks from work for vacation.  Yes, I had a sabbatical, which was 6 weeks, but in all the 29 years I've been employed, I've never taken two solid weeks of vacation.

I could write about the food ... OH.  MY.  LORD.  THE.  FOOD. ... but that'll probably just make me hungry and I probably wouldn't be able to describe some of the dishes to the level of deliciousness they deserve.

I think I'll write about my overall take-away from the first portion of our two weeks.  The "Family" portion.

Ya' know that family you see on occasion when traveling?  Grandparents, grown children, grandkids ... dining together, smiling and laughing, posing for goofy photos, etc?  The clan that piles out from the minivan and walks into the mall, maybe wearing similar teeshirts ... or the multi-generational gathering on the beach - a few are reading, some are splashing about in the water, the youngest members are creating elaborate piles of sand?  Well, I was part of that family as a child.  My best friend really did have the perfect family and I spent countless hours as an extended, adopted family member.  Oh, they were SO much better than my real family.

Dad was a teacher, an avid weekend golfer, and liked to take rides on his motorcycle.  Mom, also a teacher, liked to go on walks, spend time with her family, and be outdoors.  Son - the youngest member of the family - was into all things bicycle.  Daughter - my best friend - was everything I wasn't ... graceful, very pretty, delicate.  They'd include me on short weekend getaways and I'd see a family who REALLY enjoyed being together.  Parents who had conversations about news and politics and things that didn't involve work or animals or relatives.  Children who played nicely together and went to the movies together - not because they were told to but because they wanted to.  For me, it was surreal.

It was also fake.

I know now that my seemingly perfect adopted family ... was not.  Dad, it seemed, waited until the children were grown and on their own, and then got on his motorcycle and rode away.  Mom developed an eating disorder and handled her divorce as 'tho everything was fine when, clearly, it was not.  Little brother got married *WAY* too young but to a wonderful woman who nursed him back to health for a year after a very nearly deadly motocross accident.  And best friend, who had aspirations on being a psychologist, instead became a grumpy, gloomy, unhappy stay-at home mom who shielded her own small children from their "awful" Grandfather ... even as she herself continued the cycle of cheating on - and eventually leaving - her own spouse.  I stopped being a part of her life after her second child.  We just didn't have anything in common anymore and I got tired of trying to set up the lunch date that clearly was never to be.  We had a mutual friend who kept me updated on her activities and, last I heard, her two oldest children asked to move in with their father because they were tired of being told how awful both he AND their own Grandfather was.

*******************
So while, as a child, I had my seemingly perfect family and my real one, as an adult I knew that my real one was so much better than "perfect".  It was flawed, but flawed in a way I understood.  The members (myself most assuredly included) were maddening, but in a comfortable way.  We have family logic for the things we do - twisted as it is but it is, at least, logic of some sort.  And, as the airplane drifted towards our family getaway home for the week, I thought that I was ready for the quirks and actions and whatnot that were likely to come ... flaws and maddening members and twisted logic and all.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh I was mistaken.

It's an exaggeration, to be sure, that I spent the WHOLE week closing screens, sliding glass doors, turning off lights, turning on ceiling fans, drawing drapes, turning on the air conditioner, and locking front doors.  It's an exaggeration, certainly, that the week was spent washing the same dishes, clearing the same table, drying the same glasses, closing the same freezer doors, and wiping the same counter-top surface.  It's an exaggeration, yes, that my island time was filled with folding towels and doing laundry and explaining how air conditioning works and sharing that, while I was sorry the upstairs was 76 degrees (aka "super cold") in the mornings, our bedroom was still at 87 degrees at 11pm the night before because no one could be bothered to close a door or shut a window to keep the air temperature at a reasonable number - say, somewhere slightly lower than 80.

It did FEEL like the whole week was like that, but I know it wasn't.

"But remember", you say calmly.  "Remember that you were sharing the house with young children and you're not used to young children."

"And that's very true", I reply just as calmly.  "But what makes you think I was talking about the young children?"

*******************
Ahhhhhhhhhhh but they are my people.  They are my family.  Are they perfect?  Ha!  No.  Thank heavens no, they are not perfect.

I Am Jam. Jam I Am.

I've gone through a *L*O*T* of changes in the past few years.  In fact, it would be accurate to say that changes - both big (my job, home, relationship status) and small (radio-listening habits, wardrobe, beverage go-to) - have been a constant for me.

I forget, though, that quite a few of these changes go largely unnoticed, especially by my friends who are based within my previous hometown.  Many are surprised at my living on the East Coast, or my not working in the sales technology sector.  And most have had NO idea that I have Parkinson's Disease.  As I've written here before, it's not the kind of thing one can just mention as an "oh by the way" sort of conversation topic.  If I knew someone who was diagnosed with PD (or something similar) and they shared the news with me, I'd have follow-up questions and I guess I presume that's true of others, too.  I could be wrong.

I was reminded not of what's changed but what hasn't changed in my life just last night, in a very wonderful way.  We sent a box of FMD jams to Shari, an ex-colleague of mine.  Shari and I worked in the same company on the same floor of the same building - and in the same department - for 3 years or so.  I eventually transferred into another division based in another city and, due to our different locations and job demands, I hadn't been able to keep in contact with Shari as much as I would have liked.  And then I moved and ... well ... we lost touch.  She sees Tim on occasion and, I guess, gets brief updates on me via him.

So it seems Shari's box arrived yesterday, and the receptionist alerted her to the delivery via email.  Shari forwarded me the entire email train, copied below.

*****************

From: Christina B/Reception
Sent: Monday, September 17, 2012 3:14 PM
To: Shari; Richard; Amber; Lindsay; Jeremy; Jack
Subject: Package in the lobby for you

Hello.

You have a package in the lobby.  Please come to pick up at your earliest convenience.

Thank you,

Christina B

*****************

From: Shari
Sent: Monday, September 17, 2012 3:15 PM
To: Christina B
Subject: RE: Package in the lobby for you

Hi Christina,

I am leaving for Korea and be back on Monday.  Can you hold it for me until Monday?

Thanks

Shari

*****************

From: Christina B
Sent: Monday, September 17, 2012 3:16 PM
To: Shari
Subject: RE: Package in the lobby for you

Hello,

Yes of course. We will hold it in our locked closet till then.

Have a safe trip!

Christina

*****************

From: Shari
Sent: Monday, September 17, 2012 3:20 PM
To: Christina B
Subject: RE: Package in the lobby for you

Thanks.  Do you know what it is?

*****************

From: Christina B
Sent: Monday, September 17, 2012 3:22 PM
To: Shari
Subject: RE: Package in the lobby for you

Not really - there's a sticker that says “homemade jam”.

*****************

From: Shari
Sent: Monday, September 17, 2012 3:27 PM
To: Julie
Subject: FW: Package in the lobby for you

Hi Julie,

You are the best!  Did you send me jam?  I am not in the office and asked the receptionist to hold it for me.

Thank you so much!  I am sorry that I didn’t get to see you when you came by.  I always ask Tim about you.  I hear that you are engaged!  Congrats!  I am very happy for you.

I really appreciate you always thinking of us.  Hopefully we’ll connect next time.

Take care,

Shari                                                                                                                                                                               

*****************

Yes, much has changed.  But, comfortingly, I still = "homemade jam".

FMD ... Arriving NOW Across The Country!

Whelp, it's that time of year again.

Over the past couple of days week, we've shipped out 14 22 boxes, each with 6 flavors of FMD goodness.

We have at least a dozen more boxes to assemble and/or ship - some we're waiting on to confirm addresses, others are being held while late-Summer vacations come to an end.

While we've managed to ship out 86 132 jars, we still have more jars in inventory than we even created in all of 2011 ... which is a little crazy to think about.

Just think ... FMD will be arriving to homes in over 20% 27% of the 50 states in this week alone.  That's also kinda crazy to consider, since I'm 50% of the FMD employee base.

I mean - did you even figure there WERE 41 flavors of jams?  And heck - there's still a few fruits we haven't tried yet ('tho, honestly, there aren't too many ... but there's a few).

 Thanks to the other 50% of FMD's employee base, recipes have been diligently kept, so if there are any "out-of-the-ballpark-homerun" flavors, we'll be able to recreate them in the future.

But, for now anyway, we'll keep shipping out the 2012 creations.  Since taste is a subjective thing, I know a few of our creations may better received than others but, overall, I'm a fan of the work we did this year.

 

For now, all we can do is just wait and see what the rest of the country says.

{Updated on Friday 09/07/2012}

The Blame Game

Little Bobby isn't crazy.  He just listens to heavy metal music too much.
Little Janie isn't cruel.  She just sits too close to the TV.
Mr. Smith didn't know what to do because he was neglected as a child.
Ms. Jones didn't mean to be careless but the baby wouldn't stop crying.

Have you ever felt like you were the only responsible person on the planet?

I'll be the first to admit that hindsight is always 20/20 and that judging a situation from a birds-eye view gives one an unfair advantage but geeeeeez I am really getting tired of seeing people NOT stepping up to the podium and saying "this is all on me.  I did this.  I am fully to blame for what happened."

It's so much easier to deflect that glaring hot spotlight.   "This is all on me.  I did this.  I am fully to blame for what happened" is all too often followed by a single word.

But.

"but I haven't slept in more than a week."  "but I didn't FEEL drunk."  "but I didn't think people would believe me so I just didn't say anything."  "but I didn't think anyone would notice the money was missing."  It starts out about someone else getting the short end of the stick but then the responsible party turns the spotlight back on themselves as being the unsung victim.

From mothers to murderers to friends to fathers, from coaches and co-eds, bullies and braggarts, robbers and rapists, and every other kind of so-called "misunderstood" human who has ever gone haywire.  The most miserable wretch ... the lowest form of homosapien ... the weakest link on the ladder that is the genetic code that creates every man or woman ........ they do something incredibly stupid or terrifically horrible and expect to be shown pity or leniency or mercy that they were unable (or unwilling) to show to their victim.

Mahatma Gandhi is credited for saying "an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind".  Gandhi is also credited for this:  "There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall.  Think of it -- always."

If it makes you feel any better, even Gandhi had limits ... this is also his:  "I believe in equality for everyone, except reporters and photographers."

The Cat Burglar

Well it seems we have a cat burglar in our neighborhood.  Not just "in our neighborhood", actually, but in our home.  Right now, in fact.  I can even identify this cat burglar.

We once called him "White Kitty".

Now we call him "Murphy".

Since the great Summer power outage of 2012, Murphy has called our downstairs his home, his bachelor pad, his very own man ... er ... cat cave.  Now that he lives under our roof with us, I've learned a few things about him.

(1)  He's strong.  When I hold Shiloh, I'm aware she weighs more than a cat should, but it's not "solid" weight - it's fluffy and soft.  Holding Murphy feels like you're holding a solid muscle.  He's buffed out.  If he lived on the beach, he'd be working out every day.

(2)  He's inquisitive like cats are, but very timid.  He wants to see what is going on, but it also terrifies him.  He wants to play with his "fish on a line" toy, but the noise it makes freaks him out.  He wants to meet the other kitties in the house, but he doesn't know anything about cats.

(3)  He's VERY nocturnal.  From the time I leave for work to the time I come home, it appears that he sleeps.  He also sleeps from the time I arrive at home until about 9pm.  At 9pm, he's as pleasant, as cuddly, as wonderful as any cat can be.  It kills me that I can't stay up with him until midnight or so just to hang out with him.

************
A weekend or so ago, the Awesome Fiance and I went to our favorite frame shop to drop off some art and then to the store for a few things.  Having just recovered from the power outage, we needed to restock.  Shiloh was, as usual for that time of day, sound asleep in her room.  Tabby had the run of the upstairs and Murphy had the run of the downstairs.  (Caring for three cats that either don't know or don't like or can't be trusted enough to be left together can be a REAL pain.)

We returned a few hours later.  Knowing that Murphy could easily be waiting by the door and could maybe dart outside, I went in first.  After a brief glance at the bottom and top of the stairs to see if it was "Murphy-free", I pushed open the door at the top of the stairs which leads to our kitchen.  I rounded the corner and noticed a bit of Tabby-colored fur.  This time of year, it's not unusual to find a tumbleweed of kitty fur, but as I looked further, I noticed another small fluffy clump ... and then a third and fourth.  "Uh oh" I muttered.  I glanced into the living room, expecting to see Tabby somewhere but, instead was met with a lovely pair of large, bright blue eyes.

Murphy was sitting on the chair, waiting like a character from The Godfather.  He was expecting me.  A glance at his coat seemed to indicate no obvious injuries.  I turned back to the kitchen and was met with a lovely pair of even larger, bright green eyes.

Tabby was sitting under the table.  She seemed to have an expression full of questions on her fuzzy face.  "What IS that?  How did it get in?  What the hell IS that???"  These were good questions.  How DID he get upstairs?  By this time, the Awesome Fiance was in the kitchen, too.  He was ... un-amused.  I escorted Tabby past Murphy (who was still waiting for me while he sat on his chair) and we went to our bedroom.  Tabby was completely pissed off as she stomped by Murphy for a brief exchange of words, but she was, at least, uninjured.  Just upset.  "No seriously - what the hell WAS that thing?" she seemed to continue to ask me as I checked her out and tried to calm her down.

I went back to the living room to Murphy, who had two tiny Tabby-sized claw marks on his nose, and we went downstairs.  I pushed the kitchen door to allow us downstairs and, for a brief second, thought "he opened this??? but ... no ... it's a heavy swinging door.  He'd have to run fast after opening it or it'd start to close on him."  We sat downstairs and, after a moment, Murphy went to a favorite spot to hide away and nap.

************
Since that event, I've envisioned (in almost cartoon fashion) what this must have been like to see:  Murphy cautiously darting up the stairs after he is sure we'd left.  Tabby sniffing under the door and then walking into the living room for a nap.  Murphy hearing Tabby and pushing against the door, not realizing that it'd open and then, when seeing it would, butting his head against it until he flopped through.  The door closing behind him - locking him in and sealing his fate.  Tabby, alarmed by the commotion, re-enters the kitchen and they exchange looks.  Murphy tiptoeing past Tabby, while she yells at him for breaking and entering.  Shiloh waking up and demanding to know what's going on.  Murphy turning his head in Shiloh's direction and then turning to Tabby, who smacks him in the face and squarely on the nose.  Murphy telling Tabby to knock it off, causing Tabby to purposely fluff her fur in an effort to look larger than she is.  Murphy scrambling onto the living room chair, not daring to reenter the kitchen where Tabby is still yelling and not able to hide in the hallway where he's hearing Shiloh.  He sits, trapped in the chair.  Tabby sits in the kitchen, trapped by Murphy's location.  Shiloh, having missed the excitement, is bummed out and goes back to bed.  We return home to witness the aftermath and wonder about the goings-on.

But today, some of it came true in an even funnier fashion.  As I was washing his breakfast bowl out, I noticed a noise behind me.  I glanced to my right and saw the kitchen door swinging closed, and then open again as it was being pushed by a strong, muscular, all-white paw.

Oh he IS a smart ninja kitty, he is.

Go To Hell

It could be worse.
No one is on fire.
No one is shooting at me.
No limbs are at risk.
No lives are at stake.

I embrace that.  Really, I do.  I am now, and have always been, the glass-size-is fine type.  I have found silver linings in the darkest things.  (Health issues?  Thank heavens for well-informed doctors.  Car troubles?  Automobiles are a luxury.  Airplane delay?  Travel is amazing in this century and airports are great for people-watching.  Bad hair day?  What a cute hat!)

Along with a good portion of the state, The Awesome Fiance and I lost our electricity late Friday evening.  It was hoooooooooooooot that day.  We scrambled Saturday morning, calling vets to see about boarding the cats (no dice - no power there, either), rearranged the entire house to move the felines into the basement (yay!  moving hot, angry cats to strange parts of the home is sweaty work!), picked up dry ice for our home (and two others), adjusted our whole weekend plan (more jam-making) and tried to keep our heads on straight.  We skipped dinner (it was too hot to eat) and spent the night in two different homes (notice I didn't say we SLEPT in different homes ... there was very little sleeping where I was due to bouncy kitties and a not-comfortable sleeping surface).  Sunday morning started early with setting up a generator to power the bare essentials in three homes (not including air conditioning unfortunately) and lots of sitting in the dark trying too not notice it was 87 degrees inside the house before Noon.

Oh - and our air conditioner was having issues last weekend, too, so this was the second weekend in a row with too-much in-home heat.

And I drank a big gulp of sour milk (accidentally).  And got chewed up by mosquitoes.  And The Awesome Fiance walked into the corner of a dresser and bruised the heck out of his arm.  And we sweated.  A lot.

By Sunday mid-day, we were done with it.  We went out for lunch and to a bookstore - mostly for the indoor cool air.  We reluctantly headed back home and re-rearranged the feline population, recognizing it was too warm inside for them to be too angry at each other.  The house properly trashed (boxes everywhere, hastily arranged drapes, cardboard blockades in stairwells), we gave up by 9:30pm and tried to get *some* rest.

So of course the power popped back on at 10pm.

Thus began the un-trashing of the house, the un-hooking of the generator, the re-re-rearrangement of the now totally over it felines.  Showers were taken, fans were strategically placed and by Midnight, we were nearly back to normal.  I awoke at 4:45am to relocate the final feline (once the air conditioning had done the trick upstairs) and pretty much was up from that point onwards ... just in time for work.

So go ahead and tell me to be grateful that the power is restored (I am) and that the air conditioning is even available (of course).  Remind me that there huge wild fires eating up a good portion of Colorado (I'm aware of that) and that we're lucky our water service was never interrupted (I agree).

And I will still tell you to kindly shut the fuck up.

Blast From My Past

This is Charlie Horse and Humphrey Hambone.  They were a HUGE part of my childhood television viewing.  This was my second favorite spot ... still trying to find the "honeybees" one.

Anyway, enjoy!

Yay Me!

I done good.

A few years back, for our first birthday(s) "together", I managed to *really* surprise The Awesome Fiance (then known as The Awesome Boyfriend) with a seemingly simple gift ... a lunch box.  It wasn't actually all that simple and involved some pretty good Internet search skills, quick fingers, and putting my trust in the seller of said lunchbox that the item was as pictured.  (It was.)  Anyway, the gift went over well and was greatly appreciated, judging from his reaction and from his writing about his memories with his original lunchbox on his blog.  (Anytime I think I write well, I visit his blog and know I'm not all that talented after all.  I DO WISH HE'D RETURN TO WRITING *ahem* ....... but that's not my decision to make.)

Since that birthday gift exchange, we've had a few occasions to exchange presents - anniversaries, Christmases, birthdays - and I've wished to be able to come to the same level as that original gift.  Which is not to say I've been phoning it in on the gifts I've given, but - for that particular gift anyway - I felt I'd peaked and wasn't measuring up.

I knew what I wanted to do for this birthday for a few months now - upgrade our flights on our Summer vacation.  It was gonna take creativity, a little deception, a LOT of luck, and some financial wrangling.  I mapped out the order of things I'd need to do so that I didn't miss any steps.  One wrong move and I'd wind up with a surplus of airline miles and no way to turn them in ... or, worse, seats but no miles to secure them with.

One random Saturday morning, the airline alerted me via email that the miles were in my account.  The email arrived at something like 4:30am and I read the message at 6am.  I reeeeeally wanted to sleep in but I knew I'd never forgive myself if I screwed this up (plus I didn't really have a backup plan if this fell through) so I dragged myself carefully from the bed and slowly walked from our bedroom to the living room.   Tabby looked at me from her bed as if to scold me for messing up her routine so I quietly sat down and, took a deep breath and crossed my fingers, logged into my airline account to see what, if anything, was available in the way of better seats on our flights.

As it turned out, being awake at that hour worked out quite well.  Seats were requested and granted and fingers were uncrossed.  Now, how to wrap them.  It's not as 'tho anything is done via actual paper anymore.  No one has actual airline tickets ... confirmations, yes but even those are likely electronic.

A quick search of words ("travel" and "folder") brought me to a vendor in Texas who had a collection of 1950s travel-focused items, including original airline-created travel folders.  If one was traveling in the 1950s, one worked with a travel agent, who would issue actual tickets, luggage tags, a fully-customized itinerary and a pen by the airline they'd be using, all bundled up in a folder specific to the region the flight was headed.  It was just dumb luck that the folder was created by the same airline we booked with going to the same area that we'd be venturing to.

From there, I found a few grocery items either associated with or containing the name of our destination, and appropriate wrapping to use to decorate the gifts with.  (I used a tablecloth that had decorations of our vacation spot.  Hey - sometimes ya' need to be creative.)  I swung by a clothing store for a "travel" themed shirt and contacted my local florist to recommend a vendor to provide me with the right flowers.

Well, it all came together.  Last night, The Awesome Fiance experienced his virtual vacation-themed birthday.  Everything worked out great and it was all appreciated.  It may not have been much to open/unwrap, but he mentioned a few times he saw the thoughtfulness I'd put into it and that ... well, that honestly was what I was REALLY hoping for.

We're now 364 days away from his next birthday.  I'll give myself a few months before I start thinking about what I'll do for it.

... And Many Morrrrrrrrrrre!

Happy Birthday to you.

Happy Birthday to you!

 




Happy Birthday Dear Human who caters to my every mewed whim ...

Happy Birthday to you!