You Weren't There, Plain and Simple

Yesterday, I asked you for help so we could maybe help our son.  During our talk, it became clear that you think you are right and that it doesn't matter what anyone else NEEDS.

I realized that if you ever did talk to Jeremy about why you neglected him, your truth would be to blame me.  I told you Jeremy didn't want the DETAILS of our past... and right now he thinks he doesn't want to know why, but eventually, in order to heal fully, he will need to ask you "Why?" I was letting you know my part in neglecting his emotional needs, and giving you the heads up that you needed to get your ducks in a row when and if Jeremy ever talked to you again.



You told me that you've kept the letters that I wrote to you back then as proof of how awful I was to you.  That I demanded child support in order to you to be able to see him, blah blah blah.  That argument is as old as the hills, and back then, it was the tail end of the law and society believing child support = the right to visitation.  It changed to visitation = the child's right no matter what, as it should be, and what I subscribed to MOST of the time myself.  I remember it was usually me and Renee who made visitation happen, most often to "surprise" you for some special occasion.  I remember her calling me to get Jeremy to come for your wedding.  Jeremy was in junior high by then, so I left the decision up to him.  He said No, because you hadn't "invited" him yourself.  He was finally realizing that it was me and your wife who made visitation happen... not you, most of the time. 

You weren't there, and saying it was because I demanded child support is a cop-out.  Showing him the letters is a cop-out.  Blaming me in anyway is a cop-out, because there is NO excuse for ignoring him.  None whatsoever.  Zip.  Nothing.  Nada.  You DID ignore him, and me demanding child support once in a while is just a damn handy excuse for you. 

I know sometimes I did, most probably because the cupboards were bare and it was my last resort to get some HELP from you.  It was also a constant source of contention between my boyfriend/husband and I... he was supporting YOUR son, and you weren't paying child support, ever.  In order to keep the peace, sometimes I would demand. 

You once told me that you would never pay child support because all I would do with it was buy dresses and... something else that I can't remember.  Ironically, I started getting $75.00 a week from the State of Washington's Support Enforcement when Jeremy moved out when he was 18 or 19 years old and I was no longer supporting him.  The only reason I got it was because the laws had gotten better - your paycheck was garnished.  Guess what I did with it?  :-))))

Yesterday, you said sometimes you had money and sometimes you didn't.  I could understand that.  But I didn't get any  when you DID have money, hence that breakdown the one night.  The night I hit bottom was the day you boasted about buying your girlfriend a car.

During our talk yesterday, you also boasted that you would always tell Jeremy the truth.  There was the implied threat of showing him my letters.  I use the word "boast" because of your tone - the superior attitude of knowing right from wrong, and you're the authority on what is right and wrong.

In some countries, it's "right" to mutilate female genitalia.  In our country, it's wrong.  So who's "right", Dan?  I'm being extreme because you are extreme.

I don't CARE if you show our son those letters.  He's been thru 2 divorces - I think he'll get it that people do and say stupid things when going thru a divorce.  Hopefully, he'll understand that we had the added stress of your girlfriend, the pregnancy, the birth of a baby with severe birth defects, and his death.  Hopefully, he'll realize how f*cked up I was, and cut me some slack.

I remember one time you didn't return Jeremy when you were supposed to, and he missed the first day of Kindergarten.  You didn't answer the phone.  I didn't know if you were carrying out your threat to take him away from me, or if you both were dead on the freeway somewhere between Spokane and Idaho Falls.  When I went to the cops, they couldn't do a thing to help me because there was no visitation dates specified on our divorce decree.   I was sick with worry, vomiting in the toilet, triggered by the loss of a child.

My husband hired a lawyer to change visitation to specific times, and you agreed to sign the papers when we met next time in Deer Lodge to exchange Jeremy for visitation.  We met in Deer Lodge.  But you refused to sign them.  So I turned around and drove away with Jeremy.  You followed us, and the way Jeremy looked out the back window broke my heart and I had to stop and let you take him. I don't remember if you signed them right then and there, or if we had to pursue it in court.  The point of the papers was to protect me from losing my child, because you threatened to take him away from me all the time, whenever I showed any signs of weakness about being a grieving, single parent with no money, and because you pulled the stunt of "Kindergarten is no big deal, and I wanted an extra day with my son". 

I Wanted to Apologize, But...

You know... over the past years, since Jeremy's first divorce, I've often had the urge to apologize to you.  For some reason, I could never follow thru.

If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't have equated visitation with child support, but that doesn't explain the fact that I contacted Support Enforcement to tell them Jeremy was living with you and had them erase the back child support, too so that there would be peace in YOUR family about it because my son was going to be a part of that family finally.  They erased about $19,000 worth of back child support. 

Threw away the letters

There is a REASON

There is a REASON why he left Spokane without telling you and why he ignored your phone calls, and why he doesn't call you now. 

This is what I remember...

I remember you leaving us with no food or money in the house.   I was a stay-at-home mom, who wasn't expecting her husband to just up and leave for good, without even trying to fix us.  I remember that you couldn't or wouldn't tell me why.  Even now, I pretend to myself that if I could have just known Why... maybe I could have handled myself better. 

I remember telling Jeremy that "Daddy is coming to see you" and him standing on the back of the couch, looking and waiting for a Daddy that didn't show up most of the time.   And how he would stare out the window, chattering to himself about daddy coming to see him.  And how eventually, I would have to distract him and tell him the words "busy" and "flat tire" and "sick" and "work" and finally, "I don't know" when he cried in my arms and asked me "why?".  He was 18 months, 2 years, 2 1/2 years, 3 years old.  Covering for you, always covering for you cause they say you're not supposed to talk negative about the other parent.

I remember standing next to you in my house when the phone rang.  I remember handing Jacob over to you so that I could go answer it, and almost dropping him, because you recoiled, flinched, winced, shrunk from his being handed over to you by me.  Was it our paralyzed, dead weight of a baby with the possible brain damage or was it me that made you physically disgusted?  I couldn't ask, because I was too busy making sure he didn't fall to the ground between us because you had stepped away as I reached him out to you.

I remember a hysterical fight between us, me calling you late at night, asking you to take my babies, convinced I couldn't do it - I couldn't be a single mother of a two year old and a paralyzed, possibly brain damaged, deaf baby by myself, and support us too.   It was the day I'd found out I had to move out of the preacher's house, because they finally had found a pastor, and I was all "At least you have a house" on you.  It was also the night before having to take him back into the hospital for the first time.   I asked for help, and you said No, and threatened me instead with taking them both away from me for good, when all I needed was a few days so I could find another place to live.  I remember hitting bottom that night and shutting down, perhaps permanently, as it turns out, according to Jeremy.  Mavlow's Law is true - the energy required for basic survival negated the ability to manage anything more than the basics for the longest time. Years even. 

I remember hurting sooo much for Jeremy because he was getting the short end of the stick, because I was burned at both ends by the lack of sleep, lack of understanding from my family, my husband, lack of emotional support.  I was burned at both ends because it seemed as if leaving me wasn't enough... you had to add torture to the leaving of us, with stories of your girlfriend and boasting about buying her a car, instead of supporting your children, while I provided 24 hour damn near nursing care for our youngest, and damage control for a hurt and lonely toddler. 

I remember the nurses telling me that you accused me of killing our baby, and how they worried about you coming to see him, and how to handle it, and asking me what I wanted.  I remember falling to the ground, unable to fathom how the father of my children could say such a thing, and how hopeless I felt at my ability to understand, much less cope with the death of our baby.

The WAY you left us was cruel.  And I do say "us", meaning me and Jeremy, cause I know you would say you didn't leave Jeremy.  But by not showing up time after time to see him, saying that you didn't leave him doesn't wash.  Having a baby with severe birth defects is hard on any parent, but you took it to the extreme by recoiling away from your baby son.  And the cold-hearted "No" when I begged hysterically for help babysitting and or money, and threatening me instead with taking them away was also cruel.  You always seemed to stab and then twist the knife - which should only happen with avocados and clam shells.  You were always so calm and sure you were doing the right thing.  That calmness would mess with my head, making me feel like I was crazy. 

Learning that you thought I killed my baby...there are no words. 

Last month, I practically begged you for help once again, cause our son needs us, and you said no.  You colored it in pretty colors, but threatening once again underneath your calm voice.  You have saved my letters and will use them if you have to, you said.  ???  So fucking what.  I wanted us to get together and make peace, rehash the past if necessary, agree to disagree on some things, and apologize where necessary.  So that we could be a united front as PARENTS for if and when Jeremy decided to face his demons about us, so we would say and do the best thing/s for him.  To take OUR past out of the equation, so we could hear what he experienced in our past as our child.  He will NEED to be heard, and not have to deal with OUR issues, which is what he's had to do his entire life.  That is what I wanted, when I finally got up the guts to call you.  For the life of me, I'll never understand why I've always had to "get up the guts" to talk to you. 

I had hoped that you had changed, but that icy, hard glint was back in your voice, the superior "you are crazy" was once again implied, and I remembered the fear. 

How I wish Jeremy could have learned that you were the worthless one, rather than him learning to believe he was worthless.  

The Skeleton in Our Closet

Jeremy's dad and I split up when SonOne was 18 months old.  We still got me pregnant shortly thereafter, with Jacob.  Jacob was born, and then he died at 3 1/2 months of age.  Jeremy was 3 years old.  One night, his father came into my house in the middle of the night to have sex with me.  This was not unusual... we had a hard time staying apart in that area of our life.  (Hence, Jacob!)  The difference this time was ... I didn't know about it ahead of time.  He didn't knock on the door and I let him in.

I had several minutes of total terror for my 3 year old down the hallway and how was I going to protect him.  The layout of the house meant I couldn't sneak into his room without the bad guy knowing it.  If the bad quy turned down the hallway towards his room first, I prepared myself to kill him.  Luckily, he turned towards my room instead.  I wished my husband hadn't taken the gun that used to be stored in our headboard.


The nightlight in the hallway backlit his profile, even tho I still couldn't see anything but a large, dark/black body.  It was my husband.  My relief was so overwhelming that I did not protest about the sex.  I fought at first.  But then I became very passive, partly out of relief it wasn't a murderer, partly because our 3 year old son was down the hall, and partly because our baby had VERY recently died.  I wanted another baby and if this was what I had to do to get one... so be it.  I hoped tho, that I had scratched his back hard enough to leave marks so his girlfriend would see them.  He left without saying more than a word or two, nor had I, if anything.  The next morning, my heart was still racing with the terror of believing there had been a stranger in my house, and the sex had NOT been consensual.  The circumstances had made me extremely passive.  Like a robot, I called the cops and curled up in a ball to await their presence.

They took the report and the system played out.  His defense was that he was fulfilling a fantasy of mine.  He got off fairly light considering he was still my husband, and our "special" circumstances.  I had admitted to the cops why I hadn't fought harder.  He also had a key I had given to him because he watched my house for me when I traveled to Idaho right after Jacob died to see my parents.  I had forgotten he had the key.  I had other things on my mind.  Actually, I had no mind at all - I was grieving. 

I don't remember if the charges were 3rd Degree Rape or 1st Degree Trespassing.  He got put in the Work Release Program, where he could go to work during the day, and report to the minimum security prison at night.  Ironically, where I worked, but had to quit after Jacob was born. 


It wasn't the sex so much - altho it very much was, emotionally - I felt physically invaded.  But it was the terror of the invasion of my HOME and the safety of my 3 year old that stayed with me, that I couldn't get rid of.  For months, I obsessively got up in the night to check my door locks and for years, I wore long, flannel nightgowns with clothes underneath, to bed.  I only got 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night between grieving and that fear that stayed with me.  I wanted very desperately to sleep with a knife under my pillow, but I had a three year old in the house.  The knife under the pillow didn't start till years later.  



The other thing I remember about that night?  Right before the "stranger" came in, Jeremy had gone potty by himself for the first time, without calling me to take him. 


Between that, and watching my son standing on the back of the couch to look out the window, waiting for his dad, who was supposed to come visit him, and would not show up after all... so I had a heartbroken kid, over and over again...


... I moved 800 miles away, because I was drowning in grief and I needed the help of my parents in Idaho. 

Grief Reviisted... 29 Years Later

Because someone I know is going thru hell right now, Jacob has been on my mind alot these last few weeks, more than normal.  You would think I would know what to say.  Instead I am silent, and I even watch church sermons on TV, in the hope that if there is a God, that he helps her and her husband.  She recently started blogging updates on her baby son, and I will ask her if it's okay to link to it, because I know there's many of you who care about them.  I hope to go visit her in a couple of months, cause I know she'll be sick sick sick to death of the NICU, and maybe some visitors will be a good thing.  Right now, they're still on the roller coaster, the highs and the lows of being in the NICU, and all of their energy needs to be concentrated of taking care of themselves so that they can take care of each other and their baby son.  

I came across this post by Josh, of A Family Record, and I am reminded of how very, very hurtful it is when you hear of comments regarding your grieving process.  They are never, never helpful.

Some people should be grateful they have their kids, and since they haven't lost a child, they have absolutely no right to judge how the right way to "get over it" is done, nor should they voice any opinion whatsoever about when "it's time to move on".  They have no right.

Is my anger "proof" that I'm not over it, or that I haven't moved on?  How would you know - you don't know me, nor do you see how I live my day to day life.  I have a website, for the Jacob Poems, because he existed, and he counted.  It's all I have left of the baby that I gave birth to.  And he's gone.  It doesn't mean that I still live in that state of grief I was in when I wrote them 26 years ago.  I'm GLAD to re-read them every 2 or 3 years, because it makes me remember, it makes me SMELL him.  It makes me hurt and the hurt is good, because he existed, and I loved him.  I want to hurt sometimes, because he was worth the pain, and I don't want to forget ANYTHING about him, even the pain.


No, my anger is over judgmental comments is because it's one more hurdle new grievers have to deal with.  It makes us "old-timers" remember afresh how much it hurt.  It makes/made us have to package our grief into pretty little packages, so that others would be more comfortable.  It made the hellacious path we were on just a little bit more unbearable.  Josh (A Family Record) states it perfectly, and I'm here to tell you, that those kind of people, those kind of people who don't KNOW because they haven't had a child die... those kind of people deserve the f*ck you letter.  I remember those comments, and it's just another thing to focus on, when you really need ALL your energy for healing - not for dealing with that kind of thoughtless, judgy-McJudgey shit.  It's too easy to focus on everything BUT healing, and those kind of comments seem to get many parents "stuck" in bitterness, in order to avoid the work of grieving.  Don't label me as bitter or stuck in the past, or obsessed.  No.  This is righteous anger.  Big Difference.  I would know.  You wouldn't.

If you know someone who's child has died, don't say anything remotely judgmental.  Keep your opinions to yourself if you can't say something nice.  Make a cassarole instead.  Don't ever think it's time to get over it.  Cause you're just plain wrong.  And just for the record?  I have moved on.  But I'll NEVER "be over it".  How dare anyone negate my child like that.
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Prison Papers

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 Something I never expected to have in my files.  Cept I don't do files, I do notebooks.  The transcripts of the previous hearings, prison info for attending, and copies of support and against letters are now a part of my life.  Jeremy gets it all, when I kick the bucket.  You're welcome, SonOne. 

The nice prison lady told us we could get a transcript of the parole hearing 30 days after.  I'll be asking for it within the next couple days.                
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My Service Dog is a Thief

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A couple of visits ago to Idaho, my mom, Annie and I were shopping at Wal-mart.  As we walked towards the registers, I happened to look down at Annie, and she had an Angry Bird stuffed toy in her mouth.  I had no idea where she picked it up.  We could have walked out of the store and triggered the shoplifting alarm that beams a spotlight on you with the siren sounds and blue cop lights spinning around!

As my mom and I laughed over it, this lady came over and handed me a 5 dollar bill so we could buy it.  Of course, I tried to give it back to her, but she insisted, because Annie was so damn cute about it.  So I asked if I could take her picture and Annie acted like a damn fool, refusing to sit up.

Later, over lunch, I got to thinking.  I knew Angry Birds were really popular, and just my luck, the stuffy probably cost 15 dollars!  I looked at the receipt - well, okay, it was 8 dollars.

A month ago, when I had to go back to the hardware store several times before my keys were made correctly, Annie had shop-lifted a Reese's Piece of candy that they had in a bowl on the counter.  Someone was pointing and laughing at her, and I looked down at her - she had a piece in her mouth.  Grrrrr.  There she is, needing discipline/training to not do that, but she's getting attention from others for being so cute and personable.   And she damn well knows it!

This dog.  She always makes me laugh.

~

Highs and Lows of being Me

This last week has brought on extreme lows and, right now, and for the last 2 days, a deep contentment and outright happiness. 

Jeremy had need of his birth certificate.  Years ago, I had got him a certified copy and given it to him.  When he married Dusti, I had given her a notebook with household organizing pages, and put his hospital birth certificate in it under B.  Or maybe C.  Anyways, after they divorced, I saw the notebook and looked thru it.  There was the certificate still.  So I took it back.  Of course - I did not remember this. 

Jeremy text-ed me a picture of his copy the other day with "Notice something?"  They had his birthday wrong - transposed the numbers 30 to 03. 

I had recently gone round and round with the Social Security office about my birthday - they had it in their system as the 31st rather than the 30th, and I was unable to do anything online with my magic disability money because of it.  I found it ridiculous that the Social Security had messed up on both of us - 2 of us in the same family!  And it's not like MS had a role - doing his certified copy was years and years ago, and I had to show them the hospital one in order to get it.  And despite the MS, I have not forgotten my OWN BIRTHDAY.  I'm sure it was just a matter of typing it in wrong in both cases. 

Taking a wild guess, I looked under B in my file cabinet, and discovered Jeremy's original birth certificate!  So I text-ed him a picture of it, hoping that would be proof enough, should he need it.  And off I went to the Social Security office with both copies of our birth certificates - glad to help him solve his problem (I get to HELP! him, for a change), and solve mine too, which I had forgotten about.  Course, once I was there, they told me I had solved mine a few weeks ago... I'd just forgotten, and could've been doing my business online for weeks now. 

The security guard at the Social Security office saw me coming and met me at the door with my ticket number (order in which to be helped) so I wouldn't have to walk to the middle of the room to get it myself.  

I was hoping for a good, long wait in line there at the SS office, so I could rest, but noooo.  I was in and out of there within 20 minutes.  Unheard of, according to local wore. 

It took 4 hours to walk .81 miles home.  As in less than a mile.  About 12 blocks.  Something I could usually do in a half hour or so. 

On the way home, shopkeepers came out of their shops with a chair or a milk crate for me to sit on to rest.  They could see me coming thru their windows.  One lady looked in her pickup and then went inside her shop and brought out her dad, who gave me his cane from the pickup.   It was a really cool cane too. 

At one point, while sitting alone on a milk crate, watching people walk and walk and walk by me, I was in tears, overwhelmed with how much this still hurts (emotionally), how much I still cannot seem to get used to it, how much I hate it, how much it's taken from me.  How much it still shocks me when it hits.  How much worse it's getting.  And how it never gives me notice. 

I was glad Hank was not with me.  He was busy finding a hostel closer to me.  He is loving San Francisco as much as I do. 

Annie cannot help me with the weakness, and it broke my heart to see how upset she was - she was WORRIED, and it was obvious.  She actually licked my face when I cried - something she does not do to me, and has never done before.

When I reached the lobby to my home, I sat down and burst into tears, out of relief and exhaustion.  There were 2 ladies there, who have never seen me weak.  One was shocked, and the other, whom I've butt heads with before, was the sweetest and nicest I've ever seen her. 

I said it out loud.  "I give up.  I give in."   She said, "It's about time". 

The next day, I took the "handicap van", a service I qualified for months ago and have never taken.  They take me door to door, and the driver is allowed to help me off and on, and they're allowed to carry up to 4 bags for you.  

He took me to the restaurant where the lady gave me the cane.  I returned the cane and had lunch there.  A delicious Reuben Sandwich.  After dropping  a piece of spinach lettuce and watching Annie eat it, I then gave her some more, curious out of my normal ban of never giving her people food, much less directly from the table!  She. LOVED. it.  She ate it all.  I asked what kind of dressing they put on the salad - some sort of fig stuff. 

I then walked a block down to the bookstore where I had picked up a bag of free books the day before, not realizing that I wouldn't be able to carry it home.  (Sometimes, carrying something actually helps ground me).  They held them for me.  I bought 4 or 5 cheap books and then sat outside their shop, in the shade, to wait for the van to pick me up.  It was another wonder of San Francisco.  Late, but nevertheless - a wonder.  I'll have to use them more often. 

Because obviously, being disabled is an expensive endeavor...

To be continued...

Reflecting on My Trip to Idaho

At my sister's place.  Make yourself at home, Annie

Physically, I was done Johnson by the time the Certain Airlines supervisor gave me a boarding pass.  I needed a wheelchair to get to the gate.  I was afraid to ask him for a wheelchair, pushing my luck about getting Annie on the plane, but I knew I couldn't get there on my own at that point, specially with the long security line, and only a half hour before the flight.  I don't look disabled when just standing there, or for the first few steps, (sometimes it's obvious right away) so while waiting for him to help me after he helped paying passengers, I looked "normal".  I didn't have a problem with waiting - I know paying passengers come first.  I assumed he knew all along that I was non-rev, but when he saw on the computer that I was non-rev, he ordered me to step back so he could help the paying passengers.  I stood down and shut-upped.  (I swear and promise, Jeremy!)

What he didn't see was me getting my luggage from home to the ticket/check-in desk.  I was hunched over, limping and dragging my right foot.  After reaching the airport, I took it slowly, taking an hour to get the the check-in/ticket desk.  By the time he saw me, I was somewhat rested.  I had given myself 4 hours before the flight.  On the second day, I was able to WALK myself to the gate, slowly but surely, because I may have cognitive problems... but I'm not stupid.  I know I cannot hurry.  Jeremy finally understands that I can't make connections if they're too close together time-wise, and he lists me accordingly.  It's a good thing I love airports.  One the second day, I left home a full 6 hours before my flight, and it takes an hour to catch the bus to the train, and the train to the airport.  That meant 5 hours from check in to flight.  I was fine with that, cause I could do it.  And I was afraid of being harrassed all over again. 

I hate to write about the symptoms I get and the trouble I have doing things, such as traveling, because I don't want anyone worrying.  I choose to make the effort to continue having a life.  I LOVE the fact that I can help by house-sitting, because it's something I can actually do.  It's a way of helping those who have helped me so much.  It's way important to me to be able to help back, because I get so much help.  I write about the bad things that happen - it's just that - shit happens. 

I worry that by writing this, my house-sitting friend will be afraid to ask me to house-sit again, knowing how much it affects me MS-wise.  But when it comes to MS, I promised that I would be honest. 

Before my trip, my mom asked me why I put myself thru it - getting to a baby shower on Saturday, house-sitting that Saturday and Sunday, staying with sister (which can be risky temper-wise for both of us) for the next 5 days before it was time for the other house-sitting "job" for another 6 days.  I told her I didn't know.  Because of the shower, definitely.  And that I didn't know all three things would be so close together.  And that Jeremy had gotten me a direct flight, which would help.  And I can add to that by saying planes and trains are the only time I feel pain-free. 

Actually, it's 4 things so close together, because after the 6 days of house-sitting, I come home for two days, and then take a train to Salinas, California, for the parole hearing of the man who murdered my brother. 

No stress there.  Just say'in. 

It's just kinda unfortunate that all these things happened so close together.  But then again... I would not want to travel back and forth in between everything. 

Can you tell that I'm hoping Certain Airlines Googles itself, and finds my blog? (I guess that's not gonna happen, after speaking to my son)(But he's right).

I will admit that after the parole hearing, I will not travel again until I get the wheelchair... 

My god that was hard to type. 

~

After Years of Mostly Problem Free Traveling, "Certain" Airline More Than Made Up For It With a Collossal F*ck-up

IMPORTANT AIRLINE TERMS & PHRASES FOR A CERTAIN AIRLINE

Planning:  something most people do when traveling to far-off places on the planet. 

Preparing:  what most people do when leaving there home for an extended time.  Such as making arrangements for their pets to be cared for in their absence, cleaning out the food that will spoil, and cleaning the house so the cat-sitters don't think you're a pig. 

Packing:  required for most people when traveling to far off places on the planet. 

On a personal note?  Planning, preparing, and packing are not my strong points.  My son, tells me over and over that I pack too much and I need to get it down to a backpack.  I totally agree.  So you can imagine the argument that ensues during the packing phase, while I'm alone in my apartment.  Evidently, Self doesn't agree with me.

Non-Rev:  a passenger who either works for the airlines, or immediate relative of the person working for the airlines.  Non-revenue passengers get to fly free or at very little cost. 

Purpose:  reason for traveling.  In this case, it was to attend a baby shower (triplets!) for someone I really care about.  The fact that 2 house-sitting "jobs" came up within a week of said shower is a major component of this document... such as packing for two weeks...

Responsibility:  having certain duties.  Again, in this case, I also needed to house-sit for both my sister and then a friend. 

List, Listing, Listed:  what the employee of the airlines has to do in order to get his immediate family onto the plane.  It's what paying passengers do when making a reservation.  Somewhat of a hassle when it comes to having a mother who's got planning, preparing, packing and cognitive problems.  I always feel sorry for Jeremy when we're going thru this process. 

Certain Airline Employee:  herds humans thru the ticket lines.  He asked if I had permission for Annie, and I said "huh?"  He said he'd have to get the supervisor to check on it and he'd be right back. 

Power-tripping Certain Airline Supervisor Employee:  One and a half  hours of not being allowed to take my Service Animal on the plane.  All of a sudden, Certain Airline requires you bring a doctor's note that you need a service dog, proof that your dog is a service dog, proof of disability (evidently he couldn't see) and 48 hours notice prior to the flight. 

Non-rev passenger:  Not allowed to complain, whine, weep, bitch or beg because, after all, you are flying free or at very little cost.  If you do, it reflects on your son's employee record and you might lose the right to fly free or at very little cost. 

City of San Francisco Service Dog Tag:  Not enough proof that she is a service dog, because "they can be ordered on the Internet". 

Furious:  What son was when I called him to tell  him what was happening.  He told me to go into bitch mode, I had his permission.  I didn't want to, because of his employee record, and it was obvious to me that doing so would make this particular Certain Airlines supervisor get his back up even more. 

Effort:  trying to be pleasant to the Certain Airlines supervisor, while son is yelling in your ear to go into bitch mode, or give the *&^%^&^%  phone to the Certain Airlines supervisor and he would (*&^%^*&^% take care of it. 

Relief:  when power-tripping supervisor finally decides to let Annie on the plane.

"Shut-up":  what your son says when you tell him the Certain Airlines supervisor is making out your boarding pass, and you're saying to this man that this hasn't ever happened to you before.  (Perhaps not an official "Certain Airlines Terms and Phrases" but now that I think about it, the Certain Airlines supervisor really, realllly wanted to tell me to shut up). 

Helpful:  After one and a half hours, what a Certain Airlines supervisor says to you, in anger, "Ma'am, I am trying to help you", after you told him that this has never happened to you before. 

Rush:  having a half hour to get thru security at the San Francisco airport (busy, long lines) and to the gate. 

Wait:  what one does when at the gate and they are waiting for the pilot.  For another hour. 

Cancel:  a word that you do not want to hear at an airport.  Not in any way, shape or form.

Pilot No-Show:  somebody's gonna get fired...

Customer Service Employees:  Saints.

Worry:  imagining your sister's elderly cats (15 & 16) are going to starve to death. 

To add insult to injury:  When standing in line for a new boarding pass for the next flight out (for the next day, thanks, Idaho Falls for being such a small airport), a man ahead of me was all happy cause he got a flight for that nite via Denver or Vegas or something, leaving at 12:30am, and the 3 Customer Service agents kind of hush hushed him, and said loudly there were no more flights to Idaho Falls that night, which implied to me that he got the last seat.  When it was my turn, I said "I want want he has", in a joking manner.  When I told her it was non-rev, the Customer Service agent said she wasn't spose to do this, but she re-listed me for the next flight.  As she handed me the boarding pass, (which means I got a seat), she said it was for 5:45pm the next day.  As I left the desk, she told me to be sure to check the flight times.  I thought, yea... okay... of course I will, nice advice.  I went home, which is no piece of cake, cause I had to get off the train at 16th and Mission, which is a major scary druggie hang-out, and it was 9ish o'clock.  Dark. 

Lost:  another word one does not want to hear at an airport. 

Luggage:  items of clothing, baby presents and medication packed tightly, usually in rectangular shapes and in various colors.  (Yes, I did have 3 days of pain meds in my purse, I'm not stupid).

Decision making process:  deciding there was no way in hell I was going to make the trek back home with 2 pieces of heavy luggage and back again to the airport the next day.  They could stay lost for all I cared at that point.  Dare I admit that sometimes, when travelling, Annie feels like another piece of luggage?  Having her means one hand is always occupied with dog matters.

Diligent:  At 10am the next morning, the first thing I did was check the flight times.  Maybe the 5:45pm flight was really at 7pm, because my son had told me that was the only direct flight to Idaho Falls on a weekend and maybe she realized at the last minute she made a mistake.  I had to look at the boarding pass several times and the calendar.  It said 12:30. ???  I looked at the clock.  It takes an hour to get to the airport.  I was suppose to be going thru Security by now...

Anger, Disappointment, Confusion:  what one feels when one realizes you're going to miss your flight, and you could have gone to the baby shower after all.  Late maybe, but there, if all went well. 

Lo and behold:  She should have given me a "wink wink" when she told me to re-check the flight time.  Because she had given me a boarding pass for the same flight the man several places ahead of me had got - the 12:30am one the night before.  While I was still at the airport.  I would have made it to the shower for sure. 

Alternate meanings for Anger, Disappointment and Confusion:  why in the world would those 3 Customer Service Agents make a big deal out of there not being any more flights to Idaho Falls, if it was not true? 

???:  Something that Certain Airlines needs to add to their website, because that's how they operate.

Certain Airlines Official Website:  a good informational resource for travelers.

To be continued...

~

Busy busy busy

 ~

Wow.  My life just got complicated.

The results of my brain, neck, and spine MRI did not show any plaques.  The last neurologist in Idaho Falls was not convinced it was MS.  My current one feels the same.  I'm atypical because I have the numbness on both sides of my body, and the pain is constant, on both sides.  We've decided no more of the big gun meds (shots) until more tests are done.   Another nerve conduction study will be done in June.  I gave blood yesterday for more extensive lab tests.  Do another one tomorrow after fasting.  Then no more doctors until June.  Except for trying to get the wheelchair, which is proving difficult.  No one seems to know HOW to get one!  I may resort to the Scooter Store after all.

One good thing - she upped my Lyrica, which was the main painkiller.  In Idaho, my dose had reached it's maximum, but down here, I'll allowed another 200mg's, so I am so happy not to have to add something new, when I know more Lyrica will help.

I've been reminded how much stress affects me, cause I've been going thru a friendship gone Mean Girl, and for a couple of days, I could barely make it halfway thru the dog park.  Who am I kidding - I only was able to do half of it.  Thank goodness Annie loves to chase the ball and that I have a Chuckit, otherwise she wouldn't get enough exercise.  

I've got a baby shower to go to in Idaho Falls on March 24th, and house-dog sitting to do in Idaho Falls on March 30th thru April 4th, so I'll just stay in IF that whole week and a half to avoid flying back and forth.

Then on April 10th, there is a parole hearing for the guy who murdered my brother, Dan, in Soledad, which in near Los Angelos, I think.  I've never gone to one before.  His daughter, Heather, has gone to two of them.  His sentence was 19 years to life, and this is the 19th year, so it's an important one to get him to have to stay longer.  I'll be taking the bus or the train, and will get to see my niece, whom I haven't seen since she was just a wee one. 

If you knew Dan/Danny, and would like to write something for the parole hearing, email it to me, and I'll make sure it gets there. 

It would be really nice to get the wheelchair in time for all this traveling.

~

And then he had to leave me so he could go...

~

Be still my heart.  Why can't what I don't know won't hurt me?!!!  

 How weird is it that I'm proud of his bare feet?

Beautiful.

Be safe.  Please.
~

Healing

Healing.  'Tis momentous. 

I don't do MRI's very well.  During the beginning of the diagnosis process, I had 3 of them within days of each other, mostly because I didn't know being in an MRI machine would cause me to have flashbacks of childhood sexual abuse.  One technician had the comment of "she's like a cat on a hot tin roof, trying to get out".   So they started putting me down, knocking me out, letting me drug my way thru it.  But then, policy changed and they weren't allowed to give me anesthesia any more.  So it was Valium and Versed.  Because Versed is supposed to help you "forget" the procedure/s, sometimes I would think "oh, I'll be fine", only to discover I wasn't and it would have to be rescheduled again.  Since I have to have one every year to keep track of the progress of the MS, it's been an ordeal each and every time.

(Only it isn't open like this - it's a closed up tube)

I've skipped having one for the past two years in Idaho because I got sick of the doctor situation.

There was one scheduled last Friday.  I had asked Jeremy to come be with me, and he flew in from Denver.  He's never been with me thru an MRI, so I was a little embarrassed to need him, but I don't know anyone here in SF well enough to go thru it with me.  I don't like Jeremy seeing me at my "weak" moments, and having sexual abuse flashbacks is definitely not my favorite thing for any one to see.

As luck would have it, there was a foul-up with my medication that was supposed to "calm" me down.  As in... it wasn't ordered.  My love for the San Francisco medical system slid down several notches.  If Jeremy hadn't flown in from Denver to help me, I would have cancelled it.  I didn't want it to be a waste of time for him, so I put on my big girl panties and went thru with it.

In the past, one time a boyfriend had been allowed to hold my foot in order to "ground" me, so that is what I had Jeremy do.  First he put his hand on my ankle, over my pants, and I asked him to move to my foot - bare skin.  Having his hand on my pants leg just made the material too... heavy. 

There was a mold-like thing that contained my head, and the technician stuffed cotton wedge thingies down by my ears, so that my head couldn't move.  Same with my elbows.  When preparing for it, I had asked how long it would take and she said 2 hours.  I yelped quite loudly "2 hours!!!???", and was very upset at the thought.  Brain, neck and spine.  Having to hold still that long is torture.  She said we would take breaks so I settled down a bit.

 Having Jeremy there and having my head wedged in helped TREMENDOUSLY.  As it turned out, I couldn't "feel" Jeremy's hand on my foot cause of the numbness, but when he would pat or rub my foot to reassure me, I could feel it move my whole body, which didn't matter during the first part, cause they were doing the brain, but it wouldn't work for when doing the spine.

I was doing it!  Without freaking out!  I even imagined Annie, who was in the next room with the technician, having on a Superman's cape, and that if I called her, she would come to my rescue by knocking down the door to get to me.

 After the 30 minute brain scan, she slid me out of the machine, and I told Jeremy I was fine, and he could go take Annie for a walk instead, cause I was OKAY!  Off he went, and an hour and a half later, I was done.  I walked out of the little building, into the bright and beautiful and perfect weather, and saw Jeremy walking up the sidewalk with Annie.

I was disoriented as to what part of the hospital we were at, and didn't know which way the bus stop was.  He bought me lunch, and as I talked about how wonderful I felt, overcoming such a longtime issue, and also how confused I was as to my whereabouts.  Jeremy said it was because the MRI was really a time-machine.  It might as well have been true, because I felt like a brand new person.  The flashbacks during the MRI's were the last frontier as far as the abuse issues are concerned.

I am done done done with sexual abuse!  Thanks to my kid, my dog, and stupid little cotton wedgies that held my head still.  I think, in the past, I would have to concentrate so hard on holding still, that it gave the flashbacks and panic attacks a chance to get in.  Something so simple as those wedgies... welcome to San Francisco medical care!

Time

I'm going to try to participate in a photo a day thingy, hosted by Chantelle of Fat Mum Slim fame.  Today's prompt is "Time".  At a loss, and not wanting to take another picture off the numerous clocks in my tiny little studio, I Googled "time".  Of course.  When lost on the Internet, Google.  When bored, Google.  When your mind is blank, Google.  And while I was doing that, this song popped into my head.  You should be hearing it now if your speakers are on.

The passing of time has been on my mind alot these days, as I feel like life is passing me by.  I'm not able to walk the city like I had planned.  Five years ago (or so), I was walking up to 5 miles a day.  I know what it took to get to that point, and I've tried - I've really tried to do it again.  Today, a knee just gave out, as I walked the 12 steps to the kitchen.  Weird feeling.  "Gave out" is the wrong term cause that implies that it's job is too strenuous.  It's not that - it just disappeared out of sheer snottiness.  Stupid knee. 

Dammit, every time I think of walking back then, I think of my little puppies. 

Back to time.  Turn back time.  I once asked my mom if she had any regrets, and at the time, I had said that I don't have any.  But I do.  So many, and I wish I could start all over again, at age 19. 

• I wish I had been a better mom
• I wish I hadn't put Muttin/Jeff down
• I wish I hadn't lived with man #2 and 3  (altho I don't regret them... it was just not the best thing to have them in my home) 
• I wish I had kept Jacob alive
• I wish I had kept the flower shop going
• I wish I had been able to keep my home
• I wish I had been able to keep some very good friends, both online and in real life.  (altho I don't regret them... it was just not the best thing to have their drama in my life, when I needed to be taking care of me and Jeremy)
• I wish I had been able to move to San Francisco sooner, while I was still able to walk. 

That's just the top of the list.  What about you?  Do you have any regrets?

~

Clocks, mirrors and dance

I woke up at 4am this morning and laid there till 5, hoping to go back to sleep.  This happens 3 to 4 times a week, and I've decided to quit fighting it.  If I can't go back to sleep within 15 minutes of waking, I'm getting up.  I'm tired of fighting with my sleep problems.  I think it's the pain waking me up pretty much every 3 to 4 hours (when it's time for pain meds).

This morning, I danced.  Without music.  I am NOT a dancing type of person.  Nor am I a morning person.  And without music?  Just makes me look like a lunatic on puppet strings. But I'm just so happy.  Nothing better than watching the sun come up and sunshine flooding the apartment makes me feel... invincible. 

So I've washed the dishes, sorted laundry and moved some furniture to accommodate another mirror.  This one is for the animals. 

Speaking of mirrors, my sister got me a Walmart's gift card for Christmas, and I had planned on getting a full length mirror, so I can start taking pictures of my weight loss.  San Francisco doesn't have a Walmart, and after discovering how many buses, trains, planes and horse carriages I'd have to take to get there, I went online instead. 

Naturally, the one closest to me didn't have full-length mirrors, so it took some doing to find one that did, and not have it go over the limit of the gift card with the shipping costs.  I found one.

The very next day, I decided to take my garbage downstairs to the garage, instead of throwing it down the chute thingy.  In the garage, I discovered ....

this!

 .


(You aren't seeing "The Light" there in the upper right corner.  It's just sunshine!

So now I have a rather large and WIDE mirror, cause it was in the garbage, waiting for ... ME!

I'm coming to Idaho at the end of this month, so I'll go shopping at Idaho Fall's WallyWorld instead.  I wasn't up for the adventure to go to the one in Oakland, or Daly City - wasn't doing very good the last couple of weeks.  But, hell, after dancing with no music and getting a sun tan this morning, I'd do it in a heartbeat now - got that I LOVE San Francisco mode going on again.

Speaking of mirrors in the garbage, I'll have to do another post about all the Freecycle and Serendipity stuff I've been doing.  I'm getting closer and closer to blogging about living here cheap as a regular feature.  Food still boggles the mind, but I haven't been diligent about going to the farmer's markets, mostly because most of them don't take food stamps, and they're EXPENSIVE.  But I'm told that there are some reasonable ones, so this week's project is to learn the farmer's markets.  On Wednesday, I'll go to the one downtown.

I've got two clocks with pendulums.  For the first few months, they swung  properly, and I was strangely comforted by it.  Course, Jeremy would tell you something different - something about the sheer number of clocks I seem to have, but that's neither here nor there.  He's just worried about how he has to take care of all this stuff when I kick the bucket after sampling the French onion soup with a salmonella spoon.  I'm only thinking of him - he'll appreciate their sound when my voice isn't there, all bright and chipper!

.


I LIKE clocks.  They tick and tock.  I am soothed by them and like to listen to them tick tock.  I like to see if they all keep up with each other. 

.


Anyways, the two pendulums suddenly quit... penduluming.  It drove me crazy, wondering why they quit.

Maybe it's because we had a earth shake, and the building is now crooked.  It's the only explanation! 

Today, I got a level out of the tool bag, and leveled both clocks and now they ... swing again.  I feel safe now. 






.




Safe, but confused most of the time, cause the kitchen clocks haven't been changed to reflect Daylight Savings Time. 

.

------------------------------------>
 This one tells me temperature and humidity.  The clock is always wrong tho - a chronic slow clock, but I like knowing how humid it is.  I like paying attention, cause I'm trying to figure out what works best for MS. 

.

The Nascar clock revs it's engine at the top of each hour, and the little Dale Jr car drives itself around the clock each hour.  Scares the patooties out of me every time.  There are 2 bird clocks that chirp at the top of each hour, and one of the Christmas clocks sings carols every hour. 

Whaaat?  Isn't this normal?  Doesn't everyone do this?  Please say yes so that Jeremy will quit calling me eccentric.  Or maybe he said I was trying to be eccentric, and wasn't quite pulling it off.  That it's just plain weird is all.

What evs. 

.


---------------------------------------------> One of these also tells me the temperature, and is very handy when I don't want to get out of bed to look at the other clock that tells the temp.  The other projects the time onto my ceiling in bright red numbers at night time.  Especially appreciated on those nights I can't sleep...

The weird birdie clock is the When You Simply MUST Get Out of Bed Because You Have Physical Therapy at 8:freaking 30AM in The Morning kind of clock.  Listen to the video and you'll understand why. 


Pay close attention to the dance moves...

 

~

The Christmas Ornament. Or the Year My Teenager Became Human Again

Some of you know that my youngest son died as a baby a long time ago.  One of my holiday traditions has been to buy a certain angel ornament every year for our Christmas tree in his memory.  It's done by Mary Hamilton, sold by Hallmark and is part of a collector series - this year is #24.  He's been dead for 28 years, but her ornaments didn't start till 1987.  The first year I found a cradle and painted the year and his name on it.  There were 3 years with a different kind of angel on clouds, then the Mary's Angels started.

Every year, I worried and wondered - is this the year she quits designing this special little ornament and then what will I do?  But each year, she puts out another one, and I breathe a sigh of relief.  Not only are they sidnificant in the "angel" memorial sense, but over the years, many of them have represented something important that happened that year.

 Like the year Jeremy learned to read.

Or the year I bought a flower shop.

And the year he got Duke.  (I should re-paint that puppy black!)

Another year, the angel was holding a set of bells.  I chose to think of them as wedding bells cause I had remarried that year.

These ornaments are VERY important and special to me.

One year, however... I forgot.  I usually bought it the minute the Hallmark display comes out in October.  I'm always afraid they'll sell out, and some years they are very hard to find.  I completely forgot about the ornament that year, but it was the year of the Great Depression, for reasons I won't go into.  It was the 15th year of the angel ornaments, so Jeremy was ... 16 or 17.  

Many of you have met my son, Jeremy.  He wasn't always the nice young man he is today.  At one time, he was a teenager who thought his mother was an idiot.  He also thought his arms would break off if he had to wash a dish to the sink or carry a basket of laundry.

That 15th year after Jacob died, about 2 weeks before Christmas, Jeremy wanted to give me his Christmas present early.  Hmmm, weird.  I didn't want it, I wanted it kept under the tree till Christmas morning, but he insisted.  (I never could used to him having 20 presents under the tree and me only one or two!)  Considering his teenage attitude of late, frankly, it made me a little nervous.  I half expected it to be a tarantula in the cute little box he gave me.

Jeremy doesn't remember his baby brother.  He was only 2 1/2 years old when Jacob died.  He always knew that the angel ornament meant "remembering Jacob", but I never really knew if he understood just how important it was to me.  And certainly, his charming teenage personality was not that of a sweet, understanding, sensitive type of kid.  Of late.

I opened the give wrapped box which was touching in itself - he had taken the time to wrap it, making the effort to find the gift wrap even.

It was the baby angel ornament for that year!

And note the ornament that year... the PRESENT!

I immediately burst into tears, SHOCKED for 2 reasons.  One, that I had actually FORGOTTEN to buy it  myself, how completely "out of it" I was, and two, his thoughtfulness, his remembering it on his own, his understanding the significance, the importance of it, and noticing that there was something wrong with me that I hadn't bought it myself yet.

It remains a tear-jerker memory to this day.  But a good one.  

These are the only Christmas items I brought with me to San Francisco.  The rest of my Christmas stuff is still in Idaho in a storage unit.  I've always kept these out, stored in a closet, so they were here.  I wish I had Jeremy's yearly ornaments with me to put on my little tree.  But I did start a new tradition... an ornament for me!  I haven't thought of what Jeremy's will be yet, but this is mine...

Merry Christmas to all, and to all... a good night!

~

Christmas Eve

It's almost Christmas. 

I spose I should put an exclamation mark after that, but I'm just not feeling it.  Not for any major depressive reasons, just more disappointment.  Which is an upgrade from most Christmas's...

I was hoping to go to Denver to spend it with my son, who will be working on Christmas Day, but hey, I could look at his 12 inch tall Christmas tree... which he sent me a picture of, which sent me into a two hour search on how to transfer his texted picture to my phone picture, from my phone to by blog.  Only to remember that I figured it out once before.  Grrr.

 






He calls it a tree.  I call it a houseplant. 










Anyways, I'm not going home to Idaho for Christmas cause NOONE INVITED ME, and I'm not going to Denver and Jeremy cause I have that stupid mammogram scheduled on the 27th of December.  And considering that it only took me 10 years to make the appointment, and then I had to wait 3 months for it, I figured I better stay home and represent.

Represent my first Christmas in San Francisco.  Which is why I'm only disappointed, rather than depressed.  I can never be too upset as long as I'm here.  2012 has been good to me, I must admit.

Here's Jeremy "I have to keep growing my beard till March so I can win a bet" picture:

Perhaps because it's a close-up in unnatural light and the angle? ... my first immediate thought was "he looks like a terrorist".  It looked better in real life, truly. 

Then he sent me this today.










Whew.  I like!

~

Happy Thanksgiving to All, and to All a Good Night. Wait...

The pork roast was delicious, I don't like leaving the skin on mashed potatoes, I'm loving yams more and more, not just for holidays, I forgot to put out the cranberry sauce, we decided we were too full for pie, so that will be for breakfast, and the dressing was really good but too damp.  DAMP?  lolol  I meant to ... moist?  Wet.  Soupy?  It was good tho. 

Annie got a bath and smells like coconut.  She ADORES Jeremy, so much so that she forgets that she works for me!

Tomorrow, I volunteered to be for door greeter for the Humane Society down at Macy's, but they changed the schedule on me, so I have to be there 4 hours than I expected to.  Which is going to cut into my time with Jeremy, but his girlfriend is also here, visiting her grandparents, so he hopes to meet up with her in the afternoon sometime, before he has to go back home. 



I hope he doesn't mind my bright white big knee in the picture...

Click on the pics to enlarge, should you wish.

 
I just sent an email to the two ladies who have befriended me, thanking them for teaching me the things I needed to know in San Francisco, and that I was thankful for meeting them and getting to know them.  I am rarely so sentimental, and it felt weird!

Kim called to wish me a happy Thanksgiving and to ask if I'd received his letter.  Ummm yes, I did and I sent one back, how are you, I am fine, Jeremy's here, did you see your family, umm, umm thanks for calling! 

I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving! 
~

Giving Thanks

Annie and I walked around the block to the park.  We reached the sidewalk ramp where she now "sits" all on her own so I can take the leash off.  I then throw the ball onto the grass where she pees where she always pees.  Then we walk up the ramp and she poops where she always poops.  I pull out the baggies that I always have in the pockets of everything I wear, and pick it up.  We then throw the ball several times, while I scan the field for anyone I know, or it's if a solitary feeling day, we go up the sidewalk instead.

Today I had a question, so we headed out over the field, where there were maybe 10 people and as many, probably more, dogs.  First I scan the dogs - they're easier to recognize, and I often know their names, but not their people's name.  Annie runs ahead with the ball in her mouth, as I realize I don't know anyone by name.  But a guy says "Hi Annie!" and she runs up to him for her pat on the head.  Most people who know her knows she has to "sit" before she gets petted, and so he told her to sit.  Awesome.  That means he knows me, even tho I don't remember him, but in the dog park people world, that is good enough.  Everyone said some version of "good morning" or "welcome".  We chat about the weather (cold), and watch a man a few yards away yelling at his dog.  He's so mean to Rusty, and Rusty runs up to everyone for attention or maybe for protection?  I always want to confront the man, and ask him "how's that yelling working for ya, hmm?"  But I don't because in this town, you have to be careful - he might be a "crazy" and go off on you.  The group of us in the circle glance at each other, all of us acknowledging the same thoughts I'm thinking.

I remembered my question and put it out to the crowd.  "Does San Francisco close down on Thanksgiving night, or do the restaurants stay open?"  Awesome - the majority stays open.  By this time, someone I do know has joined the group and she asks what I'm doing for the holiday.  I know that if I say "nothing", somebody will invite me to their Thanksgiving meal, and I would feel comfortable saying yes, because that's how us dog people are.  It's been the perfect way for me to get to know people - this dog park society.  But I tell them that my son will be here Thursday nite and I hadn't decided whether to cook or go out for dinner yet.  As I listen to everyone talking about their plans, I decide it'll depend on the weather.  If Thursday was a good flying day (no storms cancelling flights backing up the entire system), then I would cook.  If it looked risky like Jeremy wouldn't be able to get a flight until really late, then we'll go out.  I never really know what his schedule is, so the more easy going I can be, the better.

After talking to Jeremy, it's decided.  A pork roast instead of turkey will be easier than a turkey.  Dressing, mashed potatoes, maybe with a bit of cauliflower mixed in, or a bit of yam?  Annie and I go home and get the bike/trike so we can go to Safeway, 6 blocks up from where we live.  At the check stand, I have to put the salad mix, raisins, and ham hocks back cause I don't have enough, and I didn't check the prices beforehand.  Meat is OUTRAGEOUS here, even ham hocks.  Salad mix is always too expensive, but I'm going for "easy going", right?  Raisins are a luxury, so I actually did pretty good.  It's hard to get used to prices here.

I packed the two paper bags into the bike basket, and pedal towards home.  Stop!  There's a guy laying out a ton of books on the sidewalk, so I check them out, but decide he's got high expectations at five bucks a book! for paperbacks.  We pedal on further, and saw a cat inside a store window.  Coolbeans, it's a bookstore and they're selling 2012 calendars and datebooks for $5.00, so I grab one of each, as I keep one eye on my bike full of groceries on the sidewalk as I browse.  I had to leave a calendar of Volkswagons behind.  :- (

As we head on home, riding so easily and effortlessly - I am aware of how happy I am.  I LOVE life this way - getting my groceries bit by bit, doing it on a bike/trike.  I can handle a grocery trip consisting of only 2 bags worth - I don't get too tired or overwhelmed.  I can handle unloading two bags of groceries - it's not too much work that I have to lay down for awhile, even tho that's what I end up doing.  It's because I WANT to, not HAVE to.

After unloading the groceries, we lay down for awhile, so I can get on the computer.  Annie watches out the window so intently that it catches my attention.  There's a hummingbird at the feeder, less than 3 feet away from us!  The movement of my head turning to look makes it fly away, but it comes right back.  Awesome.

As I contemplate the menu and the schedule till Son Jeremy arrives, I realize that I forgot bread crumbs for the dressing.  Or stuffing.  Mom, how come we call it "dressing"?  Jeremy asked for dressing and mashed potatoes, so not having it is not an option, but I don't want to go to Safeway again - the crowd was just beginning to be at my limit of tolerance for people when I left 2 hours away.  And I remember one of the dog park peops saying the checkout lines at Safeway will get up to 75 people!  There's a store that sells fancy bread on the corner, but I haven't been, assuming it would be very expensive.  But how expensive can a bag of breadcrumbs be, I ask myself, so off I went, alone, without the Annie, but with a walking stick.  The little store only had one customer sitting at a table eating a sandwich, but they were loading up a vehicle with dozens of huge bags full of breads of all kinds.  But they didn't have breadcrumbs.  They asked what I was doing with them, and then they suggested their "day old" basket, which had a loaf of something with rosemary in it, and it would make a LOVELY stuffing, all I had to do was break it into pieces on a cookie sheet and put it in the oven for a few minutes.  Awesome, and cheap too!  I can't keep bread in the house, or I will eat the whole damn loaf in two days, but now I have a near-by option less than a block away.  The people behind the counters were soooo nice - that personal touch makes such a difference in a big city.  Safeway has to deal with vast numbers of humanity... which is often not a good thing around here. 

As I walked back home, again, if I could have skipped, I would have.  I am so damn happy here.

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