May 1, 2010 - Kentucky Derby Day

The trainers and owners are a bit worried about the run for the roses today because rain - a lot of rain - has been - is being, forecast for this morning and then again before the race is to begin. I read what, Bob Baffert, one of the trainers, said this morning, by way of explaining why the owners and trainers and jockeys are worried.   "It hits their belly and face, they throw their head up, they lose interest and they get scared."  I'll bet the handicappers are scared, too. Hard to handicap a race when none of the horses has any experience running in soupy, peanut butter-y stuff instead of the turf they're used to.  When I was a little kid, growing up in an mostly Irish Catholic family with its prerequisite large number of children, someone in the family or the extended family invariably made their First Holy Communion on May 1st. And every adult seemed to be more interested in the fact that the Kentucky Derby was run on that day.  And there was always a pool among the grownups, each contributing a dollar and each choosing "their" horse. Of course, the person or persons who had that horse would win the money. It's an odd thing to remember about the day I and my siblings and cousins made our First Holy Communion, but there it is. By the by, I have to write it as First Holy Communion, capitalization and all. Even for a fallen-away Catholic such as myself, it's a rule.

I got an email from a friend of mine late last night. One of those overwrought ones that link religion and politics. I never like those. This one started out with "This is chilling" and went on to say how Harry S. Truman back in '52, established  one day a year as a "national day of prayer" and how in 1988, President Reagan designated the first Thursday in May of each year as the National Day of Prayer. The next part of the email - which my friend didn't write, she just passed it on to me, under the subject line, "Pass it on" - went on to state "in 2007, (then) Presidential candidate Barack Obama declared that the USA was no longer a Christian nation."   Notice how I didn't put what the email stated that Obama said in quotations? That's because the people who started that email couldn't put it in quotations because that's not what President-elect Obama said in that speech in 2007.  What he said was, and I quote, "Though we once were, we are no longer a Christian nation, at least not just - we are also a Jewish nation, a Muslim nation, a Buddhist nation and a Hindu nation and a nation of non-believers." He did not say we are no longer a Christian nation, full stop. He continued his sentence. It makes me so mad that people can continue to misquote the man! The email went on to say that President Obama has cancelled the 2010 National Day of Prayer. Wrong! The same people who are saying that also said he cancelled it last year. Also wrong. Last year he didn't hold a ceremony at the White House as George W Bush had done during his Administration. President Obama did, however,  make a Proclamation. http://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/presidential-proclamation-national-day-prayer?loc=interstitialskip  The incorrect nonsense about President Obama canceling the National Day of Prayer stems from a ruling by The rumors arise out of Thursday's decision by Wisconsin U.S. District Judge Barbara Crabb that the National Day of Prayer is unconstitutional. She ruled that it violates the First Amendment's ban against a law respecting an establishment of religion (full decision pdf).

According to this article: http://content.usatoday.com/communities/Religion/post/2010/04/obama-will-still-issue-national-day-of-prayer-proclamation/1   the President "both tweeted and confirmed in an e-mail to the Associated Press from spokesman Matt Lehrich that Obama still plans to recognize The National Day of Prayer as it did last year.  The article has more to say on the subject.

I hate getting the kind of email I received from my friend. It made me sad as well as angry when I read it.  I would not have read it if I'd known what it was. I don't want to hurt her feelings, so I am venting my outrage here in my little blog.

I wish my friend would live up to what I've thought about her since I met her. That she's an intelligent person. She's a nurse. She reads a lot, like I do. I wonder if she checks to see that she's gotten the whole story.   I try to read the whole story. I don't always, though. I need to change that.           I admit that I voted for Barack Obama and that I am one who still supports him. I admit I think that the country was in terrible shape when it was in the hands of George W. Bush and his administration, what with two mishandled, too-costly wars, both in human life and monetary costs; illegal wire tapping of American Citizens; the Patriot Act and its no due process; and its at best blind eye turned on torture used as a manner of interrogation. The rest of the world backed away from us - ordinary Americans were for the very first times in their lives, ashamed of what we stood for. In fact, I personally believe that we, even today with hopeful Barack Obama as our President, should not go around preaching to other countries about human rights and freedom for all, until every freedom that our great country has to offer, is offered to each and every American! Regardless of race, creed, gender, gender orientation or accent!! No more Don't Ask, Don't Tell. No more 'Marriage is only acceptable if it's between a man and a woman. No more racial bias and hate crimes not prosecuted. Quite simply stated - freedom means freedom for all.

I won't get back to my friend about the email. She is too far down the right wing path of discredit President Obama if another right winger tell you too, don't bother getting the facts straight. And I like my

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friend and I'd like to be able to keep her friendship. I hope I can.                                 I think.

8:42 AM on Saturday, May 1st, Kentucky Derby Day, 2010. I've been awake overnight again, dammit and it's time to go see about breakfast.

And I'm just sayin'

ALL PEEPS ON THE LOOKOUT - MORE SNOW MAY BE COMING -

Anyone who knows me knows that I'll believe we peeps here in New Jersey will get significant snow when I see it all falling and more importantly, accumulating on the ground. Actually, our local  weather persons have taken to  calling what they used to call significant snow,  "plow-able"snow. I heard one of ABC's weather peeps say that there are three terms he used when it comes to describing snowfall:

"nuisance, plow-able, and biblical." Those are the words he used.

I heard another of ABC's weather peeps also use the word, "plow-able". I think they want us to know that "plow-able" snow is about 3 - 8 inches. HA! That's a baby amount of snow. This is probably the only time of year when I would like to live in a place that's at a higher altitude (not that much coder, because I don't like to be really cold.) Peeps who know me also know that I'd rather be too cold than too hot and that's true. But while I really don't like to be too cold, I absolutely and utterly hate being too hot. I hate it. I detest, abhor, loathe and despise too much heat. I have always disliked it - since I was a child. But since the advent of lovely menopause and the truly awful hot flashes that come with it, I have too warm all the time! My husband does not like when I go outside in the winter in just my shirtsleeves. He always wants me to wear a coat. I can't. Hell, I can't even wear socks. Ever. Not inside the house or outside - they make me too hot. I am a diabetic and because I am, my excellent doctor, Dr. Dawn Calamari* want me to wear white socks all the time, outside, with shoes, and inside, even without shoes!!   I was at work one day at the YMCA Child Care Center where I used to work, and I came into the play area where our charges were bouncing around. Literally. The gym equipment they were using was made from large pieces of dense foam covered in bright primary colored cloth. The squares, rectangles, triangles, cylinders and balls were about between 3 and 8 feet and the kids could tumble around safely. Ah. I've drifted away again. While I'm here I'll say this about my Dr. Calamari: both Bill and  I affectionately think of her as and privately call her, Doctor Squid, in a completely respectful and loving  way.

Back to the subject of hating being too hot. I came into the play area, joining my partner teacher Miss Christine (to my Miss Ellie) ;o) and sat down. Immediately, she said, "Miss Ellie! You have socks on! Why do you have socks on?" I told her why and she nodded, telling me that I should definitely follow my doctor's instructions. I agreed, sighing. I would sure try. Fifteen minutes later, after snapping at a teacher and two of my lovely littlies, I excused myself and went inside to take of the freaking socks!!

They make me feel too hot!

The worst part of the many bad parts of hot flashes, like chills when you have sweat pouring off your body, night sweats and the flush the you feel coming from your toes up to your head, is the feeling I have right after I've taken a shower.

Like every woman peep I know, I have a bathing ritual. After a refreshing shower in my "Cripple Shower" (which I'll talk about another time) and I've unwrapped the huge bath sheet, toweled off, dried my hair and done the body oil,  deodorant and  powder part and left the bathroom to go to my room, always kept cooler than the rest of the house, only to be hit by a big hot flash. My hair, previously dried off, is now dripping with sweat which is also trickling down my neck, between my breasts, etc. Aaaarrrggghhhh!!

I want to take another shower immediately, but I know that if I do, the same damn thing will happen again. I have learned over the past few years that if I drink a glass of ice cold water right away, the hot flash is not as bad as it could be. It's sort of cooling my body from the inside out while being in a cool room. I do have the most understanding husband. He knows that I need my environment to be cool, if not cold, so he just uses more blankets and tries to stay out of the wind. I always have my ceiling fan on, day and night and from April to December, I use my air conditioner.

The one we had in our downstairs rooms broke last year and we weren't able to replace it. I stayed upstairs almost all the time last summer. When I did come downstairs, I'd have to change my clothes when I went back up to my air/conditioned splendor bedroom. I hope we can get an air conditioner for our downstairs area this year. It has to be a large one, because we need it to cool our large kitchen. It opens into our living room. When we have a large enough a/c and it's working at its best, it cools our living room, our kitchen and all the way up our staircase to the second floor. Along with the a/c in my bedroom and the one in the guest bedroom, which we are about to to make into a reading room, I am cool and comfortable all summer long and well into the fall.

Jeez. I hope we get a new air conditioner.

I am probably the only person in New Jersey who is worrying about having enough air conditioning this summer, tonight. Every other peep is worrying about snow. My Mom, being an elderly woman, is all upset by the prospect of snow of any duration or amount.

Here in this state, the mere mention of the "s" word send elderly peeps, man or woman everywhere, from small village to large city, scurrying to the supermarket and/or the local home and garden center to stock up on everything from milk to rock salt. Snow sends elderly peeps into a dither. I don't apologize for me love of snow - I know I'm in the minority, even among young peeps. But I am different when it comes to snow. Since I'm disabled - handicapped, to put it another way, I don't have to go outside in the snow. There's a downside to that, because I can only see the snow from the window. It's been years since I've been able to stand outside in the middle of blowing, furiously falling snow. I miss that. On the upside, I don't have to drive in the snow and I don't have to shovel snow. Of course, I won't allow my husband to shovel snow, either, simply because he's over sixty. Our son has volunteered to stay overnight at our house tonight so he can shovel the snow for Bill.  The last time it snowed, we waited for a neighborhood kid to come by to offer to shovel the snow - any kid, at all!

But no one came. No one. Not one kid. Zip. Nada. A big, fat, goose egg of a zero.

It seems that kids these days just get anything they need from their parents, so why should they have to work for it.   But whatever the reason, people who shouldn't be shoveling snow for medical reasons or age are forced to shovel snow anyway, or have to stay home from work. Bill couldn't stay home from work, so he shoveled as little as he could, and drove out. When he came back home, he had to speed up to drive over the snow in the driveway. I'm very happy that my son will be there to help his Dad.  Since I'm here with my Mom, she won't have to go over to my brother's house, which she usually does if there is a bit storm coming, She's always afraid that the power will go out, and she'd be really worried if it did and she was here alone. The two of us will be stronger together than either one of us would be on our own. 

I am going to make her a pineapple pie this afternoon. It's her very favorite pie. If it weren't for real, French-style chocolate mousse, I think it would be her favorite dessert.

 At left is a picture of my street in the snow.

She says that she will only order chocolate mousse in a French restaurant because she has always since she has always been disappointed when she ordered it at any other type of restaurant. I know how to make the real mousse au chocolat, and I will make it for her the next time I come.Yesterday, she got a package in the mail. For the first time since I've known her, (my entire sixty years) she ordered something through the mail. She ordered one of those brownie pans with the tart pan-like bottoms and the part that cuts the brownies into 16 even pieces. We'll definitely have to test the pan, of course, so I think we'll make brownies, too. ;o)

Well - I've been up overnight again. It's almost 8am. I think I began this post at about 11 last night. Gotta go now.

I'm just sayin'

Tuesday Night @ The Mother's

It's 9:33 pm on a Tuesday. I am spending another week with my Mom, who is also known as The Mother. By me, anyway. I'm one of two of her seven children who are in their sixties. Well, I'm only sixty, just barely in my sixties - my sister, Mo, is eleven months older than I so she's actually in her sixties. I've been calling my Mom "The Mother" since I was about twenty, so - for a long time. She was born in 1926 on Easter Sunday. Hmm. Those two words have always struck me as belonging in the files of The Redundancy Department of Redundancy, or it's sister association, The Department of Redundancy Department, since Easter is always on a Sunday. Ergo, no one ever has to say Easter Sunday. It's understood.
The reason Easter is a move-able feast, is because it always falls on the first Sunday after the first full moon of spring, the season of new beginnings and renewal. In older days, people looked to the moon and the sun and stars for guidance. When primitive people were just beginning to understand that they were different from the other animals, because of the gift of thought and language, the sun and the moon, and the movements of the stars ruled their days. Until a real calendar was invented, those things were their guides. As more time goes by, people are astonished again at what those "primitive" people were able to accomplish using sheer sweat and muscle. Every time scientists find out how some ancient wonder was built and attempt to do it themselves and succeed, they find that they can't do it the same way. First, it's because they don't have years to finish it, and second, they just don't have enough people. It took an incredible amount of man-hours and literally, years to have built some of the things our ancestors built using what they had. 
But, I've rambled off the subject, as usual. I was talking about Easter and the fact that my Mother was born on Easter on April 4th in 1926. Easter fell on April 4th only one other time since then - in 1999. There was so much time between 1926 and 1999 that my Mom always wondered when Easter would be on her birthday again, if ever. With the parameters set: It has to be on a Sunday and it has to be in the beginning of spring, and that first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox - there's a finite amount of days on which Easter can be.
The next time Easter was on April 4th was in 1999. My Mom always wondered why Easter hardly ever fell on her birthday. The thing is - she didn't only bring it up on Easter or on her birthday. She could see a picture of a bunny and segue over to the subject of the dearth of times Easter had been on her birthday.
A birthday cake would bring the subject to mind. Last year, when the conversation around the Easter dinner came around reached the reason for Easter occurring when it does, I left the table, repaired to the computer and looked up "Easter dates." When I came back to the table I stunned The Mother with the news that the very nice time the bunny's big day would be on April 4th would be ... twenty-ten. 2010. Next year (then) this year, now.
I have always gone to my Mom's for Easter. Since my sons were little boys, Bill and I have celebrated the dinner at wherever she was. After she married my step-Dad, Jerry, my (step)-brother, Gerry and his wife and children have joined us many times. However, this year I wanted to see if I could entice all my brothers and sisters (except for Ginny, who lives in the UK) to join in celebrating our Mother's 84th birthday. My sister, Susan, brought up the idea separately at my brother Chris's house when many of my siblings were there and we got a very nice response. Since I have so much time on my hands, I took on the job of getting us all together and with the help of my darling husband and with input from my Mom, got it done! Every one of us will be there celebrating our Mother's birthday on Easter morning. 
I couldn't be happier.
I'm just sayin'

 

January Thaw & Sleep Deprevation

It's Friday. I skipped Thursday I didn't mean to; I worked on the post, but things just got away from me yesterday. We're still in the January thaw, with temps well above average and no hint of snow - none anyway, and it's too warm.
The picture I've used today is a NASA photo of the whole of Great Britain covered with snow. A very cool pic!
No snow here! Bah and Phooey!!
I was going along, minding my own business living my life, such as it is, when I heard about the truly awful ruling by our conservative-driven Supreme Court (courtesy of George W Bush - great job there, George!!) which, with a stroke of a pen, discarded 103 years of
The United States of America being somewhat protected from special interests. The way things will be that began this morning, is that special interests, huge corporations and such will now have no holds on how much they can contribute to politicians. In other words, the more money that banks, insurance companies, corporations of any size care to throw at the people in the Government or anything or anyone they want to influence, they can.
No one will be able to police them. Any safeguards against obscene amounts of money being used to buy whatever are gone. The country I lived in yesterday has been drastically changed. Somehow that will affect every one of us one o' these days.
On the sleep subject, I was awake for about 36 hour straight and finally I fell asleep at about 2 am on Friday morning. I slept until 11 am, woke up and tried to eat breakfast.
I couldn't eat (not necessarily a bad thing for me!) so I went back to sleep at about 1 pm and slept until 2:30. I really hate when I sleep for hours during the day. I feel very strongly that I've wasted precious time. I might have to resort to taking a damn sleeping pill one of these evenings so I can actually sleep overnight. Unfortunately, it's over night when my brain jumps from subject to subject, indiscriminately.  Well okay - no, my brain does that all the time. I just feel like my brain is more awake. More alive.
I know it's because I am so fucking inactive during the day, but I need to explain that.
Yesterday, I went downstairs to spend some active (as active as is possible for me) with Duffy. I had gotten a package in the mail with stuff for Duffy, so I brought them down to him. I did take one of my canes, my cellphone, reading glasses and the four items for The Duffster. It was a little awkward climbing onto the chairlift that's installed on our staircase. Steps are hard for me. My right knee doesn't bend easily. (The last bone guy I saw in May 2009 told me that my right knee was "totally destroyed" after he looked at my knees and the x-rays and MRI of the bad one. I already knew that, so I wondered if I had to pay him. He didn't even offer me any new meds!  At least I could have used those!)
So, I rode the lift downstairs, tossed the stuff onto my overstuffed comfy chair, climbed off the lift, and using the cane for support plus the newel post, carefully clambered down the two steps to the living room. I sat on my OSC chair and gave Duffy his new toys. I used the cane to get around and took Duffy to the back door - he didn't want to go outside, so I went back to my OSC chair. I got up and down several times and went into the kitchen to look for ingredients for dinner. I want to help him much more than I do - I feel so damn guilty that he does everything in this house.
The main reason it's so messy is that he just can't do everything himself. I worry about him all the time. I could certainly help him with the cooking, but this is exactly why it's so hard. Yesterday I found the canned gravy and the leftover London broil.
We'd planned to have hot roast beef sandwiches, so I wanted to make the gravy.
I tweaked it by adding about 1/2 a cup of Chardonnay, some onion powder, garlic powder, dried parsley and freshly ground black pepper and brought the whole thing to a simmer. This all took about 15 minutes. Just the bending to ding the frying pan, standing to open the fridge, and standing to stir the sauce exhausted me. Sweat was pouring off me, down my neck and my hair was soaking wet. I sat in the OSC chair and called Bill to tell him that I was going to have to go back upstairs and lie down again.
I really want to cook dinner every night, but I need the kitchen and living room set up again so I can reach everything easily and I need my power chair back. It's been in the shed since before Christmas. It's hard for me to explain to Bill how important the Hoveround is to me. Just being able to sit when I need to is wonderful. I can steer over to the stove and stand to do the actual cooking, while sitting to rest. The Hoveround doesn't get all the way to the back door, but I'm able to stand and walk to let Duffy out and walk back, with the aid of the cane, as long as I can sit right back down and drive back into the living room. The Hoveround gets up close to the fridge, so I don't have to stand to look for things. Walking is hard for me, but standing in one place is infinitely harder. So here went another day with me sleeping during the daytime. I didn't read any of the books I'm in the middle of today and didn't get online until after 5 this afternoon. I didn't watch very much TV today, either. Bill and I watched a David Attenborough wildlife special this morning - I adore David Attenborough. Then I was asleep for most of the day. I watched the new Burn Notice from last night. Very good.
So I wasted today - didn't get to help Bill in any way. I didn't take my daytime meds; I just took the nighttime ones. I'm watching the Australian Open. Roger Federer is winning his match easily. Serena Williams went 5 - 0 with no problems whatsoever in 15 minutes and it took her longer than that to clinch the set. Her service game at 5 - 0 was excruciating. I don't know how many deuces it went to, but it was a lot. Serena prevailed, anyway, and is in the 2nd set.
Tomorrow, we're going to a party in celebration of my nephew Jake's 15th birthday, which will actually be on Monday. Jake is my brother Chris's older child. His daughter, Tara, is 12.
The Mother (my Mother) and most of my family should be at Chris's house tomorrow.
In a break from having a party at the usual Ferejohn time of 2 or 3, tomorrow's shindig will be a four pm, so I will just relax all day.
Bill is bringing me a cuppa tea before he settles down with a book or a movie. I am going to try to go to sleep soon.
I'm just sayin'

a wednesday in a warm january

This is the winter view from my kitchen window. Actually, the view probably hasn't changed in years, but the window has. This window has been here since March of 1993, when our contractor, Greg, was finishing up rebuilding our half of a duplex after the inside was partially gutted by a fire. The attic and my bedroom - the front bedroom were spared, with my bedroom getting mostly water damage. The stuff that was stored in the attic, including our Christmas ornaments and such, smelled like a house fire for quite a long time. In the front bedroom, I have a rocking chair that my husband, Bill and my friend Margee gave me as a baby shower gift in anticipation of the birth of our first child. It sustained a lot of water and smoke damage in the fire. Bill looked online and found out exactly how to restore it. He did a really good job and the rocking chair is still in my bedroom waiting for the time when I may be blessed with the opportunity to rock a grandchild of my own to sleep in the same rocking chair I rocked my own sons. I hope and pray that day come.
My first inclination was to add the words, "before I die" or "while I'm still alive."
Both are from the Redundant Department of Redundancy, of course, since either I'll be here to see them and write about it, or I'll be dead.
Even though I think about death a lot, I would never ever take my own life. I find it to be the height of callousness. It is, in my own opinion, a cowardly act and a vicious one, even if the person who commits suicide doesn't think of it as vicious. Many times, I would think, the person who commits suicide thinks they'll be doing the people who care for them a favor.
Not so. Not so. Those who love us, love us despite our shortcomings, our foibles and our failures. As much as we might piss them of or regardless of how unlike we seem to be, our loved ones, especially our family members, love us and pretty much accept us for who we are, warts and all. Even if we have alienated our family, they would still mourn us.
I love my family, in various stages, yes - but I love them all. I would never burden my Mother with such a thing, nor my dear husband or precious sons. And I don't want to die.
Ever! Heh. Although, for each and every one of us, death is inevitable. We are all gonna die, sooner or later. I'd like my death to be later. Would I want to know when?
That is such a tough question. If I were dying, I would want to know - I would not want Bill or the boys to keep that from me. And I think I would deserve to know that about my husband, God forbid! Or my Mother. She tells me things she doesn't tell anyone else. For instance, she told me that she is going to have some small repair surgery done down by her lower lips.
It's to repair a prolapse and it shouldn't be much, except for the fact that she will be 84.
I have to ask her when she is supposed to schedule it and make sure she gets to it in a timely fashion. Certainly, I will stay with her when she goes in for it. Because of her age, I would want her doctors to keep her in the hospital overnight, just to make sure she has the finest care.
I will take on helping her at home like I did when she broke her shoulder several years ago.
I am in better shape than I was then, so it should be fine.
When I go and stay with her next week, I will make sure that I come inside for breakfast with her every morning. She waits on me way too much of the time when I'm there. I don't want her to be doing that anymore. Or Bill either. 
Actually, tomorrow, I will ask Bill to bring my Hoveround back inside the house and plug it in so I can use it again. Then I will try to cook dinner every day.
Tomorrow I will take a shower at 7 am and dress and go downstairs for breakfast with the "Little Black Bag" with me. Then the two of us will stop at the Shoprite or Stop N Shop and The Wine Library. I will make dinner tomorrow night. Hot roast beef sandwiches with a salad of romaine lettuce and little teeny tiny tomatoes with a home made Caesar dressing and a cake that baked myself without his help.
It'll be a big first step, since I should be making dinner every night. The poor guy has to come home after a hard half day's work and then cook dinner. I can at least do that every night. Once I'm in the habit of doing it every night, we'll clean out the kitchen of stuff that's in the way on the counters.
Also, I want the canned goods off the curved shelves in the kitchen so we can put things we need to have nearby, but out the way. I sure had enough rambling to do tonight!
I'm just sayin'

A New Beginning

Twenty Ten. Two thousand and ten. Two thousand, ten. 2010.
No matter how many different ways I write it or say it, it's the same number. According to the most widely accepted calendar, those of us here on Planet Earth at this moment are living in the year 2010, two thousand and ten years after the birth of Jesus Christ.
In the first place, it's a remarkable year. We have entered the second decade of the 'thousands, sometimes written the '00s. I'm sure that many amazing things have happened over the past ten years that I have no knowledge of; they happened when I wasn't looking.
I think most of us are oblivious of most of the things that go on in the world outside of our own sphere.
It's the time of year when a lot of us stop to take stock of what has happened to us during the preceding year and to decide whether there is anything we want to change about ourselves or our lives.
Last year at about this time, I had a heart attack. Just eight days into 2009, I found myself feeling extremely ill, very nauseous and unable to catch my breath - almost not able to breathe. My face was swollen and a deep red in color. I was barely able to get dressed. I was at my mother's house in Red Bank, NJ, where my son, Chris and his girlfriend, whom we had never met, were visiting from Oregon. Also, my sister, Ginny, was visiting from her home in England. My husband, Bill, was at our home in Maplewood, about forty minutes away. My Mom, very worried about me, called him. I don't even know if he left right away. My sisters, Mo and Susan, arrived at Mom's house because they had planned a day in the City with Ginny.
My sister, Maureen (Mo) said, "Wow, Ellen, your face is really red." That was her single contribution to my dilemma. I think Susan was a bit more helpful.
I remember my son, Christopher (also called, Zeke) was terribly worried.
Finally, Bill got there. I could barely find enough strength to walk, but I made it to the car. Bill wanted to take me home so that he could bring me to Overlook Hospital in Summit, which is much closer to Maplewood, but I was afraid I wouldn't make it to Summit. I was really scared. So he took me to Riverview Medical Center, in Red Bank, which was only twenty minutes away. As soon as I got to the lobby of the hospital and Bill told a nurse that I was short of breath, they put me on oxygen.
It felt so wonderful. I did not have any chest pain. My back hurt, I was exhausted and still very nauseous. When I was admitted to the ER, at first the doctors and their team treated me as presenting with problems with my gall bladder.
That progressed and they took and EKG, some blood, a chest x-ray and an ultrasound or x-ray of my gall bladder and began an IV. Then, they came back to take more blood.
Then, a few hours later, they took still more blood. I know that I have veins which are very difficult for the hematologists and techs to work with - it's hard to draw my blood. Wow, did those people find that out! Sometimes, three or four technicians had to try before they could get any at all. Not a picnic, that's for sure. I never complain, though. They are all just trying to do their job - they never mean to hurt anyone.
I like to learn everyone's name and call them by their names. Everyone deserves to be treated at least with civility and should be treated with kindness. We all deserve that. I was in the ER for ten hours before being moved to a room.
After I was settled into a bed, hooked up to wall oxygen and had my IV stabilized,
they came to take another EKG. With all my medical problems: obesity, crippling degenerative joint disease, major depression, type 2 diabetes and high blood pressure - I have never had two EKG's taken, so I knew that something was going on. I asked and was told that my heart enzymes were elevated. It seems that elevated heart enzymes means just one thing. Heart problems; perhaps a heart attack. I was more scared now. Bill had gone home - I was alone and frightened.
I knew that my having a heart attack was my fault. The life I'd led up until then, even under the care of my own doctor, Dr. Dawn Calimari (whom Bill and I call
Dr. Squid) and whom I love and trust implicitly, I hadn't been doing the things I should to keep my body in good condition. Neither has Bill. I can't worry too much about him any more. I can only tell him what I think he should do and then he is the one who has to do it. I have to worry more about myself, now.
It sounds selfish, yes, but I don't want to die. Not yet, anyway. I was 59.
As much as I hate being 60, I'm glad I am!
A doctor came in the next morning to tell me that I'd had a heart attack. That's an impressive thing to hear. Bill was there, and he asked her, "on a scale of one to ten, how bad was the heart attack?" The doctor's name was Dr. Ponti, and she answered, in a middle Euorpean accent, "Heart attack is heart attack. Is all bad."
I had the feeling then, that Bill did not believe that I'd actually had a heart attack.
I found out later, that he decided to believe that it wasn't serious, so he didn't have to worry about it.
I was in the hospital for five days and I had an angiogram, which showed no damage. When I saw my own cardiologist a few weeks later, he wasn't sure I'd had a heart attack, because there didn't seem to be any damage to my heart muscle or damage to my arteries. He said it was, "a mitsvah." A miracle sort of heart attack, because when he did finally get the paperwork from Riverview, which showed that, according to the blood work; the heart enzymes, I did have a small heart attack.
I always remember what Dr. Ponzi said. "Heart attack is heart attack. Is all bad."
I changed the way I ate, lost some weight. I have gone down a few sizes, I definitely look a little thinner - I feel better. But I could be working harder.
I have stopped being careful about my blood sugar. I hardly ever take my blood sugar and I eat less, but I still too often eat things that are bad for me. I need to do better. Last year, a physical therapist told me that I can only exercise in the hot water pool. However, the co-pay is just too expensive for us. I need to find someone at Horizon/Medicare to help me with that. We still owe lots of money for medical care that Bill and I have had, but we can't afford to pay any of it and still be able to pay our other important bills, such as, gas and electricity, water, gas and upkeep for our old jalopy of a car, food, upkeep for the house, taxes, double taxes, outstanding other bills, Bill's medications and mine- which add up to hundreds of dollars a month.
This year, I resolve to try to take better care of myself. I resolve to try to eat better and to try to walk more, no matter what the pain. I resolve to try to get Bill to take the de-cluttering of our house and lives seriously. We are going to begin to clean our bedroom and the back bedroom and divest ourselves of everything we won't use. I promise to get rid of the lion's share of my books. That will be painful, too - but it has to be done and I will do it in 2010.

A Saturday party and I can't go

Again, I can't believe that it's been so long since I've posted!! I mean, it's not as if anyone reads this anyway. I just should be better at keeping some sort of journal.
So - today is just the beginning of Saturday, September 26th, 2009. Yesterday, Bill and I went out pretty early in the morning, before 8, and headed for the lab. In June, my doctor, Dr. Dawn Calamari, who we lovingly call Dr. Squid, gave me a prescription to have blood drawn and a urinalysis done - I didn't do it. I have plenty of excuses, all of them true - we couldn't get a day for weeks that jibed with Bill's schedule - I went away for three weeks in June and three more weeks in July and August. Then, I took the paperwork, which had been
in the car since June 13th, and "put it someplace where it would be safe." In other words, I lost it. I bit the bullet and confessed to Wendy, the quite nice Moat Monster at Dr. Squid's office, that I'd lost the paperwork. She gave us the new paperwork last Monday -
five days ago. However, I didn't go to get the blood drawn until yesterday, Friday, the 25th. It's mostly because both Bill and I are lazy and we like to sleep in in the morning.
It's why Bill likes his job so much. He doesn't have to leave for work until noon at the earliest on most days. I couldn't do the pee part yesterday, so they gave me a cup to bring home and fill. I did my best. Bill, who has to be the best husband in the world, took it this morning back to the lab. He also took my poor crashed Toshiba to their place in Nutley, NJ. They may be able to salvage my hard drive. I hope they can. I didn't backup my work. I know - stupid. I even have a 1T bookcase backup drive.
Anyway, as soon as I get my laptop back, I'll set up a backup schedule linked to my Windows Live Care.
Now, today there is a party at my nephew Pete's house. He and, Erica, his wife of 14 months, bought a small, nice house very close to her Mom and Dad's house. He sounds really content, which is lovely. The party today is to let people see his house and to have an end of the season barbecue. We are not sure we're going to make it. It's scheduled from 1 to 6, and it's already 2:24 PM. I called Petey to tell him that we were probably not going to make it, so not to look for us, but he told me to have Uncle Bill call him when he got home to let him know. I am flattered that he wants me to come so much, but I really don't feel well and I don't fancy a forty-five minute drive so I can stay at a barbecue for 3 hours when I won't eat anything there. I wish I did feel strong enough to go, but tomorrow there's a party at my sister Susan's house; a belated third birthday party for her grandson, Luke. He is a terrific little kid and I really want to go to the party. Susan's house is only ten minutes from my house, so it will be much easier for me to go there.
We are also supposed to go and see my nephew, Steven, perform his stand-up comedy act tonight, but it's in Keansburg, which is about a forty minute drive. Bill thinks it will be too much for me. We still have time to think about that.
Damn!!! It's a few minutes after 5!! I fell asleep and missed the first two innings of the Yankees/Red Sux game!! Damn!! Well - at least there's no score yet.
I'm off.

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slacking

Wow! I had no idea it has been so long since I'd last posted to this ramble.
Today, September 5, 2009, is the Saturday of Labor Day Weekend. I am with Bill and Duffy house/pet-sitting for my brother, Mike. The Mother comes to visit with me every day I'm here, which is always wonderful. In fact, I am not going home with Bill and Duffy on Monday - I'll be going over to The Mother's house to stay with her for several days. We get along very well and we talk about everything under the stars. She does her crossword puzzles while I am online a lot of the time. We like the same TV shows, so we watch some of them together and of course, we watch the Yankee games. She takes very good care of me. (I need that) ;o)
The Mother likes to have company, so it works for her, and her house has no stairs, which is really good for me. I always look forward to the visits and I'm very happy that my Mom looks forward to them, too.
I do miss my DVR system and all the channels I have at home, but then, she has cool channels that I don't get at home, so it's all good.
I'm going to stop right now because Mom and I are switching back and forth between US Open tennis (Sharapova/Melanie Oudin (who is 17!) and the Yankee game. The Yankees turned into the New York Stinkies last night against Toronto, at least we're ahead today 2-zip in the top of the 4th, Andy Pettite pitching for us.
Back latah - off to tennis/baseball

Duffy and (C)leo Bloom

The pucture at left is of my dog Duffy, actually Colonel Hamish MacDuff of The Maples. Duffy, a Cairn Terrier (which is an old Scottish breed), for reference, is the same kind of dog that Toto was. He is really more Bill's dog than mine, and that does bother me, but not as much as I thought it would. Being pretty damned crippled with arthritis and having worsening diabetes-caused cataracts and glaucoma in both my eyes, I can't really do as much with Duffy as I'd always done with the dogs that came before him. My dog, MacTavish, actuallyLady Fiona MacTavish, was five years old when I married Bill and she came with me. She was Bill's and our sons' first pet and she lived to be fifteen. Because we thought that MacTavish was on her last legs, we got our Yellow Labrador Retriever, Aspen, from Seeing Eye of Morristown, NJ. He had arthritis in this front right leg so he couln't be counted on to work every day without fail. We lucked out and got him when he was nine months old. He was an excellent dog. He had had some previous training, but I trained him the rest of the way by myself. After MacTavish died four years later, we found that we liked having two dogs at a time, so we bought a pure bred blond Cocker Spaniel named, Brandy, actually Meriadoc Brandybuck. We paid a ridiculous amount of money for him. Six hundred dollars. I know. I know.
If I could have that six hundred dollars back right now I'd ... I was just going to say that I'd buy us something that we really need, but I'd just be kidding myself. I'd probably put some of it away so I could talk Bill into another Cairn. Heh. We have to finish training Duffy before I can really think about that. If we had had enough money when we bought Duffy from the breeder, we would have taken two puppies. It's just as well that we didn't - Duffy's enough!

After Aspen died, we had to have him put down on June 4th, 1992 because he had leukemia, we had Brandy alone for a while and then we got a huge black part Irish Wolfhound, part Black Lab from the shelter. He was 8 months old and sick, but I loved him the moment I saw him and he loved me. Mike wanted another big dog and so did I, so I kind of hornswaggled Bill into letting me have him. His name was Boomer and he turned out to be a helluva good dog. When Brandy was nine years old, he developed a liver disease suddenly on the Friday after Thanskgiving. I took him to the vet on Monday morning, when he was put down. We kept Boomer by himself for a while, but I had become increasing crippled and had arthroscopic surgery on my left knee, during which they found what the surgeon called "a fair amount of arthritis." That was in 1998. Now, ten years later, my right leg is the "bad" leg, although the left one could never be called good. >g< I am going to have to have two knee replacements one o' these days. However, that's for the future. Ten years in the past, I couldn't do much of anything. The day before the surgery on my leg was the last day I could really work as an assistant pre-school teacher.
I was never able to go back to work. I was recovering from the knee surgery when I decided that I wanted to get another dog. I thought it was time for a puppy, but since I was hobbled, maybe a rescue again like Boomer. I feel in love with our next dog the instant I saw her. Bill thought we were leaving and I bent down and whispered to the little four month old, part Blue-tick Coon dog/part retriever, "I'll be right back." Bill and I left and as I stumped toward the car he said to me, "You really want that little white dog, don't you?" I shrugged. "I guess so," I said, keeping my eyes down. And Bill, sweet man that he is, said to me, "Okay. You go back in and bond with the puppy while I go to the AMT machine."
When he got back with the $43.oo, I was sitting in a chair with a little wriggling puppy in my arms.
We were going to name her Maeve, but I remembered the sitcom Mad About You, in which the two cousins, Paul and Ira had called each other "Splinky" when they were little boys. Splinky! That was the perfect name for this odd, dear little puppy. My sons always called her "Spunkler", but then they also called Boomer, "Boner." Go figure. When we had to have Boomer put down at the age of 14, it was the first time in a long time that we only had one dog, but we'd gotten a little black kitten which we named Chloe O'Brien, after a character on the TV show, "24." Our cat, Rags, also 14 had also been put down several months before and we had another cat, Kato, who was also 14. Splinky, Kato and Chloe O'Brien were enough. At the age of ten, Splinky was doing fine. She was well-loved, as were our cats, and we were a very happy family. One morning, however, Bill woke me to tell me that something was terribly wrong with Splinky. Bill had come to love her as much as I did and he was very worried. She was sitting on the kitchen floor, slumping to the side and she couldn't sit up, although she valiantly tried to. She was slobbering and, for the first time ever, I saw what is meant by "foaming at the mouth." Bill said he though that she had earlier had a seizure. Right then, she had another seizure. We took her to a new vet of Bill's choosing. The vet wanted to do lots of tests. I said we couldn't afford tests. It got a little tense and there were words said. I left and Bill came out to talk to me. I thought we had been bringing Splinky to probably be put to sleep. We could not afford the hundreds of dollars that this vet person was ready to charge us. I told him that I thought my dog had had a stroke or some other brain problem. He said he needed to do tests. I left it up to Bill, who told the guy to do some preliminary testing. Then we had to leave our Splinky there since I had a doctor's appointment. We got a call from the vet. He said that our
dog had another seizure and he had her on fluids and was watching her.
Later that day, close to evening, Bill called me to tell me that he was coming to pick me up, that the vet had told him to come to say goodbye to our dog. It was time to put her to sleep. Bill picked me up and we called our son, who met us at the vet. We found out that Splinky had suffered seven more strokes before the vet decided it was time to put her down. She would not have suffered those strokes if the vet had just listened to me early that day. I felt terrible that my Splinky had suffered for one extra minute.
The vet came in and we apologised for our argument that morning. He said he understood that I had been under a lot of stress. Then he gave Splinky the two injections and she passed peacefully away.
Bill sobbed as he held her close to him. Our son gave her a pat and then had to leave. It was too sad for him. Bill and I stayed with Splinky for about 20 minutes and then sadly left after signing the usual "cremation, no ceremony" paperwork. As we left the vet gave Bill a bill for his services. More than $500.00 for the one day and the freaking useless tests. We have since gone back to our vet of more than 25 years.
That was back in May. On Mother's Day, so also in May, our 14 year old Kato sneaked out of our house on a forbidden jaunt for the last time. He was hit by a car and killed that night.
Now we had our cat, Chloe O'Brien. Just the one cat and no dog. Bill and I realized that it was the first time we did not have a dog since we'd been married thirty years ago. It was such an odd feeling. All my life I had wanted a dog and my Mom finally gave in when I was 23. My Dad let me put teeny tiny little MacTavish on his American Express card. She cost $285.00 That was 36 years ago, in 1972.
When I married Bill in 1977, MacTavish was five years old and became Bill's very first pet ever.
In the thirty years since, we'd had five other dogs and several cats. This was the first time we were without a dog and we felt bereft. We needed a dog. I knew that Bill wanted to downsize from Boomer, s0 he and I went to the shelter in our town and a few other shelters. We were appalled to learn that the shelters wanted to charge us 200 t0 600 dollars to adopt what was essentially a stray dog. The shelter personnel were not able to tell me how old the animals were, what breed and how big they were going to get. Both Bill and I figured that if we were going to have to pay that much for a stray dog, we'd much rather use the money to buy a dog that we knew all about! We were very willing to get another rescue dog, but not at that price! What about a sliding fee? What about our track record? I remain appalled.
I knew that Bill wanted a smaller dog and that he'd always loved Cairn terriers so I began to search online at the Cairn rescues. I saw a few dogs, but we'd decided that since we have the "empty nest" at last, we had the time for a puppy. I looked online for about two weeks and I and I found a breeder in upstate New York who had Cairn puppies, 12 weeks old. The moment Bill and I saw Duffy, we knew he was the one for us. He will be seven months old on September 12th and he has become a very much loved member of our family. After we had him, Bill began to pine for another cat, so he went to the shelter and chose the smallest kitten he could get. He didn't realize that she was only 1 month old. Oh. The same shelter that charges $200.00 for a dog, puppy or adult, charges only $50.00 for a cat or kitten.

Duffy is one very stubborn puppy. He's nearly seven months old, is about 95% house broken, walks nicely on the leash, sleeps quietly in his crate at night and when we need him to stay in it and sits and stays on command. He also can beg for a treat and we are working on him giving his paw. He's getting better at that. Right now I am teaching him the "down" command. We use the word "off" if we want him to get off the couch or stop jumping on people, so we can save the "down" command for just making him lie down. He also fetches things and brings them back to me almost all the time in the house, but he brings the fetched item near me outside.
His worst fault is that he is a very stubborn little guy. Many breeds of terriers can be stubborn, so they need more work than other breeds like retrievers or poodles. Duffy does not come when he's called. It's selective hearing because he knows his name. He just doesn't come on command. Both Bill and I are quite worried about this because he's gotten away from Bill at least twice and he's a runner. He's certainly faster than Bill. I want him to learn to come every single time. We may have to take him to a trainer if we can't teach him this. I will be working on it outside in the park behind our house as soon as I can find some way to attach the leash to my mobility scooter so that I can take him for walks alone.

Duffy absolutely adores Bill. If I were dying on the living room floor and Bill was coming in the front door, Duffy would jump over me to get to Bill. They love each other and it's so nice to see Bill with his little buddy. Unfortunately, the main reason that Duffy loves Bill best is because Bill never makes him do anything that's not fun. I am the one who trains Duffy and I am the disciplinarian, even though Bill spends much more time with him than I do. If I were Duffy, I'd like Bill best, too. Bill, although a lovely man, a good husband and father and an excellent Counselor, is an utter failure as a dog trainer.
He has let Duffy have the run of our house since Duffy was 4 months old, no matter how many times I told him that you can't housebreak a puppy unless you confine him to one place. Since we have a back yard, Bill almost never takes Duffy for a walk and dogs, especially puppies, need to learn to walk on the leash and just need to walk for the fun of it. Bill has finally realized that the crate is not a punishment.
We were away at my brother's house for 2 weeks while he and his family were on vacation.
We stay at his house to care for their dog and cat and watch the house. He has an in-ground pool, so except for the fact that his house has a lot of steps for me to deal with, it's a pleasure for us to stay there.
Their dog, Zoe, is always happy to see one of her doggy "cousins." She and Duffy run each other ragged!
Zoe is five years old, so is a bit slower than Duffy, who is about 1/3 her size. Duffy, having much shorter legs and being still a puppy, has a harder time running up and down the wooden stairs that go from the deck down to the yard and fenced-in pool. They wear each other out. We used to keep Duffy in his crate in the living room. Bill always falls asleep with the TV on with the volume down. Since he has always snored, he has always at least begun the night on the couch until I was asleep. Besides, I take up an awful lot of room in the bed, being a generously zaftig woman. Isn't that a nice way of saying that I'm fat?
Anyway, even though Bill was there with him, Duffy kept whining and barking for the first two nights we were there and neither Bill nor I got any sleep at all. So I asked Bill to try putting the crate in the master bedroom with me. Bill did, put Duffy in it and left, closing the door tightly so that Zoe wouldn't nose her way in. As for Duffy .... not a peep. Not a single yipe, yelp, bark or whine. He put his head down on his stuffed sheep and went to sleep and didn't wake up until I got up at six the next morning. Sometimes he wakes Bill up at four in the morning at home. The next night, Bill came in to hang out and watch TV with me and Duffy began to whine. The minute Bill left ... not a peep! Duffy might know who he likes best, but he also knows who is in charge. >gg< The next day I left the door to the crate open and when Duffy was tired, he crawled right in, lay on his pillow and his sheep and went to sleep. After that he went in and out of it all day long and I locked him in when I needed to during the day and always at night. He loved it.
Here at home, Duffy hasn't gone in on his own yet, but he goes in without a peep when we need him to, even when our two cats walk past him and stick their tongues out at him and tease him.
Tomorrow, I am calling the vet to find out where we can have Duffy neutered cheaply. I'll make an appointment with our vet to make sure that Duffy is in good shape before we set up the neutering.
Also, we are going to have the micro chip put in under his skin for insurance in case, God forbid, he ever gets lost. And his adult teeth have come in, but his bottom canine baby teeth are still there with his adult ones. I want the vet to tell me what to do about them. I don't know if we just let them fall out on their own, or, since they haven't fallen out, do we have the vet pull them.
I love this little dog very much. After he is full grown and all trained, we will probably get another Cairn puppy, but I think, with my son's help, I'd like to do it as a surprise for Bill.

Our two cats now, .... well - that's another story for another day.
I'm just sayin'.