Tomorrow is my left knee's third surgery. I am actually looking forward to it. My doctor is a bit...conservative to respond to the fact that my knee joint is dying and the bones are crumbling into themselves, kind of like that one time I made pizza and forgot it was in the oven and it was like those charcoal snake pellets you buy on the Fourth of July and light on fire and they expand into a snake that crushes into powder. Like that.
I'm also kind of looking forward to it because it's a week off of work, and relatively speaking, not too uncomfortable. Not like a knee replacement, which I am fairly sure will be surgery number 4. Oddly enough, what I dislike most about joint replacement surgeries is that they shave your leg or wherever WHILE YOU'RE AWAKE, and you usually wake up with a Foley catheter to drain your pee. That's all well and good, but it's not real fun when they take it out. So what would I prefer, not having one in at all? My last joint replacement, that is exactly what happened - and I was in too much pain to want to get up to go to the bathroom as often as a constant IV drip of fluids necessitated. Bedpans aren't real fun either. I'm never happy, am I!
I've got my book that I'm working on, a ton of paperbacks from friends, and my dad hooked a DVD player up to the TV in my room. I'm all stocked up on gluten-free food so mom won't have to cook anything weird for me. I shaved my OWN knee very, very well this morning, so I am good to go! I just hope that the furry fuzzybutts that I let live with me show some restraint when jumping all over me in the middle of the night.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
I forgot what I was supposed to remember...
Today is Memorial Day. I'm not really sure what that means. It's a day off from work. It's a day to putter around the yard. It's the beginning of summer. It's a day to remember fallen soldiers. It's a day to remember deceased loved ones.
So why is it that everyone puts flowers on graves on Memorial Day? I am beginning to find this holiday as disgusting as Valentine's Day. You shouldn't need a calendar to remind you to make sure significant people in your life feel loved. Likewise, you shouldn't need size 8 font on a calendar to remind you to miss the ones you lost. Of course we miss those we lost. Are we really that busy and that overwhelmed by daily routines?
I miss my dad. My mom misses my dad. And the more we miss my dad, the more we love Doug, my stepdad. We are so damn lucky to have him in our lives. He makes pain become bearable, he makes funny become hilarious, and he makes our family strong. I had a fleeting thought that this Memorial Day I really should go see my dad's grave. But I heard my dad's voice - he told me that the best way to remember my dad is to go BE with my dad, Doug.
I drive past a cemetery each morning on my way to work. This winter, the grassy plots were a smorgasbord for deer. Fifty would gather each evening at dusk and munch away on the tufts of grass poking through the snow. This spring, the cemetery was once again deserted, save for a car that ostensibly belongs to the caretaker.
As I passed this morning, there was not a parking space to be seen. It was as if there was a wedding going on inside the chapel. I'm sure that this reason for gathering at loved ones' graves made people feel whole, as if they were doing right by their memories. I can't help it. It feels wrong. And this wrongness will only intensify as the summer wears on and the flowers fade, then wilt, with only an empty parking lot as witness.
So why is it that everyone puts flowers on graves on Memorial Day? I am beginning to find this holiday as disgusting as Valentine's Day. You shouldn't need a calendar to remind you to make sure significant people in your life feel loved. Likewise, you shouldn't need size 8 font on a calendar to remind you to miss the ones you lost. Of course we miss those we lost. Are we really that busy and that overwhelmed by daily routines?
I miss my dad. My mom misses my dad. And the more we miss my dad, the more we love Doug, my stepdad. We are so damn lucky to have him in our lives. He makes pain become bearable, he makes funny become hilarious, and he makes our family strong. I had a fleeting thought that this Memorial Day I really should go see my dad's grave. But I heard my dad's voice - he told me that the best way to remember my dad is to go BE with my dad, Doug.
I drive past a cemetery each morning on my way to work. This winter, the grassy plots were a smorgasbord for deer. Fifty would gather each evening at dusk and munch away on the tufts of grass poking through the snow. This spring, the cemetery was once again deserted, save for a car that ostensibly belongs to the caretaker.
As I passed this morning, there was not a parking space to be seen. It was as if there was a wedding going on inside the chapel. I'm sure that this reason for gathering at loved ones' graves made people feel whole, as if they were doing right by their memories. I can't help it. It feels wrong. And this wrongness will only intensify as the summer wears on and the flowers fade, then wilt, with only an empty parking lot as witness.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
The Church of Walmart
I am not a fan of wasting time. I take that back. I am a fan of wasting time when "wasting time" is the activity currently being engaged in. Not when it is a by-product of procrastination or distraction. Thus, I decided to jam my Walmart shopping into my morning before I was due at work.
I took the freeway, and wagered that I'd be able to get into the far left lane of the street I needed to be on from a right lane freeway exit. This is why I am not a world-class poker champion. I missed my turn. I pulled into a parking lot just beyond Walmart Boulevard, and made to turn around. Again, no luck - cars were streaming in after me. What the...? I had to go with the flow. The flow led me into a church parking lot. I drove through the lot, and lo and behold, was right next to Walmart! There is a God.
A trip to Walmart always takes longer than one thinks it will. I arrived at work five minutes late (for me, that's a big deal) and $100 poorer. A lot of that money was spent on produce. Produce is expensive. Produce has the shelf-life of a housefly. Why does society get all over lower-income people for eating processed foods and convenience foods? Convenience foods are convenient, yes, but they are cheap. They don't have white mold on them by the time you get them home and into your refrigerator's veggie drawer.
I propose a scientific study on the use of produce. It's not like science studies anything of more value - "Scientists find that eating four pounds of blueberries per day lowers your risk of cancer 2%." Of course it does. You'll have already died from blueberry toxicity.
I am willing to wager that it is actually MORE cost effective to eat 50% convenience/prepared/packaged foods and 50% home-made foods than it is to eat 100% home made OR 100% convenience foods. In the interim, I'll save the money I spend on hyperripe produce by collecting the mold. Grandma's getting some homemade pencillin for Christmas this year!
I took the freeway, and wagered that I'd be able to get into the far left lane of the street I needed to be on from a right lane freeway exit. This is why I am not a world-class poker champion. I missed my turn. I pulled into a parking lot just beyond Walmart Boulevard, and made to turn around. Again, no luck - cars were streaming in after me. What the...? I had to go with the flow. The flow led me into a church parking lot. I drove through the lot, and lo and behold, was right next to Walmart! There is a God.
A trip to Walmart always takes longer than one thinks it will. I arrived at work five minutes late (for me, that's a big deal) and $100 poorer. A lot of that money was spent on produce. Produce is expensive. Produce has the shelf-life of a housefly. Why does society get all over lower-income people for eating processed foods and convenience foods? Convenience foods are convenient, yes, but they are cheap. They don't have white mold on them by the time you get them home and into your refrigerator's veggie drawer.
I propose a scientific study on the use of produce. It's not like science studies anything of more value - "Scientists find that eating four pounds of blueberries per day lowers your risk of cancer 2%." Of course it does. You'll have already died from blueberry toxicity.
I am willing to wager that it is actually MORE cost effective to eat 50% convenience/prepared/packaged foods and 50% home-made foods than it is to eat 100% home made OR 100% convenience foods. In the interim, I'll save the money I spend on hyperripe produce by collecting the mold. Grandma's getting some homemade pencillin for Christmas this year!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Don't try this at home. Or at work.
I was feeling lazy this morning. Nothing new about that, only this laziness translated into "I have no idea what to pack myself for lunch so I'll grab a rice noodle bowl."
This afternoon, my stomach started growling. Lunchtime.
I go into the lunch room with my noodle bowl, peel off the top, fill with water, and stick it into the microwave for three minutes.
I'm standing there, reading a Southern Living Magazine, wondering if they could possibly put any more fat content into their recipes, when I smelled something funny. Very...seasoning like. The realization hits me.
I rush over to the microwave and slap at the door release. It swings open. 40 seconds left on the timer. I pull out my noodles, and look into the bowl.
Floating on top of my noodles is a congealed glob of tin foil, leaking seasoning into my soup. Sure enough, I forgot to take the seasoning out of the pouch.
On the bright side, I didn't start a fire by microwaving foil. Blessedly, actually, as our office manager is very...serious about her role, and would have undoubtedly made me buy a new microwave. One three times more expensive than the existing one, no doubt.
On the not-so-bright side, I am eating bland, partially cooked noodles, wondering if my coworkers will get MY hospital chart in the morning for our daily data entry: "Patient admitted to ER with gastrointestinal bleed. She was trying to cook top ramen and forgot to remove the foil packet. Bleed is due to consuming shreds of partially melted foil."
This afternoon, my stomach started growling. Lunchtime.
I go into the lunch room with my noodle bowl, peel off the top, fill with water, and stick it into the microwave for three minutes.
I'm standing there, reading a Southern Living Magazine, wondering if they could possibly put any more fat content into their recipes, when I smelled something funny. Very...seasoning like. The realization hits me.
I rush over to the microwave and slap at the door release. It swings open. 40 seconds left on the timer. I pull out my noodles, and look into the bowl.
Floating on top of my noodles is a congealed glob of tin foil, leaking seasoning into my soup. Sure enough, I forgot to take the seasoning out of the pouch.
On the bright side, I didn't start a fire by microwaving foil. Blessedly, actually, as our office manager is very...serious about her role, and would have undoubtedly made me buy a new microwave. One three times more expensive than the existing one, no doubt.
On the not-so-bright side, I am eating bland, partially cooked noodles, wondering if my coworkers will get MY hospital chart in the morning for our daily data entry: "Patient admitted to ER with gastrointestinal bleed. She was trying to cook top ramen and forgot to remove the foil packet. Bleed is due to consuming shreds of partially melted foil."
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Mother Goose, she is not.
My grandmother is 90. She thinks this is unfair, as if she is better than age. It is okay that time cripples those around her, but unspeakably awful when another prescription is added to the three medications she already takes. She has aortic stenosis (a hardening of the pipe leading into her heart - irony of ironies), and was given six months to live, six months ago. She is on borrowed time. Unfortunately, her awareness of this focuses and then dissipates, kind of like Alzheimer's. One day she's grateful for all she has been blessed with in life, and the next day, she turns back into herself.
On her "off" days, when she's not feeling especially well, she gets nicer. Mom, Doug, and I have been discussing the possibility of her needing to move soon, into an assisted living, or...perhaps in with me. She would benefit from a little extra help, tying her shoes in the morning, making her bed (which is stupid, as she gets up at 8 and takes her first nap of the day at 10), and with some meal preparation. She complains incessantly about the food at her retirement home. She complains incessantly about the other people that live there.
"I swear, she's just so lazy! She forgets everything!"
"She's not lazy," mom tries to explain. "She's ill."
"Well, whatever. Her elevator certainly doesn't go to the top floor anymore, that's for sure."
Bottom line, Grandma is afraid to die alone. Understandable. When she feels well, it is also understandable as to why that might just happen.
"I just can't stand the housekeepers where I live."
"Why not?" my mom asks, paying more attention to washing the dishes than to her griping mother.
"This girl. Ugh. She vaccuumed her way INTO my apartment. The other girl, she starts in the closet and vaccums her way OUT of the apartment."
My mom narrowed her eyes at grandma. "I don't see what difference that makes..."
Grandma sighed. "I suppose it doesn't make any difference. It's just...I like it done the other way. And the refrigerator door! She started to leave my apartment, and I said, 'Aren't you going to wipe down the door of the refrigerator?' She looked at me like it was the rudest request."
I said, "Maybe if you had asked her nicer, Grandma."
Grandma said, "I did! What do you call, 'Aren't you going to wipe down the door of the refrigerator?'"
I looked at Mom and said one word.
"No."
We'll reevaluate Grandma's living situation when and if she gets a little more consistent with her "off" days and is thus possible to be around for extended periods of time. In the interim, she wants one of those "Life Alert" things. She signed a DNR, so I have no idea why she wants one. I suggested to mom that she just rig up a necklace with a garage door opener on it - Grandma would never know the difference.
On her "off" days, when she's not feeling especially well, she gets nicer. Mom, Doug, and I have been discussing the possibility of her needing to move soon, into an assisted living, or...perhaps in with me. She would benefit from a little extra help, tying her shoes in the morning, making her bed (which is stupid, as she gets up at 8 and takes her first nap of the day at 10), and with some meal preparation. She complains incessantly about the food at her retirement home. She complains incessantly about the other people that live there.
"I swear, she's just so lazy! She forgets everything!"
"She's not lazy," mom tries to explain. "She's ill."
"Well, whatever. Her elevator certainly doesn't go to the top floor anymore, that's for sure."
Bottom line, Grandma is afraid to die alone. Understandable. When she feels well, it is also understandable as to why that might just happen.
"I just can't stand the housekeepers where I live."
"Why not?" my mom asks, paying more attention to washing the dishes than to her griping mother.
"This girl. Ugh. She vaccuumed her way INTO my apartment. The other girl, she starts in the closet and vaccums her way OUT of the apartment."
My mom narrowed her eyes at grandma. "I don't see what difference that makes..."
Grandma sighed. "I suppose it doesn't make any difference. It's just...I like it done the other way. And the refrigerator door! She started to leave my apartment, and I said, 'Aren't you going to wipe down the door of the refrigerator?' She looked at me like it was the rudest request."
I said, "Maybe if you had asked her nicer, Grandma."
Grandma said, "I did! What do you call, 'Aren't you going to wipe down the door of the refrigerator?'"
I looked at Mom and said one word.
"No."
We'll reevaluate Grandma's living situation when and if she gets a little more consistent with her "off" days and is thus possible to be around for extended periods of time. In the interim, she wants one of those "Life Alert" things. She signed a DNR, so I have no idea why she wants one. I suggested to mom that she just rig up a necklace with a garage door opener on it - Grandma would never know the difference.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Graduation Day
I have officially retired from school. I graduated today with my Masters in Communication and Leadership. Mom, Doug, Grandma, PseudoMom Sandy, WorkMom Annette, and Grandpa were all on hand to see the result of $17,000 worth of debt.
The weather was extraordinary! I don't usually get all that excited about weather. WorkMom Annette has The Weather Channel dot com "favorited" on her work computer. Um, lame. : ) But this was a day. Blue sky, temperate, hardly a cloud in the sky, and everyone happy and carefree. It was like Woodstock, only without the drugs, sex, mud, and music.
Two people I had gone to high school with also received their Masters today. It was really nice actually; it kind of felt like I had finally "caught up" with where I might have been anyway had I not gotten sick. I know the reality - I am far beyond where I would have been had that not happened, pragmatically, emotionally, and spiritually. But it's always nice having reality presented to you in unassailable fact - especially when that fact is you have done good. You have done right by your parents, right by your community, right by yourself.
I'm sure as heck not going for my doctorate, although Grandpa only seems to brave the tundra of the Northwest to see me graduate from something. I told him I would have to go to jail, so that he could come see me graduate from parole. Cue crickets chirping.
What IS next, though? I've got some huge aspirations for my writing career. I know it's a really long shot that it'll come to fruition, but, had you asked me nine years ago if I was going to have a Masters...talk about a long shot.
"If you don't dream big, what's the point of dreaming?"-David Cook
The weather was extraordinary! I don't usually get all that excited about weather. WorkMom Annette has The Weather Channel dot com "favorited" on her work computer. Um, lame. : ) But this was a day. Blue sky, temperate, hardly a cloud in the sky, and everyone happy and carefree. It was like Woodstock, only without the drugs, sex, mud, and music.
Two people I had gone to high school with also received their Masters today. It was really nice actually; it kind of felt like I had finally "caught up" with where I might have been anyway had I not gotten sick. I know the reality - I am far beyond where I would have been had that not happened, pragmatically, emotionally, and spiritually. But it's always nice having reality presented to you in unassailable fact - especially when that fact is you have done good. You have done right by your parents, right by your community, right by yourself.
I'm sure as heck not going for my doctorate, although Grandpa only seems to brave the tundra of the Northwest to see me graduate from something. I told him I would have to go to jail, so that he could come see me graduate from parole. Cue crickets chirping.
What IS next, though? I've got some huge aspirations for my writing career. I know it's a really long shot that it'll come to fruition, but, had you asked me nine years ago if I was going to have a Masters...talk about a long shot.
"If you don't dream big, what's the point of dreaming?"-David Cook
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Mishmash
1) why has there been a broom sweep in the middle of one of the major highways in Spokane for the past two weeks? It migrates nowhere, still about three feet to the right of the center line.
2) I have a friend who told me a story about being mugged in front of a meditation clinic.
3) I was talking about serial killers today, and a coworker said, "c-e-r-e-a-l killers?" I said, "yeah, like Fruit Loops," and pretended to loop a noose around my neck. It is shocking how many cereals you can create a murder weapon or motive with.
4) I really don't like the readerboard in front of a store along the highway that says, "if coconut oil comes from coconuts, where does baby oil come from?"
5) Sometimes it's kind of embarrassing what your Facebook "friends" post on their own pages.
2) I have a friend who told me a story about being mugged in front of a meditation clinic.
3) I was talking about serial killers today, and a coworker said, "c-e-r-e-a-l killers?" I said, "yeah, like Fruit Loops," and pretended to loop a noose around my neck. It is shocking how many cereals you can create a murder weapon or motive with.
4) I really don't like the readerboard in front of a store along the highway that says, "if coconut oil comes from coconuts, where does baby oil come from?"
5) Sometimes it's kind of embarrassing what your Facebook "friends" post on their own pages.
Monday, May 4, 2009
I must really hate my money
I've tried internet dating sites several times in the past few years. I don't suppose that the horror stories from internet dating are any worse than those from regular dating, but not having the (mis?)fortune to be asked out on regular dates, I wouldn't know.
The Great Give-Up of 2008 ended when a guy I had dated for several months dumped me. His breakup line? "Now that I have more confidence, I'd like to see what else is out there." Ouch. The guy before, it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize he was trying to dump me when he would end every chit-chatty conversation with, "Yeah, well, keep in touch."
Maybe things have changed Out There. Maybe living on my own, working full time, all Master-degreed makes me a more suitable mate for the guys I set my sights on (as opposed to those I acquiesce to. Oh come on, we've all had those).
I spent $101 for a 6 month match.com subscription, with the guarantee that if I don't find someone special within six months, my next six months are free. Given that and my track record, $101 for 12 months isn't a bad deal.
I've emailed with a couple of guys so far. One I sent a really nice, "It was great getting to know you but I don't think we have enough in common" email. I got back a bitchy, "I thought we had a lot in common. Guess not. Guess I'll stop emailing you." Yes, that would be the point. Thank you.
And I've spoken to two guys on the phone. One guy was probably very nice, just a little too quiet for my tastes. When people are quiet around me, I feel that I've bored them into a coma. I try to avoid feeling like that. The other guy was doing okay, coasting along in the conversation, and then he lit himself on fire and torpedoed into the depths of my dialtone.
"So why haven't you had any long term relationships?" He asked me.
"Um, I dunno. Haven't met the right person, I guess!" I was trying to be all light and fun, not serious and weird, on the first phone conversation.
"No, seriously. Why haven't you?"
"Geez. Um, I don't know. I don't care a whole lot about my physical appearance - I make sure I'm presentable and that's about it."
"That could be the problem."
wow.
"Yeah. Maybe that's it."
"Are you bad in bed?"
"Excuse me?!"
"Are you bad in bed? If you're bad in bed, that could definitely be why you haven't had any long term relationships."
I wish I could say I ended the conversation right then and there. I was searching for a polite out, which surprises me, as asking me about my bedroom prowess wasn't exactly polite in the first place. But as my mom always told me, two wrongs don't make a right. So, I politely got off the phone.
I don't know what I want. Is it so wrong to be looking anyway?
The Great Give-Up of 2008 ended when a guy I had dated for several months dumped me. His breakup line? "Now that I have more confidence, I'd like to see what else is out there." Ouch. The guy before, it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize he was trying to dump me when he would end every chit-chatty conversation with, "Yeah, well, keep in touch."
Maybe things have changed Out There. Maybe living on my own, working full time, all Master-degreed makes me a more suitable mate for the guys I set my sights on (as opposed to those I acquiesce to. Oh come on, we've all had those).
I spent $101 for a 6 month match.com subscription, with the guarantee that if I don't find someone special within six months, my next six months are free. Given that and my track record, $101 for 12 months isn't a bad deal.
I've emailed with a couple of guys so far. One I sent a really nice, "It was great getting to know you but I don't think we have enough in common" email. I got back a bitchy, "I thought we had a lot in common. Guess not. Guess I'll stop emailing you." Yes, that would be the point. Thank you.
And I've spoken to two guys on the phone. One guy was probably very nice, just a little too quiet for my tastes. When people are quiet around me, I feel that I've bored them into a coma. I try to avoid feeling like that. The other guy was doing okay, coasting along in the conversation, and then he lit himself on fire and torpedoed into the depths of my dialtone.
"So why haven't you had any long term relationships?" He asked me.
"Um, I dunno. Haven't met the right person, I guess!" I was trying to be all light and fun, not serious and weird, on the first phone conversation.
"No, seriously. Why haven't you?"
"Geez. Um, I don't know. I don't care a whole lot about my physical appearance - I make sure I'm presentable and that's about it."
"That could be the problem."
wow.
"Yeah. Maybe that's it."
"Are you bad in bed?"
"Excuse me?!"
"Are you bad in bed? If you're bad in bed, that could definitely be why you haven't had any long term relationships."
I wish I could say I ended the conversation right then and there. I was searching for a polite out, which surprises me, as asking me about my bedroom prowess wasn't exactly polite in the first place. But as my mom always told me, two wrongs don't make a right. So, I politely got off the phone.
I don't know what I want. Is it so wrong to be looking anyway?
Friday, May 1, 2009
I kneed a new knee
I had my knee replaced four years ago. With cadaver bone. Gross. I called the doctor's office to schedule my appointment, and they said, "Great news, we can schedule you for Wednesday. We just got in a new shipment of knees." A new shipment of knees. What a bizarre...Anyway. One of those knees found its way into my knee. And now THAT bone is dying and crunching and giving out on me with increasing frequency. Sigh. At least I'm well on my way to hitting my insurance max-out-of-pocket for the year. This post is boring and my insurance was not the point of it. I wonder what the point was.
Oh yes. There it is. I was in Walmart last weekend, which anyone who has ever ventured into the store knows is akin to hiking across the sahara. Or arctic tundra, depends on the time of year. I'm in the toothpaste area, and can't find my mom - a disconcerting experience, no matter how old you are. I start walking toward the cat food, am at the lipsticks, and my knee gives out. The pain was quite impressive. I lost my balance, and almost fell into the lipstick display. As my arms waved in the air, I envisioned the Walmart manager telling me I was responsible for purchasing the 372 lipsticks I knocked to the ground.
I somehow managed to pull a Kerri Strugg performance from the '96 Olympics, staying on one leg. After a few moments, I tried to put some weight on my bad leg. No luck. "Well great. I'm stranded in Walmart."
I obviously made it out alive, as I'm here telling you about it. How lame would that have been though, a girl who finds NO purpose to makeup WHATSOEVER, forced to spend the equivalent of a month's mortgage on the crap? I feel as if I pulled one over on fate - 'you may have blessed me with a bum body, but you're still stuck with trying to sell those 372 Revlon Super Sheers in this economy.'
Oh yes. There it is. I was in Walmart last weekend, which anyone who has ever ventured into the store knows is akin to hiking across the sahara. Or arctic tundra, depends on the time of year. I'm in the toothpaste area, and can't find my mom - a disconcerting experience, no matter how old you are. I start walking toward the cat food, am at the lipsticks, and my knee gives out. The pain was quite impressive. I lost my balance, and almost fell into the lipstick display. As my arms waved in the air, I envisioned the Walmart manager telling me I was responsible for purchasing the 372 lipsticks I knocked to the ground.
I somehow managed to pull a Kerri Strugg performance from the '96 Olympics, staying on one leg. After a few moments, I tried to put some weight on my bad leg. No luck. "Well great. I'm stranded in Walmart."
I obviously made it out alive, as I'm here telling you about it. How lame would that have been though, a girl who finds NO purpose to makeup WHATSOEVER, forced to spend the equivalent of a month's mortgage on the crap? I feel as if I pulled one over on fate - 'you may have blessed me with a bum body, but you're still stuck with trying to sell those 372 Revlon Super Sheers in this economy.'
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