When to Say Goodbye

Our dear cat Reggie is slowly making her way to the finish line of life.  She’s moving a little slower and eating less.  Her once raucous meows are now sounding fragile.  A little over a year ago we received devastating news that her kidneys were failing.  Thankfully, fluid therapy (basically kitty dialysis) has extended her time here, but the inevitable decision to have her put down is always around the corner.  When is the right time to say goodbye to our furry gal?  Do we wait until she’s on death’s door or do we let her go when she has some vitality left?  I have found these questions have no clear answer.

In a similar, yet much less tragic, vein there is the question of when and how you say goodbye to blogging.  You might have noticed I’ve not been very active here, as of late.  March was an especially busy month, but in reality my posts have been sporadic at best since discovering I had a tumor in my hip last year.  If there’s one thing successful blogging takes it’s time, which I seem to have little of lately.  You must take time to research topics to write about, time to write, time to edit, time to engage your audience by at least acknowledging their comments or questions, time to build a rapport with other bloggers by reading and commenting on their posts.   Blogging is one big, bawdy, hilarious time suck, assuming you know the bloggers I do.

I’ve been reading an amazing book, The Barn at the End of the World.  Feeling that I would do an injustice by trying to summarize it, I will just say that it is a practical look at the Buddhist concept of Middle Way living through the eyes of a Catholic, Quaker, Buddhist, apprentice shepherd.  See, there is no way to describe it, one must just read it to get it.  Reading this book has given me a new perspective on how I should always be pondering the best use of my precious time.  Not that I haven’t already been thinking about this since my surgery.  The idea of fleeting time has punctured most of my daily thoughts from the moment the anesthesia wore off.

My surgery in December, coupled with my loss of mobility, wholly changed me.  When I regained the ability to walk I wanted to go everywhere, all the time, at top speed.  Sadly, I discovered this was not to be.  The more active I am, the more my leg tends to swell, the more my muscles ache.  So I’ve had to slow down, slap on some Spanx (medically approved I assure you), and take it all as it comes.  I may one day be as physically active as I once was, but I’ll never be “me” again.  That was the part that frightened me the most prior to surgery, but the part that excites me the most post surgery.

There are very few times in your life where you are handed the gift of clarity.  In my experience it’s usually preceded by some catastrophic event.  That is certainly the case here.  I’ve been carved up like a Christmas goose, but I’m still alive and kicking.  So, I have to ask myself, what do I want to do with this?  Do I want to sit for hours writing and reading, have my leg cramp up from inactivity?  Or, do I want to read a good book, take a walk on the beach with Husband, draw sidewalk chalk aliens with Little One, or discuss the worth of Twisted Sister’s music with Teen?  The answer seems obvious.

It’s not that I have not adored and valued the time I put into this place.  I’ve been entertained, transfixed, influenced, and overjoyed by most of it, but I think the time to devote less of my time here is now.  I may still write occasionally, and read your blogs as well, but it just won’t be nearly as consistent as it’s been in the past.  I’ve made friends with some of you, to the delight of my soul.  That carries on as usual, and for that I’m eternally thankful.  It’s not every day you meet the mix of souls I’ve been fortunate enough to meet here.  It simply would not have happened if not for WordPress.

So thank you, thank you, thank you, for reading and writing and commenting and laughing with me.  I wish I had enough time to squeeze it all in all the time, but I don’t.  So, I’ll just have to settle for  popping in now and again.  You’ve made me a better writer, a better reader, a freer spirit, a kinder soul.  You’re fucking amazing people, each and every one of you, and I’m just lucky as hell to know you.

D-I-Why?!?!

It all started with a visit to Pinterest.  Isn’t that how all ‘crafts gone wrong’ stories begin?  I found this adorable initial door hanger, pinned it, and figured it would be a great project for me to undertake.  It’s perfectly appropriate for  you to begin laughing hysterically now.  Go on.  You can keep reading once you catch your breath.

 

 

The inspiration! Cute, ain’t it?

 

I ran to the craft store and purchased a big wooden K and a cheap roll of ribbon.  My pockets 5 clams lighter, I sashayed home confident that I was going to nail this project like Brad does Angelina.  I bought a blue ombre ribbon thinking I would have some shade of paint that would match it.  I soon discovered that I only had white (boring), red (too Americana), brown (um, it’s spring), grey (only one shade), and black (funeral chic). The grey was sort of sparkly and silvery, so I settled on that.  That’s when I took a left at Albuquerque and started considering glitter.  Just a tad off from a burlap bow, but hey, this was my initial wreath.  My flair.  My essence.  My word, help me.

At this point I have a silvery grey oversized letter K.  I’m only mildly panicked.  I search around for the glitter.  Black glitter is all we have.  Black glitter?  Who are we, the Munsters?  Hey, I think to myself, this could be really cool!  Glittery black with a blue ribbon, hell yeah!  So, I sprinkle it into the wet paint and walk away, for just a minute.  Well, that was the plan, but we all know how well plans work in a house with children.  They don’t.  This is when the rain started falling, lightning started flashing, and the thunder started booming.

“Mommy, I’m scared!”

I took the laptop into Little One’s room, completely forgot I had even painted the giant K to begin with, and started rooting around Pinterest.  An hour later, Little One fast asleep, I meandered downstairs to find my K had been sullied by one of the cats, and we know which one.

Yeah, that would be me.

Oh, I’ll just paint over it and start all over again, no problem.  Repaint I did, resparkle as well, until I ran out of black glitter.  Then the real panic set in.  I found some purple glitter and started dumping that on.  Had it been Halloween, I would have been set, but since this is spring in a beachside town it was all wrong.

By now, I’m tired, and halfway to craft induced hysteria.  I literally dumped white paint on top of the the seven layers of paint and glitter and started furiously brushing to cover the whole hot mess.  Without one speck of glitter left, I searched the cabinets for something to stick to the wet paint and hide my craftastrophe.  I found sand, which wouldn’t be so odd considering I’m 5 minutes from the ocean, but this was purchased sand.  Apparently, at some point in my life I felt compelled to purchase that which is is free and abundant.

I covered my K with sand and went to bed.  Maybe a clever and artistic elf would come in the night and make something of it.  Or, hopefully, Husband would mistake it for garbage and put it in the round file.

When I woke up the next morning I had renewed confidence that I could do something with this K.  I hot glued the ribbon to create a loop to hang it from and only managed to burn myself 8 or 9 times.  I dumped out every shell, beach rock, and bit of sea glass we have and tried a few arrangements, none of which did anything for me.

Nautical camo didn’t make the cut.

I picked one pretty shell, glued it to the ribbon, left the sand alone, and eventually hung up my minimalist initial door hanger.  A door hanger that doesn’t even mildly resemble the inspiration.  After all the paint and sparkle, hot glue burns and glitter residue, frustration and aggravation, I ended up with something that would have taken me 5 minutes to accomplish.

 

But, this is me we’re talking about, 12 hours and 15 left turns to get a mile down the road.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a few messes to clean up.

Hot glue mess on top of the stove that is only rivaled by the invisible spider web like strings that have ensnared the rest of the kitchen.

If I had a nickel for every shell I’ve collected, my wealth would exceed Bill Gates’.

I don’t even know what to say about this. Is there a 12 step program for delusional crafters?

 

March Calendar of Events

Yes, I know it’s already the 7th of March.  Damn month has been so busy I’ve only been able to get around to the calendar of events now.  First off, I should note that March has been a busy month for my immune system, who is clearly a slacker as I’ve been suffering the damage that every germ I encounter can lay on me.  This is Little One’s first year in “real school”, so he’s been bringing home every microscopic critter that invades his classroom.  He’s generous with his critters, too.  Teen and I have been going through so many tissues I would advise you all purchase stock in Kleenex.  Oh, and there’s been puke as well, I shouldn’t leave that out.

See, that’s why I haven’t been writing too much, or reading for that matter.  I’m busy.  And the rest of the month isn’t looking too hot for the written word either.  Here’s a rundown:

March 7 (today!) – Today is the dreaded half day.  A day invented by some evil goon in an school board administrative office.  In my county, the high school’s half day means a late start rather than an early dismissal.  So after I drop off Little One, make breakfast for Teen (they don’t serve lunch at the high school on half days), take Teen to school, and throw in approximately 3/4 of a load of laundry I have to turn around and pick up Little One.  There’s no “me” time in a half day, and no actual education from what I’ve heard.

March 8 – I’m getting my hair cut.  I had to switch hairdressers so I’m either going to get butchered or look fabulous.  If I get butchered maybe I’ll get a blog post out of it.  Now you may be asking yourself why I had to switch hairdressers.  Or not.  It’s quite possible you don’t really care about this.  It’s a funny/awkward story, though, so you’re going to hear about it.  The last time I got my haircut was just prior to my surgery.  I’d been going to this particular hairdresser for quite awhile and I really liked her.  That night I was explaining the whole saga about my tumor and the headache I had endured trying to get my insurance company to cover my MRI, when she spit out, “Yeah, but if you were black you would have gotten it for free”.  Um, hold the phone sister, what the hell did you just say?  Since we were mid-cut I let it slide and made an internal promise to myself that, as soon as I could walk again, my main goal in life would be to find a less racist hairdresser.  Keep your fingers crossed that I don’t go to tomorrow’s appt. and the girl is in a Klan robe.

March 9-10 – This is birthday weekend with my sister.  My birthday isn’t until the 19th, but we are going to celebrate on this particular weekend.  We shall eat copious amounts of food, drink too much coffee, and window shop until we drop.   It’s become our birthday tradition.

March 12 – My annual 42 pt. lady bit inspection, if you know what I mean.  I’m certain this appointment will include getting chastised for not doing it last year.  And that will set the wheels in motion for my yearly mammogram (that I also skipped last year).  Hey, get off my back, I had a tumor to deal with…..months after I was supposed to have done all that.

March 13 – Follow up with my surgeon.  Hopefully all will be well and we will admire his arrow straight incision yet again.  Then he’ll pat me on the head and he’ll say, “See you in June for the first of your many MRIs”.  At least that’s how I’m envisioning it in my head.  That man better not find anything else wrong with me.  I’m still trying to figure out how I’m going to pay my hospital bill from the surgery.

March 17 – Duh, St.  Patty’s day.  I’m an Irish girl.  That day is sacred, yo.

March 19 – Guess who turns Four-Tay today!

March 21-22 – This is where I reckon I’ll go to the clink for squirrel slaughter.  Many of my neighbors have taken to feeding them and now every time I open my door there is at least one or two of those fluffy tailed rats sitting there patiently waiting for me to throw them a peanut.  Only, I’m not going to, see?  And I’m really getting sick of having to shoo squirrels from my stoop.  Although, if I do end up in the clink over it, then I’ll be exempt from the worst thing I have to do this month.

March 25 – Freakin’ JURY DUTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know…..civic duty….blah, blah, blah.  I’m going to do it and I’m not going to weasel out of it by saying I’m the member of a gang or it’s against my religion to judge anyone’s guilt or innocence.  I’m going to buck up, and do it, but I’m not going to like it.  And so help me if I get on some sort of Jodi Arias “I killed my boyfriend in self defense even though the evidence overwhelmingly, irrefutably says otherwise” kind of trial, I am seriously going to be annoyed.  But, I’m still going to do it.

So, in other words, I guess I’ll see you in April.

 

It’s Random Factoid Friday!

• I am torn by which of these two mother chores is most disgusting, being handed a used band-aid or a used tissue.
• Giant goldfish are apparently taking over Lake Tahoe. Yeah, the world is ending, for sure this time.

Be afraid. Be very afraid. (Photo credit: Michelle Jo)

 

• I swear I saw a gym near my home called “Bangworthy”.   I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth.
• Ronnie James Dio was a hobbit-like rock god. He stood only 5 feet 4 inches.

Tiny, but mighty. (Photo credit: Adam Bielawski)

• I once saw a well dressed man take a swig from a Ronnie James Dio sized bottle of vodka in the Costco parking lot. I totally understood why he did that once I entered Costco.
• Raccoons are undoubtedly one of the most adorable animals, but let’s be real, they are total assholes.
• Physical therapy has given me the gift of walking unaided, but I am still unable to be as active as I was before my surgery. It’s like winning the lottery, but only being able to spend $5 a day.
• Necco wafers are the floppy disk of the candy world.

Disgusting and useless! (Photo credit: oldtimecandy.com)

• My review of Samuel Adams Beer’s Maple Pecan Porter got retweeted by @SamuelAdamsBeer over the weekend.

The Cure That Wasn't

Reblogged from Black Box Warnings:

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I'm no stranger to sadness.  It's played both lead and supporting roles in my life in various ways at various times.  The first time I remember being sad, truly sad, life altering sad, was when my mother died.  I was 16.  There were moments when I really didn't know how I would go on.  That was the one time I genuinely considered suicide as a viable option, Catholic consequences be damned.  

Read more… 1,311 more words

Today I have the honor of writing a guest post on Black Box Warnings about my experience with antidepressants.

No Lawsuit Ludicrous Enough

A Brooklyn man has brought a lawsuit against his parents for not loving him enough.  No, really.  I’m not kidding.  It’s actually kind of a sad situation.  According to the man, his parents neglected him and he feels “unloved and beaten by the world”.  He wants his parents to buy him a Domino’s franchise, but will drop the lawsuit if they just sit down and break bread with him.  Since his parents live in public housing I’m thinking he’s not getting that Domino’s store he so desperately desires.  Maybe they can back his introduction to the world of Avon sales?  Mary Kay even?  These types of lawsuits are not new.  Remember when McDonald’s  was sued because their coffee was too hot?  Well I’ve lost the roof of my mouth time and again to a scalding cup of joe at the golden arches.  Where’s my cut?  I’ve got medical bills to pay.

Proceed with caution……and milk……and sugar.

If a man can sue his parents for being inept and a crappy restaurant can be sued for making hot coffee, then the legal possibilities are endless!  Theoretically, I can sue anyone for anything.  Sure, I’m not guaranteed victory in these cases, but if I get up to bat enough times I’m sure one or two will stick, right?  So I’m going to compile a list of lawsuits I can file that is so absurd, so ludicrous, but so long that I am assured financial stability.

• For starters, I’m going to sue the guy that’s suing his parents.  Dude, you’re grown now.  It sucks when your parents drop the ball, and possibly you (on your head), but it’s time to move on and focus your energy on getting your life together.  In the meantime, pay up, I’ve suffered emotional grief from having to read about your stupid lawsuit.
• And if this guy can sue his parents, then I can sue my children.  What’s with all this care and stuff you guys are needing?  The food?  The shelter?  Come on, this is exhausting!  And now I have to worry about you suing me in the future if I don’t do a good enough job.  I’m telling you right now, I’m not buying either one of you a Domino’s.  Maybe a Tropical Smoothie, but only if I get half priced smoothies for the rest of my life.

For life means for….life!

 

• Next,  I’ll sue the person that sued McDonald’s for their “too hot” coffee.  I think I’ll sue you for not suing them for the right reason.  Why sue them for making their coffee too hot when you can sue them for making their coffee taste like pond water?  Really, that stuff is nasty.
• While we’re on the subject of suing people frivolously for suing people frivolously, I’d like to bring Lindsay Lohan to court.  She sued Pitbull for using her name in one of his songs.  Honey, in a year or two you are going to be so far into oblivion that you will be honored when people even think to poke fun of your legal scrapes.

Girlfriend, get ye some help stat!

 

• Next, my siblings.  There are endless possibilities here, but I’m going to go with the baby carriage incident.  Remember when I was little and I had the baby carriage for my baby dolls and you guys, the whole lot of you, took turns giving each other joyrides in it until you destroyed it?  Yeah, it was fun then, wasn’t it?  Wait until Judge Judy gets ahold of youze!

Artist rendering of my childhood trauma. Imagine it way more traumatic, though.

• I’d like to sue bacon for being so tasty.  Seriously, it’s kind of cruel how you do that and lure me into eating you.  Can’t you taste like a cup of McPondWater after I’ve consumed a reasonable amount of strips?
• Sun?  I hope you have deep pockets, because you are going down.  The heat, my word, the heat!  It’s so oppressive and sweaty.  Don’t even get me started on the number of sunburns you have given me, despite the countless hours of sunscreen application.  Your time has come.
• Is that you laughing, pollen?  You won’t be when I bring the legal hammer down on you.  You’re all over my car every dang morning.  You’re plugging up my nose, making my husband’s asthma flare up.  Who do you think you are?  Penniless after I’m through with you, that’s who.
• And lastly, I would like to sue the makers of this so called “miracle” cream.  I’ve been using it for a week and am still unable to turn water into wine.

And I’ve yet to cure a leper.

Beginning Again: The Cane Has His Say

If you read my last post, Beginning Again, you know that I’m finished with physical therapy and walking around like a champ.  Well, I’m walking around like a champ that has to take periodic breaks because their leg gets real sore, but you get my drift.  Obviously I’m very excited about my newfound mobility.  I never imagined there was a downside to me walking independently again, and then one day I saw it…….my poor little cane, sitting in the corner, collecting dust.  He looked so forlorn, like the kid on the playground that gets picked last to be on a dodgeball team.  So I decided to make him a cup of hot tea and have the talk we’ve needed to have for sometime now.  It’s like the Oprah/Lance Armstrong interview, but the cane told the truth.

Me:  Cane!  What’s up buddy?

Cane:  (inaudible)

Me:  Cane, I didn’t hear what you said.  Could you speak up?

Cane (loudly):  Nothing!

Me:  Oh, OK, no need to be stern.  How’s life kid?

Cane:  Well if you really want to know, it sucks.

Me:  Cane, of course I want to know.  You’re my homeboy.  You helped me walk.  Remember the time we went to the mall?  You’re the shiznit.  

Cane:  Were.  *sigh*

Me:  What do you mean were?  You’re still the shiznit.  

Cane:  I just sit around, no one needs me anymore.  The cats take turns rubbing their butt on me.  It’s humiliating.  

Me:  Well Cane, I don’t know what to tell you.  I can walk now.  What do you want me to do, sustain another devastating injury to my leg? 

Cane:  Would you!?!?

Me:  Uh, no.  What happened to the mustache you decided to grow?  That perked you up.

Cane:  Perked me up until you told me it was way past Movember.

Me:  I thought it was rather regal.  It made you look younger.  You should have kept it.  

Cane:  It was itchy.  

Me:  What about going for a drive?  A good drive by the beach always does my soul good.  

Cane:  Uh, hello, no hands.  I was all excited until I got in the car and couldn’t start it up.

Me:  Oh, yeah, I guess I didn’t think about that.  Sorry.  What about the cats?  Have you gotten to know them?  Reggie’s not so bad.   

Cane:  Yeah, Reggie’s not so great either.  We went crazy one night after you went to bed.  I don’t remember much, but I will say this, if she ever bets you money to down an entire bottle of A.1. sauce don’t take her up on it.

Me:  Oooooooookaaay.  Cane, I’m really sorry you’re feeling low, but you’ve got to get out of this funk man.  I know its hard feeling useless and not being able to get out and about, but you’ve got to find something to do.  Oh, I know!  Why didn’t I think of this earlier?  I know someone that feels your pain Cane.  Walker!  She’s been locked up in my closet for weeks now.  Let me introduce you.  

Cane:  I guess, but if this ends up like my night with Reggie I’m going to be pissed.  

Me:  You guys will get along swell.  I just know it!  

And if the photos I found on my phone later that day tell the truth, well, I’ll just let you be the judge of how well they got along.

I hope they used protection.