Poor Ed

It’s one thing to have Dad travel all the time, I’m used to that, but what’s the deal with MOM now?  She’s leaving AGAIN?!?!?!?!?!

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To Illinois…and Beyond!

Well obviously this week flew by without much writing, being sick and all. Leaving tomorrow for Illinois for three weeks with a little side trip to see an old friend in Pittsburgh, PA for a few days. I love Pittsburgh, it has always been one of my favorite cities. I remember seeing it the first time back in the 70’s on my way to or from New York and was surprised by its beauty and that it was built on hills, much like San Francisco. The three rivers of Three Rivers Stadium are comprised of two that become one – the Allegheny and the Monongahela form the Ohio. I just love that word – Monongahela. I love the way it rolls off the tongue. Pennsylvania is lovely this time of the year, the last time I was there was also October, just after 9-11.

Having three weeks I think I have a false sense of all-the-time-in-the-world. I have tried not to bring a library full of books but have brought: my Learn Spanish Now workbook. I took a lot of Spanish even in college but not using it, it gets lost in the brain. Since a recent gubernatorial debate was held in California in Spanish without even translation, I’ve decided perhaps it’s time to bite the bullet and get fluent.  I’ve been listening to Spanish radio stations while I drive around and I’m finding what I’m learning most is grammar, which is my weakest point.  Everything I ever say in Spanish is in the present tense.

I have also put on my iPod the Ken Wilber lectures on Integral Theory (don’t ask me to explain yet, I’m not far along) that another friend gave me almost a year ago.  I need to take notes, it is rather complicated but Mr. Wilber is an engaging speaker and easy to listen to. 

Then my iPod also contains the first twelve lectures (of 24) of the course I bought from The Great Courses (if you don’t know about these, go look it up).  This one is Building Great Sentences by Brooks Landon, a hot shot professor at the University of Iowa which my latest Poets and Writers magazine touts as the number one writing program in the country.  I was pleased to hear that.  However, the last page of the guidebook for lecture twelve states that our “question for consideration” by that stage is to write a sentence with no less than one hundred words.  One hundred words.  Not that I can’t write 100 words, but in one sentence?   You all will read it here first.  There are plenty of lectures and homework before that point so don’t hold your breath.  However, having withdrawn from the DPT program I am determined to replace it with a concerted study of other things. 

I doubt I will get to all that, along with exercising regularly at the gym with Mom, seeing friends, watching “the boys” (John Stewart and Steven Colbert) with Mom, along with my own favorite TV opium – Survivor, Glee and Parenthood.

So, I will try to keep writing, and it’s possible I’ll mosey on down memory lane once I get there.  See you all on central daylight time…

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Colorado’s Revenge

Joe always manages to show us a great time when we visit him in Boulder. First, as always, is food! Our first dinner was at The Sink, a funky little restaurant that has been there since 1922, with wild and crazy artwork all over the walls, and years and years of graduates signatures on the ceiling. I felt a bit wistful thinking of all the young people who had inscribed their names for posterity only to have it eventually covered up, as it should be, by subsequent generations. There, at a true college town icon, I had the best burger I’ve ever had in my life, grass fed – wow. Delish.

Joe has a great little “studio” apartment on the bottom level of an old 10 unit building. He has fixed it up just to suit him – no kitchen, but a fridge, a George Foreman grill, a coffee maker. What more do you need? I was pleased to see things like bananas and apples on the menu, as well as the statement: “What can you possibly cook in the microwave that can be any good for you?” This made me sigh a sigh of relief because for the first few years Joe lived on his own he lived on fast food. Mothers, mothers, when will we ever learn that we have only to plant the seeds and if grown on fertile ground they will blossom?

Saturday afternoon things started to get moving. The Colorado Buffaloes vs University of Georgia game was set to begin at 5 p.m It was a perfect October day in the mountains, not too chilly, not too hot, football, football, football in the air. There were Georgia fans everywhere, those SEC folks are SERIOUS about their football. Joe said he’d never seen so many visitors in the stands.

Now, I didn’t know this before Joe went to CU, but the team mascot is an actual buffalo. Yes, most of the game is presided over by a regular guy in a buffalo suit, (his name is Chip – get it? Buffalo Chip? Har de har har har) but at the beginning of each half, Ralphie the Buffalo takes a run around the field. Ralphie is actually a girl buff, a male buff would be impossible to control. Super atheletic young men in an elite group of varsity athletes called the Ralphie Handlers escort her around the field. They actually get an athletic letter for doing this. It’s quite a thing to watch them keep up with her and guide her…these guys are a running a top speed with sprinting strides. It’s really not clear who is totally in control but there are plenty of handlers waiting all around to take over if some lame human can’t keep up with a speedy buffalo. If you have nothing better to do, search up the October 2, 2010 game when a sports reporter gets knocked on his arse. At first it appears the extra handlers accidentally run him over, but review of the play (football terms I’m learning) reveal the reporter was headed in a path that would have put him colliding with Ralphie. One handlers does a shoulder block and another trips him and he lands flat on his buttinski. It’s a classic. Those guys don’t mess around, you WILL NOT endanger the future of the Ralphie Run. You can sue us for knocking you over but a lawsuit against Ralphie would end this wonderful tradition forever.

It is also lots of fun before Ralphia comes out – they have on the big screen a countdown: Ralphie I, Ralphie II, Ralphie III, Ralphie IV with wonderful vintage clips of previous honorees, and then finally:”Heeere coooomes Raaalphie!” and out she bolts around the field.

A little research turns up that Ralphie sometimes doesn’t run – the handlers know her temperament, and if she’s got “that look in her eye” it’s called off, national TV or no. Off days Ralphie really has it rough – she lives on a Colorado ranch. I want to be Ralphie. The location is not disclosed for obvious reasons and she leaves the stadium long after the game and although I doubt any students who would be inclined to follow her would be sober enough to do it, I imagine they would have have a long trip-to-nowhere through the mountains before they would give up and go home.

Ralphie’s trip TO the stadium is no secret, though, she is taken in her state of the art trailer, emblazoned with her name, right through The Hill, the just-off-campus neighborhood (home of The Sink!) and right past Joe’s apartment (save the movie jokes, we’re the ones who made them up.) Joe didn’t tell us about it and we were sitting outside on his little patio when there she was! It was very cool. Joe may live there forever, it brings him such enjoyment!

The game was exciting – back and forth several times with CU finally prevailing.
It was a Blackout game. CU fans all wear black. I thought this was a regular thing but , no, it is for special occasions, like beating UGA apparently. (The Georgia Bulldog was also there and is pretty dang cute as well). The last Blackout was in 2008. The tradition includes storming the field if they win and indeed they did: it was like watching ants swarm over a piece of cake.

Obviously I had a great time. I am kind of likng this stage of motherhood where my offspring make the decisions and tell me where to go and feed me at their favorite watering holes. It was so relaxing, despite miles of walking from one end of campus to another and despite…

Colorado’s revenge. Al went to bed “not feeling well” on Saturday night and within an hour was makin’ love in the bathroom with a certain porcelain fixture. Sunday he spent all day in bed, Joe and I went out to dinner, I did a little shopping and bought some light food for Al. Then we said goodbye, which I always hate and now understand deeply how my Mom must feel whenever we say goodbye.

Monday a.m. Al and I were up at 4:30 a.m. to get to the airport where we kissed and went our separate ways. Probably should have skipped the kiss, even though it was a peck on the cheek. I worked Monday, came home and put on my PJs straightaway as I was so tired and…picked up where my husband left off. It is now Wednesday and although I started this little travelogue yesterday I could only get through a few paragraphs because my brain was mush. Feeling much better today and ready to finish up the work week and head to Illinois for three weeks with a little side trip to Pittsburgh, PA.

See you there!

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Colorado!

Having a great time in Colorado, but no time to write. Be back tomorrow!!!!

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SOS to my sons or anyone else who can help

I somehow made my font teeny tiny in wordpress. Any ideas how to change it back to I and my friends don’t need a magnifying glass on top of our reading glasses?
Also, I am going to miss some chorus rehearsals in October. A woman at the chorus usually records the rehearsals and is willing to send it to me but says it’s a huge file and doesn’t think it can be attached and emailed. Is there any easy way to explain to her how to zip it up? Is there an easy way to zip it up?

Thank you for helping me!

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Just Say No

I have been counseling a friend on how to take care of herself instead of everyone else as she deals with a serious illness.  I learned this lesson the hard way a few years back.  I burned out so badly I had to go on disability for a three months to regain my health.  The day I went to the doctor’s office my blood pressure was 200/110 and I couldn’t stop sobbing.  Al took me to the office and I sat in the car until a room was ready for me – I  couldn’t sit in the waiting room because I couldn’t stop crying – crying hard, full body crying.  It was frightening and sobering for us both.

I took three months off work.  I joked towards the end of it that I used the time to determine whether I would need to get NO tattooed across my forehead in flowery script or if I could actually speak the word through my lips.  Recent photos will show that I ended up choosing the latter.  There were many aspects to consider when settling into the introspection as to how I got into that desperate situation.   Here are but a few:

1)  “You like me, right now, you like me!” Most folks have heard of this classic Sally Field acceptance speech when she won an Oscar for Best Actress for  Places in the Heart.  Sally Field, America’s sweetheart of the late sixties, early seventies.  Who would NOT like her?  Cute, sweet, strong, universally accepted as a hard working and excellent technical actress.  You get the impression she’s a really nice person.  Her insecurity was peeking through at that moment though – she just hadn’t been sure, even after the Best Actress Oscar for Norma Rae, that her peers respected her and liked her. 

We all want to be liked.  At work, I want to be known as the gal who will always step forward in a pinch, who will do the job right, who will not make my supervisor tell me the same damn thing over and over.  I want to make everyone’s job easier.  I want to do it with a smile.  This is one of the things that backfired on me two years ago.  By making everyone else’s job easier, by always saying ‘yes’ so they could get the problem off their plate, my plate got piled higher and higher until it toppled onto the table, the floor, flew onto everyone else’s plate after all when I had to just stay home. 

2) The sense of undue duty.  Undue is the key word there.  Is it really my duty to make everyone else’s life easier?  Is it really my responsibility to ease the burden of everyone even when they have gotten themselves in their own pickle?  Interestingly enough when I am overburdened I don’t see people coming out of the woodwork to ease my burden.  I am oversensitive to the needs of others and tend to attract such needy people in my life.  The meltdown two years ago made me take a good hard look at that tendency and I have “culled” my acquaintances, if you will.  Even as I write that, it sounds harsh, but now I find myself interacting with people, and especially women, who can stand on their own two feet, who even in their darkest moments take responsibility for their predicaments, who don’t need me to constantly rescue them or, like a supervisor at work, tell them the same damn thing over and over.  It has been quite refreshing for me and has eased my stress.  You gals who are reading this don’t have to wonder if it’s you – if you’re reading this, you ARE a life giving influence in my life.  Let me know if I get too needy!  

My sense of duty remains, but it is not skewed, not overlapping with the “like me” syndrome or the “guilty if I don’t” syndrome that an overwrought sense of duty engenders until the original atruistic purpose of doing unto others is lost in a haystack of “shoulds.”

3) I don’t deserve/need any help.  On the other hand, have I said “no thanks” even when I am in need of assistance, out of a sense of pride?  Absolutely.  In my line of work, I am often in a situation where the people I am serving in their homes need help.  There are many reasons why they might not want to accept help – money issues, not wanting someone strange in their home, not wanting to trouble anyone.  This last one is the only one I have the power to change.  This is my stock line:

“Have you every helped anyone in your life?”

“Oh my, yes, I used to do blah blah blah and blah blah blah and…”

“Did it make you feel good?”

“Oh yes.”

“Well,  why not let other people experience the joyful rewards of giving?” 

“I never thought of that.”

Sometimes the money issues or the stranger issues still must be dealt with, but when we suffer from the “I don’t want to trouble anyone” syndrome we are indeed depriving givers the joy of doing just that.  It is the opposite sin, as I see it, from taking more than your share. 

Long ago I remember being burned out as a young mother and I called a mother’s “help hotline” in San Francisco to talk to someone.  I can still hear the voice of the woman telling me this, and it was news to me, but so obvious: You can’t be any good for anyone else if you don’t take care of yourself.  You have to recharge your batteries to be available to your family.

It ultimately took me years to fully internalize that advice.  I went from being the mom who had to remind herself to take a hot bath once in awhile to a physical therapist who had to remind herself to just say no.

And now, for anyone who suffers from my overly-do-good affliction, here is a little trick I learned watching local cable TV years back, to help with little everyday decisions about whether to do or not to do.  This especially works when you are so overwhelmed by little piddly tasks that you can’t even think anymore.  Take a piece of paper and draw a two by two table – two columns and two rows.  

Label the first column Have To.  

Label the second column Don’t Have To. 

Label the first row Want To.

Label the second row Don’t Want To.

Now, let’s say you have to decide whether to bake cookies for the bake sale – again.  

1)You love to bake and promised you would – that goes in the first row, first column – you want to and you have to.

2) Let’s say you aren’t really busy and you didn’t promise to bake for the bake sale, so you don’t really HAVE to,  but you have a little extra time and would like to.  That goes in the first row, second column. 

3) Now, you promised you would bring gluten-free cookies to the bake sale and people are counting on that, or there will be no gluten-free cookies.  It’s not earthshaking, but you are busy and don’t want to, but since you promised, under most circumstances that would be a have to (and a lesson to not to make promises you don’t really want to make.) So that would go under row two, column one. 

4) Finally, you don’t have to, it was just something you thought maybe you’d get around to and no one is counting on it, nor did you promise to do it, and because you are exhausted from work, you don’t want to.  That goes in the second row, second column.

So, we have two no-brainers here:

Want to and have to? Well, no skin off your nose.  Happy baking!

 Don’t want to, don’t have to? Put your feet up and watch Survivor. 

The next categories are where the decisions come in:

You want to, but you don’t have to.  Time to reconsider whether that ‘want to’ must be done immediately, or whether you can put it off til another day.  Even though you enjoy baking cookies, will staying up to midnight make seeing that new client tomorrow make you look like you haven’t had enough sleep and have you mumbling like an incomptenent boob at your first meeting?  Will it make it more difficult to finish packing for the trip this weekend?  Maybe time to leave the generous cookie baking for another time.  People will still like you.

You don’t want to, but you have to.  Fill in the blanks for your most relevant don’t want to but have to.  I’ve already confessed I’m The World’s Laziest Physical Therapist.  I don’t want to go to the gym.  I have to to control many aspects of my health.  Sometimes ya just gotta.  Discerning what other things i your life can make the don’t want to/but have to obligations  a little less stressful.

Off to work.  Don’t want to.  Have to.  Writing this blog – don’t have to, want to, and did it just because I want to.  Pure bliss as I head off to that new client! 

   
   
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Time again

Just read Terri’s blog about gray areas, how she is not a gray area person, how she even asked her OB/GYN what time her first child would be born.  That’s my Terri!  I am a gray area person. I kid my patients that I don’t know why I don’t just say our appointments are at 10:10 a.m. instead of 10:00 a.m., since I’m always about ten minutes late – like clockwork, actually.  It’s as if I watched too much Star Trek as a kid and just believe I can be “beamed” wherever I am going, that it doesn’t take real time to get there.

This got me thinking about my Joe.  Joe is a percussionist, and God Himself could keep time by Joe’s sense of rhythm.  Although he certainly went through his period of messy room-dom, he is now a very orderly person.  I know when he comes home I just drive him crazy with my clutter tendencies. 

It was another black and white friend who taught me to appreciate Joe’s tendencies towards the fastidious.  John is a pharmacist, and thank God he is also “that way,” or people could be getting the wrong medicines.  Our two families were camping up on the north coast, Joe was probably about 8 or 9, and had himself a little kid’s digital watch,  a big clunky thing, the kind with a timer and sports stopwatch all in one. We were setting up camp for dinner and the evening fire, and someone asked me what time it was. I glanced at my watch and said “5:20” and within seconds a little voice piped up “”5:23.”  I looked at John, shook my head and rolled my eyes and without taking a breath John rose to Joe’s defense: “No!  I like the precision!”  Well, of course he would.  I realized at that moment that Joe’s precision was there for a reason.  A pharmacist?  No, he would turn out to be a mathematician.

My Dad was the same way, I can hear him correct the time to 10:05 versus 10:00. Were he my home health patient I would definitely have to warn him of my time issues on the first visit.  He was that way with mileage signs on the highway – Mom would muse after passing a sign that St. Louis was 100 miles.  Dad would correct her: 116.    She would shake her head but he would defend himself this way, and he’s right: if you don’t KNOW that it’s 116, then round it off to 100, but if the sign clearly states 116, why not say it exactly?  That could lead me into another tale of surviving long marriages, but I have to get going or I’m going to be late.

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Autumn in California

It has always bothered me that September and October in Lafayette, CA are the hottest months of the year.  Summer in my town can get blazing hot like the towns a little more inland but can just as easily be cool and even foggy like San Francisco – we’re kind of in the middle.  It never fails, though, the kids would have to go back to school just as the temperatures were hitting the nineties in September.  I felt it was unfair that they had to go back to school just in time for “summer” to arrive.  I know this sounds crazy, but I really hated for school to start as much as they did.   Lazy mornings turned to regimented torture.  I wasn’t an organized Mom, having given up as I did, and mornings were more chaotic than any other time of the day, the emphasis on “time” being what it was on school mornings.  Time to get up, time to get dressed, time to eat breakfast, time for the carpool to arrive or get in the car because Megan is waiting for us to pick her up.  Time to quit playin’ around and about that same time, time for Mom to lose her temper.  I can still see Andy flying down the hill in his stocking feet to our little basketball court where the carpool ride would be waiting, his shoes flopping in one hand, his open backpack over his shoulder, barely hanging on to his lunch in his other hand. 

We are in a bit of a heat spell right now – even 94F in San Francisco today! Unheard of…  I am up late tonight, no sense in trying to sleep yet – we don’t have air conditioning for the above mentioned reasons.  We are the first to feel the effect of the fog when it finally rolls in after baking for a few days, so we make do with fans.   Another phenomena that hits in September/October are the crickets.  In and of themselves they make it difficult to sleep.  It truly is unbelievable how loud they are, and tonight they are serenading me through the open windows, letting me know that winter is right around the corner again. 

Our “crickets” are not like the big black ones in Chicago that would sit right out in the open on the basement floor, unable to hide their fat selves.  They are the laciest little buggers you ever saw, but their wings are loud enough to qualify for the New York Philharmonic.  One time we had one inside the house, apparently confused as to why he or she couldn’t attract a mate with all that chattering.  Just about drove me insane.  As soon as we’d turn off the lights and go to bed, it would start.  As usual, Al would drift off and I’d be the one stalking through the house, trying to pinpoint it’s location.   I knew it was somewhere in the kitchen/living room area – but where?  I’d tip toe down the hall, it would stop.  I would stop. It would start.  I would tip toe again for a few steps, it would stop.  This went on for quite some days until I became determined that I would not sleep – since I wasn’t sleeping anyway – until I found it.  I finally did, underneath the lip of the bar between the kitchen and dining room.  

He was beautiful.  I grabbed a glass and a piece of stiff paper, captured him and let him out of the house.  He was an honorable and formidable opponent and deserved nothing less than freedom and perhaps fulfill his destiny to make more little noisemakers.  Generations later they are out there, still makin’ that crazy sound.  I love the rhythm of it – I’m sure there must be some reproductive purpose for it all – it’s fascinating to really concentrate on the sound and try to hear the different harmonies and beats.

Oops, almost fell asleep listening  – guess it’s time to sign off – night night, night night, night night.

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Addendum re: fishing with Grandpa

My Mom says I made it sound like my Grandpa was gruff.  I certainly didn’t mean to.  He was the sweetest man on the face of the earth.  Then she added a caveat.  He WAS that way about fishing!  She remembers how they’d all be up in the boat in Rhinelander, Wisconsin, and Grandma would be rowing the boat (she was a fine fisherwoman in her own right, to be sure) and he’d have four lines out off the back of the boat.  Grandma would turn the boat and the next thing you know he’s red in the face and irritated that she’d gotten his lines all messed up.  Grandma wore the pants in the family so no worries, she defended herself quite nicely thank you.  But still.  Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in a fishing boat? Somehow does not compute but there you are.

My other favorite story about Grandpa and fishing was that they went up to Wisconsin for their honeymoon. Grandpa didn’t have two nickels to rub together so they were staying at a relative’s place up there.  Also, I may not have this part of the story completely correct, but I think it was my Grandma’s family who bought him his wedding suit, it’s really irrelevant except that it was a new suit. 
So picture this, ladies.  It’s the first morning of your honeymoon and you don’t know why your new husband isn’t in the bed next to you.  You get up and see him fishing in the stream, pants legs rolled up, standing in the creek.  Those pants legs would be the pants legs of the new wedding suit.  Is the ink dry on the marriage certificate yet?

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Holy Shit! It’s Midlife and Counting!

Sewing all day at Terri’s.  Katie stopped in for a chat and brought us cookies.  Katie is wonderful, within minutes we are talking real life, about goals, about possibilities.  Suddenly she confesses that she has been struggling with the realization that she will not climb Mt. Kilimanjaro (and says as an aside “not that I ever wanted to”) or sail a boat around the world (same aside follows), but it’s the realization that there’s not enough time in a lifetime to do everything one could do in a lifetime.  I realize this is part of what gets me into a funk.  I have so many goals, so many dreams, so little time.  Add to that the complete disillusionment with my “day job” and no wonder I am feeling hopeless.  

Terri and I sewed for 8 hours, with occasional breaks to watch Hulu videos of the Glee cast singing classic tunes, some of which bring us to tears they are so beautifully rendered at the hands of the young and extremely talented cast.  Nearing the end of the evening,  still at my machine, I find myself saying something that, if I can just keep it front and center, can whisk away depression with one pass of the broom.   I have no goals, except that some child will be thrilled with the Halloween placemat I have created, or perhaps a little two year old will be tantalized by the feel of the flocked bats on the shiny material; I have no goals but that perhaps a young person will find guidance in my attempts in my writing to describe the payoffs of the work of marriage; I have no goal but that my smile and kindness and love will comfort patient who is despondent at the realization that he cannot return to his home again. 

Katie said she was talking to one of her sons (she’s crazier than I, three sons wasn’t enough, she went ahead and had a fourth) about what she should do with her life and he said “why don’t you just live it and enjoy it?”  We all had a good laugh about that and agreed that it sounded like a plan.   Maybe we don’t have to have a goal, maybe we don’t have to “make it” – maybe we just need to be.

I gotta tell ya, sometimes it just sucks to be the philosophical type!

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