Barbara Blanks aka StFlossie Writes

I Failed Rotator Cuff...

2012-01-12T14:55:00.001-08:00

Thurs. Jan. 12, 2012

Crud. And I usually do so well in exams.

It seems not only do I have a torn rotator cuff, but part of the shoulder blade (acromium) pinching it against--the clavicle, I think. It hurts whatever it is. Plus the bursa is inflamed.

So what that means is surgery. Oh boy. The last time I had surgery was about 35 years ago, and while it slowed me down a little bit, it didn’t incapacitate me. Back then, they also kept me mostly unconscious for three days, so I missed a lot of the pain.

Let me back up a minute. When the orthopedic surgeon walked in to the room on Monday, and started talking, I asked him to show me on the MRI films. I could be wrong, but I think it slightly irritated him—like rarely does anyone want to see their films. Partly, as has been suggested to me, most surgeons are not McDreamy’s and have minimal patient skills, aka a bedside manner.

Anyway, we walked down the short hall so he could shove films on the viewing board, pointing, talking a mile-a-minute in doctor talk. I stopped him and asked him to speak English. He said he couldn’t describe it except in Doctor. “Try.”

By the way—some of this is going to be interesting only to me, but don’t skip—you might miss the good parts!

I pointed at this and that, asked some questions, made sure I understood mostly what he was talking about—except he kept saying—I thought—“a cromium” when he was talking about the end of the clavicle. (It’s actually the acromium; I found that out on google.) Not knowing that, I asked if it was the curved bone that looked like it was floating in air in the fluoroscope. Yes.

OK, so we walk back to the room, I picked up my little recorder that I’d set on the exam table, and asked to start over from the beginning. (I don’t know if it’s significant or not, but I “accidentally” got a copy of his notes from the check-out gal before I left, and someone (doc or ?) noted that the “patient recorded conversation.” hmmm….

First, I did not really know what a rotator cuff was. You hear that all the time, and I had pictured like the cuff of a sleeve, and a little ruffle-y sleeve around the shoulder joint—which is really shallow, which is why it’s so easy to dislocate a shoulder. Well, the cuff is actually four tendons that attach to…ummm, which ever bone(s) they attach to. They are also why the shoulder joint has more mobility than any other joint in the body.
Well, one of my tendons is partially torn; I think it’s the one under the acromium and above whatever the other bone is. It also appears to be rather thin. Doc said it should be between 4mm and 8 mm thick. He’s betting mine is less than four…so, instead of just repairing the tear, he will probably cut the tendon where it’s thin, and pull until a thicker portion of the tendon is in place, then sew it together. Ow.

There are, I think, something like 7 bursa in and around the shoulder joint. He apparently is going to take out one that’s inflamed, although why I can’t take something to un-inflame it and keep the bursa, I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask then, but I will. The bursa is cushion. I want cushion.

Also, because the shoulder end of the acromium is impinging on things it shouldn’t (did it shift when I dislodged my clavicle?), he is going to shave off the end of the bone. OW! And all this supposedly done arthroscopically…and of course, as an out-patient. (I need to check out bone images again; I’m probably getting things confused. This is one of my transcriptions of what doc said: Take off the end of clavicle so it doesn’t rub against the acromium.)

At the end of the surgery doc will do an inter-scalene block which will leave my arm dead for around 12? hours. Sling/swath around arm/shoulder/body to keep my shoulder immobile for a week. It’s my right shoulder. I’m right-handed. Talk about inconvenient. Not to mention OW OW OW after the block wears off.

Stitches out a week later; more sling and mostly immobile for another week, and sling for another two weeks after that. Not sure when the physical therapy starts.

Now, remember way back when I said the bursa is inflamed? Well, because the internal med doc prescribed two dose packs of Medrol in November because he thought the pain down my arm was just inflammation, although if there’s enough trauma to dislodge a clavicle, a doctor really should figure that maybe there’s other damage connected to it. The only reason the Medrol helped for a short time is because there was inflammation—but he never even considered anything else.

Because corticosteroids can inhibit healing, Ortho doc suggested I wait till around the end of Feb. before I have the surgery. Meanwhile I have to get a pre-op exam to make sure I’m healthy enough to have surgery.

Well, it turns out the pre-op has a lot of what I’m due for in the well-woman exam in April. Then I got to thinking I probably wouldn’t be able to have my mammo then because I wouldn’t be able to get my shoulder into the right position…and in fact, the way it’s feeling right now, I still may not be able to have it positioned without screaming. Be that as it may, I called our insurance to find out if I could have my well-woman a little early.

Turns out the insurance pays for it once a calendar year. It doesn’t have to be a year in-between—like April to April, like I thought-- just one in 2011, one in 2012, etc. Yay!

So I have all of that set up first day available with my primary, which isn’t until the end of this month. After which, whatever results are the pre-op results will get sent to the surgeon, which means I can then schedule the surgery.

I am not looking forward to it; at the same time, I want to get it over with. It’s the inconvenience and incapacitation of it all that really bugs me. Still, I’m already practicing doing things with my left hand. And even with the right arm strapped down, I’m seeing myself walking Baxter; I’m seeing myself using the elliptical; I’m seeing my self at the computer. I don’t see myself as “helpless”—just ticked off!

Aside from doing the minor pre-surgery PT, I’m being a little more cautious about stressing my shoulder—partly because I’d hate for the cuff to completely tear, and partly because it aches all the time now.

Heh, I asked the doc what I should Not be doing right now. Bench presses. (I was doing those a couple of weeks ago, before we returned the new weight bench.) And overhead exercises…you mean like what I was doing that very morning with the elastic tubes? Crud. I don’t want to turn into a blob of flab!

The doc had pushed down on the shoulder, asking if I could resist the pressure—and I couldn’t keep my shoulder in place. This kind of thing can cause weakness there, and tonight I noticed my right shoulder slumps. It won’t stay at the same level as my left shoulder without me consciously holding it in place. That’s one of the “signs” I read about.

It takes talent to get lost in the parking lot --

2012-01-06T15:59:00.000-08:00

Jan 6, 2012

I forgot to mention yesterday that I got lost in the parking lot of Hillcrest Plaza.

Hey, come on. I had no problem finding that “street” at all. But when I first called the imaging place and asked for directions, no one told me there were about 7,000 buildings in that “plaza.” Not really a street so much as a compound of assorted big buildings that were only vaguely identified.

No one said, “Turn left into Hillcrest Plaza, take the first left in the split-road entry, then turn right, and we’re in the big brown building across from the big glass building.”

So I wound up driving clear to the back of the compound, still not seeing the building number. Thank goodness for cell phones sometimes. I called.

"Hello, I’m lost in your parking lot. Where are you? Oh yeah, and while you’re at it, I see you actually have three suite numbers and no one told me which suite to report to."

She asked what I why I was there, and when I told her, she told me the right suite number. No problem finding where I needed to go after she directed me—and there was even a little sign with the name of the imaging office near the front door. But when you’re doing the driving and trying to watch traffic And watching for cars backing out of parking places… geez….

Ah, me, it’s my own stupid fault –

2012-01-05T17:33:00.000-08:00

Jan. 5, 2012, Thursday

It looks like I’m probably going to have arthroscopic surgery on my right shoulder.

Let me take you back to June, 2011, for the stupid part. I was walking Baxter and Kasey. Kasey is Nan’s not-so-new-now dog, and we (John & I) were dog sitting. Normally I do not like or use a retractable leash, but for some reason, that stupid day I was.

It’s not clear to me now why Kasey lunged, but he jerked my right arm and shoulder around. Big deal. Not the first time I’ve been jerked around. Later that day I was trying to fix the table next to John’s chair. The legs have grooves and the two shelves slide into the grooves…and occasionally work their way out of them, which means the table will fall down. Of course I was trying to fix it without taking anything off the table; John didn’t understand what I was trying to do, the recumbent bike with its ton-and-a-half front wheel was in the way…and by then I was mad. I think I tried to drag the bike to one side with my right arm, which had already been strained by the dog and trying to manipulate the table without help…

So while I didn’t really notice anything in the heat of my immaturity, later on I thought…OW!

Gee, my right collar bone seemed to be bulging, it was red, and really sore. Of course, I ignored it, except for some cold compresses and/or hot, and/or ibuprofen. I don’t remember now how long I waited before I finally went to a doctor of internal medicine—because I kept thinking it would go away, but finally I wondered if maybe I had fractured my clavicle.

Doc took an x-ray; no, it wasn’t broken. Tissue/tendons are probably just inflamed; keep doing what I was doing; come back if it didn’t get better.

So….5 months later, the clavicle itself wasn’t sore or red, but it had never flattened out again…and by then I was having pain in my right shoulder and down my arm if I moved it “wrong,” and mobility was becoming limited.

Went back to the doc. Nah, it’s not broken, but I might have inflammation in the shoulder joint. I don’t think he thought there was a connection between clavicle and shoulder, but I KNEW there was. Still…he prescribed Medrol. Pain lessened, even though mobility didn’t improve. Took a second round since pain wasn’t quite all gone. Yeah, it helped…for a short time.

Takes me awhile but I finally thought, OK, something is going on. Maybe I should go to an actual bone doctor and see what a specialist has to say.

Saw the orthopedic surgeon a couple of days after Christmas. He had some long name for the clavicle, which is not broken, but it IS dislocated. He said he could push it back into place, but it would just pop out again. It wouldn’t hurt anything being like it was.

OK, fine, said I, but what about the pain in my shoulder. I’m sure they’re connected.

Don’t ya love doctors. He got up and pressed my shoulder back and –something else I don’t remember, because at the point I yelled, OW!

Oh, he says, you may have a tear in there…he didn’t say rotator cuff, and I don’t remember now what. Here I’m always telling people to take a little voice recorder with them to record what the doctor says, and I had mine in my purse…and didn’t use it.

Be that as it may, he then wanted me to have an MRI with contrast. Which I had done today. And you just try to get the same story from different people. Doc said they’ll give you the films/CD before you leave; make another appt with me then and bring them. Imaging place said they’d send them to the doc. Well, I won’t go into all that—suffice it to say they gave me the films and CD before I left today.

Imaging place also kept saying “arthrogram” instead of MRI. Turns out injecting the contrast is the arthrogram—although when that word first came up and I googled it, the procedure described wasn’t really accurate—at least not compared to what I had. And then even though my appt was scheduled for 1 pm today, somewhere in there the doc who did the procedure had been called out to an emergency, so it was after 2:30 before they called me back.

However, since I had befriended Macy at the front counter, she took me aside, explained and apologized about the extended wait, gave me a gift card for Jack-in-the-Box, suggested I go eat, be back by around 2:30. So I did. Only when I saw the Jack card, I thought "McDonald's" and went there, which just proves that sometimes sound gets lost in the translation between ears and brain. I still brought back cookies for the group.

A short while after I got back to the waiting room, here came one fellow, took me to the undressing room, where they also give you a little locker & the key to it, where you leave your clothes & purse—if you happen to be a woman. Long cloth gown and paper shorts are the fashion of the moment.

Nurse/assistant/tech came and got me. Doc came in, explained what he was going to do.
I was lying there with my shoulder exposed, he slathered it with alcohol, then covered it with plastic! Meanwhile there’s this camera? thing hovering over me, and I glance to my left and see a monitor screen –and there’s my shoulder …just the lovely bones. I guess they call that camera/x-ray a fluoroscope. Cool! I watched in real time as the doc inserted a longggg needle with numbing agent into or near the shoulder joint. It was uncomfortable, but really not bad. Then he came back with another longggg needle—and I saw the “dye” squirt into the area. Cool!

I had been told it would take about 30 minutes for the dye to spread, but the nurse had me move my arm 4 ways—and the dye was all spread out. Took about 2 minutes. When I sat up, there was a big reddish-brown stain on the sheet where my shoulder had been. I don’t know if it was blood or dye…I hope it was dye! Or antiseptic. Doc slathered my shoulder with more alcohol after he was done.

Nurse walked me down to the MRI room. Connie ran the machine; took about 20 minutes for that—after she wrapped some kind of padding around the shoulder area to immobilize it. I wonder if this was what is called an “open” MRI. When I had an MRI after a concussion, it was a much bigger unit and a much smaller tube. This one felt almost airy—doesn’t bother me either way.

The thing with MRIs is they are soooo noisy—and they make a variety of sounds. First I was inside a water pik, and construction site, and who knows where else. I asked Connie about that and she said the different sound waves affect the tissues in different ways, which gives different images. Oh, and in case you haven’t figured it out, the dye is also supposed to give a better image.

Yeah—I looked at some of those MRI images. Ain’t no way anyone can see anything or figure out anything. They just pretend. Ha.

Anyway, I have an appointment with the ortho doc on Monday. After he sees the images, he’s supposed to be able to tell me what’s going on and if I’ll need surgery. And That will be a whole ‘nuther story.

Twas the day after Christmas, and all through the town...

2011-12-26T16:52:00.000-08:00

December 26, 2011

No mail delivery today—darn it! But that’s the only real negative. Normally John and I don’t get out the day after Christmas—all those crazy shoppers and gift-returners. But for some reason we decided to chance it today.

So, we got out a little after 10. Wanted to check out a piece of exercise equipment at Academy Sports first. We made the long drive over there (longer because John makes longcuts rather than shortcuts, plus he turned too soon and if you mess-up in and around the Central Expwy area, you can’t get directly from here to over there without first going there to there to around and here.

We wound up not getting what we intended to buy—mostly because my collar bone is still messed up, and when I tried to support myself on the frame, it hurt my shoulder. (I’ve got to get myself to an orthopedic doc before this gets any worse.) Anyway, we wound up getting another weight bench, which we haven’t had for awhile because we (I) have been using a weights and pulley machine that John picked up cheap at a yard sale up the street several years ago, but it was time to get rid of it. This weight bench has some features our old one didn’t, so expect to hear me creak and groan after I’ve used it…and which, by the way, we had a devil of a time getting out of the back of the truck, because the lock/latch handle of the tailgate decided to break right after John & the employee got it lifted onto the truck bed, and John and I had to maneuver it over the side of the truck without destroying it—the truck and the weight bench. Oh yeah, did I mention it came with 100 lbs of weights?

The point of that is, as busy as it was at Academy, we didn’t have to wait in a check-out line to pay for the thing. Then we drove to the Best Buy in the same area so I could return the portable DVD player John gave me for Christmas. We are not exactly ignorant as to how electronics work, but neither of us could get a full-screen image on the thing –and the screen was only 9” big, so a 5” DVD picture just didn’t cut it. Tried four different DVDs with the same results. And the Options button that was supposed to bring up a menu to adjust, wouldn’t—unless no DVD was in the machine, and then it would pop up but you couldn’t adjust anything because there wasn’t anything in the player to adjust! We even read the instructions of all things. Still wouldn’t work right.

And as busy as Best Buy was, I didn’t have to wait in line at the initial return desk, and then when I moved on to the actual process-the-return area, no one was ahead of me in line, although there were people at each of the four registers. And that wait was only a couple of minutes before it was my turn, zip zap, credited to the card and I was outta there. (John was guarding the 100 lb-plus box in the back of the truck.)

Next stop, Target. I had two stocking stuffers from John to return. If I’d seen a long line at Customer Service, I’d have turned around and left. NO ONE. Not one person in line. No one at the counter but the clerk. I picked up my jaw, made the return, then decided to see if that Target had any bags of True North Chocolate Nut Crunch—which if you haven’t tried, you need to –and yes, they did. One person in front of me at the register, and just finishing up. Almost not a wait at all.

And then, because everything else had gone so easily, I asked John to stop at Walmart—I’d almost forgotten the after-Christmas half-price candy sale! Gasp! We stopped, they had several bags of Hershey kisses, one person ahead of me in line—and then a clerk opened the next register and called me over!

John got the old exercise unit taken apart, and then called Greg next door to see if he could use the cables and pulleys down at his deer lease. Yep; he got those, and helped John carry all the rest of the framework to the curb for pick-up tomorrow. Uh-huh. It’s already gone. Someone came along about an hour ago and salvaged all that metal.

And that’s our day-after-Christmas, which was more interesting than our Christmas Day. John went to the hospital as a Eucharistic Minister, which he loves. I exercised as usual. We opened stockings. He took a nap because he’d been to midnight mass Christmas eve. We played one game of Trivial Pursuit and one of dominoes…I whipped John both games. Ha. I worked at the computer because that’s what I do. Life in the fast lane.

Who'd have thought...

2011-10-25T12:21:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, Oct. 25, 2011

I have bad bunions. Haven't worn anything but New Balance running shoes for years because they're the only company that seemed to make D-width shoes, which I needed as the bunions grew worse. 7-1/2D-- but even those have been hard to find lately, and the ones I have found still didn't fit right. So all my shoes are worn out or close to worn out. Going barefoot is not an option because that's painful for the bunions, too. Not as painful as surgery, of course, but cheaper.

So...a year or two or three ago (I'm not too slow), I happened to spot a New Balance store on NW Hwy as I was zipping past going somewhere else. Don't remember where and it doesn't matter anyway. But I never forgot it.

Kept putting it off because it's a long drive over there, but today, I made the trek.

GASP! They actually have trained people who help you. James actually MEASURED my foot. He said my feet are actually rather narrow--except where the bunions are. He suggested I might want to try an 8B instead of a 7-1/2D. Yeah, sure.

He brought me a pair of running shoes that might have been made in heaven. Of course, I was giddy about the cushioning, since the cushioning in all my shoes is long past its prime. But my heels felt snug and my toes didn't.

I could have danced in the store. I bought two pair. They weren't even on sale. Now if they just don't kill my feet around the house, not only do I have two keeper pair of new shoes, but I can hit the self-serve places and look for a size they might actually have in stock.

ah me, ah gee, golly gee

2011-09-15T16:32:00.000-07:00

What is this? Thursday, Sept 15, 2011. It's been one of those days; actually it's been a six of one, half-dozen-of-another days.

Seemed to drop one thing after another this morning, and then dropped supper--a tuna/rice salad--just as I was getting ready to dish it up. Bowl slipped right out of my hand and landed on the LR carpet and assorted other places. Fortunately enough remained in the steel bowl that we could still eat, but there went Sat. leftovers.

At Tom Thumb, I got stuck at the self-checkout, first because someone in front of me had some problem, and the register in front of him was having the tape changed. When the clerk was done, I whipped ahead of problem-man, managed to check out--and the register tape didn't print, so had to wait while clerk got that fixed.

And at Walmart, some dimwit had just finished checking out ahead of me--full basket of stuff, and his/her "card was empty" says the cashier to her supervisor. I'm not sure what card that was, but dimwit disappeared leaving all his groceries unpaid for. Perhaps I'm being unkind and judgemental of dimwit, but I don't care.

There were some other things, which I have blissfully forgotten, but meanwhile, back at the ranch, we'd been having a problem with the DVD/VCR unit that had been hooked up to our DVR via the TV, or the other way around--I don't know. Cliche: the "kid" next door hooked up all the assorted cables.

DVD unit would turn on...then turn off. I had checked connections, plugged, unplugged, etc. Still wasn't working right. No picture, no sound on TV because of that. Well, actually for awhile we had picture and no sound, but then today--neither. So when I got home, I pulled all the cables off the DVD/VCR and dumped it. Maybe it could have been repaired. I didn't care. I tossed it into the trash with great satisfaction.

And then I proceeded to hook all those cables into the back of the TV, which had to be moved, which entailed me also having to dust back there. Geez. I hooked things up the way they were supposed to be (fingers-crossed). No picture or sound. Just "Video 2" on screen. So I finally called FIOS. Horrible connection, but guy managed to tell me to use the TV remote to change input --and Voila! Sound and picture! Yay for me!

Now going back to supper spread all over the carpet. John and I got most of it picked up, then I plugged in my Bissell Little Green machine to suck up the tuna smell...and the squirter thing wouldn't squirt. Hadn't used the machine for awhile, but dammit... I was ready to throw that in the trash, too, but I decided to unscrew the little cover plate, messed with the spring and tubing inside, flushed out the tube in the clean water container...and I got it to work again! Yay me!

So then I decided to change the washer hot-water hose. Not a big deal you say? Yes, it is, since washer and dryer are in the garage, and John wasn't here to move the washer for me. So I did it (I will probably regret it tomorrow.) I not only changed out the hose, but the balance has been wonky, and I managed to adjust one of the feet--by tilting the washer on one end, holding, bending and adjusting the foot. I repeat, I will probably regret it tomorrow. I also felt the tub shift a little, so I hope I didn't throw that all whacked out.

And just so I end on another positive note, when I stopped at Kohl's this a.m. to return 3 things (and buy one on clearance with 20% coupon), I HAD to to to 1/2Price Books because it's right there. And I noticed a poetry book titled "She Took Off Her Wings & Shoes" by a poet I've never heard of, but the little bit I read made me buy it, even though it wasn't on clearance. So there.

PST Summer Conference 2011

2011-07-19T16:39:00.000-07:00

July 20, 2011

The Poetry Society of Texas Summer Conference was held in San Antonio, July 14-16, hosted by the San Antonio chapter of the PST. I've been to two so far-one in Fort Worth and one in Dallas. Three other ladies and I decided we'd drive down together-it's about 5 hours one way…if you know the way. Remember that point. This is long, so get settled.

Let me tell you first that John had been pushing for me to fly, which would have been out of Love Field rather than DFW, but between the hour drive to get there, having to be there early, who knows how much time waiting to go through security and boarding, the hour flight, and then getting a shuttle to the hotel-shoot, I could have driven and already been there.

So then he started pushing for us to rent a larger car-it'd be safer, more comfortable, more trunk room. Sigh…I finally conceded that point, mostly so it'd give him one less thing to worry about-since I'd be doing all the driving. Thanks for the vote of confidence. Rent cars have been fairly scarce around here because of a big hail storm a few months ago, and I suppose, summer vacationers now. Reserved a full-size car through Enterprise, which is about the only local rental agency in and around town; everything else is at the airports.

Really I wanted a Dodge Charger, but mostly anything except a Chevy Malibu. So of COURSE the ONLY damn car available when it was time to pick it up was a Malibu. What IS it with newer cars? Rear ends are so high you can't see to back up, headrests in the way so you can't see oncoming traffic on the right, the frame struts around the windows are in the direct line of vision so you can't see traffic on the right, and the windows are so tiny you can barely see out of them. Jeez. The only thing I'll give the Malibu is the road noise was muted, and the trunk managed to hold all the luggage & extras for four ladies (or reasonable facsimiles). I was also hauling a big box of ribbon-tied sets of poetry books to donate for raffle prizes, plus books to sell.

Anyway, we got started a little later than I wanted to on Thursday morning, but we were going in the opposite direction of going-to-work traffic, so we didn't have any trouble getting out of town and on the road. I had my GPS and had printed out Mapquest directions along with all the little in-between maps. Marilyn was my navigator and did a fine job. Only two rest stops along the way, which included one gas-up. We decided to try the toll road around Austin (I had my toll tag with me, temporarily registered to the rental). Wow, most of the time there were only two or three cars on the road, one of them being us.

So we got to San Antonio, we were THISClose to getting to the Airport Hilton, we could, in fact, see a Hilton past a Y in the road where the Loop and Blanco Road diverge. But my GPS said stay left; Mapquest said if you reach Blanco Rd you've gone to far. So I veered left, GPS said turn left at whatever. All of us thought, oh that must be a different Hilton that we see up ahead. We're near the airport; maybe there are Two Hiltons, one on each side of the Loop, so we want the one that's on the opposite side of the Loop.

Well, to cut that short, the stupid GPS had us going in circles FOUR times because we were all too stupid to figure out there was a problem…except for Marilyn who finally said just as we were about to do the 5th go-round, "Let's go to the Hilton we can see and ask for directions." OK.
Of course it was exactly the Hilton we were looking for. We all agreed we weren't going to tell anybody how stupid we were…and then, of course, promptly started telling everyone just that. Fortunately for our egos, we learned we weren't the only ones who had really stupid GPSs.

So we unloaded the trunk; had our luggage put in the storage room because supposedly we couldn't check in until 3 pm. I had reserved a single over a month ago (special group rate for the PST); Marilyn and Pat were sharing a double, and Linda was sharing a double with a friend who had driven in from Fort Worth with someone else.

We got registered at the PST desk, got all the books dumped in the book room-we were already running late because of our circular-well, gee, if the GPS says it, it must be true mindset-and the first speaker, the one I had really wanted to see (karla morton, the 2010 poet laureate) was just finishing up her 30 minute presentation, I just barely managed to hear two of her poems-and then didn't even get to do more than say Hi, because she had to rush back to Denton (at least a six hour drive, I think) because she had promised to take her son to the midnight showing of the new & last Harry Potter movie. RATS.

When there was a break, I tried to check-in. Yes, they had my reservation but the room wasn't ready yet. I went back twice more, meanwhile missing more of the speakers (and I wasn't the only one this was happening to.) The second attempt, I never made it to the desk-too many people in line. Nuts to it. The third time I started hearing things about overbooked, shuttle to other hotels, lists, overbooked by 30-60 people.

Well, what we eventually found out-and if they had told us this in the first place it would have helped a little, but they didn't-is they were expecting a bus of about 30 military personnel, but what arrived were around 60. Supposedly hotels are required to accommodate the military, in spite of other reservations.

I don't know. I just know that after standing around and waiting for one manager or another to do this or that, to get our "comp" letters to take to-in this case-the Embassy Suites, and then waiting for this particular manager to go look for envelopes to put them in, then get our luggage, and then wait for the shuttle, then have to drive there, unload, register, wait for the shuttle to go back…several of us missed most of the afternoon and part of the evening's events. We were not happy.

Free room for the night. Big whoop. We had to pay a registration fee for the conference and we were missing the conference. Marilyn, Pat & I had debated whether to chance packing everything up Friday morning on the supposed guarantee we'd have room at the Hilton the next night-but we still wouldn't know or be able to check in until at least 3. So we opted to stay at the Embassy.

Hilton was trying to say, well, if it's your preference we won't comp the second night. Oh yes you will, says I. It's not our preference but a matter of being assured a place to stay and not having to drag stuff back and forth, and because we were missing programs we'd paid to see, and we were Not happy, and we got the second night comp'd (complimentary) also…which pretty much covered the cost of the rent car, by the way (all John's and my dime since it was his preference.)

Aside from the inconvenience, let me tell you the Embassy Suites are way nicer than the Hilton, too. All the rooms are actually two-sitting/office area and bedroom. Free breakfast buffet ($10+ at the Hilton), free coffee, one free drink every day, and probably some other stuff, but those are the highlights.

Now I've been telling you all about that because no one is really interested in a poetry conference unless you're at one. But let me tell you, you missed a fun time. Theme this time was Dancing with Poetry. All the speakers had programs that connected music to poetry (which can have rhythm, rhyme, meter, etc.) Two of the speakers taught some line dancing; we had dance demonstrations at lunch on Thursday, and at both dinners Thurs. & Friday.

One young man, who had recently won the UIL award…University Interscholastic Literary? -is a Performance Poet, which means he doesn't read poems, he performs them. Visual and verbal poetry. He entertained us at Friday dinner, before the keynote speaker.

We had contests-the traditional "You Be the Judge," which I didn't win, but came close-sort of; a special dance poem contest, which I also didn't win; and then our monthly contests, in which I did win 2nd place. We also had the Life Member Fund raffle drawings. The first two or three times they drew one of my tickets, they were for prizes I'd donated, which I refused to accept, so they drew other tickets. Finally managed two other prizes, one of which I gave away; the other-a knapsack filled with things for the poet-on-the-go, that I kept.

Oh by the way, the banquet room had round tables arranged around the dance floor, and then the long head table up on the dais; different people were asked to sit at the Big Boys table at each meal. I was up there Friday night…and I have to tell you, I don't like sitting up there. I had Pat on my right, and another, second-Loretta on my left. It turned out 2nd Loretta had been a novice nun for five years many years ago, but when it was time to take final orders, she decided it wasn't her vocation, so she came back to Texas, where she met her husband, who is a retired florist, and provided all the roses and other flower decorations. Pat is also Catholic. When 2nd-Loretta told me she'd almost become a nun, I cracked up, told her about Catholic-man John, told her he prayed for me a lot, and she said to tell him that she was putting me on her prayer list, too. LOL

I had also been asked to be the Spotlight Poet in our "mock" monthly meeting on Sat., but I knew one lady-1st-Loretta--had just recently won a book publication contest, and since she had some of the book poems with her, I suggested to her and the Spotlight chair that she be allowed to be the Spotlight. After all, I'm at the monthly meetings in Dallas-they could hear me anytime; whereas Loretta lives in Odessa. She is a good poet-and funny.

Speaking of which, the last poet on Sat. was an English woman who read her funny poems.
And just so you know, the speakers do a lot of topic talking-they don't just read poems. It's educational, funny, surprising. One speaker had a workshop and had us work on push-pull poems, which it doesn't matter to this report what that means, except I no sooner had something down on paper than I had to fight tears. Anne (poet/teacher) told me later she'd seen me struggling and wanted to come over and hug me but didn't want to draw attention to that struggle either.

Before we shuttled-off the Hilton coil and went to the Embassy on Friday night, Marilyn, Pat, Linda, Budd, 1st-Loretta and I had free drinks (a second minor comp for all the inconvenience, frustration, irritation) at the Hilton bar. (I had my first vodka and tonic with a twist of lime; that is, it was actually my third one since I'd had one the night before because that's what Marilyn had, so thought I'd give it a try, and then I bought one-gasp!-at Happy Hour Friday early evening.) Plus Loretta ordered some hot wings and "made" us share. Had a lot of fun just talking together. Programs were scheduled so closely together, and breaks were so short, that talk time was limited to meals and after the last speaker each day.

I'm not sure when we got back on the road Sat. afternoon-probably around one. Made three stops on the way home, the last one partly a rest stop, but also conveniently at the Czech Stop so Linda could buy some kolaches (sweet rolls) for her husband. Toll road was a little busier going north on Sat. but not much. Reached Linda's around 6, I guess, dropped off everyone, then got myself home around 7.

Now, I took several snapshots and several videos this time. As soon as I can get them processed, I'll let you know the links. The videos going on YouTube will be unlisted-not for general public viewing, so you'll have to get the links from me if you want them.

Lucky, and not so lucky

2011-04-29T17:01:00.000-07:00

Friday, April 29, 2011

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that the day before my birthday, John wanted a hair cut. I’d bought new a hair clipper since the one I’d been using since Pop was still with us was on its last battery recharging legs.

This new one has only two “comb” attachments. Neither one is numbered, so I didn’t know which one to try. The big one looked too big—larger than the #2 comb that cuts John’s hair in a burr, which he wants, but doesn’t shave his head.

Ha. Guess what. The smaller comb gives a really close cut…and if you shift the angle of the blades, it ..uhh…pretty much does shave off the hair. Oops.

Update, 4-29-11: I came across the packaging for the clippers this afternoon. Not only did I find the third comb attachment, the largest, that I’d left in the box—thinking it was too big—but when I looked on the package back, I discovered the smallest comb was actually for use in leaving that bad-boy beard stubble look. LOL! No WONDER John’s head looks practically bald (where it isn’t already.)

Be that as it may, today we… I say we but it was mostly me, of course…we had Lucky, the new dog from next door with us today. (Jenny died of cancer a few months ago.) Sandy’s nursing schedule has her on extra long hours for two days, and her husband is due back tomorrow, but meanwhile, Lucky would have been alone for over 14 hours. So Sandy asked if I could maybe bring Lucky over here, or at least feed her before 9 pm.

Of course Lucky got to go for a walk with Baxter and me this morning—she loved that; and got to go again with John in the evening. Meanwhile she peed on the carpet in one room not long after she’d peed all over creation on her walk. Maybe from excitement, maybe because Toot scared it out of her. Certainly Toot smacked her hard later, so Lucky is sort of afraid of her now.

She was all over everywhere, and for a stocky little dog with short legs, she can jump—like from the couch over to John’s chair. I had towels on the cushions, and when she finally wore down, she settled on the chair and napped. She was actually pretty good most of the time, and definitely wanted to be petted and all that.

The problem was later…I took her home about 7:30 so she’d be there when Sandy got home. Well, that dog whined and cried by the fence for about an hour & a half. I saw her sort of chewing at the chain link fence. She wanted to be back here. She didn’t want to be home. Apparently she liked it here, in spite of the “vicious” black cat.

The other two “problems” were Lucky passes wind. Whew! And she also leaves yard bombs randomly in the yard, unlike Baxter who only poops along the back fence line.

She was supposed to come over for the day today (Friday), too, but when Baxter and I started to pick her up for a walk, I saw Greg’s truck in their driveway. He’d gotten home a whole lot sooner than Sandy or I expected. So not knowing if Lucky was in or out (I suspected inside), we just went by ourselves.

And another B

2011-04-27T19:57:00.000-07:00

4-27-2011, Weds.

I was going to stay home on my birthday, but then the Penney's ad arrived and everything in the store is on sale for the next 3-4 days, plus there was a coupon with the ad. I've been wanting to look for some nice summer shirts/blouses, partly in anticipation of the Poetry Society Summer Conference coming up in July, so I decided to go shopping.

Ugh! I hate clothes shopping. Either it doesn't fit, or it's an awful color, or the neckline plunges to my belly button, and I don't want to expose it or anything else on the way down to it.

To get right to That point, I didn't find any tops, but I did buy four pair of cotton shorts for around the house, in a size that's really too big for me, but I hate snug elastic around my waist.

On the way to Penney's--which I almost couldn't find because I hadn't been there for years. Knew it was at Collin Creek Mall, but just try finding the entrance!--On the way I stopped at Target to return two pair of pajama shorts I thought could pass as shorts, but decided I didn't like them; and then stopped at PetSmart for food for the doggy.

I started to walk out into the rest of the mall (and by the way, the orthotics do help, but the varicose veins make my legs tired), decided I didn't need anything and didn't want to even think about shopping at Dillards right then, so went from there to the Starbucks at Barnes & Noble, needing some caffeine fortification. Swung by Office Depot to use my reward dollars before they expired, and then headed for one of the 1/2Price Books stores, which was my "reward" destination.

That's where the real "gift" was found. Exciting to no one but me--I found a copy of Poetry Dallas. It's an anthology with...duh... Dallas area poets--back in 1978, and I recognized four names. One name is the lady my Garland PST chapter is named after. Another is a big name man in PST--and when I emailed him, he said the poem in this book is his first in print poem, and through that he met the man who intro'd him to the PST, and he's been an active member (and past president) ever since.

After I got home, Nan called and she and Kasey walked over so he and Baxter could have a play date. Kasey was in the dog house. After all the rain we'd had, KC discovered MUD. All four legs, his face, part of his side...major Mud Puppy. Nan would not let him in the house until they could get him scrubbed off. (That was either Monday or Tuesday, I guess.)

Since I was gone so much earlier, and had changed clothes and didn't want to change again, I gave John the choice of dinner out, or leftovers and massage my feet later. Heh. I knew he'd choose option 2.

Then later, Sandy next door asked (for reasons I won't go into) if I could walk their new dog Lucky, and pay some attention to her for the next couple of days--which is no problem. She's been wanting to come over here to play, especially when Kasey is here, too. So I'll get her in the morning and she'll get to walk with Baxter.

And that's been my birthday, more or less. And that's enough.

bunions and bunnies and other b words

2011-04-27T19:33:00.000-07:00

April 24, 2011

I know I haven't written anything here for awhile, mostly because nothing much has been going on, which normally doesn't stop me, but I just haven't felt like it. I'm OK, but then there've been a couple of times this month I've been sad for several days-just sad, sad, sad-for no reason in particular, except probably it's part of my grieving. Hard to believe it's been almost a year since my mom died, and over a year now since my brother died.

Anyway, I have been busy with articles for RSM and the Senior Voice, and entering poems in contests. And working on A Galaxy of Verse, getting ready for the second issue.

Don't think I've mentioned that Nan and Lloyd have a puppy named Kasey now. Still strange not having Buddy around, but Kasey certainly is distracting! He's about 8 months old, and must have ADD! That dog doesn't stop moving! He and Baxter get along fine, although Kasey has no respect for the senior dog.

We're making sure they get together on a regular basis, and then yesterday evening we had them bring Kasey over here and leave him for a couple of hours, just to see how he'd do when they weren't around (eventually we'll be dog-sitting.) Plus Nan needed a break!

I think Kasey gets a bit over-stimulated here. He's behind a wood fence at home. Here, it's a chain link; Lucky the (new) beagle/pit mix on one side, two small dogs on the other, and a Jack Russell terrier behind us. Plus Baxter, plus the two cats-a cacophony of dogs and the hissing of cats! LOL!

Kasey has absolutely no concept of "this space is already occupied." Well, actually Baxter doesn't either, but it's funny to watch KC (for short) barrel under Baxter's belly. Petunia was all puffed out at him, but she by god did not back down. KC just checked her out and when he turned his back, she batted his legs. He turned to look at her, like, "What?" and then trotted off. She did it several times when he got too close, and each time she did her bad act and he just said, Huh? He ran the fence with the dogs on both sides. When Baxter ran with a toy in his mouth, KC caught up, grabbed hold and they ran together. Sometimes they'd have a tug of war. Bax would growl, KC ignored him, and Bax would drop the toy like…Son, you're supposed to listen to me. Ha.

By the way, neither cat is afraid of KC (and he has 4 cats at home), but he tends to overwhelm them-getting too close out of curiosity-which is when they go into their bad acts.

KC LOVES the kiddie pool. Bax will get in to drink and/or cool his feet, but that's all. Once KC figured out how to step in, he had a ball. Scooping up water in his mouth, going in circles, splashing with his nose, leaping out, leaping in. We put a rubber duck in there several times and he'd go in, grab it, leap out, race around the yard. Goofy dog. (Yes, Nan, I'm talking about your puppy!)

He is also the sweetest, most affectionate dog. Unlike Baxter, KC doesn't know a stranger. And he is into EVERYthing. He tries to be everywhere at once, and then back again. Go Go Go! Oh, to have that kind of energy.

And then the other big excitement (Yawn) is I finally got my custom-made orthotics, in an attempt to avoid bunion surgery. They're actually a composite of four sections based on how I walked on the treadmill (an F-scan.) Mostly I guess they feel like any other inserts, except I can tell that the big toes are being supported differently. Something is going on in the joints, but I don't know what. I know the orthotics can't cure bunions, but maybe they can keep them from getting worse. Oh, and the pressure points on my right foot have certainly changed. I have a callus on the ball of my foot in a place I haven't had one before. I see the doc again in two weeks and need to find out about that.

OK, I'm done for now. Since the Easter Bunny hasn't been here, I guess I'll have to hit the after-Easter sales tomorrow.

Hot Doggies! --pun intended

2011-03-01T11:44:00.000-08:00

I just sold a copy of I've Heard Verse to the doc who's making my orthotics! He thought his girlfriend would really get a kick out of it.

When I went in last week for the F-scan (sensors in my shoes as I walked on a treadmill to see how my feet worked), Dr M and I were talking, and I'd said I was a writer. He seemed interested, so I told him I'd bring a couple of Senior Voice when I came in to have the molds of my feet made.

And I did, and also brought in one book to show him. Yay for him--he's the only doc who ever has!

He had taped my feet last week--around the sides, heels and around the arches, to see if my feet felt more stable, and told me to try to leave it on for at least three days. Well, it felt so good, I left it on for four. Only took it off because I thought my skin might need to "recover" before the casting (which turned out to be plaster-casting tape that he molded to my feet.) Told him how it really made my arches feel stable, and he offered to re-tape them, so I Iet him.

Oh, he has a good sense of humor, too. He shaved the calluses on my big toes and balls of my feet first. He sort of cringed when I said I used a single edge razor blade to shave them. But I said, hey, at least it keeps me flexible because I have to twist my legs and feet around in order to see the bottoms. He laughed at that.

Then he asked if I'd seen Dr. C, the orthopedic surgeon (several doctors in that facility), and I said, "yes...for about two minutes." And he grinned and acted surprised, and said, "Is that all? Most people get to see him for three minutes."

Valentine's Day, my bunions!

2011-02-14T16:00:00.000-08:00

Feb. 14, 2011

ah me...I went to an orthopedic doctor this morning, one recommended to me by the lady who has been cleaning my teeth for years and years. She not only had knee surgery at this center, but was told she should have her bunion corrected too or she'd have the same knee problem again. She raved about the place, how they treated the whole person, not just the condition, blah blah... She also said this doc didn't just screw the big toe back together (bad bunions get big toe bone broken and straightened which is why it's so painful) but he used a metal brace/bracket/support against the bone--which made a lot of sense to me--and he was the only doc in this area who did that.

Great. I've been to different podiatrists and an orthopedic surgeon over the last umpteen years. All of them told me how bad my bunions were; every one of them but the surgeon wanted to operate on my feet immediately; one recently told me my arches would shatter into little bitty pieces (essentially) if I didn't have the surgery.

The bunions themselves don't really bother me--unless I drop a can of peas on them...which I have done, or unless someone steps on my unshod foot...which John has done--and then I want to scream or pass out, which ever comes first. However, the resulting calluses on the balls of my feet hurt, I now have arthritis in my right hip as a result of my gait being uneven because my feet aren't properly balanced, and now it's attacking my left hip. Although I have to say what bothers me more than any of that is the darned varicose veins which make my legs feel heavy, sometimes even when I'm wearing my granny stockings.

ANYWAY, I had a 10:45 appointment this morning, way to hell and gone over that way, although a fairly straight shot via George. (I190, but George & I are on a first name basis.) Still, as a precaution, I got out my not-so-trusty GPS and programmed in the address. Idiot thing. Aside from losing its satellite connection a couple of times, it kept telling me to get off George Bush Fwy at just about every exit...and part of that problem is it was always one Exit behind. Like I passed Coit Rd 3 miles back and now it's telling me to take that exit. Jeez.

Turns out this place is not far from where we bought our Toyota. Requisite paperwork...and as I was filling it out, this young lady came through the door of the inner sanctum something like 10 times--I'm not kidding-- calling Mr or Mrs someone for Dr C...the doc I had an appointment with. I was thinking, 1. aww crap I'm going to be here all day; 2. he has a lot of peons doing the pre-work; 3. he will flit in and out of the exam room in two minutes and I will hardly see his face.

Bingo on 2 & 3. Shown to a room; a few minutes later my feet were hauled off to x-ray. I went with them just for convenience. Tech was obviously bored. What seemed weird and dangerous is I had to step up on a slightly cushioned stool for the first feet x-rays. Never had that done before. Then had to face this way and that, stand of a plate, tilt my feet, etc.

Back to room. A few minutes later in breezed a heavyset man in a plaid shirt who said he was Dr C. I'd thought he was another tech or with insurance. Looked at my x-rays--only one set that I saw on the screen. Said I had ordinary bunions, no arthritis in the big toes (last podiatrist said I had some). He pushed my toes around, asked a couple of questions, said maybe orthotics would help, handed me a couple of leaflets, and was gone. Maybe three minutes of doctor time. One minute more than I expected!

So another man comes in with ball of the foot cushions--like you see at Walmart, jammed the loops around the second toes, then used purple stretchy bandages (like they wrap you with after they siphon off blood) to hold them in place. He also jammed on a couple of toe cushions. That was all fine and good, except then I couldn't get my granny stockings over the damn things without rolling the bandage edges. I'm trying to get my socks and socks and shoes back on--while the original lady hovers near the door, anxious to get me out so the next victim can come in.

Doc wants me to go to another location to have an F-scan done. F, I assume, is for Foot. This is a treadmill test that measures gait, pressure points, etc.,--sensors are inserted in your shoes--so custom-made orthotics can be poured, shaped, created, stamped...whatever...at the location I went to today.

It sort of semi-makes sense--or makes semi-sense? ...except I've heard from various sources that orthotic inserts are a waste of money ($325 for these PLUS another office co-pay), and these are about $100 more than the ones I paid for at Foot Solutions, which generally speaking ARE a waste of money, but then I was talking to Sherry at Texans before I came home, and she said her younger son had had to use orthotics and they were definitely not a waste. So who knows.

The point being, I shall have an F-scan next Weds. morning--as they only do these things on Wednesdays--and I will probably get the orthotics (almost assuredly out-of-pocket and not insurance paid), because I would rather see if this works than have foot surgery.

And if the orthotics DO help, then I can use the non-surgery 20% leftover for us to pay to maybe pay for varicose vein surgery. Hey--anyone have that done?

Don't you just get exhausted --

2011-01-23T11:42:00.000-08:00

1-13-2011

Don't you just get exhausted when things aren't working right or when your mouse is apparently wearing out after upteen years but you don't want to get a new one... and it just makes life in general so exhausting, especially when both your desks are piled high with CRAP and you didn't even make a dent in it when that's what you planned to do today but didn't. But thats all beside the point.

I've been fighting with the VA to get $1644 returned that was taken from my mom's account, which became mine by right of POD the second she died, that shouldn't have been removed from the account in the first place, which ultimately is the fault of the bank itself because it jumped the gun and tossed money to the VA who had already been repaid, but of course the BANK couldn't reverse ITS action, which meant I had to contact the VA, which has had the money since AUGUST. They did try to return it once but sent a check made out to the Estate of my mom, which meant I couldn't just redeposit it in (our) account; it had to go into an estate account, which probably meant I'd have to go through probate to get it back, which would have cost me money, but I shouldn't have had to go that route anyway because the money wasn't part of the "estate," but money that was removed from what was legally MY account and shouldn't have been taken in the first place, and was removed without authorization.

So on the advice of someone at the VA, I wrote "cancelled" on the check and returned it with a note of explanation--and of course the VA can't do anything promptly except TAKE money, which they did--as did the bank--and then had to go round and round again.

Meanwhile, at the bank, I was told in order to avoid the check hassle, because surely the VA would next time around re-deposit the money electronically because that's how it had been taken (by the bank, may I remind you), the banking lady told me I should close the joint account and open one under my own name, and there would be some kind of "redirect" link involved because the money would come to an account number, not a name, and the money would bounce from the old account and be redirected to the new account. So I did that.

And,,, oh yeah, I found out a few days ago that the money was actually electronically deposited in Mom's OLD account on 12-2-10, which SHOULD have then been directed to the new account I opened in MY name, which is what the Banking Woman said would happen, but it DIDN'T. It just bounced back to the VA.

Meanwhile someone at the VA had said I needed to call the Treasury to get the money back, so THEN I called the Treasury Dept in Austin and THEY hung up on me at least 4 times before I finally got a very nice woman named Tiffany who is the one who told me about the 12-2 fiasco, so then I called the VA again and talked to Tina--who is very nicely human--for the second time, who again talked to her supervisor who SAID she physically walked MY mailing information and the check order to the person who cuts the checks and will mail it directly to ME instead of going through the bank again.

And Tina actually took the initiative and called ME on Friday to tell me the check addressed to me, for the exact amount, had been sent that very day. And I said, "What? no interest, no penalties, no late fees added to the amount?" And she laughed and told me to get real, and I told her how much I appreciated her help...and so while I'm not holding my breath, I'm starting to watch the mailbox.

Spooky follow-up to burying Mom

2011-01-16T16:02:00.000-08:00

1-10-2011

I told my friend Nan about playing "Bop" while I buried Mom & Glenn's
cremains. She knows a lot of songs but wasn't familiar with that one. So when I
went over today to help her with some computer thing, I took the iTouch so
I could play the song for her.

It was on there. At the cemetery, I pulled it up easily by scrolling to Dan
Seals, the singer. He was NOT in there. I did a Search. No Bop, no Dan
Seals. Where the hell was the song???

Never did find it. Weird.

Well, earlier this evening I was looking in iTunes, and there it was--but
with an exclamation point next to it. Of course, there is NO explanation
anywhere about what that means, but I also noticed when it synched, it synched
just a few songs. What about all the others? Finally figured out that I
had dragged and dropped the songs from the back-up hard drive into iTunes,
and when I turned off the back-up, the song files disappeared even though the
names stayed. Thus the exclamation points.

I also finally figured out the numbers in front of the songs are the Track
numbers from the original sources.

Anyway, Bop is back on the iTouch, but boy, it was really weird and spooky
when it should have been there but wasn't.

Burying Mom

2011-01-04T19:00:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, January 04, 2011

Well, it didn't dawn on me until just now, but I buried my mom on a Tuesday. Tuesdays are when we most often went out for lunch, errands, sometimes doctor appointments, or just for fun. We went out other times, too, but Tuesdays were a regular thing. And we got out today.

John-who is off all this week (and last week, too)-and I drove to Tyler this morning. Baxter stayed with Nan because we didn't know if we'd be seeing John's cousin Mark, or where we might eat, and Baxter is not sociable the way Charlie was.

Anyway, I told you in October that I'd mixed some of Mom's cremains in with the remainder of Glenn's ashes, spread some on around the mini-rose bush and the daisies (those haven't come up this winter at all…hmmm… I thought Mom liked daisies), and flung some into the creek and on the hillside of the nearby forest preserve on her birthday.

The mixed ashes went into a round paper-mache box that someone sent me-can't remember who; sorry. Maybe you'll recognize it from the picture. I think it was painted with Lumiere paints and has a blue jewel stone on the lid. Pretty little box.

The remainder of the ashes were in the plastic urn Neptune Society sent them in. Packed both in the car, and included the long braid of Mom's hair she had saved for I don't know how many years. She kept her hair long while she was married to Glenn; cut it off after he died. Probably I could have donated the braid to a worthy cause, but I didn't want to. And she'd also kept a small stone on which someone had painted, "...be content." from Phillipians.

We got to Meador Cemetery late this morning. The huge tree that used to shelter John's folks and grandparents graves was cut down a few years ago. Blah. But they hadn't moved, nor had my sister. The marble marker stone I'd ordered a couple of months ago was in place.
Winklebleck
Mary and Glenn
Together Again
2010

It's funny-as we approached the cemetery gate, it suddenly occurred to me that we could have music for the burial-and only because John suggested I bring along the iTouch just to see how free Wi-Fi connections worked-like at the highway rest stop and then later at McDonald's. But music. Yeah! As soon as I thought of that, I thought of "Bop," sung by Dan Seals; it was one of Mom's (& my) absolute favorites. In fact, she introduced me to it. And I happened to have "Bop" on the iTouch. Too fitting.

John had brought a narrow spade and dug the hole. He stepped back. I knelt down, clicked on Bop, put the little box into the grave …and that's when I started crying.

I haven't cried since that late night/early morning at the hospital six months ago. Yes, six months ago already. I cried as I arranged her braid around the box, cried as I added the little "be content" stone. Cried as I tried to sing along to "Bop," holding the iTouch in my left hand, and not knowing until I did it that I was going to reach out with my right hand to grasp a handful of red Texas dirt, and drop it in the hole, and then continued to grab or scrape the dirt until the whole grave was filled, and the song ended, and in a few moments I stopped crying.

We packed it down. Told Mom I was going to fling the rest of her after we stopped at Walmart so I could wash my hands, pee, and wash my hands again. Even after washing, my right hand was stained red from the dirt.

Now, Pop's property was divided by a highway many many years ago. The low-lying side of the property has an above-ground gas pipeline and railroad tracks running across it. There's also a tiny creek that runs through it, turns left so it doesn't touch the house-side of the property, and goes wherever.

John suggested maybe Mom would like to be on/near some tracks so she could keep traveling that way, too. Made sense to me-and then with the creek there… Well, the easiest way to access it was not to just cross the highway, but go to a side road, where we trekked about a half-mile over the tracks, John lagging way behind…on purpose? I don't know.

When I reached the trestle bridge, I poured out Mom. Some got on the tracks, most landed in the creek or around it. Disrepectful? No. I think she would appreciate it.

Then I told her I hoped she'd found what she'd been looking for all her life. I didn't cry.

And on the way home, I asked John to stop at a Sonic because I had a 99-cent coupon for a Route 64, 44 ounce, more pee for your peso drink, and I ordered a diet cherry limeade, because that's what Mom and I always ordered during Happy Hour at Sonic, although in a smaller size-but she'd have appreciated the bargain.

OMG, it's a Christmas Newsletter, 2010!

2010-12-19T19:03:00.000-08:00

December 2010

Well, this has certainly been a year.

That kind of says it all, but that's no reason to stop there.

So … it started in January (gosh, did you know the year started then?) Mom moved from her independent apartment into Mayberry Gardens Assisted Living Homes. Aside from the food she liked it well enough, but not really. One of those things where she was better off having people around her 24/7, but she preferred being alone.

By the time she got settled into her new digs, my brother Jon had gone into hospice. After three years of fighting it, his colon cancer had spread with a vengeance. He died on March 30; only 61 years old.

My sister and dad both died in 2002, so now the family was down to Mom and me. And then Mom fell. We'd been out most of the day-had lunch, gone to a used book store, gotten our diet cherry limeades from Sonic. I took her back to Mayberry, and about forty minutes later I got a call saying she'd fallen. Fractured her left hip, and hit the softer side of her skull where she'd had aneurysm surgery about 25 years ago. The doctors never said, but I'm sure that's what caused the brain tear, resulting in the brain bleed that killed her within 12 hours. June 30; she was 87.

In October I scattered some of her cremains on her birthday, over a creek here in Garland, and some around my mini-rose bush. A small amount have been mixed with Glenn's, her second husband, per her request, and will be buried near my sister sometime over this Christmas holiday. The rest will be scattered in Tyler; she lived there for several years, and really liked it.

Apparently my family likes to die in pairs -Lynn and Daddy, Jon and Mom. Since I'm the last one left standing, I guess this means I get to live forever.

Anyway, I had hoped to get Mom's young adult novel published before she died-which should have been years from now, but… Be that as it may, thanks to her training and teaching me through her aggravatingly consistent suggestions of, "Needs work," I was able to do considerable revising and editing on her manuscript. Couldn't let the book die with her, and Giant Steps was published a couple of months ago.

Meanwhile, in early June, I not only published my book of humorous poetry, I've Heard Verse: awfully good poetry, but I became the President and Editor of A Galaxy of Verse, a non-profit literary foundation that publishes a member-sponsored anthology twice a year. Well, the last editor hadn't published anything since 2006, so I essentially started from scratch. After rebuilding some membership, a new edition was published this month. Next one is scheduled for May or June, 2011. At least Mom got to witness those, and was a pleased, proud and excited about them as I was.

Seems like I'm focused pretty much on writing, which is not good for the hips, which forces me to exercise. Blah. But I do it anyway. Aside from that I'm the Recording Secretary and Librarian for the Poetry Society of Texas; Recording Secretary and Treasurer for the Bea Land-Phoenix (Garland) Chapter of PST, member of Brown Bag Poets, Writers' Guild of Texas, Florida Poetry Society, and Oklahoma Poetry Society. I also write on assignment for the Senior Voice, a Dallas paper, and for RubberStampMadness, a national magazine. Several of my poems and stories have won or placed or been published in a variety of contests, magazines, and books. I've also judged a few contests, including a Poetry Slam for 3rd-5th graders. And let me tell you, I NEVER want to have to use a little girl's restroom again! Ugh!

Back at the Animal Farm, Baxter loves to go for his walks, no matter what the weather-which shows I bright I am (not) since I take him. He continues to run over Jake and Petunia, and has almost knocked me down a few times because he seems to have no concept of "this space is already occupied." Jake aggravates us until we put him on leash and take him out front to eat grass. He seems to think if it's raining in the backyard, it will be dry out front. Petunia is enormously fat; she was supposed to take after her namesake flower, not the pig.

John is still at Raytheon, and still Catholic Man, still a Eucharistic Minister, and still a Stephen Leader and Stephen Minister. In fact, he's so still, it's a good thing he snores, otherwise I might be worried about him. He loves being Catholic (oh woe is me), and loves being an EM. He visits a Dallas hospital every Friday, where they give him a list of Catholic patients who would like to receive Communion.

Speaking of retiring, John signed up for Medicare Part A. He'd like to retire, but I can't see us managing that yet. Which is why every time he gasses up the car or truck, he buys a Texas Lotto ticket. So far that means he's insane (continuing to do the same thing while expecting different results), but one can only hope he will disprove that diagnosis one day. Which is also the day we'll need to buy a much much bigger house!

Well, I didn't mean for this Christmas newsletter to go on for two pages, but I'm a writer. That's what I do.

If you have Internet access, please check out my website: www.barbara-blanks.com. You really should have copies of my books and Mom's and my book. I'd be glad to sell you some!

Hope your Christmas is wonderful-unless you celebrate something else, then I hope that's wonderful, too. Hope the new year is good to you.

Garland Writer Rebirths a Galaxy

2010-12-14T13:47:00.000-08:00

This is from NeighborsGo on-line edition of a Dallas Morning News insert,
December 13, 2010.

In June 2010, Garland writer and poet, Barbara Blanks, accepted the positions of President and Editor of the nearly defunct A Galaxy of Verse. This member-supported poetry anthology is a publication of A Galaxy of Verse Literary Foundation, a non-profit organization. Blanks gathered a new Board of Directors, rallied previous members, signed up new ones, and in December 2010, produced the Galaxy's first anthology since 2006.
Blanks also recently published a volume of humorous poetry titled, I've Heard Verse: awfully good poetry. Nothing obscurely literary here; just fun poems that will have you grinning or laughing out loud. Elaine George said, "I read her poetry book first and laughed. She has such a great sense of humor-she cracks me up. Then I read Out of the Wreckage, and found myself laughing and crying. I could definitely identify with the situation." (Out of the Wreckage: The Pop Stories is Blanks' inspirational memoir.)
If that's not enough, Blanks co-authored Giant Steps with Mary E. Winklebleck, which was published in November. This book surprised me. It is not only a good read, it is one that everyone experiencing loss and grief could learn from. The main inhabitants of this story are young, but they have very grown-up problems to deal with. Barbara and her sister Kyla come alive through the attention to detail and humor that the author(s) use. I cared about them. And I think everyone who reads this book will care, too. Read it, give it to a friend, and if you have a young person in your life, make a gift of this delightful book.
Barbara Blanks is the Recording Secretary and Librarian of the Poetry Society of Texas; Recording Secretary and Treasurer of the Bea Land-Phoenix (Garland) Chapter of the PST; a member of the Brown Bag Poets, and the Writers' Guild of Texas. She writes on assignment for The Senior Voice in Dallas, and for RubberStampMadness, a national stamping magazine. She has won or placed in a variety of poetry and prose contests, and has been published in a variety of magazines and other publications.
For information about A Galaxy of Verse and the other books mentioned here, go to Blanks' website, www.barbara-blanks.com. All four books are available, (or soon will be) at www.amazon.com, and www.lulu.com (which offers volume discounts).

Got a darned jury summons--

2010-12-03T08:39:00.000-08:00

10/23/2010

My stomach just sinks when I see the envelope with Jury Summons on it. I always sneak a quick peek at the address, hoping it won't be my name I see. Great relief when it's John's name; stomach sinks and a swear word comes out when it's mine. sigh…

This time it was my name. Even worse, it was for the Criminal Courts, which is harder to get to and scarier to be in, but also just as boring as the Civil Courts. Sit around and wait and wait and wait and wait.

However, in the process of trying to find out if I could take a Walkman cassette player so I could listen to an audio book while otherwise being bored, I learned that just because the large print on the summons says to report to one place, the fine print says you have the option of reporting to the other place. It's all the same system-they just reassign your juror number.

That made me feel better, because it meant John wouldn't have to drive me to downtown Dallas, because the criminal court requires not only taking the DART train, but then transferring to a city bus, because while you could probably walk to it from the train station, it also involves walking through a tunnel which smells of urine, rats, and probably not the safest place for a lone woman to be walking through at any time, which I know because I thought I could do that the last time I was summoned to the criminal court-not knowing any better then-and I didn't want to walk through it even with John with me, and there's no way I was going to try to catch a bus during downtown rush hour, especially knowing my proclivity for getting lost, PLUS the fact that the bus also requires waiting by the side of the criminal courts building, which I did with John that first time, which put us in jeopardy of being mugged, and there's no way I will stand there by myself, day or night, which is why John has to drive me when I get a criminal court jury summons.

BUT! Now I know the secret. And it's truly not hard to walk from the train station to the civil court building. Get off at Akard St. station, go to the corner, turn left, walk three blocks, and there it is. That's after-the-fact knowledge.

Since it'd been awhile, I needed John to ride the DART train with me so I could refresh my memory-which turned out to be an extra good thing because John couldn't remember which stop we needed, and I wound up asking the man sitting in front of us, who also happened to work for DART, but that's beside the point.

You MAY remember the last time we rode the train so I could practice, I practically went insane trying to buy our train tickets from their stupid freakin' ticket machines. If you don't, the story is on my blog somewhere.

Well, today I was PREPARED. I had six dollars in hand when John let me off at the corner so he could park while I bought the tickets. I remembered I had to push the RED pay button before inserting the money. I, by golly, knew how it worked this time.

Got on the platform. There were new freaking ticket machines. And the fare had gone up to $3.50.

Everything was yellow. There had to be 10 or 12 buttons from which you had to make a selection--but NO instructions on which buttons you had to push to do what. Where was a shotgun when I needed one?

Oh look, here's a button to get audio instructions...which were barely audible over the traffic noise and train platform noise--and that were given so fast that I had to play it twice in order to know, push 4, then push 2.

I fed in one dollar. OK. Fed in the second one--it spit it out. Apparently it didn't like an old dollar bill. I can't tell you how many bills we inserted and had spit out before it finally took enough to get us two tickets. And then my ticket didn't print correctly--like half of it was missing.

(Ya know, if you didn't know all that ahead of time and didn't have the right money, you'd just be S.O.L. even if you had to report for jury duty. Wonder if they'd take that as an excuse for not showing up. Ha.)

The only good thing about this practice run was I didn't go completely insane, cursed a minimal number of times, my head didn't explode--and the train police didn't check
for tickets either going or coming.

Of course I got to ride free the day--Oct 26--I had to report-they include a pass with the summons. The other change is they like you to fill out your certificate on-line ahead of time. I put it off till the last minute, but glad now I did it at home.

After going through all the bomb screenings just to get inside, they don't accept the handfilled-in forms anymore. You have to stand in line for the computer terminals to do it that way-if you hadn't already done it. I got to bypass the long lines because I'd done it on-line at home. They scanned the barcode, my lower juror number was changed to a higher one-yay-and then I got to sit in the huge Central Jury room and start being bored that much sooner.

Predictably-wait wait wait. We had to watch a film from the 50s with gigantic cell phones; different people talked with us including a comedian judge; we got breaks; three groups of about 200 got called to specific courts; we a got lunch break. I actually left the building, walked back to the train station and went to the McDonald's at the far end, because I'd already been to the basement cafeteria three times for coffee, and their prices were ridiculous.

After the remainder of us waiters were seated again, they passed out 8-page questionnaires that had to do with fiduciary something (yawn), someone apparently cheated his partner, would you award lost potential profits (no). The trial might take a month; we know it's an inconvenience but your cooperation is so important, how would you feel about serving that long? Hostile and angry and resentful. Hey, earlier they made us swear to tell the truth and all that, so I told the truth.

They went away with the questionnaires. They finally came back. One group of people had to report back at 9 a.m the next day. The second group had to be back at 10 a.m. The third group was free to go. That was me! Yippee.

Talk about a stampede of released potential jurors hitting the doors and the street. That was about 3:30. Sitting around like that is more exhausting than being on the go all day.

John had already picked up Baxter from Nan's (that's another reason for not wanting to serve; Nan loves Baxter but keeping him every day for a month? That's asking a lot, even though she would with no second thoughts.)

Anyway, home sweet home at last. All that dread turns to boredom before the relief.

Flinging Mom --

2010-12-01T14:11:00.000-08:00

October 13, 2010

Today is my Mom's birthday. She would have been 88.

Her ashes have been sitting on the piano since they arrived here.

Yesterday I opened up the plastic urn containing them for the first time. Tipped it out of the inside mailing box (as opposed to the outside medium flat rate priority box in which they came)-and NOT accompanied by a shower of ashes as when we did that with my sister's container, the ashes which got sucked up in the Dust Buster, thank you, John.

I had decided to fling some of Mom's ashes today--seemed appropriate somehow... a re-birth day, as it were--but decided I'd better test myself--see how I handled it all. Did that yesterday. No problem.

Someone on my Rubberstampers list had given me a pretty decorated paper mache box, and I put the last of Glenn's ashes in there, then put some of Mom's ashes in and mixed them. Those are the ashes that will be buried near my sister at the little cemetery near Tyler. (Glenn: second husband; second great love of her life.)

And-since Mom seemed agreeable; i.e. open to change and adventure-I sprinkled some of her ashes under my mini-rose bush, and in the spot where the daisies grow tall once or twice a year. Part of her will always be nearby.

A large part of her cremains will be scattered in the Tyler area. She lived there for several years and liked it. (The mixed ones will still be buried, but the remainder will be scattered.)

Anyway, this morning I poured some cremains into a Ziploc bag (real classy), loaded Baxter into the truck, and we drove not far to the Springcreek Forest Preserve, which is really just a lot of trees with a stream at the bottom of the "canyon." Sides are too steep and dangerous to maneuver down, especially with an excited dog. And the stream is none too clean, but what're gonna do?

So we walked along the narrow little path; I finally found a place where I could get close to the edge without falling off-after I hooked Baxter's leash to a bush back aways. Just what I'd need was a crazy dog trying to get down the embankment to the stream.

In case you don't know, and this may be too much info, but cremains are not just "ashes." They're not a homogenous product, like a bag of sand. Fireplace ashes have bits and pieces of log remains. You take it from there.

Now, it was not windy. It did not even feel breezy. So-o-o-o… I opened the Ziploc, scooped out some of Mom (I'd brought along a disposable glove, okay?), and flung her. The next thing I knew, the lighter, dustier ashes were floating back at me. Before I could move away from the cloud, I inhaled some of Mom. She's probably still in my lungs!

After I recovered from that, I flung harder, and always stepped away from the dust cloud heading toward me. Some of the ashes splashed into stream, some landed on the embankment-and would wash down in the next rain. I apologized to her for the condition of the water, told her to have fun, and Baxter & I walked back the way we'd come.

We went home. I hosed the dust out of the Ziploc around the daisies-didn't want to just throw it out.

And since I'm actually writing this after Thanksgiving, I can tell you that the grave marker I ordered is now in place at the little country cemetery near Tyler-same one where Pop and Mother and John's grandparents are, and my sister Lynn's ashes. I had hoped we could get it done while John was off for Thanksgiving, but now it will be over Christmas.

That small mixture of Mom and Glenn will go in the same plot with Lynn. The marker reads:
Winklebleck
Mary and Glenn
Together Again
2010.

At least I hope it does!

Oh, and by the way, Petunia, the kitten I found in Terrell near Mom's apartment when she lived there, the one whose name is the result of Mom's input, and who Mom was partial to-Petunia, when she gets to go into the backyard and is not catching bugs, toads, and whatever else she finds-often likes to curl up and nap right near those daisies. So I like to think she's snuggling up to Mom.

Mom's ashes are on the piano--

2010-08-14T19:32:00.001-07:00

Waiting until it gets cooler before she gets flung.

Meanwhile,the other day, I moved the *remainder* of Glenn's ashes (in a plastic bag in a cosmetic bag inside an ancient cigar box) so they're now resting on top of Mom's box of ashes. Letting them get reacquainted....

Mom's home! courtesy of the USPS

2010-07-13T16:16:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Mom's Home!

Mail lady delivered Mom about 5 pm, in a flat rate medium USPS box, registered mail. Cost $23.60. Had to sign for her twice. Kind of nice she arrived today, the 13th, since she was born on the 13th--in October and on a Friday. But a Tuesday in July is close enough.

Inside the USPS box was a smaller, plain white box, and inside that is a black plastic container, and inside that is Mom.

Now, I told you that to tell you this.
First I have to tell you that on the other side of Beltline Rd., just a short walk from us, is a condo community. There's a big pond between the two sections--which I think is probably linked somehow to the pond that's in front of Mayberry Gardens--the same pond Pop used to view from the porch.

Sometimes I see egrets and ducks at this bigger pond, which is cool. The water drains slowly, so in the summer in can get a lot of algae and gloppy gunk all over the surface. A year or so ago an aerator was installed in mid-pond; not a fountain really; just something that sucked in water and shot it in one stream straight up--just to keep the water circulating.

Well, the last couple of weeks when I'd been by, the aerator hadn't been running--at least not that I'd seen.

Now, from the time she was a child through her entire adulthood she moved a lot; her mom had died when Mom was about 7, and her dad placed her and her three siblings in different foster homes, whether of family or friends, during the times he couldn't take care of them. When I was growing up, we never stayed in one place for more than three years--even if it was to move only a couple of blocks from where we'd been. Moving was fun. Moving is what Mom always looked forward to, almost from the time she first got settled into wherever she had just moved.

A couple of days ago when I was walking Baxter along the condo/pond street, a thought came to me, and I started talking to Mom--yes, out loud. Well, essentially I told Mom that it occurred to me that she had moved around all her life --and maybe idea of settling in one place (Meador Cemetery) for the rest of eternity might not suit her. Even Glenn, the second love of her life, is scattered over three continents. She wanted her ashes to be mixed with the remainder of his, no matter where she wound up.

And so I told her, "you know--I think I'll mix some of your ashes with Glenn's, and we'll bury you two next to Lynn" (my sister, Mom's older daughter), and Pop, "but the rest of your ashes--well, there's a creek and a nice wooded area in a forest preserve not far from here. I think I'll fling the majority of your ashes there (making sure the wind is at my back!)"

And as I thought that, Baxter and I were just approaching the pond, and I noticed the aerator fountain was going--and at its very peak, I saw a rainbow.

Ahh, says I, you like that idea, don't you, Mom. Yep. Part of her will be with Glenn, but most of her will be free to move around as much as she wants. And that makes me happy.

Some random Mom thoughts

2010-07-13T16:12:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, July 5, 2010

Some random Mom thoughts that I forgot to mention before--

In the Baylor Dallas ER room-- Wade, the nurse, and some other man came in at some point with what looked like the same kind of round, thick magnet that was in Mom's over-the-phone pacemaker checker-upper. They asked if she had a regular pacemaker or a defibrillator pacemaker. They were going to deactivate the defib part if she did. "If" her heart rate slowed, they didn't want the defib to shock her into upright position…made me think about an old Ray Stevens song about "Sitting up with the Dead." Not that she had died yet, of course.

But it also answered the question Mom and I had both wondered about: Would a pacemaker keep a heart going even after the person died. No.

And I forgot to mention in the other "report," that after the Medical Examiner transport man arrived, he said something to the effect of, "You can leave if you like; I'll take care of her now."

And I said, "I'm not leaving until she does." I did step out into the hallway with John while the guy put her in the body bag, which was hidden under a dark blue shroud. John had helped the funeral home transport guy put his dad in the body bag, but I didn't want to see that. We all walked out together--well, Mom rode the gurney--and I watched while she was loaded into the back of the "station wagon."

I told John on the way home that I wanted to swing by Baylor Garland so I could drive the car home; I didn't want to have to go back later. The drive from there to home was only a couple of miles, so not that far to drive after no sleep, but I wasn't sleepy anyway.

In the car, about a fourth-mile from home, I started saying out loud, "My mother died. My mother died. My mother died." Trying to make it real to myself, partly--and I briefly choked up once, but I wanted to just practice saying it because I knew I'd need to say it to people later, and didn't want to break down when I did.

And the last thought is that, in spite of everything, Mayberry House 7 was Lucky 7 for her. While she was comfortable enough and felt safe, she didn't like most of the food.
Well, she had to endure it for only a week over five months.

Well, that was the second to last thought. The last thought is Mom said about the move to Mayberry that it would probably be the last time she moved. She was wrong. She HAS moved on ….

She had a good run--

2010-07-04T14:38:00.000-07:00

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Well, it's been four days already. Or should I count it as five? Tuesday & Wednesday run together for me.

First, thank you to everyone who sent e-mails and/or cards. I really appreciate your care and concern.

I am, amazingly, doing OK. I don't know why--I fully expected to be a basketcase when Mom died--but I am OK. Haven't cried since the little I cried at the hospital; I don't even feel particularly sad. And I'm going to tell you why I think that is...the surprise(s) come later in the story, so bear with me...

Mom and I spent a typical day out--lunch (often at Denny's & she liked to try different Chinese restaurants). She had said she didn't want to stop at the library, but after I ran into Walmart Grocery for soy milk & Cheerios for her, she asked if she could change her mind about going. Sure. Not a big deal at all. Stopped at Sonic afterward, since it was after two and Happy Hour is half-price diet cherry limeades.

If Sonic ever asks you if you want to upgrade from medium to Route 44 for only 20 cents more, don't do it! Good grief! It's about a quart of liquid and ice. And only one dinky little cherry instead of 3 or 4 or 5. Shoot.

We talked some more when we got back to Mayberry. Just before I left I hung another picture for her. She said she was going to do her exercise walking before supper. She almost always comes to the door with me; I always wind up hugging & kissing her four or five times on the way out, because it was always hard leaving her there.
I guess it was a couple of weeks ago we were talking about poetry, the upcoming Poetry Society Summer Conference, and I had another poetry critique meeting, and this and that, and she made a comment about I'd become more social over the last several years. That's when I told her something like, "I hope you know you're more important than any of this other stuff. You always have top priority. Lunch dates, meetings, errands --whatever--all those things can be canceled, changed, postponed. You come first."

She knew it, but it was nice hearing it.

Anyway, I left her about 3:30, I guess. Stopped at CVS to pick up a prescription for John, which wasn't ready. Got home, let Baxter out, petted the cats--and the phone rang about 4 pm.

Dianne, the manager at Mayberry, said, "Your Mom's fallen. I think it's bad." Gotta admit I thought, Oh Crap, but not "Crap." We're only five minutes away, and if I hadn't gotten caught at the light, it'd have been four minutes.

Mom was in the living room, sitting on her walker seat, head down. Lisa, the night lady, had heard her fall in the laundry room--Mom was taking a shortcut through there on her fifth circuit of the hall. Lisa said Mom didn't respond immediately--so we're not entirely certain if she knocked herself unconscious or not.

I don't know how Lisa managed to get her off the floor and onto her walker. Doesn't matter. Mom rubbed near her left groin area--it hurt. No, she couldn't possibly get in the car even if I rolled her out to it. So I called 9-1-1.

It already seemed likely she had fractured her hip. I also noticed she already had a huge hematoma on the left side of her head, kind of near the ear. Now, I didn't think of this then, nor did any of the doctors or nurses mention it or question the depression on the left side of her head. She had an aneurysm stapled off back in --1986, I think. At that time they'd removed a piece of skull to get to it, and over the years, that spot has sunken in. It's kind of a wonder she didn't have perpetual headaches, but like me (fortunately) she rarely got one.

The paramedics got there, I bet, in less than ten minutes. There's a fire station maybe a mile and half away. They managed to get Mom on the gurney with minimum yelling. I followed them to Baylor Garland, got her right into an ER room--but then it took too long to get her an x-ray and cat scan--she missed her turn because she was on the bed pan when the transport person arrived.

When the nurse asked Mom what her pain level was on a scale of 1-10, Mom thought for a second, then said, "9-1/2" and laughed. Of course they questioned her for coherency. She didn't know how or why she fell, but she knew everything else.

Up to a point Mom said she didn't need any pain medicine, but then I saw her rubbing her forehead. Yes, she had a headache. Her BP was way too high, also. Then someone told her the x-ray tech would have to move her leg and hip to get pictures, and she said she wanted something before that happened.

So she was given morphine through her IV. We were left alone after they brought her back from x-ray. She wanted to sleep. She kept trying to roll onto her side, first left (ouch!) then right--she hates sleeping on her back. She couldn't get comfortable, and then gradually I'd see her start to pull herself over using the guardrail of the bed, but lose strength immediately and fall back. That was hard to watch.

After Mom was transported to Baylor Dallas, they made me wait in the ...well, waiting room for about 45 minutes while they got her set up in an ER room. When they finally let me back there, she was snoring--I thought. Deep sleep caused by the morphine--I thought. I even commented about it to Wade the nurse.

Wade told me she'd been non-responsive since she was first brought in. She had not reacted when the paramedics had moved her from bed to gurney at Baylor Garland, nor during the entire ride to B. Dallas. Maybe she just hadn't heard them? No hearing aid in her ear. I got right up to it and called her, shook her, no reaction.

I can't quite remember the order here...if we (Mom & I) were alone for a bit, and I thought she was struggling to breathe--her mouth was open & I could see her tongue had fallen back against her throat. I said something to Wade, he left, two others came in with tubing, said something about her being DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) and I didn't want her intubated, did I?

What the hell were they talking about? Why were they being so quick to pull out DNR? Something had been said about a second CT scan, and I told them that I could NOT make any decisions until I knew what was going on inside her head. So until that was done, yeah, if it would make her breathing easier, intubate her.

OK, the only thing that really bugs me now about the above is the medical staff HAD to have known what was really going on. It was only later that Sandy, the nurse next door, told me that "snoring" is the "death rattle." I had heard the term but had never heard the sound before. I had also made it clear to the medics that I could handle practical, that I wanted and needed to know things. Before they put in the damn breathing tube, someone should have told me what was actually happening to her.

Be that as it may, --I'm trying to think...I don't think I saw the neurosurgeon's assistant (can't remember what her title was) before they took Mom away for a second CT scan. But for sure she and her assistant/partner/whatever came into the room afterwards.

OK, here's where it gets weird...and here's where I knew Mom was going to die. I have to tell you first that Mom had two great, tremendous loves in her life--neither of whom was my dad. The second love she married; kept his name the rest of her life. The first was a man she met during WWII when she was in the Spars and he was in the British Royal air force, I think--maybe the British navy. Doesn't matter right now.

She used to call him "Jo" which is Scottish for "sweetheart." (If you read Out of the Wreckage you'll see part of the Robert Burns poem, John Anderson, my Jo.) And in fact, my middle name Joan is a tribute to that Love, as is my brother's name, Jon.

So, in walks the neurology lady. And I immediately notice the name on her tag is Jo.

And then she introduces me to the man with her--James. Which was my dad's name.

Oh my god. I'm actually laughing. I tell them why.

So then Jo shows me the CT scan, shows me the areas that are filled with blood, shows me how one hemisphere of her brain is pushing against the other half (brain shift) because of the pressure and swelling. I ask her what the progression is and she tells me. And I tell her to take out the breathing tube.

Jo says that since the machine has been doing her breathing, she might stop as soon as it's out, or Mom might last another hour or more, but no more than a day certainly, and leaving the tube in might prolong her dying. Take it out.

I think it's then I asked if a Catholic priest was on the premises--not that Mom had any use for the Catholic church--but at this point she wouldn't care, and I asked for John's sake because I knew he would feel better if she had last rites.
Well, no priest, but they sent up the chaplain. His name was Gabriel.
Son uv a --I started laughing again. Jo, James and Gabriel. "Here's your sign" smacking you in the face.

Gabriel starts to pray--he's on my right, Jo is on my left. Gabriel's prayer isn't cloying, so I'm actually listening to his words, and that's when I want to cry. I start biting my bottom lip, holding my breath, fighting, fighting, huge tears welling out of my eyes and down my cheeks.

Gabriel says Amen, and I can tell they've both turned to look at me, and I say, "I will NOT be a basketcase; I refuse to be a basketcase." Jo says it's OK if you are. And I say, "No, it's not. I still have things I need to do for her. I have to be able to function. She still needs me."

And I brushed away the tears, blew my nose. I stepped outside while the breathing tube was removed--I didn't want to see that. They unhooked her IV and BP monitors too. When Jo came into the hall, I asked if Mom was still breathing. Yes, but barely.

I went back inside. Up until then, I had built me a sort of cave in the corner of her room. One chair almost entirely blocked by the other, so I had to ease in sideways to sit. Her bag of clothes and shoes filled the one chair; my purse and me on the other. After everyone but Wade left, I said it probably sounded horrible but I needed to eat something--my blood sugar was dropping, but I didn't want to leave her. He said they keep things there for situations like this--and he brought me a ham & cheese sandwich, chips, pasta salad, pudding--I ate the salad & pudding and immediately started feeling less shaky.

Wade came in quietly twice, I think, during the next hour or so--he knew the signs.

I moved a chair up next to the bed; just touching Mom's arm at first, and then shifting the chair closer so I could lay my arm across her stomach. I talked to her, believing on some level that she could hear me even without her hearing aid in. A couple of times I bent over and put my forehead on the bed and hiccupped sobs for a short time.

And then finally I just sat with my arm across her stomach, listening to her, watching the pulse in her throat; heard a change in her breathing; listening to the quiet during the times between breathing and not breathing. And then the silence stretched out, and I was sure her pulse had stopped, but I pressed a finger to her throat, but couldn't tell if the blood beat was hers or mine...and about two minutes later Wade came in.

I looked at him and said I think she died. He did something--checked her pulse?--then said he'd go get a doctor to pronounce her. And I said, can you hold off a minute? This is horrible but I have to PEE so bad, would you please stay with her.

The restroom was just a couple of doors away. I'd had to go for at least a half hour but was afraid she'd die when I wasn't there. So I peed, Wade got the doctor. He pronounced--I say he; I can't remember who came in. That was about 4 a.m. I called John then;told him Mom died, no hurry on coming to the hospital to get me, we weren't going anywhere.

I had talked with John several times since Mom first fell. He kept offering to come out to the hospitals, but he'd been at work all Tuesday, Baxter didn't need to be left alone for unknown hours, and there was nothing he could have done anyway. And truth to tell, when it became obvious how bad it was, I didn't want to be distracted by John. Didn't want to have to listen to him, or talk, be considerate, have him watching me. Everything in me was focused on her.

The hospital had called the Medical Examiner's office--and someone came in with a phone and asked if I could speak with Jennifer. Sure. I don't remember what questions she asked, but I answered them, and then she said something about an autopsy. I reacted to that--What? Why? To rule out abuse. She was 87, she had a history of falling, no one abused her, she'd hate being autopsied. Jennifer said she'd note I requested no autopsy--and in fact, I found out later that it was not done because they looked at her records and I guess they could visually tell it was an accident.

Mom had pre-arranged her own cremation with the Neptune Society. I was told by the ME on the phone and the little guy who came to pick her up that they would contact Neptune; I gave them the plan number from the card I've carried in my wallet for seven years, I guess, as has Mom.

What I didn't know until Friday when Neptune called me is they were waiting for me to call them--it wasn't enough that the ME's office contacted them. Mom had actually been ready to be released from the ME's on June 30--since they didn't do an autopsy, there was no reason to keep her.

Neptune faxed me nine (?) pages of forms/release forms/death certificate info forms to sign and make corrections on if needed, which was needed because they had Mayberry's address in most of the places that required an address. Got that taken care of. Seven to 10 business days for the cremation, mailing of ashes by good ol' USPS, with a delay because of the holiday.

Meanwhile, back at the farm, I had to tell John to quit hovering after we got home Weds. He kept suggesting I lie down and I didn't want to lie down. Wouldn't have slept even if I had. Knew I was too tired to go to Mayberry to start packing up Mom's room, but I couldn't be still at home--sat too much at the hospitals, a bit wired--but then about four times I "hit the wall" and knew I had to rest, so I lay on the floor, usually with Baxter nearby, and I'd doze off for awhile, then get up and do whatever again.

Why didn't I lie on a bed? Because I was afraid I would sleep too deeply and then I'd feel horrible when I got up. As it was I slept Good Weds night--and every night since. Still feel tired, but that's partly from working in humidity.
John talked about staying home Thursday. No, it's not necessary. I spent over half the day at Mayberry packing up Mom's things. Really, there wasn't all that much. She'd gotten rid of a lot of things when she left her apartment, and she'd been steadily getting rid of things since she moved in January.

I had talked with Dianne the manager on Weds.--she called to find out how Mom was doing (hadn't checked her phone messages before calling or she'd have known--so I stunned her when I said Mom died. Could she do anything for me? As a matter of fact--that charity that she'd told us about that got a lot of mom's furniture from her last move--could Dianne arrange to have Mom's bed, recliner, nightstand and mini-fridge removed so I'd have some room to work?

Sure enough, it was all gone when I got there Thurs. There were just two pieces of furniture I wanted to take, and the rest was almost all books and writing/office supplies and other personal items. The rest I didn't care about. I had told Dianne that for sure Mom's room would be empty by Sat.--John and I would move her stuff out then.

She called me back Thursday afternoon and offered the services of her maintenance man--who, in fact, helped me load the truck, and unload it in our garage Friday morning, 1-1/2 loads, started just after 9 a.m., done by 11:15. When we were ready to make the second run, I gave Aaron a good tip, even though he was being paid by Mayberry. Turns out Aaron's dad has worked for Mayberry for years. Aaron used to play out there when he was little, then helped his dad, especially during the summer, when he was older--and he'd been officially working for Mayberry for three years.

Anyway, got her all moved out on Friday. Spent half of Saturday in the garage (it has been SO humid the last several days) sorting through things, hauling books and papers inside so they could be gone through in air conditioned comfort. Filled four assorted boxes with items for Goodwill, which John hauled off. And already there's almost room for the car to be pulled back in now.

No funeral. Mom didn't want one; she doesn't have any other family here, no friends that are local or that haven't already died. We will bury her ashes next to my sister's, at Meador Cemetery near Whitehouse/Tyler--where John's folks and grandparents are buried. Before that--Mom has been saving some of Glenn's ashes for years--Glenn was the second great Love of her life. She had flung some of his in Africa and Australia--places he had wanted to go and never got to, but she'd been saving the rest for now. She wanted his mixed with hers. She and Glenn will be buried together.

So--I told you all that to tell you --
When I sat there with my left arm lying across Mom's stomach, when I sat there watching and listening to her die, it was so intimate, so special and important a moment, it's like I don't need to cry --at least not right now. It would lessen the experience somehow.

So, I'm okay.

Win, Place and Glow!

2010-06-20T13:30:00.000-07:00

My July/Aug Writers' Journal magazine arrived today. Flipped it open and discovered my poem "Socks" is a Second Place winner in their Dec. 2009 poetry contest!

The poem is published along with a couple of columns of comments by the poetry editor. AND the other three poems I entered are all Special Mentions.

I didn't receive any notice, but I expect the prize money will arrive soon now.

Also, today I became the Editor of A Galaxy of Verse, a publication associated with the Poetry Society of Texas. It's been neglected since 2007. I was asked if I'd like to take it on, and not having any sense, I said, "Sure!"

The old editor lives in Austin, but was in Ft Worth today with her husband, so she brought all the files with her, and we made the transfer.

AND-- this weekend hosted the NFSPS (National Federation of State Poetry Societies) Convention in Memphis. I won First Place in one of the contests--for the first time, which means prize money, a certificate, and publication in Encore. Plus I won an Honorable Mention. Lots of entries in these contests, so even one First is something to be pleased about.

Now that you know how good I am (*snort*) please go see me at www.barbara-blanks.com or at www.lulu.com/content/8696799.

Man at Mayberry!

2010-05-23T11:17:00.001-07:00

Sunday, May 23, 2010

When I stopped by Mayberry the other day, Mom was actually awake and upright.
She said a new young man kept coming in her room--first to empty her trash, then get her clothes hamper, and he'd brought in clean, folded clothes. He'd been in the shower room with her when she'd had a shower that morning...

Whoa! Alarm bells went off. "He was in their with you when you took a shower?" Yes.
That didn't sound right at all.

About that time I noticed Latoya passing Mom's window, carrying a trash bag. Latoya is new, having replaced Angie.

I told Mom to hang on, and went out to the kitchen to ask Cassandra if a young man had been hired. No. By that time, Latoya was back inside and standing there. Brand new, thin, angular, hair-pulled-straight-back Latoya. A-ha.

I told both of them what Mom had been saying, and told Latoya that Mom didn't see real well, which is true.

Mom came out of her room about then, and I formally introduced them. Maybe Mom will remember her.

Poetry is not a curse word!

2010-05-20T16:13:00.000-07:00

May 19, 2010

It's true there's a lot of scratch-your-head-and-say-Huh? poetry that gets published. But--poetry can be also be understandable and still have impact; it can tell a story; it can make a point or a profound statement; it can be musical, lyrical, rhymed or unrhymed.

And it can just be fun. In fact, if you read some children's poetry books by such authors as Shel Silverstein and Judith Viorst, you'll find a lot of fun. The poems in my book can be enjoyed by kids (12-up) and adults.

You'll find a lot of fun in my new (first) poetry book. You'll find profundity, too--or should I say pro-Pun-dity. Yeah, there are some of those in the book. And if you hate puns, you'll love to hate mine.

You can order I'VE HEARD VERSE: awfully good poetry direct from www.lulu.com/content/8696799 or you can order from me through www.barbara-blanks.com. Price is $10; I charge less for postage ($2.50), plus you get an autograph if you want one.

Anyway, some of the included poems are prize winners; others should have been prize winners. And some ... well, maybe some of them could be better, but certainly I've Heard Verse.

Now, for the record, I never tried to find an agent or a publisher for this book. Why? I just didn't want to take the time or make the effort. Mostly I didn't want to take the time. My older sister died about seven years ago. My younger brother died at the end of March--just over a month ago. My mom is 87 and not in the best of health.

Mortality becomes more of a reality when people around you start dying. And mortality means not wanting to "waste" the time looking for a more "legitimate" way to publish than POD--especially considering the economy. Slim chances of finding an agent are virtually non-existent chances right now. I have better things to do.

And honestly, most people who wind up with "real" publishers don't sell all that many books. By the time the publisher and agent take their cut of the cover price, it doesn't leave much for the author. Some authors get real lucky and get rich, get movie offers, go on Oprah, etc. But most of us aren't Stephen King, JK Rowling, Janet Evanovich.

The best part about producing this book myself is I've had complete control over the cover, content and pricing ... and control is fun. Poetry is fun.

And speaking of fun, if you like poetry, please consider coming to a Poetry Society of Texas general meeting. They're held the second Saturday of the month, except for June, July and August--and they are a lot of fun. Trust me on this. You won't find stuffy formality at our meetings. Poets can be a rowdy bunch. For more info, go to http://poetrysocietyoftexas.org/PST_home.html

I might as well drive with my head in a bag...

2010-05-07T16:53:00.000-07:00

I went to my poetry critique group meeting today. First time I'd been to Linda's house, but I was armed with Mapquest and the Christmas GPS.

Meeting was great, had a lot of fun; it ended a little after 4, so we're talking driving out into Friday Rush Hour traffic.

When I left Linda's house, I followed Marilyn & Pat, who had been there before, so I figured they knew what they were doing. For some reason, following Mapquest directions in reverse doesn't work for me. And if fact, instead of seeing the street I'd turned right on, which meant I should have turned left going back, I--as I said, was following Marilyn, who turned right--which put me on Skyline and then Peachtree, two streets Linda had mentioned in her directions, but which I had not seen going to her house, because Mapquest didn't mention them.

Anyway, when Marilyn turned left onto LBJ, I opted to go straight ahead--rather than get on LBJ at Rush Hour--figuring I would turn left at some unknown street that I would recognize the name of when I got to it, and get home that way.

After that it went all to hell. At some point I wound up on LBJ, Hwy 80 and Hwy 30--more than once each, I think. I passed Sybil (the street I had originally turned on to get to Linda's house) at least 8 times, probably more, going in one direction or the other. When I was on LBJ, I remember taking the Dallas exit-right, rather than veering left toward Terrell,thinking I didn't want to go to Terrell, and later thinking I should have gone that way after all so I could have turned on Beltline, but I don't think that fast when I'm driving 60.

I wound up on Gross Rd three or four times, and remembered Linda's directions going out said Not to get on Gross Rd. Finally at some point I got back on Gus Thomason, and with complete confidence turning right onto it, because I was sure I was supposed to turn right, but finally I noticed that the truck compass said I was going SE, and the one thing I'm proud of is I thought, "shouldn't I be going North?"

And if fact I turned around, headed the other way, and did eventually cross Town East Blvd AGAIN (maybe the third time, who knows) and kept going until I actually recognized where I was.

MEANWHILE, the GPS that everyone kept telling me I needed, not ONLY kept losing satellite connection, but finally just died on me. I think the British guy who was trying to give me directions (when he was actually conscious) had a brain aneurysm.

I wandered around for about 45 minutes before I got on the right road going in the right direction. And as you may be able to tell, finally got home.

Other than that, I had a great time.

Held captive by the Catholics--

2010-05-03T16:22:00.000-07:00

Sunday, May 2, 2010

So ... John went on a church retreat this last weekend--meaning from Thursday evening until Sunday afternoon. I drove Catholic Man to his church to drop him off for his communal ride, partly because I was going to be nice and attend the after-Mass reception and buffet--just so he could prove to people he really was married, and well, partly to give him a ride home.

Now mind you, in over 38 years of marriage, I don't think there's ever been a day gone by where we haven't spoken to each other, even if one or the other of us has been out of town. And it is extremely rare that he doesn't call from work at least once a day, just to check in.

So when John didn't call Thursday night to let me know he'd arrived safely at the retreat center, I thought it was a bit strange, but let it go. Friday--no call. Saturday--no call. Well, maybe they asked the men not to call home so they wouldn't be distracted from God. I could live with that, although I was a little annoyed.

Then John called about 11:30 Sunday a.m. "I finally got my phone back," he said.
My jaw went tight. "They took away your phone?" I asked. "Yeah, phones and watches."

I didn't bother stopping at red--I went straight to seeing purple. I got real quiet--hard to talk when your jaw is clenched. John immediately knew I wasn't happy.
He said he hadn't known they would take away the cell phones. No where in the info sheet did it say Retreaters would be held incommunicado. Only a mention of one in-charge guy who would have a cell phone for emergencies.

I could have been lying dead on the floor, with the cats eating my decaying flesh and no one would have known. I could have been in an accident, in hospital, with police and others trying to locate John--not knowing about an emergency number, not knowing where John was or why he wasn't answering his cell phone.

To say I was angry is the ultimate of understatements. However, I did not take it out on John--although I was rather cool and withdrawn for awhile. It wasn't his fault. I did send an e-mail to the in-charge guy --and as it turns out, I was not the only one furious about the no-contact situation.

Be that as it may, I prepared to pick John up after the Sunday afternoon mass.
In my inimitable if-I'm-gonna-do-it-I'm-gonna-over-do-it fashion, I stopped at Walmart on my way out to buy a newspaper, and not One but Three packages of baseball card/ATC (Artist Trading Card) protective sleeves (100 to a package)--because I just days ago made my first ATCs, so of course I anticipate making 300.
And then I went across the road and bought another Martha Stewart punch with a 40-off coupon--because I've just discovered her punches, and of course I'm going to go overboard with those, too. The checkerboard edger this time. (Today --Monday, I bought another one with a coupon, and got two on clearance.)

Which made me deliberately late getting out to the reception area--to which John had given me bad directions. I was NOT lost. I just couldn't find the damn building.

I was on the right road at the right intersection, but John didn't tell me not to go through that intersection; he also told me the faith center was on the right instead of the left, told me it was behind a bank--which there was in fact a bank on the right, but the building he was talking about was behind a Mortgage company--not a bank--which was on the left side of the road, and he said there were lots of cars in the lot, but it doesn't mean they were visible to someone looking to the right since she was told it was on the right, NOR were they visible to someone looking to the right again coming back from the other direction, because we're talking a building back from the road, and when you have to watch traffic in addition to everything else...wellllllllllllllllllllll.... good thing I was calmed down from my earlier pissy fit because I was really pissed off again by then.

I was coolly friendly to those I was intro'd to. The only person I knew was Elizabeth, who's indirectly responsible for John being Catholic man, and John had already told her I was not happy, and gosh, I think she could tell as I stood there with my arms crossed in front of me.

I also told the guy who was responsible for the "info" sheet that I'd sent him an email; did not go into detail. John asked if I wanted to meet the guy who'd taken away their phones. No. Do not EVEN let me anywhere near him.

I enjoyed my vacation; enjoyed not fixing meals. But I'm still piecing my head back together after that confiscating the cell phones business.

another Mom follow-up--which I forgot to follow-up on

2010-04-27T13:10:00.000-07:00

Date: 04/06/2010

I can only say I'm glad I didn't take up Dianne's invitation to either witness and/or join in the chastising of Lisa, the lady who didn't call Friday after Mom fell.Turns out her mom just went into hospice; she's driving out of town tomorrow to be with her.

However, Lisa called tonight because Mom had fallen again--in her room this time--and was bleeding near her left eye.

I had this vision of the swelling over Mom's eye split wide open and blood gushing out, but it was just a bit of split skin on the side of her face; not bad enough to warrant anything but a little polysporin and a bandage.

I think Lisa was a little nervous when we walked in (she had Mom sitting in a chair in the foyer); almost immediately apologized for the other night--I could tell she really was sorry. I could hear the tremor in her voice. She said she was horrified when she saw pictures of Mom after the fact. What I hadn't known is that when Lisa saw her, she saw Mom on one knee. Didn't know she had actually fallen all the way--so Mom on one knee was her trying to get up.

Yes, Dianne really lit into her; Lisa was afraid she was going to be fired.

Anyway, we're okay with Lisa.

Mom looks almost human again--this is almost the end of April now. Most of the bruising is gone, and the hematoma over her left eye is almost all gone too.

Embarrassing Confession #2

2010-04-27T12:58:00.000-07:00

Monday, April 26, 2010

Embarrassing Confession #1, which I apparently forgot to post, which is embarrassing in and of itself, is this: I got so caught up in reading and reviewing my articles in the Spring issue of RubberStampMadness, I forgot to read the other articles in the magazine. Didn't realize it until it was almost time for the Summer issue to come out--in which I have three pieces, fyi.

So now Embarrassing Confession #2:
I have had my Kodak Easy Share camera for...well, since mid-October, 2008.

About 5 minutes ago I got John to take my picture while I was wearing the crocheted cap a friend sent me for my birthday. The camera had been acting "weird" recently, and when John took the picture, there was again a double flash--small then a full one.

So I finally took a closer look at the selection switch on top of the camera--maybe it wasn't situated just right? ...hmmm, that looks like a video camera icon. What? This camera is also a video camera? What? What? What?

LOL! I don't believe it! Yep, this thing takes videos. Couldn't hear sound though. When I finally located the instruction book (it's a camera; why would I need to look at the darned instruction book?!), it said the sound is heard only after the video is uploaded.

Not only that, but one of the icons is specifically for close-up pictures. I didn't know that either.

So...if you have a Kodak Easy Share, and all you've been doing is taking
snapshots, take another look at the selection knob.

Aftermath--Mom's fall and Jon's Memorial service

2010-04-05T16:38:00.000-07:00

Monday, April 5, 2010

So I called Mom’s ophthalmologist’s office first thing this morning, briefly explaining about the fall, ER visit, and the fact that she looked demon-possessed with that bright red eyeball. They had a 9 a.m. open, so I called Mayberry and asked that she be ready for pick up.

And she mostly was. The two ladies I normally see when I go over said they almost dropped their teeth, they’d been so shocked by Mom’s face--which actually looks worse now than before, because as the swelling around the eyes and eyebrow is going down, that blood and fluid is draining down her face, giving it a bluish-gray look…i.e. the epitome of “death warmed over.”

Be that as it may, we’ve actually been having fun with this--mainly because Mom isn’t having any pain, thank goodness. But like at the doc’s office, when Brenda (who is one of the most wonderful people ever) saw her, she stopped in her tracks and gasped…and anyway, Mom just grins at people’s reactions. She responds to their questions and says, “I fell.” I tell them she was mugged by the Easter Bunny…I mean, she WAS picking up a piece of Easter candy when she fell. Which may actually have been lucky because she was closer to the floor when she hit it. Things could have been a LOT worse.

As for the woman who did nothing but help Mom off the floor…well, I almost feel sorry for her because she had to face Dianne this afternoon when she came on duty. Not only did she not call me, not check on Mom later, not file an Incident report, but she also apparently was not supposed to have a visitor while on duty; and whether that woman sharing the take-out supper was friend or another employee, I don’t know--but it’s not allowed.

Dianne’s office is in the house right next to Mom’s, so we walked over there when we got back from the eye doc’s. The night manager (Diane with one “n”) and assistant to Dianne were both in her office--and even though Diane had seen Mom Sat., she still gasped because Mom looks so much worse. And then Dianne walked in.

I don’t remember what she said to Mom, but it was good, and I appreciated that she asked Mom is she could take her picture--which she did with her cell phone. For the records I suppose.

I told Dianne the situation as I knew it. She apologized of course, and said some other things and right after she said the staffer was coming on duty later--and you’d have to know Dianne to really appreciate what she said next AND the look in her eyes when she said it, but she said about that woman, “She’s mine.”

And in fact, she said if I wanted to be present, I was more than welcome, and I could tear into her myself. It sounded tempting, but I figured Dianne could handle it quite well by herself. I think she appreciated that I didn’t rant or rave or threaten lawsuit or anything like that--I mean what would be the point? Wasn’t Mayberry’s fault Mom fell; but I was very clear that what happened after her fall wasn’t acceptable. Dianne said I’d probably get 20 calls from now on.

Now, on to the next thing. Joan, my brother’s ex-wife, called me this afternoon. She and Jenny, their daughter who is now executor, were going through Jon’s things and came across some old letters and other papers; would I be interested in them. Yes! And if fact I said if no one was interested in some of the things he’d been working on, I’d like them too.

At some point they should be sending a DVD of the memorial service--Jenny filmed it for Jay, the son who is in prison for reasons I don’t remember, and couldn’t attend. Over 60 people attended--Jon was well liked and pretty well known in his town. He’d been in local plays, had a local siding business, was part of Mardi Gras every year, hung out in local bars, etc. So Mom and I will be able to witness that, which will help give us closure.

In fact, Mom said this morning that Jon’s death is just starting to seem real to her. She said one resident lady was asking how many kids she had, and Mom said three. “Where are the other two?” --because of course they see me frequently, and like with Pop’s ladies, I always wave, smile, say Hello, etc. And Mom said one was in FL and one in AZ. She didn’t want to explain both had died.

Meanwhile, I noticed a police car out front this afternoon, saw him check the i.d. of the man in the house (man was ok to be there--house is for sale; family recently moved out)--and a little while later I noticed the Forensics van parked behind the cruiser.

So I figure a break-in with resulting vandalism. And I tell you one thing for sure, that forensics woman wasn't even within screaming shouting grand canyon distance of looking like those TV forensics women do. Frankly, I wasn't quite sure at first that she was a woman.

Mom falls down, goes boom...

2010-04-03T13:17:00.000-07:00

Sat. April 2, 2010

Mom fell on her face last night. The woman on duty at Mayberry did NOT call, as she should have, OR write down an Incident Report as she should have--nor apparently did she check on Mom later--because there is no way she could have not seen the swelling and bruising if she had looked in on her.

When I went to pick Mom up this a.m. for our poetry meeting, she was lying in bed, left eye swollen so much she couldn't open it--still can't--huge lump over her eyebrow, black and blue and red all over, even on the right eye and over her nose.

Took her to the ER. The check-in desk took one look at her, got her in a wheelchair and got her right in. CT scan; no face fractures as best they could tell, and no bleeding in the left eye--again, as best they can tell. Doc said if she had been bleeding since last night, it would have been too late to save the sight in that eye. But as soon as the swelling goes down enough for her to open the eye, she needs to see her ophthalmologist. Guess who is NOT happy right now.

Mom's asleep on the guest bunk right now; she doesn't know it but she is spending the night here. We'll see how she feels tomorrow.

Oh yeah, the memorial service for my brother was this morning. I have no clue how it went or what's gone on since Tuesday, because while I was told "the family" was busy with funeral arrangements (Jon prearranged his own cremation), the boys have had plenty of time to post on FB and play games there. Again, I am not happy.

Losing Jon--

2010-03-29T08:45:00.000-07:00

Monday, March 29, 2010

For those who don't know, my younger (by just over a year) brother had
surgery for colon cancer a little over 3 years ago. Frankly he ignored his symptoms
and he'd ignored my urging to get a colonoscopy because of our family
history, so he was in Stage 3 by the time he was diagnosed. (Stage 3 means the
cancer had broken through the colon wall and was in the lymph nodes--and
once it's in the nodes, it can turn up anywhere.) The doc at the time said
Jon would have another 5 years, no more than 10. Treatable but not curable.

So he went through several rounds of chemo. He was here in Oct. for our
mom's birthday and was doing well. Then within just a couple of months,
cancer was found in his liver, lungs, colon...just about everywhere, I
guess.

He has four grown children (girl & 3 boys) and several young
grandchildren. His family and friends have been with him 24/7 since he started
deteriorating. Hospice has been there, too, and just started coming every day. I
was able to talk with Jon briefly a couple of weeks ago--his voice was raspy
& weak. He's been incoherent since then.

My brother is on morphine and an anti-anxiety drug; his BP is dropping
while his heart rate is up. Hasn't eaten since Weds., and really hasn't had
anything to drink for almost as long. It's actually the girlfriend of his
oldest son who's been keeping me updated, and I print out her notes and take
them to Mom to read.

No, we won't be going to his funeral. We got to see him alive and being
himself in Oct. That's the good thing. Mom really can't travel, and I won't
make the trip without her. I think Jon made arrangements to be cremated
(having taken advantage of the free lunch offered by the local crematorium in
exchange for listening to their sales pitch!) I'm going to ask about getting
a few of his ashes sent here so they can be buried next to our older
sister...a little of him, a lot of her. Next to John's folks and grandfolks.

Anyway, it won't be much longer. Somehow I think he's waiting for April Fool's Day to die--his last joke.

Sometimes it doesn't seem real to me, but
when it does, my stomach just sinks. I've never been an only child.

Dogs, Dragging Feet, and DAMN!

2010-03-17T19:21:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Let’s see, one day last week Baxter decided to direct his walk toward Nan and Buddy’s. That was fine. I called ahead and they joined us. Bax and Bud love to see each other for about 30 seconds, then they take turns peeing on things and smelling the same interesting smells--like strange dog pee and poop.

So Nan and I play duck and switch with the leashes. She often winds up with Bax and I with Bud. Well, this time we were being followed by a small, collie-like dog, who frequently runs free. Has a collar but no tags; won’t let us grab him--but he tailgates Buddy in particular-probably because he doesn't have much of a tail. Bud doesn’t mind at first, but then he did because he made some short charges and grrs at the pest.

Which I should have remembered as Nan & I were standing in a grassy area while a dog behind a wooden fence was barking at us. As it was, I didn’t remember.

Which is why the next thing I knew, the leash (with Buddy at the other end) was jerking me through the air (picture a cartoon character flying). When I had the presence of mind to let go of the leash (i.e. I didn’t have any choice with a 90-lb dog charging the other dog, and it was yanked out of my hand), I stopped being airborne and landed on my left side, which allowed my right leg to gracefully arc upward. uh-huh.

Nan, who had been facing the other way, turned (she may have heard the OOF!) and wondered why I was on the ground. Thankfully I was on grass--actually wet grass since it had rained during the night; also thankfully I had not landed in wet dog poop because that grassy area was used by dogs living in the apartments across the parking lot.

So I wasn’t hurt, except the right (not left, oddly enough) side of my neck near the shoulder is really sore/tight.

And then on Saturday, Baxter, who normally goes pretty much the same routes, which pretty much don’t take more than 30 minutes depending on how interesting the smells are--on Saturday Baxter decided to go exploring.

Doesn’t matter the route because it means nothing to you, but we walked well over six miles, which took about an hour. Liked to have kilt me. Those are the doggy stories.

And then today--Mom had a blood lab appt in Mesquite at 10:45 a.m. I got to Mayberry at 10, which would allow us plenty of time to get way over to where we needed to be. Mom was asleep and not dressed. She didn’t want to get up, then she had to use the bathroom, then she got dressed, then she washed her face, then she had to put in her hearing aid--which had a dead battery, so I put in a new one while she slowly brushed her short hair, then she wanted to put some lotion on her face…I was going insane because I hate being late, and my god I didn’t think we were EVER going to get out of there, and in fact it was 10:30 before we even got into the car.

We were a little late. Fortunately it was just lab and not doctor (like he’d have been on time, but still…), but I went back and talked with his nurse and changed the doctor appointment to an hour later for the day scheduled. I’ve got to learn that Mom just does not get moving as early or as fast as I do. Shades of Pop.

So then we went to Denny’s for lunch. Since it arrived on the menu, I almost always order the Cranberry Pecan Chicken Salad. I like it. We have also been there enough that we know Peggy the waitress, and although we don’t always get her, this time we did.

Peggy often sounds and acts cranky and gives us (i.e. me) a “hard” time; I think she’s a heavy smoker--she reminds me of my sister when she laughs--that rough smoker’s laugh; her teeth aren’t so great either.

Anyway, Peggy, when she finally took our order, told me why don’t I just eat at home because I detailed how I wanted it, because I’m particular about how I want this salad. I don’t want the mixed greens with the salad, I want iceberg lettuce (they were out of mixed greens anyway), I wanted the chicken grilled after it had been sliced into strips, crisp bacon crumbles, no dressing, and 2 biscuits instead of the dinner bread--because John likes the biscuits at breakfast, and I like to take them home to him, because I am, after all, a saint.

It really wasn’t that busy, so I don’t know why it took almost an hour (rare) for us to get our food. After Peggy put my salad down and left, I noticed first that she’d brought me bread instead of biscuits--and that my dish had only chicken and lettuce. No cranberries, no pecans and no bacon. They often forget the bacon, but that was a first for Nothing.

I finally got her attention. She took the salad; eventually came back with biscuits and a salad with bacon and cranberries but still no pecans. When I got her attention again, she said they were out of the pecans (I forget what they’re coated with but they really make the salad.) How can I have cranberry pecan chicken salad without the pecans?

She went to double-check. Still no pecans. I said I knew it wasn’t her fault, but I was going to speak to the manager--who I now remember it was his attention I got initially when I realized I had a chicken and lettuce salad because Peggy was either no where in sight or serving other tables.

Peggy offered to bring me extra biscuits to make up for no pecans. I still wasn’t happy about it, but OK. She left the check and went to get the biscuits. …It was the wrong check. For 3 people and for food we didn’t order. (duh)

When I pointed it out, she kind of slumped, said she was not having a good day. No kidding.

Well, I wound up not saying anything to the manager. I think Peggy gets in enough trouble because of her attitude, plus I got the extra biscuits. But I still wanted pecans.

Dumb-de-dumb-dumb --and Mom

2010-03-02T15:45:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

As I was flossing my teeth Saturday evening, one of my crowns popped almost all the way off. It lifted like it was hinged, and as soon as I felt it give, I stopped the floss motion. Managed to push it back in place and it stayed there.

But I called my dentist's office Sunday afternoon and left a message, saying I had a mammo and bone density scheduled first thing Monday morning, should be done before 10:30, could they work me in?

Surprise. Later that day, Sherry, the office manager, called and told me to come in as soon as I was done with the boning and mamming. And I was actually done with that within 45 minutes, which is one reason I schedule those so early.

Anyway, lucked out at the dentist, because he had just squirted numbing into the mouth of the guy in the next room, so they got me right in and he took a look. Well, first, the assistant came in and tried to take off the loose crown. I have two gold crowns at the very back, lower left of my mouth. It was the second from the back that came loose.

She couldn't get it off with forceps. She couldn't pop it off with floss. Let me try, I says. Floss on its left side, nothing. Floss on the right side…and the porcelain crown on the THIRD tooth from the back, popped right off. In fact, in landed on my tongue, which I stuck out at the dentist, who was in there by that time, and he picked it off.

The point being, at least they didn't laugh at me for being so dumb I didn't even know which tooth had lost the crown, and thank goodness the assistant hadn't really yanked on the one that was still firmly planted in my mouth!

Fortuitously, Dr C was able to reset the old old crown (1996-97), so I was in good shape--Until last night when I tried to floss there. One side was ok. Not only couldn't I get the floss down the other side, but the pressure of trying to work it down, seemed to shift something, so then the tooth felt out of whack and left the feeling of pressure against the fourth tooth from the back. It re-shifted over night, so it feels OK now, but I need to go in tomorrow to find out the problem.

So, be that as it may, I think it's time to admit my Mom is getting --well, not quite all there. Not senile, not demented, but her dominoes are not always adding up to multiples of five.

Even though she's around people more since she's moved into assisted living, she's not interacting that much, and she's still seems to be isolated in her own head. Meaning she can't hear 95% of what is said, even with her one hearing aid in. So --well, like again today. I'd be talking to her about something, there would be this pause, and then she would say something similar to what I'd just said, like she'd thought of it herself.

So my guess is she vaguely heard me, and by the time it processed through her brain, she thought she thought of it. She also can't half-see any more, which makes it difficult for her to read, which I understand, but what is scary is how she is not necessarily understanding what she's seeing/reading. (She also not able to really critique my work like she used to.)

Example: I'd written a poem in the Minute form, which calls for only 12 lines in a specific rhyme pattern, and the line counts-- in syllables-- are 8 444 8 444 8 444.
I had that typed at the top of the page, I had the syllable count written in front of each line so she could see what I'd done. We were at lunch when I sat there and explained the form to her before she read it. She studied it, studied it, studied it. Finally said she didn't understand it. She was looking for 8 pages or 8 lines or 8 sentences. The first word in the second line is "pages," and I had -- 4 pages--and she was trying to figure out what 4 pages had to do with anything, or what "4 occupy all" meant. It wasn't until I inked out the numbers that she finally understood. And that's scary for me because she would not have been confused by that before.

One thing she IS sure of is she doesn't care for most of the food where she is. The menus are, of course, planned ahead of time. All the houses get fed the same meals, but that doesn't mean the women who cook all cook the same. The vegetables are overdone; sausage is served more than bacon & she doesn't like sausage. Her egg was way overdone this a.m., but then so were everyone else's. Too many beans. Something was dry. Lettuce was wilted. (Of course the lettuce is chopped to within an inch of confetti, but I suppose a lot of the residents have trouble with larger pieces of anything.)

Anyway, generally speaking she's OK with the place, but on the other hand, she doesn't do anything or say anything to try to make things better for herself. She's still sleeping too much; I'm afraid I may have to give control of her meds to the staff because she isn't taking her morning meds as early as she was--and in fact it was close to 11 again before she took them. She still doesn't have the smaller stuff sorted out & put away, although she has been doing a very little bit at a time. She hasn't had her new computer turned on at all, not even to play games.

And it's not that I'm complaining at all, but it bothers me that she's not as much Mom as she used to be, and that's aggravating, frustrating, irritating--and frightening.

Oh, and by the way, as I was leaving today, a woman came up to me and said something about I know you, don't I. What is your name again? I told her. She said, I'm Margaret...for those of you who read The Pop Stories--she is THE Miss Margaret who used to help bathe Pop! She's sinking into dementia, but was lucid then. Her mom, who's still the manager of the place, was waiting in the van for her. Margaret was just there for a visit. She really doesn't look any older than she did eight years ago. She's not working anymore, of course, but she likes coming out there.

I'm a winner! --but what did I win?

2010-02-11T15:36:00.000-08:00

Thursday, Feb. 11, 2010

Seriously, I just received an email from a semi-local poetry contest I entered. I'm a winner--but as usual in this type of contest, they won't tell you where you placed --probably because they want you to attend the Awards ceremony. (March 7, in this case.) In the Poetry Society of Texas annual contests, they send a postcard only if you've won at least one first prize, but I don't know if Mockingbird notifies all winning levels.

But the odd thing is, the info sheet I have doesn't even state the prizes--I think I have only part of the contest info, given to me when I went to hear karla k. morton, our new TX Poet Laureate, speak at the Mockingbird chapter of the PST.

Only one entry per person, and no entry fee, so--what the heck. But what did I win??

And once again, you just never know. The poem that won--whatever/whichever placement --has had a variety of incarnations, and has sometimes placed in other contests, but it didn't place at all in the PST Annual contest in 2009.

I lost my GPS--

2010-01-29T19:36:00.000-08:00

January 29, 2010

Had it Monday when I drove out to see the VA guy. Looked for it last night so I could program in the address for the long drive today--even though I mostly knew where I was going. Couldn't find it. Looked everywhere I normally put it.

Finally thought I'd left it in the truck, and since it was going down to freezing, I went outside not once but twice--in my flannel nightgown with a long raincoat over it because not only was it icy cold but RAINING like an s.o.b. Didn't see it the first time, so went out a second time with a flashlight to check under the seats. Not there.

Crud. So I finally stood part-way in the kitchen and looked around...where could it be? Finally spotted the totebag I'd packed/prepared for the ride out to the artist I interviewed for the Senior Voice. uh-huh. I found my lost GPS.

Anyway...I think I really ticked off the British guy who's my directions voice. He was trying to get me to go via Central Expwy, which I wasn't about to do, especially in this rain. I swear every time I made a turn he didn't want me to make, you could just HEAR him clenching his jaw when he said "Recalculating."

Moving Mom, Part II

2010-01-27T19:06:00.000-08:00

Weds., January 27, 2010

Well, that went easier than expected.
Mom and I went to lunch first (Cheddars--we were not impressed) then came back to yo-heave-ho.

While she was heaving ho in the bathroom, I yo'd everything piled in front of the desk and file cabinets. When she came out and had a good look, she decided she liked where the desk was. Whew!

So, first I moved her bed a little closer to the wall, that created room for the bedside table to actually be next to her bed.

She had wanted to make a makeshift desk out of the two small file cabinets, and she had me place the heavy, contact-paper-covered board (her keyboard had been on it) over the files--which had kneehole space between them. Then I moved the hutch onto that, which cleared off the top of her desk, which the hutch just barely fit on anyway.

So then I could unpack her computer and put in on makeshift desk, which emptied out one big box and got that out of there. The computer isn't hooked up yet, but she's not ready to use it anyway.

She still has a typing table, an end table and another table to deal with, but those are pushed to one side right now. The point is, she actually has some floor space to move around in, and the place is starting to shape up.

On a different note, the man in the room on one side of her died the other day, of congestive heart failure. When Mom took her shoes off back in the room, three of her left toes were black and the ankle was dreadfully swollen. She said she dropped a book on the bare foot...again. Well, at least she had the sense to take a diuretic yesterday, and I told her to take one every day for at least a week until the swelling went down--because if her ankles are swollen, her CHF needs fluids drained from there too.

Moving Mom

2010-01-25T16:41:00.000-08:00

Monday, January 25, 2010

Well, my mom is ensconced at Mayberry Gardens now. She's gradually sorting through stuff and moving it from here to there.

And since there is still a huge pile of stuff in front of her desk and hutch, and since stuff is piled on the floor at the foot of her bed, she's decided she wants the desk against the wall where the headboard is, and the bed somewhere else...maybe in the hall? I'm not sure.

So that's what I'll be doing on Weds.

Mom, Mayberry and a GPS

2010-01-21T19:56:00.000-08:00

Thursday, January 21, 2010

If you haven't been reading my blog (and why haven't you?), you don't know that my mom officially moved into Mayberry Gardens Assisted Living recently. She's in one of the newest houses (there are 8 now), which are larger than the older ones, so her room's a little bigger than Pop's was; the number of residents per house stays the same though--10-12.

She's settling in all right, although she's not real thrilled with the food mostly. I almost always ask Cassandra what is or what was for lunch. Today she told me "cabbage rolls and spinach." I made a face--although I like cabbage and spinach. I went to Mom's room and told her what she was having for lunch, and she made the same face I did.

Her room is still a mess because she wants to sort through things herself, and she can't do much before she poops out, but at least she was upright in her chair and awake the last two times I went over, instead of in bed asleep. Which is encouraging, because it's been depressing to find her asleep every time I see her.

Anyway, she's a veteran, so she's entitled to "aid and attendance" compensation to help her with the cost of the home. I'd gone to a presentation by a VA rep a couple of months ago, learned what needed to be done--before any decision about actually moving into asst living was a reality.

So...I had an appointment with that VA rep in Dallas this afternoon, who helped me fill out and sort the paperwork, and told me what else to do.

Now, as you know, people have been telling me for years to get a GPS because I get lost so easily; John gave me one for Christmas. I programmed the GPS, it told me how to get out of my driveway, and then the darned thing kept losing the satellite connection! Half the time it didn't know where I was--thank you very much, big help you are!

It's a good thing I'd printed out MapQuest, too, and also good I remembered about the Stay Left on one portion of Central Expwy or you wind up having to take the two right exit ramps to LBJ Freeway, which is not what anyone in their right mind would want to do, but then if you're on Central, you're not in your right mind anyway, so it really doesn't matter.

Still, I got there with no problems. The thing is I think I turned the wrong way at the first street out of the parking lot, although I don't know how I managed that, and the GPS wasn't a big help because, again, it kept losing satellite connection. But when the idiot British guy was talking to me, he has this fetish for staying left or turning left, because he not only kept telling me to stay left of the "slip" road when I wasn't anywhere near one (which is, I think, what we call an access road and others call a frontage road)...be that as it may, I did finally manage to get back to Central, but as it happened, I was going south instead of north as apparently I was supposed to if I actually wanted to get home.

Which is what I wanted to do, but then the idiot GPS kept telling me to turn left ON Central Expwy--I was ON Central; you can't turn left on a road you're already on--like make almost a U-turn is what it was basically telling me--make a left so you can turn around and go the other way because, you nitwit, you're going the wrong way.

Anyway, I completely wore myself out yesterday cleaning Mom's apartment. I need to go back--for the last time, I hope--to give the kitchen floor one more mopping, and then turn in the keys.

ANDDDDDD--I'm also going to stop by the bank to deposit my paycheck from RubberStampMadness, the amount of which indicates I will have TWO articles in the upcoming new issue!

When did I get old?

2010-01-20T16:44:00.000-08:00

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

groan...cleaned Mom's apartment today. Got there around 10 and didn't stop until around 2:30. On my hands and knees scrubbing the shower, around the toilet and in the toilet, the kitchen floor. Stove, fridge, counters, sinks...in other words, the whole apartment. My body aches. My feet hurt.

Friendship House, which helps out those having a hard time, showed up today instead of tomorrow, which was fine with me--I was ready for them. They got Mom's big dresser with mirror and a bunch of other stuff; Salvation Army showed up later--as actually scheduled--and got Mom's massively heavy desk gone.

So right now the apt is clear of everything except some cleaning supplies. I need to do the kitchen floor again (Mom tried but had no power behind her "mopping,") but I can do that Friday. That's when Wanda the manager is supposed to be in, so I can have her look to make sure it's clean enough to get Mom's deposit back, and then give her the keys.

At least I don't have to go back tomorrow morning. But I do have an appt. with the VA guy tomorrow afternoon to get Mom's paperwork filed for the Aid & Assistance for Mayberry.

Mom is steadily unpacking boxes--mostly books, which I've carted off, so little by little she has more room to move around in. She was actually awake and in her chair when I stopped in this afternoon on my way home! She'd moved her mini-fridge to the left side of her chair so she could use the top as a table.

I told her I'd given the Dust Buster and her step ladder to Ray, the maintenance man, and she wasn't happy about that. Not because of who I gave them to, but because I gave them away. She didn't TELL me she wanted them--they weren't in the pile of stuff to go with her. But she was going to use the DB to clean up her potato chip crumbs (that's the cleaning lady's job), and she couldn't reach the top shelf in her closet. Well, she really doesn't need to be climbing on that step ladder anyway.

She got her first forwarded mail today. She's not completely thrilled with the food so far, but the portions are usually more than she can eat. We ate at a Chinese restaurant yesterday, and she slipped some shrimp into a baggie--yeah, I know you're not supposed to do that at a buffet. But she enjoyed them last night.

We also saw her foot doctor yesterday--her for toenail clipping. I got an appt right after hers to have the good doc look at my bunions and toes on the right foot that are sore. He took x-rays, and my big toe bones look like bows--like bows and arrows, not bows in your hair. At this point the bunions are so bad he'd have to go to the joints at the base of the toes, straighten them and put in screws. That kind of surgery would require no weight on the foot for THREE MONTHS. Crutches, no driving. Well, forget that. No way I cannot drive right now--or for the foreseeable future.
The good thing about all this activity is it's not a continuing thing. A lot going on, a lot to be done, but gradually each item on the list is being crossed off. Tuesday we got her change of address registered at her bank and ordered new checks. The apt. is clean. The don't want/can't take stuff is gone.

My house is a mess, but right now I don't care. And I have something to look forward to later…John said he'd massage my feet. Ah-h-h, bliss!

Mom moves to Mayberry

2010-01-20T16:43:00.000-08:00

Sunday, January 17, 2010

After I walked Baxter this morning, John and I ran up to Walmart and bought a mini-fridge for my mom. We dropped it off at Mayberry--well, unboxed it and got it plugged in so it could start cooling.

Then we drove to Mom's. She was asleep--this was close to 11, and she hadn't taken her meds yet. After she managed to put some clothes on, she busied herself with the meds while John and I tore down her bed. That was after we got all the boxes stuff out of the way, because Mom, in wanting to do what she can about her own move, keeps moving stuff around and putting it where it doesn't need to be, which is usually in the way. I saw her three steel bowls in the LR the other day and asked if she was taking them with her for some reason. No, she didn't even know why they were where they were.

As we were putting the mattress in the back of the truck, this tall, bruno, young man was heading inside. I grinned and said to John, "There goes a nice strong man who could help you with the box springs!" The man laughed--but he was willing. He was actually going to visit his grandma, but he helped John anyway...although as it turns out, the box spring is actually way lighter than the mattress. Too bad he'd disappeared before we came back for the recliner.

Anyway, we took the bed over and got it set up, stopped by our house to grab a bite, let out Baxter, then went back to Mom's--this time with me in the car to transport her, and John still in the truck. Mom was asleep in her chair when we got there...sigh...

So we got her up, moved the chair, carried out most of the rest of what she'd packed up, and off we went again.

On the way over, she asked about lunch. Why hadn't she eaten something while she was waiting for us? She didn't know. It was past lunch at Mayberry, and no leftovers. So I asked if there was any cereal. Yes. Mom got some cereal. As I was putting her in a chair closest to the kitchen, Marilyn, the weekend lady, started to object. I said it was just for this time.

Think it kind of ticked her off, but a little later, another lady with a healing shiner walked out and started to object when she saw Mom in that chair--that was her chair. I already knew from the other day that while seating isn't exactly assigned, the ladies are possessive of where they want to sit. So Marilyn and I both reassured her.

I also asked Marilyn for a bottle of liquid soap, but at the storage closet, she couldn't find one...at which point I almost started crying because apparently I'm a little stressed out, ok?

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, before Mom had cereal she used her bathroom--not bothering to close her room door OR the bathroom door...and this is when John was still carrying in stuff. So I shut the bathroom door. Then she was eating her cereal and wound up in the bathroom again. Then she finished her cereal and came back to her room and crawled on her bed.

I tried to stop her. You can't take a nap now! Oh yes I can. Well, excuse me, but crap. It's hard to help her get anything sorted out if she won't stay awake long enough to do anything. So, I ran up to Tom Thumb to get her some yogurt & Pringles for when she needs to eat, and a Gigantic 3-layer slice of carrot cake with nuts & raisins and cream cheese frosting for ME because I needed something good, came home, washed her bed linens and some other stuff, ate most of the cake, and am about to head back over there and try to catch her awake.

She is SO used to living alone, not having to be considerate or aware of anyone else, on her own schedule...it'll be interesting to see how she does in a community.

bearings, beds and quiche!

2010-01-12T17:33:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

OK, I’m feeling better today. Walked Baxter in sub-freezing temps this a.m.--but it got to 60-something later, thank goodness. The man who was going to work on the sliding patio door didn’t actually arrive until about one--and it had warmed up sufficiently that when he got the door off the tracks, we didn’t turn into an igloo.

Turned out the bearings in the one wheel were shot. He’d taken a chance and bought a wheel assembly on his way out, but it was too small--and plastic rather than metal, so I was just as glad it was too small. He went back to Home Depot and wound up getting two metal wheel assemblies, and suggested he might as well change out both. Good idea.

Not exactly sure how long it took, but that sucker slides slicker than ice on a skate…or the other way around I guess. That makes me feel tremendously better right there. While it’s small potatoes in the grand scheme of things, having the door work does make life easier…like at 5 a.m. I had to put the parka over my nightgown and go out in slippers, walk around to let Baxter in the back yard so he could pee before we came in to fix John’s breakfast---well, I fixed it, not Baxter. Tomorrow morning I can just open the patio door again and let him out.

But back to this morning. I had thought to just go to Mom’s and tell her I wasn’t coming over, but decided to bring her here--so she could give “OK you can talk to my daughter” to places I needed to call for her. And by the way, I could just SPIT on SS for their automated hell of trying to give a simple change of address. I had to start over three times, and then when I finally got to the actual address part, the stupid freaking “woman” couldn’t understand the number 9…and hung up on me! I could have chewed bricks!!!

Back to Mom and this morning…Of course, when I got to her place, she was asleep. I patted her on the hip. Get up--had to yell. She didn’t stir. Pat pat GET UP! shift MOM! YOU NEED TO GET UP. She finally opened her eyes, sort of. Why did she need to get up? She couldn’t hear me--but we went back & forth until finally I went in search of her hearing aid, made her put it in, and told her what the deal was.

Finally she dragged herself out of bed, took her meds, got dressed, and we managed to get going. She said something later about being exhausted--her restless legs wake her up, so she’s prowling at 3 a.m. And then she keeps shifting things around…she’s trying to help with her moving, and in some respects, she’s actually getting quite a bit done. On the other hand, she’s making a big mess that I have to sift through. Every time I go over there’s more stuff strewn around. She can’t take her kitchen stuff, but half of it’s dragged out of cupboards and sitting on the counters. Why? She couldn’t remember what she had--plus she wanted me to see if I wanted anything…sigh…

Still, over here she took at least two long naps. Turns out too that when she got up the second time, she lost her balance and fell--and whacked her head against… I don’t know what. The bed frame? I thought I’d heard something, but Bob the door man was still here, so I didn’t pay any attention. Big lump on her head.

The ONLY reason she admitted it was because as we were leaving, I told her to NOT step down until I had locked the door--didn’t want her taking the one step and falling flat on her face. We swung by her doc’s office--the social worker had called to say all the forms were ready--and picked those up.

Well, after we got back to her apartment, I called her son/my brother and talked with him until my John arrived with the truck. My brother Jon had that CT scan on Sunday. I asked about the results…and apparently there’s extensive cancer there, not just the hernia. Thus all his pain. He sounded OK; joked a bit; but also sounded a bit resigned to my ears.

So…John arrived. We loaded a desk, some end tables, empty file cabinets, long tall corner shelf and some other stuff, unloaded it all again at Mayberry. And Lisa, the night cook, asked if we liked quiche. John doesn’t but I do. She couldn’t eat the “leftover” portion--which would actually have been her supper--because she can’t “do” eggs. Since I hadn’t fixed supper, I accepted it--and oh my gosh, was it ever good. Tasted a bit like pizza without the tomato sauce; crust was light and flaky.

I’m happy. Things are moving…ha ha…along.

We’re going to take another truck load tomorrow, and then either Sat. or Sun.--depending on the forecasted rain (which is also why we’re doing this piecemeal moving today and tomorrow)--we’ll move her recliner, her bed…and Mom.

Now, I’m going to have fun tomorrow morning--book stores with Nan. Thursday I’m doing Starbucks with Anne, then Walmart.

And Friday I’m going to have to go over and clean all the stuff that needs cleaning and dusting before Mom starts loading stuff down.

Somewhere in there I have to finish two reviews for RSM, arrange an interview with a stone artist for Senior Voice, and make an appointment with the VA guy to get that process started.

In the morning, in the evening…ain’t we got fun!

doors, sleep, boobies and straws

2010-01-11T19:59:00.000-08:00

Monday, January 11, 2010

I'm sorta riding my last straw right now--and yeah, it's from my broom because I am getting rather witchy.

The straw is the patio door. Don't know if the second wheel broke, or if it's the track, or both, but we can't slide the damn thing open--which is kind of not good since the dog likes to go in the backyard, with partial emphasis on Go, but he also likes to run and bark and do doggy things, too. And of course it's 8 pm. Not a thing we can do about it right now.

So I let Baxter out front, and then unlocked the front gate, so we can at least get to the yard that way, although it's darned inconvenient.

John called a guy he knows from church who does repair/remodel stuff like this, so hopefully he'll be here around noon tomorrow--but now I'm gonna have to drive to Mom's, wake her up to tell her I won't be coming over after all (even though I'll be there) because if I just call and she's asleep, she won't hear the phone; and even if the answering machine was still hooked up, she wouldn't check her messages anyway. She doesn't even hear the doorbell, so it's a good thing I have a key.

OK, I'm gonna do the bummer stuff first--which is neither more nor less more important than anyone else's bummer stuff, but it's mine, so I get to talk about it.

My brother going into hospice, since he's now in stage 4 colon cancer. Tumors are growing in his lungs and liver and probably elsewhere. He's in Florida though, so his immediate family is dealing with that more up-close and personal than I am. I just get to wait to hear how he's doing--or not doing, and expect to hear at some point that I'm an only child--

Who may also be an orphan soon--who the hell knows. Sometimes I'm going to sound angry--because I am. Also sad. But I still think Big Bang Theory is funny.

We're--I say we, but John's just supplying some of the brawn while I'm dealing with everything else--in the process of moving my mom to an assisted living place--Mayberry Gardens actually. The same place Pop lived during his last 15 months.

Mom is 87; her mind is still pretty sharp, but her body is getting weaker--everyday, according to her. She's always liked moving, and she tends to move about every three years. She's been at her current apartment three years now, so when this room opened up at Mayberry, we knew it was time. She says she's ready; almost the first thing she said when we knew the room was available was she needed packing boxes.

But since then, it's like she can't wake up. Maybe it started before the move was decided, but it's way more intense now. I was at her place Friday for about 4 hours, helping pack up more stuff, partially loading the truck--and I swear she was asleep more than she was awake.

John went over Sat. to load the boxes (mostly books), 3 bookcases and some other things --although he left the other stuff he was supposed to take, partly because Mom didn't stay awake long enough to point out the other things.

I was there today for about two hours. She was up three times--once to take some meds, twice to drink from her protein drink--and then back in bed. I didn't even say goodbye after I'd loaded the cab with more stuff, including new computer.

She may be depressed, in spite of saying she's ready. She made a comment several days ago about, "This is probably my last move." And even though she seems accepting of the fact that her son is dying of colon cancer --and she's already lost her oldest child to alcohol-related death--that probably weighs on her, too. It has to. But she's always suppressed her emotions to a large extent. It's a wonder I'm so freaking emotional given my example.

On one hand, I understand--as much as possible anyway--how she's probably having mixed emotions. On the other hand, so am I--having mixed emotions, too. I'm frustrated because I can't even speak to her half the time. She can't hear without her hearing aid, and when she staggers out of bed to medicate or eat, she doesn't have it in, so what's the point of me saying anything. I speak to her in sign language a lot. Late this morning, she actually tried to put in the aid, I had to change the battery, and by the time she got it in her ear, she was heading back to bed.

That, when you get right down to it, is what bothers me the most right now. If she's sleeping to escape, then she's also shutting me out--maybe not meaning to, but that's the way it feels.

On the third hand, and we DO want to be Zen about this, she has an unrealistic relationship with reality. In the back of her mind she thinks she's going to do stuff again that she hasn't done for a long time--years and years long time. Like her keyboard. She barely used it when she was years younger, but she still has it. When I said you can't take it to Mayberry, she said Why not? There's no room. I can store it on end in the closet. No, you can't--you can't store a keyboard like that. Well I want to take it anyway.

She's NEVER going to play it, OK? She has an Omnichord that she's barely ever had out of the case. She's never taken lessons or learned to play it. She bought it after hearing someone play one ONE time, and I guess thought she'd play like that--just like that.

She thinks she's going to write again. After all these years of finding excuses to not write, and now when she has trouble finding words, when writing is difficult for her because of slight tremors, when she probably doesn't even remember how to turn on her new computer--she thinks she's going to write. I don't act skeptical; I just say Yeah, maybe since you won't have to deal with cooking or cleaning (ha) or all that…. Reality is she's not going to write again.

We were at the doc's office Thursday, January 7, and also saw the social worker because of different forms that needed filling out. As part of the psychological profile, the SS asked her if she'd stopped doing things she liked to do. Mom hesitated and said, I've put things on the backburner, but haven't given them up.

On the fourth hand (now we're in octopus territory) it's nice that she thinks that way, but on the fifth hand it's unrealistic. And that's kind of depressing for me, because I want it to be true--that she'll do these things again, but MY reality says she won't.

Well, going back to the doctor--they did a chest x-ray for TB; opted not to do the skin test because it would have to be read on Sat. when no one was there, but that's just as well because Mom always tests positive anyway. Her mom died of TB.

They "tested" her eyesight, what was left of it. The nurse "tested" her hearing, and the thing that made tones that she stuck in Mom's one ear (didn't bother with the one holding the hearing aid) got no reaction from Mom at all. She didn't hear any of the tones.

So we're waiting and waiting; we like to leave the door open so we can see what's going on out in the hall. I saw the doc put two x-ray films on the lighted reading screen just outside the door, so I went out to look. WOW! You could clearly see Mom's pacemaker--even the insides of it and the wires. Of course you could also see body parts and the spine.

I told Mom to come see (she was actually awake all afternoon, although every time she sat for a couple of minutes, she tried to take a nap.) I pointed out her pacemaker, and then low on the front view, you could see the shape of her boobs. So I said, "Look those are your boobs." She studied them, then looked at the other film, a side view, and said they're not in that one. I laughed and pointed, "Yeah they are--look wayyyyy down here."

About then two employees were approaching and said, What are you doing? I smiled, pointed again and said, "We're looking at her boobies!" They laughed.

We went back into the room, waiting, waiting, bored. I was saying something to Mom when I just started doing Charleston--very badly. Mom started doing the knee/hand switcheroo movement from the exam table, then she told me to do "Me and My Shadow."

I started doing a bad tap dance. About that time the social worker walked by, and said you look like you're having a lot of fun.
Yeah! "We're doing Me and My Shadow.
"You need a top hat," she said.
"You have one?"
" No."
"Then what good are you?"
She laughed and said she'd be back for us in a couple of minutes.
But you can see that Mom still has a good sense of humor, she still likes to have fun--but damn it, she has to be awake.

Well, one last thing for now. It was about 16 degrees when I walked Baxter Friday morning. He loves it; I have no sense--but I have a down parka that was John's that he gave to me although he denies it now, the gift-sucker-backer…it's politically incorrect to say Indian giver, right, like I care…

Cold weather always makes my nose run. About 15 minutes into the walk, I blew off a little nose juice, stuck the Kleenex back in my pocket because I'm not a litterbug, and about 10 minutes later, pulled it out to blow into a clean spot. The Kleenex felt crinkly…odd… I looked at it, squeezed, it crunched a bit. It was so cold my nose juice had frozen--even though the Kleenex had been in my pocket. brrrrr.

Summing up 2009

2009-12-31T19:38:00.000-08:00

Thursday, December 31, 2009

I picked up Mom Tuesday morning (the 29th), and drove us to Mayberry, partly so she could meet Dianne and partly so she could see the room again. Dianne asked when she’d actually be moved in and I said probably by about the middle of January.

Well, when we were driving back to her place, I asked Mom how she was feeling about all this. She said she was having to wrap her brain around moving so soon. Somehow she’d gotten it into her head that she wouldn’t be moving until April. (She’d been looking at some VA paperwork earlier and that may be where that month came from.)

Anyway, I guess she’s ok with it.

Aside from that, I just learned my book is in the card catalog of the Richardson Public Library! Yay! I’d donated a copy, but didn’t know if they’d put it on the shelf. It’s not in the Garland Library catalog. Hmph.

ahhh, what a way to end 2009.
I’m sort of sick. Throat sore and swollen; I’m about to drown in snot. Sinus drainage going down my throat instead of out my nose.

There’s something wrong with the truck engine. It almost didn’t start for me when I was out earlier. And then John lost power steering and some other stuff when he was out. He pulled over, shut it off, and when he restarted it, it was OK. Why couldn’t it have acted up earlier this week so we could have gotten it to the shop sooner--and while John was still on vacation.

Anddddd--the coupe de gras --got an e-mail from my brother tonight with the news that his doc says he's now stage 4 (colon cancer spread to his lungs & liver), and it's a matter of months now--after having battled it for over 3 years. He’s not going gentle--even while being practical. I’ve sent him links for two places that are supposed to be good fighting treatment centers, so we’ll see.

So if 2009 ends this way, hopefully 2010 will be better!

Dogs, newspapers and Mom--

2009-12-28T19:55:00.000-08:00

Monday, December 28, 2009

So I told you Jenny the beagle is here for 3-4 days. When Buddy is here and decides to join us on the bed, he sprawls crossways--usually up near the pillows, and he’s 90 lbs of dog that doesn’t want to move.

Well, Miss Jenny is only about 20 lbs of dog, but you just try to move that little …beagle. When she jumped on the bed, she at least settled down vertically, so to speak, butt end near the pillows (and our faces); other end facing the other way--naturally. She also lay smack in the middle of the bed, which was rather considerate. But let me tell you, that dog did not MOVE again until about 6:15 a.m. She was in the same place and same position as when she jumped on the bed last night. I think she goes into a semi-coma when she goes to sleep.

Well, the deed is done. Since Mom saw the room and wants to make the move, I went ahead and called Dianne this morning to confirm--and if fact, went over this afternoon to answer questions, sign forms, pay the first month’s rent. Weather tomorrow is uncertain --maybe some sleet, snow, so couldn’t be sure I’d actually be going to Mom’s.

If we do get out, I’ll still take her over to meet Dianne and to take another look. The new houses at Mayberry have more square footage, so Mom was right when she said she thought the room looked bigger than the one Pop had--it is.

Because Mom is going to go ahead and pay Jan. rent at her current apartment, Dianne is going to try to get the rest of Dec. rent at Mayberry waived for her--which we really appreciate. It’s only 3 more days, but it’s still money out of their pocket.

Funny how things work out. She told me three other people had put deposits on that room, but for one reason or another (hospital, death, and nursing home), each had to relinquish their bid. So here it is--waiting for Mom.

I asked Dianne about Kelli, who used to run House 2 when Pop was there. Seems she developed lupus, and last year had hip replacement, two knee surgeries, and her grown daughter died. So she hasn’t been able to come back yet.

Gabriella is still there, working night shift.

I made reference to Miss Frances. It seems on her last day, she ate a piece of pecan pie that was “real good,” and had a cup of coffee that was “real good,” and then she put her head back, closed her eyes, and died. Way to go, Miss Frances.

Well, anyway, John picked up some boxes on his way home from church Sat. night. Mom can start packing; I can start moving things a few at a time for now. Once she’s moved, I’ll have to deal with what’s left at the old place, and then cleaning it. Actually, I’ll have to clean stuff before it’s moved, too.

And then there’s the doctor’s statement, setting up the appointment with the VA guy, getting Mom’s 2009 VA paperwork sent in asap, getting changes of address sent, getting a new phone (she has to switch phone companies), contacting SS, and just on & on.

I’m glad she’s ready and willing and anxious to move, but it’s also a bit depressing for me.

Be that as it may, I took on the Dallas paper this morning and won. Our delivery subscription expired Oct. 31. Prior to that, they had sent out two renewal bills--charging more than TWICE what we paid last year. Well, except for the Sunday paper, we don’t if we get the paper or not--and especially not for what they were charging.

So we didn’t pay. We expected service to stop on Oct. 31. It didn’t. For about two weeks the paper kept coming, and then finally stopped. Periodically we would get calls from their promo dept. I told whoever then that we weren’t paying that amount, nor were we paying the “special discount” price because that was still well over $100 more than last year.

So the only reason I picked up the phone this a.m. is because it rang right after I’d left a message for Dianne and I thought it’d be her. It was the promo person from the newspaper--who managed to annoy me from the get-go because she thought she wanted to talk with John just because his name is on the account, and didn’t even allow the possibility that she could talk to me until I told her so.

Here’s what the special offer is she said.

No, we still don’t want it for that price. Oh, says the sales rep in passing, I see that you have a balance due of $24.95, and kept on talking.

Whoa! says I. (This is Texas, ya know) What do you mean? 24.95 for what?

It seems they were charging us for delivery during the “grace period” because other customers got upset if their delivery stopped because the check was in the mail, sent at the last second, even though they’d had close to a month to renew.

I don't care about other customers. We aren’t paying for that I said. We didn’t ask for the paper, our subscription expired, we didn’t renew, we expected delivery to stop--not our dime.

So she did some blah blah, and it says in the fine print at the bottom of the bill that you have to call if you want to cancel.

I don’t care what it said on the bill--I saw the price and didn’t read further and why would I? If I don’t want to subscribe to something, I don’t pay for it and I shouldn’t have to call because once it expires, it expires.

Well, I can cut that to $12.50 and still offer you 25% discount--

Excuse me, but we aren’t paying any part of that. Well, she couldn’t cancel it--she was just promos, although she also didn’t try sell me the paper anymore either. I had to call Customer Service…and trust me, by this time, I was not a happy camper--nor was John.

Blah Blah--same thing.

I don’t care. We contracted to pay until Oct. 31. We fulfilled our contract. We don’t care what fine print you put on a bill--and besides, I told your promo people we weren’t paying that price, and no one ever mentioned oh-yeah-we’re charging you for something you didn’t actually order.

Anyway, I think he figured out from the tone of my voice that I wasn’t buying into what he was trying to sell. OK, he’d cancel the $24.95. Thank you, can you send me a letter or an email to confirm that--I don’t want any surprises later. Sure. He stared to hang up. Don’t you want to have an email address? Oh, he had it right there--and he actually did. So far no confirmation email though.

Man, the nerve of the paper!

Don't try this at home!

2009-12-27T16:08:00.000-08:00

Especially when it's too cold outside to open the doors and windows to air out the place.

I cut open a cantaloupe this morning--what we used to call muskmelon and for a reason. It stinks, even though it tastes good. And then in my infinite wisdom, I cooked broccoli this afternoon. And I just hard-boiled the last 4 eggs.

Smells like a skunk died in here. And maybe a possum and a raccoon.

Christmas Day at our house

2009-12-25T14:02:00.001-08:00

Friday, December 25, 2009

And I know you were waiting for the sequel.
John did, in fact, go to Midnight Mass; I went to bed. But at least he went to the closer church rather than the farther-away one he usually goes to. Streets weren't too bad, but the parking lot was icy by then.

Walked Baxter this morning as usual--even though it was about 26 degrees. He doesn't care. It wasn't windy, so it wasn't too bad.

I went to get Mom, and we talked before we came back here. I don't know why she still surprises me like this, but she does. She is ready to move to Mayberry. Her only concern is finances, understandably, but she should be ok there with VA assistance. She reminded me that she was preparing to move almost from the day she moved into her current apartment. She always unloads stuff, and she has been doing it steadily now for three years--in particular she's been cleaning off her book shelves.

She may be in poor physical shape, and she's not always too sharp mentally, but she by golly beat me at UpWords a little bit ago-and after I'd been ahead almost the whole game. Smart alec.

She is taking a nap right now. So is John--his second one actually. I swear, these people who sleep their lives away. And Jake is trying to get into trouble.

Christmas Eve at our house

2009-12-25T14:00:00.000-08:00

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Well, John just got back from taking my mom home--earlier than usual. We
are actually having SNOW here, and strong winds. Didn't think the snow
would stick since it was so warm yesterday, but it is. In fact, Petunia
wouldn't step outside--until John carried her out and set her down in the snow.
She high-tailed it back to the door and said --Let me in, you SOB!-- in cat
language. Toot is a street cat; she has no cooth.

Earlier I carried Jake out and dumped him out in the yard twice--because he
had just jumped Toot from behind and made her scream--he also hot--or
cold-footed it back to the house.

Anyway, normally we open gifts after dark, then play games. This time we
started opening when it was still daylight--barely. The games will have to
wait until tomorrow. She didn't have any meds with her, so didn't want to
chance her getting stuck here overnight.

She gave me two rolls of postage stamps--woo-hoo!

So here it is just after 7 pm...and just like any other night mostly.
Except John thinks he's going to Midnight Mass. And I'm not.

Perhaps the beginning of a new beginning after all

2009-12-24T12:41:00.000-08:00

Thursday, December 24, 2009

So. . . I went to pick up Mom this morning. She was asleep, so I went ahead and did some more work on her computer--got her fonts enlarged; got her Word files transferred. (Man, just TRY to figure out how to open or close a file in Windows 7!) Got a Mahjong shortcut put on her desktop since she likes to play that. Let her try it after she got up.

And then I told her we needed to talk.

She said, “That sounds ominous.”

I started to tell her about meeting with Dianne yesterday, and choked up. Tears brimmed--mine, that is. Explained what the deal was about the room and why I’d put down the deposit. But I also emphasized more than once that I wouldn’t force her to do this if she didn’t think she was ready.

And then, even though we will still meet with Dianne on Tuesday, I suggested we go ahead and go to House 7 so she could see Room 9, and get an idea of what she’d be looking at. I wanted her to have time to think about it before we saw Dianne, and not have to make an on-the-spot decision.

Right now Mom is still mostly competent mentally. One of my fears is she would be bored because there really isn’t a lot of stimulation at Mayberry. Her response, “There’s not a lot of stimulation here.”

After I warned her she'd be on their schedule for meals, and that they would take control of dosing out her meds, she wanted to know if she could have a small refrigerator in her room. (We asked Cassandra who was on duty & she said yes!) Mom likes access to her yogurt and flan.) And she also almost immediately said “I want to start writing again and this would free up my time.” She wouldn’t have to cook or clean anymore, or do laundry. She’s physically worse off than she is mentally.

She also said that she has a tendency to move every three years or so--and that’s been true since we were kids. We might be in the same city or town, but we moved. She lived in several--three that I can think of off hand--places in Tyler. Then she moved to Terrell. Then to Garland. Each move brought her closer to me. And now, of course, Mayberry, is just five minutes up the street. She been at her current apartment just over three years.

After she saw the room, she said it was bigger than she had imagined--from what she remembered of Pop’s room, but I reminded her Pop had a double bed, so that took up a lot of his room. There’s room for a desk and her computer, bookcases, a fridge, etc. She said she’d lose some independence, but in another way, it would free her to do other things.

She also said that she had always wondered what she would do if she went blind--how she would be able to take care of herself. She laughed and said she never expected to be half-blind, half-deaf and physically weak.

So. . . she is probably more ready for this than I am. Certainly she’s always been more adaptable. She’d have to get rid of a lot of stuff, of course, but she does that every time she moves. And she wouldn’t physically move until after the first of the year, even though if she decides yes--and she probably will--we would still have to sign her in and start paying for her room.

Hell, she’s taking this better than I am. I didn’t sleep well last night at all. Couldn’t go to sleep at first, just thinking about all the things she’d be giving up. Then I finally did fall asleep, but when I woke up, again, couldn’t go back to sleep. And my jaw is tense again.

Well, John’s taking a nap. Mom’s taking a nap. Baxter is taking a nap. Toot is taking a nap. Jake is lying by the patio door looking at our--SNOW!!! It is actually snowing here.

PS After Mom gets up, I’m going to talk to her about publishing her young adult novel POD. Stay tuned.

The beginning of the end, and the beginning of the beginning, I suppose...

2009-12-23T19:15:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Well, the good news first: a first cousin on my mom’s side found me on Facebook a few days ago. His mom was my mom’s younger sister. I used to spend some time at their house in the summer--I even sort of vaguely remember when Patrick was born. Anyway, that part of the family even has a website where they post news and keep in touch with each other. Haven’t seen Pat or Jef, his older brother, since out Grandpa’s funeral in 1971. It's nice to be in touch again.

Now, I’m writing about the rest of this, kind of as an observer. NOT looking for any sympathy or anything like that. This is just...well, what life is sometimes. So I’m just going to talk about it. Even Erma Bombeck had some serious columns.

Today would have been my older-sister Lynn’s 64th birthday. Hard to believe. Her death made me both sad and mad because it was so senseless. She drank herself to death, frankly.

And then my younger brother Jon is fighting Stage 3 colon cancer--has been since 2006, actually. Surgery and three treatments of chemo have kept it at bay, but recent tests show it’s now spread to his lungs and liver. Don’t know how extensive or what further treatment he’ll be receiving at this writing.

Jon’s situation makes me both sad and mad, too, because his encroaching death is also so senseless. He ignored symptoms for probably 2-3 years until agonizing pain put him in the ER. He ignored the symptoms mostly, I think, because he just doesn’t like doctors--at least that’s what he told me back then.

And now, Mom and I need to start the process of moving her into an assisted living home, as soon after the first of the year as possible. She can get VA assistance because she’s a veteran, and that plus her little bit of other income should cover the bill.

While I’ve been seeing her physical deterioration, I’ve also noticed some mental stumbling--she’s 87, so that’s not surprising. But in her Christmas letter, she mentions falling at least three times and hitting her head, and she thinks the falls “jumbled” her brains...and in fact, that sentence was in with a paragraph that had nothing to do with what she’d been saying.

Just a few months ago we talked about assisted living, but she wanted to stay as independent as possible for as long as possible. And she was right about that--you start giving up autonomy, and you start deteriorating. The less you do for yourself, the faster you go downhill.

The problem(s) with Mom is she can’t half hear, which isolates her from a lot of social contact, which she doesn’t want anyway.

She can’t half see anymore. Her poor handling of her glaucoma caused her to lose a lot of peripheral vision. And her corneas are pitted, causing even more deterioration--a word I’m using a lot in this note--because her eyes are really dry and she hasn’t been using the lubricating drops she’s supposed to have been using. So she’s not reading nearly as much as she used to.

She says her legs are feeling weaker in spite of exercise. She can’t half remember anything. She tends to sleep most of the time. But she still fixes her own meals…and sometimes fixes better meals than I do.

And something I haven’t mentioned before...she’s been seen at least twice, outside her apartment, only partially dressed. The first time was around 6 a.m. and she was just in her underwear. She doesn’t remember that at all--it may have been a low blood sugar thing. That’s what I want to believe. But a week or so ago, about 4pm, she went to check her mailbox in only a long t-shirt. She was seen by three ladies. Mom says she didn’t realize she didn’t have her shorts on until she was going back to her apartment. Maybe she’s done it other times and wasn’t seen or it wasn’t reported. I just don’t know.

The ironic thing is we’re looking at Mayberry Gardens, where Pop spent his last 15 months. She can’t afford the newer, larger assisted living home just up the road, even with VA assistance. Or if she barely could, it would be in a semi-private room with only one bathroom for two roomies, and there’s no way she can share a bathroom. Trust me, when she’s gotta go, she’s gotta go--and sometimes she goes before she gets there.

And well, now this is Wednesday, December 23, 2009

This afternoon I went over to Mayberry to talk with Dianne, the manager, and wound up putting down a deposit on the one room they have available right now. It would have been gone before the end of the year; no telling when another room would have opened up, or how badly Mom would need it by then. She said two other families wanted the room but were reluctant to put down a deposit before 2010--and really, I was, too, but--well, it’s like when Pop had his car accident. Only one room was available then and we took it. When it seems like serendipty whacks you in the face, pay attention.

Funny that this room should be open now. Mom doesn’t know yet. I’ll tell her tomorrow, of course, when I go over to finish setting up her computer, and then we’ll be coming back here for Christmas Eve. Merry Christmas, Mom, guess what present you’re getting.

I’ll take her over Tuesday so she can see the place; if she says absolutely not, then I guess I’ll back off, but I don’t think she will.

Right now my jaw is real tight, and it’s hard for me to focus on anything else. Even though I think this is the right thing to do, it’s really really really hard accepting that Mom is never going to be who she used to be.

Destination: Studio 119--and the GPS saga

2009-12-18T19:42:00.000-08:00

12-7-2009

Obviously I still don't trust the danged GPS, but I programed in this destination as a test challenge.

Well...it was mostly useless since I generally sort of knew mostly how to get where I was going. I also had Mapquest printed out and the you're-almost-there so look-for-these-landmarks directions from the artist.

So I was on Central Expwy, getting within a couple of miles of the exit I needed, and the darned stupid GPS kept telling me to get in the Left lane. WHY? I had to Exit Right. Get in the Left Lane it insisted. WHYYYY?

OH-h-h-h-h! What to my wondering eyes should appear but something that wasn't on the Mapquest--to wit, the RIGHT Two lanes were exits/ramps to get on LBJ Freeway. I didn't WANT to be on LBJ Freeway. It's the freeway from hell and can get you there quickly, unless it's backed up, and then it's like you've already arrived.

Anyway, I needed to get Left fast. Ha. I got horn blared at for switching three lanes rather quickly, dangerously and--dare I say, STUPIDLY--even though the idiot who blared had to have seen my turn signal but didn't want to slow down and let me in--but I stayed on Central, by golly, and didn't get turned into a cream puff.

The GPS also kept me from turning into a wrong parking lot, because it actually counts down the distance after it tells me to turn in 2.7 miles, or 500 feet, or whatever.

After that, I had no trouble finding the studio. I not only met my Interviewee artist Cynthia, but two of the other three ladies who share the space. And my gosh, it was wonderful. The paintings and colors were so bold and vibrant that every cell in my body seemed to be vibrating with the energy put out by them. I really enjoyed it.

And I didn't need the GPS even once going home. This time I was prepared for the LBJ ramps going the other way and stayed...LEFT!

I KNEW IT!!!

2009-12-01T16:05:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

You can't trust a danged GPS. Stupid damn thing!

Just for fun I decided to use it to get to my mom's today. I KNOW how to get there, OK? Really, I've been driving there for like three years now.

First it took forever for the GPS to locate the satellites--first time it'd been outside, and I guess it got confused. I was already out of my driveway and heading down Beltline before it finally caught up to me. Then it was completely quiet until I got to ...THE V in the ROAD. (spooky sound here.)

Beltline becomes First becomes Broadway becomes Beltline again. (go figure.) At the dreaded V in the road, Left lane keeps you on Broadway and you're in spitting distance of my mom's. Right lane remains First St and wanders off in another direction, probably to change names again somewhere down the road.

The stupid GPS told me to take the RIGHT lane. No!! I wouldn't do it. Then it started telling me to turn left at one street, then it begged me to turn left at the next street, then the grown man with the Brtitish accent started crying. Served him right...no-- LEFT, you dolt.

Is this the end of an era?

2009-11-28T11:41:00.000-08:00

11-28-2009

OK, I know John is giving me a portable Garmin GPS for Christmas. I had Office Depot gift cards, it was on sale there, seemed like a good deal, and since I'm driving a bit further afield than I used to because of Senior Voice interviews and other things, it seemed like maybe a good thing to have one.

So, is this the end of my "I got lost again" stories? ...snort... Not by a long shot. Do you think I'm going to listen to a stupid electronic device when it tells me to turn right when I KNOW I need to turn left? Give me a break.

Oh, I guess I should mention--

2009-11-15T19:39:00.000-08:00

I went to the VA presentation thing last week, to find out about Vet assisted aid for an Assisted living home. Well, Mom already gets veteran's reimbursement on her out of pocket medical expenses, once a year. It turns out she can't get both that and the assisted living assistance. And the med VA is more than the home VA. Asst living is not considered medical.

so...you think the doc who is "pushing" for assisted living will foot the bill?

2009 Poetry Society of Texas Annual Awards Banquet

2009-11-15T14:00:00.000-08:00

PST Annual Awards Banquet, held on Thursday, 11-14-2009

Well, to get right to the point--for a change--I won two first place awards last night. And two was a nice surprise since I’d had it on good authority that’d I’d won only one first. But as it turned out, one contest hadn’t been verified at the time of reporting, and that’s the one that came as a surprise.

First place are the cash prizes and publication in A Book of the Year. I also won 3 second, 3 third, 4 fourth and 16 other placements.

Yes, I wore the same outfit as last year, right down to the shoes. Well, I don’t know if I was wearing the same undies, but close enough. Even if they were the same, they’d been washed at least once between then and now.

The banquet room layout is floor level down the middle--3 or 4 tables of 8; then to the right and left are raised levels with 3 tables of 8--I think. And then also raised was the stage area at the back, just two tables of 8, and then the middle section later holds a small table behind the lectern where the prez or VP sits while the #1 winner reads.

Per the place cards, I was seated next to Jeannette, the Prez of the PST. Told her I’d have to mind my manners…which I didn’t, but I made the effort…no, I didn’t. Jeannette is cool, and she always wears a hat--some of the most extraordinary hats. She apparently has hundreds. And she has a good sense of humor.

Jeannette told me that next year I’d be on the verification committee--meaning they divide up the stacks of poems, make sure line counts are within category limits, the right names have the right rankings, that the winner didn’t win the same category the year before--stuff like that. On one hand that’s a good thing--you get to know right then which, if any, of the categories you’ve won. On the other hand, it takes all the anticipation and excitement out of waiting and hoping to hear your name.

When my name was called the first--and what I thought would be the only-- time--I knew it just before-hand because Catherine, the VP, almost always looked in the direction of prize-winners names. And she looked at me just before she announced. The second time my name was announced was more exciting because I wasn’t expecting it--hoping in spite of “knowing better”--but hope never dies until the final name is called.

One of the bad things about this banquet was having to look at the hind ends of anyone standing at the lectern. All the officers and past prez’s were introduced. Everyone else just stood as their names and credits were announced. When my name was called, I stood, raised my arms and waved them and sang, Woo Hoo! LOL! Got a laugh.

Well, we ate lunch; John left at the first break so he could check on Baxter & Buddy, and he cut the grass before he came back. Knew it would run till 5, and told him he didn’t need to be back until 4-4:30, but he showed up at 3:30 and then was bored, because honestly, the poetry wasn’t nearly as good as it had been last year. Have to admit I was a bit bored by a lot of the poetry, but John still ticked me off! I’ll get to that later.

My name was called for the first time at #62 (working back from 100.) Last year when I got up there, I windshielded my hands back & forth and said IwonIwonIwonIwonIwonIwonIwon!

When I walked up to the lectern, I said, “I was going to be cool this time, but…IwonIwonIwonIwonIwonIwon!” Not as frantically uncontrolled as before, but people still seemed to enjoy it. In fact, one lady came up to me at the end and said I was a Joy! awww!

Most people aren’t exactly blasé about winning, but no one tends to show obvious excitement. What’s worse is so often the person reading his/her own poem either plods through it or races through it or stumbles over their own words--they don’t read with any of the emotion they might be trying to convey in their poem, or don’t look at the audience at all…not everyone, of course, but too many read it that way, which makes for some uninteresting readings.

Anyway, my first winning poem was funny and got laughs & compliments. My second one was about a cat--with hand gestures-- and cat lovers appreciated it. That was in the category sponsored by the National Federation of State Poetry Societies Prez, who is always in attendance, so the Prez chose mine in a blind judging. All the poems are blind-judged.

Well, to get back to John. As soon as it was over, he tried to rush me out of there and I didn’t want to be rushed.

It’s like--he grabbed my totebag full of the Senior Voice with the PST article--but left my purse. Oh, by this time--before the readings started--I had moved my chair and my Starbucks Iced Coffee to the lower lever so I could be in the audience and actually see.

He was already out in the hotel proper when two women approached me with a book for me as Librarian to donate to the PST section of the Texas Room at the Dallas Library. More than one person came up to me to talk--or me to them. There was a line for the November Bulletin--results already printed up--so it saved postage to have those present get their issue.

Someone else was selling books by a long-time PST member; I bought one and got one donated for the library. Talking to others on the way out. And all the time John is in a big fat freaking hurry for no reason at all. Sour note on the ending of the whole thing.

Sweet note though: Before the banquet started, there were old PST BOTY for sale in the little book room off the stage--and I bought some from the 40s & 50s, including the one with my birth year.

It was fun and exciting and disappointing all at the same time.

And THEN, about 9 pm Nan called to find out how the banquet went. I told her, then told her I’d broken her dog. John shouted from his chair, “I didn’t have anything to do with it!” Oh sure, make me take all the blame. *G*

Once she knew Bud was all right, it went as I predicted--where she was trying to insist that it could have happened to anyone, that it had happened even when they’d walked him, and “Oh no you are not going to pay our vet bill,” (I wouldn’t tell her how much it was) but I insisted since it happened on our watch that we were responsible…and we went back and forth until I changed the subject, and every time she tried to go back to it, I changed it again, and she finally “threatened” me and said she’d “get me.” LOL!

She was horrified that Bud had thrown up on our bed and carpet three times--she’s familiar with his volume--and tried to apologize, but that certainly was not her fault.

Bud is doing fine, by the way. He got to walk on the grass out front a little bit this morning. And he’s getting hugged on a lot.

I Broke Buddy…

2009-11-13T16:50:00.000-08:00

Friday, November 13, 2009

Yep, I broke Nan’s dog.
All three of us--Baxter, Buddy and me--went for Bud’s short walk. That’s all he can handle. I’d already pulled a stiletto-burr out of his foot. He was moving slow, but he moves slow anyway. Brought them home, left Bud, and took Baxter out again to walk over to Nan’s to take in the paper & “do” the cats.

Wasn’t till we got home that I saw the blood on the porch concrete…and in the foyer…and on the carpet. Yep, Bud’s left front paw was not only cut, but there was a flap of pad hanging from it. Crud.

Of course I called the vet--didn’t think he could stitch it, but there was concern about infection in his future. Sure, bring him in. Nan & I use the same vet. They know we’re friends, they have permission for me to give permission to treat…or if they don’t, they don’t care. It may only be verbal, but anyway…

Not the easiest thing to haul him over there since I had the truck, and it’s not easy for Buddy to jump into the back, not to mention the pain of jumping OUT and having to land on the front paw…and did I mention that Bud is not smart enough to actually turn around on the back seat, so he can’t get out the same door he gets in on? If he’s facing south, he has to get out south. Well, maybe that’s not fair. It’s a narrow seat and he’s almost 90 lbs., so it’s not easy to turn. On the other hand, Baxter figured out--on his own--how to use a short cord tied around a doorknob in Nan’s laundry room the first time he encountered it--pull the cord and open the door. Buddy’s never figured it out.

Anyway, we get to the vet’s. Now, our vet has signs in both exam rooms. “For your safety blah blah, let our staff handle your pet during treatment.” Which is how Jake made me almost pass out and vomit in the exam room a couple of years ago, and wound up on antibiotics, because I was holding him when he got the shots that scared him that made him bite me instead of a staff member.

So here Dr. C is, holding Bud’s paw--and Bud LOVES Dr C and his staff--trying to snip off the portion of hanging pad flap…and he tells ME to keep Bud’s head turned away from him…so Bud won’t snap it off if he gets mad at the vet for hurting him. Mind you, he asks me to do it instead of having someone he pays to do it do it. Bud was ok until the final snip…and then he grabbed my hand in his mouth.

It’s OK. He didn’t actually bite me; he didn’t even bite that hard. He was warning whoever--he didn’t care--that he wasn’t going to put up with anymore. But Dr C was done. Bud bled all over the floor, lay down, and licked up some blood. Bud the Vampire Dog.

Well, to make a long story longer and backtracking to the house--between checking Buddy’s foot and calling the vet, I had also yelled, as usual, “Who wants to go out?” The call for two cats and assorted numbers of dogs to go into the back yard, hopefully not knocking me down or tromping on my sore bunion in the process. Jake runs with the big dogs. But he also gets put into his harness and attached to a lead because he likes to explore…like going over the fence and disappearing for awhile, which is not good for my nerves.

So, they ran outside--except for Petunia who avoids the stampede--and I went inside to call the vet. In the process of trying to get Buddy out the front door without Baxter joining us, I forgot Jake was outside. No harness. No lead attached.

We were gone for probably 45 minutes. I saw Petunia as soon as we walked in, and if you have animals…you know how you get that “empty house” feeling when one of them is gone? I knew--just KNEW Jake was not inside. And then I had the vague remembrance of him having gone outside.

Crap. Of course, the back yard was empty. But good ol’ Baxter kept looking toward Sandy’s yard next door. I called Jake several times. Nothing. Came inside to get the key to the back gate. Called some more…and just as I was about to unlock the gate to go into the alley, there was Jake. He strolled over to the chainlink fence and started rubbing against it, like, “Hi Mom, about time you came out here to get me. See all these burrs? I’ve been under a shed and just generally having a good time, but I’m tired now. Come and get me.”

And he waited for me to get a chair so I could climb over the fence--because I’m old and I don’t leap tall fences in a single bound--or even three or four.

So, the morning is almost gone by then. I finally get the laundry started, do a bit of exercise, get out the Bissell Little Green carpet shampooer, which has now seen more use in two days than it has in the several months I’ve had it, and start working on the bloody carpet.

I no sooner finish and put it up, then Buddy decides to vomit his breakfast. No warning. Just wham. Breakfast is re-served.

There’s ALWAYS an encore, ya know? So I threw Buddy out. Cleaned up the mess. Figured it was safe to let him in.

Encore! Again, no warning. This second batch wasn’t as lumpy as the first. TMI! Threw him out again. Poor baby. Might have been the amoxicillin from earlier. Might have been HIS nerves were shot-- between the cut, the vacuum, the carpet shampooer…and my yelling when I rammed my elbow into the TV table when I was cleaning the carpet.

Aside from the fact that Bud now can’t go for walks the next few days, the worst part is I have to tell Nan I broke her dog. And not because she’ll be upset with me, but because she’ll feel horrible that I had to deal with it, she’ll apologize to me, and she’ll want to pay for the vet bill, and I won’t let her because it wasn’t her fault that I broke her dog.

Poor Buddy. Poor me. Poor Nan.

Ya know, normally I like Friday the 13th.

A week of docs, pain and puke...

2009-11-12T16:14:00.000-08:00

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Well, really only three days.

Mom had the blood doc on Tues., dermatologist on Weds. (actually I did, too--had a growth on my side frozen off), and her primary today. She’s doing ok, but this blog isn’t about her. It’s about me!

I’ve never had a hot nail driven through my foot, but I think I know now what it would feel like.

I was getting ready to drive over to Nan’s to take in her mail and check on her cats. Baxter, who gets totally excited when he realizes he gets to go anywhere, raced…OVER me…to get to the front door. In doing so, he managed to stomp on or kick-- or Something--the bunion of my right foot.

If you don’t have bunions, you won’t understand how sensitive they can be.
When Baxter hit, it hurt so badly so instantaneously I couldn't even come up with new swear words to use...just kept repeating the same ones when I could actually speak.
I could barely walk afterward.

A few hours later, it still hurt so badly I could barely walk. It’s swollen, stiff and inflamed.

Last night I finally went to sleep lying on my stomach, with the top of my
poor foot pressed against a freezer/gel pad thingy. This morning it’s still
sore, red, and swollen, but at least I can sort of walk on it--which is why I
wasn't smart enough to stay home instead of walking Baxter and Buddy--who has come to stay with us again for ten days.

But before that, as if last night wasn't fun enough, right after John went off to
work, Buddy joined me on the bed. He was licking his chops. I heard his
stomach gurgle. He licked his chops some more. I thought, it sounds like
he's going to throw up.

And no sooner did I think that, then it started to come up. I yelled, he leaped up--sort of--I slapped at his butt. Get off the bed Get off the Bed!!! Move Move!! By that time I was urging him toward the patio door because there was more coming, I could barely walk anyway, and there was Baxter getting in the way, and at the patio door, both dogs were too close to treading on the bad foot. Barely made it before the next gusher came.

Well, suffice it to say, the bedspread is in the washing machine--after having hosed it down outside, and at 5:30 a.m. I was using the Bissell Little Green Machine to shampoo the part of the carpet that caught the overflow from the bedspread. Big dog; big volume. What is really gross is...it looked like mud. Buddy wasn't eating
grass last night; he was eating dirt.

Well, Mom and I are a gimpy pair. Two weeks ago she dropped a large
hardcover book on her bare right foot. Turned the foot black from bruising.
Much better now--doc took a look at it this afternoon. But we both walk
like old women.

Oh yeah--We’re having insulation blown into the attic next week--on our anniversary. I learned about baffles, aka eve-guards. They make sense...most places blow insulation even unto and out the eaves of the house, which does the house no good and only blocks the vent holes on the under-giddy (as opposed to giddy-under). We have perhaps only 10-12R in the attic now...having settled almost flat since 1971. We will have about 40 when it's all blown over...or blown all over.

'bout time having it done, maybe. Are we romantic or what?

MOM, ENT, PST

2009-10-30T17:09:00.000-07:00

Friday, October 30, 2009

Two weeks ago I thought my mom would need assisted living in just about the next twelve hours, that’s how weak she seemed.

But when I saw her Tuesday this week, she was stronger, moving more naturally, more alert, didn’t want to crash early in the afternoon as she’s wanted to do for the last month. Wow. And she’d had only one physical therapy session by then. Partly, I suppose, she’s more fully recovered from her head trauma, but partly maybe it’s because she’s interacted with more people than usual.

She had an appointment with the ENT that afternoon to get her ears reamed out. Well, for about two weeks my left nostril had felt “weird.” It felt dry, clear and stuffed up all at the same time. The night before Mom’s appt., it started to ache. I’d been meaning to call and make an appt. for me, but well...never got around to it.

So, when we checked her in, I asked the receptionist if the doc could work me in. She checked with the nurse--and I’ll be darned. Yes, they could, even though the doc had an appt right after Mom’s. Of course by the time I’d filled out the paperwork and they’d processed it, I think the after-Mom’s appt and everybody in the world had been called in before us.

Still, I’m glad I asked. Turned out I had a sinus infection--both sides of my head, even though the symptoms were only on one side. He put me on augmentin, which turns out to be not such a good thing, because I’m now experiencing one of the …unfortunate…side effects, even though penicillin normally doesn’t bother me, but this is a combo of some kind.

Which in turn means I’m now afraid to leave the house. I’m not kidding. Which in turn means I’m not going to participate in the International Dallas Book Fair tomorrow (reading from my book & hopefully selling a few copies), because in addition to a problem that could cause an international incident…or accident…I probably shouldn’t be around crowds of people in my weakened immune system situation.

Which means Marilyn, who I was going to go with, is opting not to go, which is OK with her because her son and daughter-in-law are in town on a surprise visit, and she would rather spend the time with them anyway.

So that all worked out in the …end.

But going back to the ENT, Mom had been wanting to see an audiologist about a new hearing aid because she didn’t think her one current one was working that well. There was an audiologist on the premises, but we had to wait about 25 minutes for him.

I talked Mom into letting him give her a hearing test. Set her up in that soundproof booth, and he talked to her through his microphone and had his instrument panel telling him whatever it was telling him.

She was supposed to repeat words after him. She missed about 2/3 of the words in one ear, and missed almost 80% in the other. Her hearing really stinks. Only then did it occur to her that maybe it was her hearing that was the problem and not the aid.

It was almost 5 pm by the time we got out of there, so we didn’t stop at the assisted living place for a tour after all. But I figure we can do that next week, along with getting her a haircut.

Prior to that (and here is where it gets exciting--for me anyway, and face it, as long as it’s exciting for me…well, we won’t go there.) Anyway, when we 8 poets had that read-in at the ½ Price store, one of us said he’d spotted a bunch of old copies of the Poetry Society’s Book of the Year.

I never got to shop that day, so I went back Wednesday to see if I could find them--and I did! Fifteen books dating back to 1968. I bought all of them. What is so cool about them is I now know so many of the people who wrote the winning poems. A year ago I didn’t know anybody. The foreword of the 2001 BOTY talks about the rebirth of the local chapter I now belong to.

And a year ago I was in a desperate search for something to wear to the PST Annual Awards Banquet, a first time attendance--and again, I knew no one. This year’s banquet is scheduled for Nov. 14. I got a postcard again saying I’d won at least one first place award, so I’m going again…only this time I know several people…AND I’m wearing the same damned outfit this year that I wore last year, and will wear every year I attend for as long as it lasts because I never want to spend another three weeks finding something decent to wear!

In complaint mode...not a la mode...

2009-10-25T16:40:00.000-07:00

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Well, so far this new home health care place has been a crock of … confusion and crapola. Maybe not quite crapola, but enough so that I called both the original interviewing head nurse and the original head physical therapist because the actual people assigned to Mom can’t seem to get it together.

And that’s partly because the two biggees can’t seem to communicate with their underlings. For ease let’s call them Alice, Betty, Carl, Dotty, because I don’t want a slander suit.

Alice, the head nurse, got all of Mom’s information--including her phone number, my home phone number and my cell phone number. And she got the code to get in the front entry security door. If you want to let mom know you’re heading to her apartment, call her number. Otherwise, if you need to leave a message about something else, call me. Mom doesn’t hear her phone all the time; nor does she check her messages.

Do NOT, I emphasized, set up appointments in the morning--not before say 10:30 or 11:00--because Mom is not “good” in the morning. She also often spends a lot of time in the bathroom in the morning. Also, do not set up appointments on Tuesday, unless it’s the nurse wanting to check her BP, and then it should be late afternoon--like after 4--because we (i.e. Mom and I) are often out for lunch, shopping and/or at doctors.

So… three days later Betty rings the doorbell. She’s the head PT who is to assess Mom’s physical strengths. She had called…my home phone number… and left a message that morning, and when she didn’t hear back, she took a chance and came to the apartment. She called from the front entry because she didn’t have the access code. She also didn’t have Mom’s phone number or my cell number. Alice hadn’t passed them along.

She arrived just as I was getting ready to leave, so I stayed while she took down all the info, including about mornings and Tuesdays, then tested Mom. Mom did pretty well--except the fronts of her thighs are weak, which is where a lot of the walking strength is.

Well, to zip this thing along…Carl, the nurse who is to check Mom’s BP, called me two or three times, and called Mom--who knows how many times--first to set up appointments, then to change them at least three times. He tried to come in the morning. Don’t.

Dotty, the PT who will work Mom, called Mom at home (hooray) and set up an appointment for Tuesday at 10 a.m. (Boo Hiss.) And THAT’S when I called Alice and Betty about the godawful communication and crapola that’s been going on.

Of course I was assured that that is not how they normally handle clients, and they would see that things are straightened out.

So, while I’m in complaint mode, let’s move on to the service company we’ve been using for our air conditioner/furnace twice-yearly tune-ups to keep the warranty in effect.

When the service tech was here six months for the a/c, he set up the furnace appointment on his little electronic gadget. I had it on the calendar. A couple of days before, since I had not gotten a reminder call, I called myself. Well, actually, I called them--and gee, they didn’t have me on the schedule. This happened the time before this, too, so it’s not like I was without experience. The wonder is I remembered.

Anyway, that’s fine--just so I hadn’t been waiting for hours for a tech who wasn’t going to show. New appointment set, arrival between 8-10 a.m.--and he actually showed up about 8:15. Bad back. He couldn’t bend. No tool belt, no tool bag. He turned on the furnace, essentially said, yes, it works, and he was gone in about 15 minutes--after setting up an appointment for the spring furnace check, which will probably not go into their system either.

Not the usual length of a service call. Ahh-hh, but on the receipt it said go here if you want to fill out a How’d We Do? survey. Hot Dog! Boy howdy, do I ever want to take THAT survey.

And I did. The last several techs have been trained to try to sell stuff--like air duct cleaning, insulation, etc. (This unable-to-bend tech didn’t take the time.) The last idiot tech punched a hole in the vent stack to “accurately” test the cold temperature--which I think caused the roof stack to shift and caused a leak when caulking broke away. There is NO consistency in what techs do--not that the same tech ever seems to come out, because when one comes that I do like, he’s not working for the service company six months later.

Two days later I got an e-mail from some manager saying Sorry, we flunked. Please call so we can talk and also set up an appointment so one of our good guys can come out and re-do the service call at no charge (damn straight!)

So I need to do that. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Mom has an ENT appointment this Tuesday afternoon. And I’m thinking that before we go there, we’re going to take a tour of the new nearby assisted living place that I watched being built for over a year. Huge place. I’d thought to swing by this weekend and take the tour myself, then thought… well, if there’s a chance Mom will have to move there, she needs to see it, too.

Which means I need to start asking some questions now. She can’t possibly afford to just live there. She’s a veteran; need to call the vet assistance number. And whoever else might be able to help. I did stop in one morning--with Baxter--and got a packet of information. A “room” is about 450 sq. feet, which I think is about the size of Mom’s apartment. So could be these are more than just rooms as at Mayberry.

Mom and home health care --

2009-10-18T12:44:00.000-07:00

Friday, October 16, 2009

Just a brief follow-up on Mom’s situation.

When we talked with the social worker at the doc’s office on Tuesday, we opted to go with a different home health care agency this time. The one Mom had used a couple-three times before had stopped impressing us. Mom said the last physical therapist who’d worked with her hadn’t really worked with her at all.

So we’re trying the one the social worker thinks highly of. The nurse/interviewer/signer-upper came to Mom’s apartment on Friday. I made it a point to be there.

Just like Pop, Mom didn’t answer all the questions as accurately or completely as she could have--although she answered some better than I did. But I also provided some phone numbers or names that Mom might have been able to provide, but it was faster when I did it.

The main reason for the nurse coming out is to check Mom’s blood pressure. It’s been high the last three times she’s been to the doc’s, and her dose was just upped. The nurse also gave us better info about Mom’s Lantus insulin…and hopefully Mom will start using it the way she’s supposed to be using it…which is like…actually USING it.

She continues to think that as long as her sugar readings are under 250, they’re fine. She’s wrong. But she’s afraid her sugar will drop too much, and she’ll get the sugar shakes and wobbles. She doesn’t “get” that she’s doing herself damage when her readings hit the high 100s.

The physical therapist will be out one day next week to do her own evaluation. Mom has noticed that not only are her legs feeling weak, but instead of stepping forward in a natural walk, she walks like she’s straddling a saddle and waddles forward. That’s just since the big fall when John tried to kill her.

The nurse assured us that the PT will work Mom until she sweats. That will be a neat trick since Mom doesn’t sweat. No sweat glands to speak of. She has Ichthyosis, or fish skin disease. Her skins sheds faster than a fisherman scaling a fish.

Anyway, Mom generally doesn’t like having home health care come in. She says she can’t get anything else done while she’s waiting for someone else to show up. But as I pointed out to her, she’s not doing anything else anyway.

But this time she’s not really resisting, and this time she’s understanding how important the physical therapy is--because of the way she’s walking. And she needs to be stronger if she wants to stay independent--and she does. Meanwhile, she’s starting to walk her halls again, but with her walker this time--my encouragement. Better to have the walker for balance or to sit on when she gets tired than wind up falling.

By the way, the other morning while I was walking Baxter, we stopped at the new Winters Park Assisted Living place. Woman in a wheelchair was parked out front, waiting for the Senior bus. I asked her how she liked it there and how she liked the food. Loved it and good. (The food at WP Nursing home, right around the corner was horrible.)

Baxter and I went in and briefly talked with a woman in the office, and got an information packet. Mom is a veteran (served in the SPARS in WWII), and can get VA assistance with the cost. She’s low income, so we may be able to get her signed up for other assistance, too.

It’s something we definitely need to check out. The reason I’m not steering her toward Mayberry is because it is family-owned; they don’t take Medicare, Medicaid or anything else as far as I know. That is, some long-term care insurance probably pays, but they don’t do the filing.

She doesn’t want to live with us, and just like with Pop, if she can avoid it, that would undoubtedly be best. She’d have to have our bedroom for one thing. And she’d always be here for another thing. And our house is very small for a third thing. And, John and I aren’t THAT old for a fourth thing. And that’s all I have to say.

Nobody knew we were there--

2009-10-18T12:01:00.000-07:00

Sunday, October 17, 2009

Actually, that’s not quite true. Some people knew we were there--but nobody cared.

Thursday, October 15, was World Poetry Day. Members of the Poetry Society of Texas were encouraged to do something to celebrate the day. So…one of us suggested maybe several of us could hold a poetry reading at some place like Barnes & Noble or Half-Price Books.

Oh, I said, I know the manager of the one half-price store. Maybe she could put us in touch with the manager of the big store on NW Hwy; they have a Community Room we could probably use.

Good idea. uh-huh. And so the deed was done. Contact made; room reserved. Eight of us planned to be there between 11-2, or later if we had a lot of activity…after all, the flyers were posted; notices sent to NeighborsGo on-line and the Writers Guild. One lady contacted some radio stations and a Morning News columnist. The event was free, open to the public, and the public could bring their own or other poems and read, too. Who could resist that?

Everyone.

Thursday, mid-afternoon wasn’t exactly the best day to do this, but some of us had other plans for the week-end. We met in the Community Room, moved chairs around, ran off some people who were working or visiting in there, even though we tried to hogtie them and make them stay.

One lady’s adult son attended, but he disappeared when we stopped for lunch. And another lady brought a friend, and they both had to leave at lunch.

The store made two or three announcements about us over the loudspeakers. They also occasionally drowned us out with their other announcements.

We took turns reading our poems…although my first time up on the stage platform, I recited/performed a long poem titled Renascence by Edna St. Vincent Millay. It’s a poem I memorized over 40 years ago, and repeat to myself every once in awhile to be sure I don’t forget it, and have spoken it to others only twice before. Of COURSE I was a hit. If you go to the Flickr link and look at the snapshots of the audience, you can see I held their rapt attention. snort.

Then we broke for lunch. Had another round of readings. And then broke and ran at 2 pm.

All I can say is, WE enjoyed it, even if no one else did. And we enjoyed each other’s company. And I got a poem out of it:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/barbswired/

WORLD POETRY DAY, 2009

by Barbara Blanks

At Half-Price Books not one soul cared
that PST reps came to share
their poetry on Thursday,
the 15th of October.

The general public has a dread
of poetry in general.
They passed the room where poets read,
ignoring them completely.

With words and laughter--warp and weft--
eight poets formed a living loom
of woven friendships in that room,
rapt in the gift of poems.

copyright protected.

Mom's fun birthday --

2009-10-14T19:57:00.001-07:00

Weds., October 14, 2009

Mom fell right after she got out of bed Tuesday morning--apparently half-turned, and lost her balance. Hit the corner of her nightstand with her left cheek.

When I arrived later, she said she thought she’d been bleeding from her left ear, but that’s just full of wax according to her doctor, but Mom had cut the skin near her ear.

Because she thinks she’s sleeping more than usual, because she’s feeling weaker than usual, and maybe because her blood pressure is higher than usual, her regular primary doc, Dr V, sent her over to Baylor Garland for (another) CT scan. Talk about…whatever though…Dr V was looking at Dr M’s notes from last week and said he said Mom had refused a CT scan then. Well, NO, she didn’t. The doc had decided she didn’t need one. Mom Did refuse physical therapy.

Anyway, we had the follow-up this morning for the results. Her head (no bleeding inside skull) and cheek are intact. However, Dr V brought up--again--the possibility of assisted living for her, which Mom can’t afford, nor can we afford to assist; she doesn’t want live-in help; she doesn’t want to live with us…does any of this sound familiar?

I am going to investigate the Veteran’s benefits for that--Mom is a veteran--and it could be they’ll contribute enough to make it possible, although the social worker said it has to come out of pocket for about the first four months before payments catch up.

Well, Dr V not only brought up physical therapy again, also a nurse to come in and check Mom’s BP. So I pretty much insisted Mom accept that. She doesn’t want people coming to her apartment 3-4 times a week either, but as I told her after Dr V left the room, it’s not like she’s doing anything that visitors will interrupt--except wake her up.

I keep reminding her that if she doesn’t take control of her life and get stronger physically, she’s going to wind up losing control of her life. Her mind is still pretty sharp--slower but sharper than I am sometimes--but if her body betrays her because she won’t make the effort to keep it strong, then she’s not going to have any choice. Right now she has a choice; she does not like not having control of her life.

Dr V, I think, is somewhat of an alarmist. She kept saying Mom needed to be watched--like in assisted living--because she’s falling too much. Yeah, well, like she couldn’t fall in assisted living…Pop certainly did. Well, Mom fell once because she was sick. The fall in the parking lot wasn’t her fault, and this last fall is the result of the parking lot fall. (Oh, by the way, I took her spare pillow and used twine to tie it to her night stand, so the pillow cushions the corner.)

Mom hasn’t been walking her hallways as she had been because of soreness from the fall, but she’s starting again. She still fixes her own meals, mops, cleans…sort of, pays her bills. She’s still totally independent--but her legs aren’t very strong.

Oh, the other thing…this is a little rough/scary. But on the other hand, Mom has had weird blood problems most of her life. She gets shots for chronic anemia and low platelet count. But a bone marrow test she had done several years ago showed the marrow was fine, so they never figured out why her RBCs disappeared.
Anyway, her white blood cell count is gradually but steadily rising. Again, don’t know why. Her blood doc suggested a bone marrow test the last time we saw him and she said No. So we don’t know why it’s rising. She doesn’t have an infection, no fever--nothing obvious…so Dr V started using the leukemia word--like Mom was developing leukemia.

Ya know, it’s a good thing Mom can’t half understand the doc because I think it’s way too early to even raise that possibility, especially with mom’s history. And maybe I’m being head-in-the-sand, but why is that doctor borrowing trouble? She’s into gloom, despair and misery.

Mom wants to and needs to stay as independent as possible for as long as possible. If she went into assisted living, she’d be doing less than she does now, because other people would be doing for her.

So it’s a tough situation. She turned 87 yesterday--and spent her b’day at the doc, in the hospital for the CT scan, here at the house with soup for lunch, and then at the foot doc, getting a “pedicure.” The time’s likely coming where something will have to be done, but not now, not yet.

Whack jobs and wheelies

2009-10-11T16:15:00.000-07:00

Sunday, October 11, 2009

How in the world did I get so busy? The calendar is one mess of penned in “dates.”

But aside from two poetry meetings one day, spending about five hours with a friend, spending another four hours at a revived poetry critique group (which I was reluctant to attend because I really try to keep my Fridays free--ha, yeah, free for laundry, cleaning and exercising), but I’m SO glad I went and will continue to attend (it’s only one Friday a month; I guess I can handle that) because it’s exactly the kind of group I’ve wanted to be in. It was fun, helpful, companionable--and educational, but that’s another story.

Anyway, Mom had an appointment with her eye doc on Weds., a follow-up on checking her glaucoma pressure since she had the laser surgery opening up the drainage holes in her eyes. (Pressure is super good.) Now remember, John tried to kill her a couple of weeks previously. She fell and really whacked her head a good one.

So, when I first picked her up, I asked her again how she was feeling.
She said OK.
You don’t have a headache?
No
Having any double vision?
No
Any nausea?
No
You’re not knocked up?

Silence.
And then she gave me such a flabbergasted, disbelieving look, it totally cracked me up.
Knocked down, she said finally, but not knocked up.

Well, she did eventually tell me she’d been feeling weaker than usual, and occasionally light-headed. Have you been exercising? No.

She, at 86, almost 87, gets weak fast if she doesn’t get out and walk her hallways, but even so, I immediately called her doc’s office. Couldn’t get in to see her, but got an appt with a different doctor for the afternoon.

Now, you also need to know that John had gotten two ticket for free entry into our State Fair, an event I don’t care if I ever go to again because it’s essentially the same thing every year, we rarely see any shows because John only cares about seeing the dog show, and half the time the good shows are on days we’re not there, or if we are, we miss the show time or the show is clear on the other side of Fair Park, and the times we’ve made the effort to walk all the way across the grounds in spite of my poor aching feet, the show has been cancelled for some reason. No one will go on Midway rides with me, which cost too much anyway, and what isn’t trying to pass for entertainment, is plain and simple hawking of products.

In addition to that, you need to know that about three weeks ago I broke my right butt…by sitting on it for too long apparently. I’d been working at my computer one Sat., and when I finally thought to stand up, the nerve in my right butt--juncture of butt and thigh, hurt. It continues to hurt. Makes it hard to walk forward; makes it painful to walk the dog. I've been told I should rest my leg, which means I have to sit, which is how the problem started in the first place! So I'm caught in the...crack...between sitting and standing.

I’ve been telling John we’d probably have to use my mom’s wheelchair to cart me around the fair--like hint hint, I shouldn’t go because I was crippled. Yeah, try hinting anything to a man.

So…. Back to Mom. We were waiting for the medical doctor to come in to check her out. And just to harass her, I said, “Gee, maybe he’ll put in the hospital, and I won’t have to go to the state fair tomorrow.”

And she gave me such a dirty, exasperated look, it cracked me up again. I love it.

Well, the doctor didn’t see any signs that she should have a CT scan of her head, at least not yet. Her huge lump is going down; she has a huge bruise on HER butt, which is why she’s sore, but she agreed she needed to start walking again.

The next day John and I did go to the fair, and I did start out in the wheelchair, but within about 30 minutes, my right hip became so painful from the chair, I had to get up and walk. The chair did come in handy for carting all the crap we bought and didn’t need, thanks to a damn free ticket. Not to mention the clogged arteries I got from eating fried butter, fried cheesecake, and fried latte/cappuccino. You'd think the extra fat I have on my deep-fried butt would have cushioned enough to prevent this problem in the first place.

Funny the perspective you get from a wheelchair though. I had no idea being pushed in one felt so wobbly--it’s not a smooth ride. You have to protect your face from careless elbows and knapsacks and purses. And if you have a crazy husband for a driver, you have to put skid marks on your shoes trying to stop him from ankle-breaking people in front of you because he forgets the footrests extend ahead of the rest of the chair. Some people tend to be nice to you; others pretend you’re invisible.

We got double-takes several times because we were missing the person in the wheelchair. Where in the world did we lose her? We lost her before we ever got to the fair.

Hubby tries to kill Mom

2009-09-27T12:00:00.000-07:00

Friday, 9-25-2009

OK, here’s the story of how John tried to kill my mom.

Mom is unsteady on her feet--partly due to age, a lot probably due to neuropathy in her feet, which is the result of diabetes. She staggers a lot, but gets around pretty well using a cane or a walker.

In case you didn’t know, my brother Jon (bro Jon), who lives in Florida, was here for a 2-1/2 day visit. He’s not quite the 6’3” brick wall he was since he lost a lot of weight during his recent chemo, but still massive--not that that has anything to do with anything; just thought I'd mention it.

Anyway, I suggested we eat at IHOP--getting there early enough for the Buy one Get one free Senior Special (meaning two of us four would eat free) and then we could go on to the 100th-1/2-Price Books not far up the road. We’d--that is, Mom, bro Jon & I--already been to the Campbell Rd ½- Price store earlier that day--because if there’s one thing this family loves, it’s book stores.

Now, to continue paragraph one. Whenever my mom gets in the car, I don’t just open the car door and walk around to the driver’s side. I always always stay with her until she is safely seated and I close the car door--just in case a foot catches, or in case she doesn’t slide quite far enough onto the seat. Whenever she gets out of the car, I’m either walking around to get the walker out, or if I’ve pulled up in front of--say, a doctor’s office and she’s just going to use her cane, I always wait until she’s completely away from the car--watching just in case there’s a problem. But then I’m used to doing this. I know what she’s like. John’s not around her that much, and it never occurred to me to caution him, and that’s the only excuse I’ll make for the dumb-butt!

So, John’s driving. Mom’s in the front seat with him. He pulls up in front of ½-Price. I ask him to pull up a little further so Mom can push her walker up the ramp. He does. He unlatches the trunk with the floor lever. Bro Jon gets out and he’s pulling the walker from the trunk. I’m out, have helped Mom out of the car, and am starting to move toward bro Jon to bring the walker to Mom.

Mom closes her car door, and instead of waiting, moves along side the car toward bro Jon and me--and is steadying herself with her right hand against the side of the car.

And John--well, he doesn’t floor it, but it seems like he floored it, pulling away to go park. As soon as the car started to move, I could see Mom start to lose her balance--and there was no way on God’s green earth I could get to her to stop the “slow motion” of her falling.

She took several steps backward and then went down--landed on her back, feet rocked up in the air, making her roll up onto her shoulders--and she smacked her head HARD against the concrete.

It’s kind of foggy then--after a minute or so, she managed to sit up with some help, got onto her knees, and when she was ready, all three of us got her to her feet. I’m not sure if John heard me yell or what, but he’d stopped the car and had gotten out. Of course he felt horrible--all he’d paid attention to was the door closing and the trunk lid closing.

Mom already had a lump on her head, but wasn’t bleeding. I wanted to put her in the car and take her home or to the ER, but she insisted she wanted to go into the book store. She refused to cut the trip short, and was already rolling toward the door.

Well, I hovered for awhile, then went to find John, who was kicking himself, so I kicked him, too--just to make him feel better--then wandered around the store, trying to unobtrusively check on mom every couple of minutes. Real subtle.

When we got back to the house, she wanted to play dominoes, so we did. I checked her head and the lump was even bigger. Got out the ice bag and stood there holding in on the swelling because she wouldn’t. Hard-headed old woman. I’d try to get her to follow my index finger with her eyes, and she’d give me a dirty look. *grin* The only concession she made was to ask for a Tylenol or something for her headache.

She’s a little sore, but I’ve called her every day, and she says she’s fine. Still I told her if she had any weird symptoms to call 9-1-1. I know head trauma problems can show up days or weeks beyond the actual injury, so it’s still of some concern.

It wasn’t easy going to sleep that night, because I kept having these sudden images of the car actually driving over Mom after she fell. It could have happened just that easily--but fortunately, of course, it didn’t.

John went to church the next night, as he is prone to do, and after the service, he discovered the truck battery was dead. Ha. God was punishing him. Well, actually, He must have been zapping both of us, because even though John called our roadside assistance, it was going to take over an hour for the tow truck to get there. Meanwhile, John was pretty sure it was just the battery. And gee, maybe I could go to Walmart, buy a new battery, and drive all the way to hell & gone where his church is, and he could put it in even before the tow got there.

Then he changed his mind, which meant he still wanted me to buy the battery, but meet him at the Auto Shop, which is not nearly as far a drive, but it’s near an on-off ramp of George Bush Freeway, which is its own version of hell, especially on a Friday evening as it’s turning twilight, which is a dangerous time of night because of all the idiot’s driving without their lights on because THEY can see just fine, but never give a thought to how visible they are to other drivers.

I had been gone every day this last week. We haven’t even gotten into the events of Weds. yet, much less the events of Saturday morning when I made a long drive out to a strange place, and didn’t get lost then, but got slightly turned around coming back, but after the long two days of visiting with my brother, and everything else, I was beyond tired by Saturday evening, and the laundry still wasn’t done--and the ironing is still waiting for me.

Going to Walmart was not only not high on my priority list, but it wasn’t even within shouting distance of any list I cared to make. Be that as it may, I drove to Walmart, bought the battery, and managed to find my way to the Auto Shop. John called on the cell; tow still not there. I had planned to just stay in the car for who knows how long, but by then it was full dark. Since I’d been listening to a Harry Potter audio book, I had visions of dementors creeping up on me, so when I saw the lights of Waffle House across the street, it beckoned me.

So that’s where I waited, drinking coffee, until John finally called to say the truck was loaded and they were on their way. I was actually nice enough to buy John a piece of pecan pie before I left.

Apparently it really was a dead battery. Truck started when he put in the new one. (Thank goodness it died on him and not me, because I’d been driving it with Mom and bro Jon in tow Friday morning.)

We drove home. And so now it’s Sunday afternoon. At some point this morning, unbeknownst to me, the clod ate the whole big slice of pecan pie and didn’t even ask me if I wanted a bite.

Where’s a dementor when you want one?

Oh! How could I forget! Guideposts Magazine

2009-09-21T15:22:00.000-07:00

9-21-09
I got an e-mail the other day from Guideposts Magazine. They want to publish a short true piece I sent them--over 2-1/2 YEARS ago. YEARS. Like in April, 2007.

They want to publish it at their on-line site, under His Mysterious Ways. They didn't say anything about when (I hope not another 2-1/2 YEARS), or about paying me, although when I sent it, I thought they did. So we'll see.

Flu shots, Wimps and WBC

2009-09-21T15:10:00.000-07:00

Monday 9-21-09

Oh man, I'm such a wimp. I just raised my right arm (apparently for no particular reason)--and it hurt. Why, I wondered briefly--before remembering I got a flu shot this a.m. Not the Swine flu shot, since I'm already a pig, but the regular one.

The five inch needle didn’t hurt going into my arm muscle, but injecting what must have been a cup of vaccine did. It’s nice having bulging muscles, but this bulges in only one place.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, about a month ago--just to catch you up: Took Mom back to Dr V’s on Monday, August 31, for a follow up on her CT scan of her head (brain intact, no bleeding from her fall), and surprise--her bone density scan shows she has only mild osteopenia, not full-blown osteoporosis. Probably partly because she toted a lot of weight around for a long time--stressing the bones so they retained calcium.
Her lungs, however, sounded congested, because No she hadn’t been using that little plastic tubular breathing apparatus. So I got on her case--that she was going to develop pneumonia if she didn’t start using it--at least for as long as her two ribs were mending.

Then on Thursday, Sept. 3, she had laser surgery in her right eye--opened all the little drainage holes around the eye’s circumference to help keep glaucoma pressure down. She had the left eye done a month earlier. Doc mentioned it because Mom hadn’t been taking two of her glaucoma drops twice a day as she was supposed to, but only once a day…because she would forget…which is why she’s now half-blind. She’s not dumb; she’s not senile; she just doesn’t take some things seriously enough!

Anyway, the doc wanted to check her pressure an hour after the laser treatment, so she opted to lie on a padded bench in the lobby/atrium and take a nap. I dashed over to the library. Yeah, I went back for her…

So the next day we went back to Dr V. again. Apparently my chastising was listened to and she actually had been using the breathing apparatus, because her lungs were no longer congested.

BUT, it seems her white blood cell counts is elevated for no reason that Dr. V can see. Mom doesn’t have a UTI, no congestion, no pneumonia, no fever, no puking--yet the WBC count has been climbing steadily for a few months.

Dr V consulted with Dr C, who is Mom’s anemia doctor, but he doesn’t see any reason for her to some in sooner than her next scheduled blood lab, because they’ve already drained most of her blood these last couple of months, and what’s a doc supposed to do with more blood?

What DO they do with all the blood they draw. hmmm, Is that why there are so many vampire books and shows now?

Senior Voice, Senior Mom, Senior Brother

2009-09-21T15:07:00.000-07:00

Sunday, September 20, 2009

I’ll be darned. The publisher of the Senior Voice sent me a note, asking if I was up for a cup of coffee. Well, I’m always up for a cup of coffee, but why would she want to meet me? Maybe my scintillating personality? *grin*

She, of course, had read the piece about me and my book, which she had published back in May/June. She said I sounded like someone she’d like to meet…oh, little did she know!

Carol’s WAY more interesting than I am. We met at a Starbucks, and wound up talking non-stop for about two hours. Surprised me because normally I find it hard to say two words in a row--out loud; don’t put me at a keyboard.

Well, Carol asked me to do a short piece about the Poetry Society of Texas--some of its history. She said she “couldn’t pay much,” and I didn’t ask how much was not much, but since I’m part of the PST, I said Sure.

Which I’ve done and sent, and she must have liked it because she asked me to do an article about a doctor/life coach in Irving.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my brother is flying in on Weds afternoon--having recovered mostly from his last round of chemo. He’ll be leaving Sat. morning, so we’ll essentially have two full, long days to visit. Since it will be late afternoon before he lands, gets his rent car, finds his way out of DFW and to Garland, I figure if he doesn’t collapse when he reaches his motel (his choice), he and Mom can have Weds. evening to talk. Thursday’s soon enough for me.

But I’ll be seeing Mom tomorrow--groceries, lunch, trying to figure out why her Juno e-mail still can’t connect and hasn’t since the big storm a month ago. But her Phone works, so the phone jack works (yes, she’s still on dial-up), so why can’t she connect?

Sunday Morning Coming UP

2009-09-18T16:21:00.000-07:00

08/30/2009

Well, for us, it's been Sunday Morning coming up. For Petunia anyway. Poor little girl has yakked up 4 times, some of it grass, but mostly not.

Pretty sure it's the amoxicillin she's been getting for the bladder infection. Used to make Charlie sick, and I've gotten the heaves taking it. Anyway, I have to wonder if the substitute vet knew what he was talking about. He started out saying give her 2 a day, then he changed it to 3/day because she's so fat.

She got only two yesterday because I suspected it might be a problem, and then after one this a.m. and four upchucks....well, no more. She at least finally seems to feel better and is back on the bed again.

Oh yeah, she threw up on one of my socks last night.
Fortunately I wasn't wearing them at the time.

Today, I have become a Domain Name

2009-08-28T15:59:00.000-07:00

well, it won't be official for about 72 hours, but it's paid for now.

www.barbara-blanks.com

Had to put the dash in because some other woman had the nerve to have MY name and have a domain already set up.

I thought about having StFlossie or akaStFlossie as the name, but it's really only rubberstampers who know me by that name, and since I am now a famous poet and writer--snort--I guess I should use my given name.

The continuing saga of Mom vs. the ER--

2009-08-22T15:44:00.000-07:00

Friday, 8-22-09

So, the ER called me at 6:30 yesterday morning to tell me they had my mom stabilized and were getting ready to discharge her. They were going to send her home by ambulance, but she told them to call me instead.

ummm, hello? Why is she in the ER?

It seems she had gotten up to pee around 1:30 a.m., and as she was going back to bed, she felt sick to her stomach and started throwing up. I'm not exactly sure when she fell, but she said she rolled off the bed and hit her nightstand.

She couldn't stand up, so she crawled into the living room, dialed 9-1-1, then started feeling sick again, grabbed for a wastebasket--got most of 2 points for getting most of it in there, but in the process, pulled the phone off her desk, and pulled out the cord, thus disconnecting the phone.

Well, a short while later her doorbell started ringing, and the paramedics pounded on the door. She said she crawled over to the door to unlock it and let them in. At least, she thinks she did. According to Wanda, the manager, who was called at 2:30 a.m. because it turns out the apartment phones are tied into the Emergency Cords in every apartment, which connect to an agency that calls the apt. phone, and if no one answers, they call 9-1-1, but if you do answer, you can either say it was a mistake, or yes, call 9-1-1 for me--and because of that connection, they also call the manager for some reason, which, in this case, was because the paramedics said they couldn't get in because they didn't have a key, to which Wanda responded, you dolts, there are 3 keys in the firemen's box in the front door foyer which is accessible only to you guys in case of emergencies so you don't have to crowbar a door open and cause $1500 in damages.

Be that as it may, they got in without wrecking the door, and took Mom to the ER. After all the bloodwork and chest x-ray, they determined she was dehydrated. Well, she's been sleeping way too much, so probably she hasn't been drinking enough.

However, when I got to the ER, the first thing I asked the nurse was had they'd checked for a UTI (urinary tract infection), since the last time Mom had vomited, she had an UTI that went sepsis and almost killed her. No, they hadn't checked that. They took a sterile sample from her (catheter); had to wait an hour for results. No UTI. Well, that's good.

Second thing I did was ask why they hadn’t called me sooner. Because they were stabilizing her and she wasn’t in any imminent danger. When Mom & I were alone, I said I wondered if they would have called me if she’d been at Death’s Door.

“What could you have done if I was?” she asked.
“I could have said Bye! Have a nice trip.” She laughed.

While we waited, Mom took a nap, then had to pee. As the nurse helped her off the gurney, Mom yelled and grabbed at her right ribs. They hurt, so of course the nurse pressed hard in that area, and Mom yelled again. It's probably just bruised, they said. Swell, I said, but shouldn't you x-ray the area since she hit the table and the floor and she's 86.

She had an x-ray when she got here they said. Sure, I allowed, but that was the chest--would it show that rib area? No. They hauled her off for more x-rays. Doc came in and said nothing was broken. Remember that.

So they finally discharged her; doc wrote out a prescription for a dissolves-under-the tongue anti-nausea pill in case she felt sick again.

We went to my house first so I could get my little Bissell Green carpet cleaner, and to get Baxter to take him to Nan's since I didn't know how long he'd be alone, and he hadn't had his morning walk. Took Mom home, went to Walmart to fill the prescription, and after waiting 30 minutes, someone finally told me her RX insurance wouldn't pay for it unless the drug was "preauthorized" by her regular doctor--apparently they don't trust ER doctors--who would have to contact the insurance company, who then might or might not pay for it since it wasn't on their "formulary." Or I could pay $48 for 12 pills. I opted not to; it wasn't life or death & Mom said she felt fine, and she wouldn't have paid it either.

I went back to her place. Called the doc's office; tried to talk with someone about the prescription, but of course couldn't get anyone. But I also made a follow-up appointment for Friday (today), because the ER always wants you to follow-up. The only appt open was some godawful early hour, but I took it. When I told Mom about it later (she was asleep), she said she didn't want to get up that early, so I called back, fortuitously as it were, because they'd had a cancellation and we got a 1:30 instead.

But while Mom slept--and she slept through it all--I used the carpet cleaner, vacuumed, washed her dishes and whatever else. When she got up, she was hungry, so I fixed her some soup. Eventually she threw me out (but at least she didn’t throw up) and I went home, after getting Baxter. That was around 3 pm.

Last night we had some horrific thunderstorms, crack crash flash boom. Woke me up a couple of times. Once I got up and looked out the kitchen window--the air looked red. Had never seen such weird storm color before. Wondered briefly if it spelled Doom, then went back to bed and to sleep. Doom or not, I was tired.

So…..around 6 a.m. the phone rang. I thought, oh crap, Mom's back in the ER.
No, it was actually good neighbor Sandy, who had to leave for work (she's becoming an RN--good for her!), and Jenny the beagle is terrified of storms, and Sandy just couldn't bear to leave her alone and so scared (I don't know where the husband & son were then). She kept debating whether she should call us that early, but finally did. Of course bring Jenny over. Happy doggy.

Rest of the morning doesn’t matter. I picked up Mom for her 1:30 with Dr V. Almost the first thing she said, after she got the paperwork from the ER, was Oh, you fractured two ribs. WHAT? They told us nothing was broken. No, it’s right here--the 5th & 6th ribs (well, maybe they’re the 8th & 9th; I don’t remember. I was pretty tired by the time the next six hours were over with.)

Stupid ER doctor. I don’t know if he was looking at the first x-ray or the second. Either way, he’s an idiot. That’s my opinion & I’m sticking to it.

We moved on. A bit of blood in the urine, but no bacteria, so no UTI. However, Dr V wanted to do a blood panel to check for infection--some of the numbers from yesterday were a bit elevated but that could have been from the vomiting. And to run a thyroid panel, because, I told her, one of my concerns was that Mom has been sleeping all the time--sleeping more than even her age warrants. Eats breakfast, goes to sleep, eats lunch, goes to sleep, eats supper, goes to sleep, wakes up for a snack and goes to bed for the night and sleeps.

When she fell back in May, she hit her head. Someone had mentioned to me that head trauma patients often sleep a lot. I know from my concussion a few years ago that problems don’t always show up immediately. So, could we do a cat scan of Mom’s head to see if anything was there?

Sure, but Dr V also wanted to do a bone density scan to see if mom had osteoporosis--because of the broken ribs. Mom has never had that done before. The machine is right there at the doctors’ offices. I got to watch the monitor as the thingy scanned--and even to my untrained eye, as her spine appeared, zigzagging back and forth instead of being straight up & down--I could tell something wasn’t normal.

The tech pointed to a couple of places and said the cartilage is gone--she has bone resting on bone in several places. Hell, no wonder she slumps and her back gets so sore sometimes. Couldn’t tell if her spine and hips were essentially hollow, and the tech couldn’t comment about that, but we’ll find out next week.

Pam, the special appointment setter, actually managed to get Mom scheduled for an immediate “add-on” CT scan, which happens at Baylor Garland hospital, which is just a block over from the Senior Health Center. As soon as the tech got her blood samples for the other work, we drove over there and got her processed in.

While she was being scanned, Portia, Dr V’s nurse, called and told me Mom did, in fact, have an infection, but Dr V wasn’t sure what the source was--still not a UTI. Might be the beginning of pneumonia from the broken ribs, but then again maybe the infection is what caused the vomiting in the first place. Whatever, she said she’d call in a prescription for antibiotics.

By the time they were done scanning Mom’s head, it was after 4. We were hungry. Trust me, there are not very many sit-down eating places around here. The one good one we found recently had closed down before we could go back a second time. Mom opted for DQ--she likes the steak finger basket. I got the strawberry cheesecake -something--whatever they call that ice cream thing. Just sounded good.

Took Mom home, then went on to Walmart. Of course the script wasn’t ready, so had to hang around about 30 minutes, but at least the insurance didn’t quibble about paying this time.

Took the drugs to Mom, made sure she was OK, and finally headed on home around 6 pm--where I still had 4 loads of laundry waiting for me. OH joy. John had fixed his own supper. Yea for him.

However, if you want to move on to Saturday, which it now is, Petunia saw the vet this a.m. for a ….are you ready? UTI. She normally puts out a huge volume 3-4 times a day. Last night I noticed--or rather, I suspected she was doing dribbles more often, and that suspicion was confirmed this morning.

She cried all the way over to the vet’s. Didn’t say a word on the way home. And if you’ve ever tried to wrangle with an octopus with teeth and claws, trying to get a pill down its throat--not once but 5 or 6 times for just one pill because the little bitch keeps spitting it out, then you’ll know what it’s like to give Toot a pill. And that was just the first one. Oh lord, it’s time for her second.

50 Things about me--one of those dumb questionnaires

2009-08-15T07:43:00.000-07:00

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Not exactly. My middle name Joan though--Jo is Scottish for sweetheart and my mom deliberately used that name for reasons I won't go into.

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? two weeks ago? but not much.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? we're not dating, if that's what you mean.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? broccoli with cheese sauce

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? No goats. Just a dog & two cats.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Depends. Were we formally introduced? Do we even know each other?

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM? to what end?

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes. No one else wants them.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? You mean over the cord lying on the ground? Or is that Laying on the ground. I never can keep that straight.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Oatmeal in cookies

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? kind of have to if I want to keep my feet on,

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? strawberry cheesecake or tinroof sundae

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? are they pointing a weapon at me.

15. RED OR PINK? Red, but not all reds. Pink, but not all pinks.

16. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? my bunions & varicose veins

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? I don't. What's past is past.

18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO COMPLETE THIS LIST? who cares. Now I'm depressed.

19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? black. blue slide-on slippers.

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? silence

22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Orange

23. FAVORITE SMELL? fresh baked bread

24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? Anne

25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? who sent this? Oh--me! Yes, then!

26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? chase the shopping cart or receipt in the parking lot

27. HAIR COLOR? Yes, I do, but not recently.

28. EYE COLOR? hazel with red streaks

29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? no

30. FAVORITE FOOD? chocolate, broccoli with cheese sauce

31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Happy movies with scary endings

32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Lethal Weapon 27?

33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? puke orange

34. SUMMER OR WINTER? spring and fall

35. HUGS OR KISSES? Kisses--Hugs usually have white "chocolate" and that ain't chocolate

36. FAVORITE DESSERT? carrot cake with raisins & nuts and 14 layers and thick real cream cheese frosting.

37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? to what?

38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? to what?

39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? Sold (teen novel in verse based on actual selling of girls into prostitution in Nepal), Misquoting Jesus--an eye-opener, and some lightweight romance trilogy.

40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? a mouse

41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT? Grey's Anatomy--a totally stupid show, but I keep watching it.

42. FAVORITE SOUND(S)? my cats purring

43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Confederate Railroad

44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? awake or asleep?

45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? writing--at least I like to delude myself that way

46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? in a hospital, in a bedpan, which explains my sh--ty outlook on life.

47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK? Wards.

48. HOW DID YOU MEET YOUR SPOUSE/SIGNIFICANT OTHER? at an Air Force community center, through a friend

49. IS THE CUP HALF FULL OR HALF EMPTY? did I spill it? How much do I have to clean up? Did the cat drink from it?

50.IF YOU COULD SIT DOWN TO DINNER WITH FIVE PEOPLE WHO WOULD YOU CHOOSE?
I just ate, thank you.

In the July 31, 2009, NeighborsGo section--

2009-07-31T15:39:00.000-07:00

of the Morning News--on page 12, toward the bottom. They distilled the story I sent to the on-line NeighborsGo, and printed just a few paragraphs about the PST Summer Conference. My name is mentioned as winner of the Critic's Award, along with two others who won first place in other contests.

Surprised to see it since I'd posted the story at least two weeks ago.

I hate trying out new plumbers!!

2009-07-30T10:57:00.000-07:00

Well, the new plumbers just left--*** Plumbing. Damn, We need to find another family affair group. These guys were OK--right on time, got both jobs done in just 1-1/2 hours--but the PRICES! My god, the prices. They couldn't/wouldn't quote over the phone--they have to see what the job is. (at least they forgot to quote me the $49 drive-out fee, so didn't charge me for that.) They have a set price for each job--all of which are outrageously high, especially considering John and I could have changed out the kitchen faucet and the innards of the toilet ourselves--we've done it before.

What they quoted was close to $1,000. Yeah, you read that right. They wanted about $350 just to change the toilet innards. Forget it! I said no, way too much. Since they do want the Boltons' old business, Darrell asked how much I thought was reasonable for each job. I quoted a total of about $400; he called Rick, the boss, they came back with $500, and I accepted that.

Work is guaranteed for 5 years. Even though they checked for leaks before they left, I discovered a small one under the kitchen sink. If John has a wrench, he can probably tighten the connection himself--but he shouldn't have to.

And the toilet doesn't shut off "crisply." It runs slowly before it stops finally. Which is sort of irritating.

But I'll tell you what I really hate--having to accept the sprayer gizmo attachment, even though I don't want one, and in fact, that opening had been sealed off for years, because with the older faucets, you could cap off the sprayer hose attachment and not have to use it. With these new (cheaper to produce) quick-snap things, there aren't any threads to screw a cap to. So I'm forced to have the damn thing.

Progress is not for people like me. Progress doesn't mean something is better. That's my gripe and I'm sticking to it!

Presentation at The Point

2009-07-29T17:03:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

My reading/presentation for The Point (Center for Arts & Education) at CC Young was scheduled for 3:30 this afternoon.

I got there about an hour early. It’d been raining a bit, didn’t know what traffic would be like--plus I HAD to stop at Starbucks for a venti Iced Coffee to fortify myself and wet my whistle with.

Felecia got me set up with the flash drive--pictures of Pop & the ladies, plus some others, including several cards sent to Pop. Showed me how the little microphone thing worked -- a little bud clipped to my collar and the battery pack in my pocket.

Had some of my books out on a small table, plus extra copies of the Senior Voice, business cards, and print-outs of Lulu publishing information to hand out.

Quarter after three I ran to the restroom. The auditorium can hold probably 100 people. About 3:25 one older woman came in. We talked. Denise, the program director who’d invited me out there--a young woman, came in. We talked.

3:30. No one else there. Yikes! Denise started apologizing--I mean they’d advertised in the paper and on-line, had posters scattered around the center, had me printed up in their July schedule flyer; it was open/free to the public--not just residents. Where was everybody? It had rained earlier and still threatened to, plus it was really humid--maybe that kept people away?

I assured her it was OK--something like this was always an iffy affair--it’s not like I was famous or anything.

Well, eventually about 15 people were in the audience--all of them extremely elderly, all of them moving very slowly, so…

Even though this was a senior community, I--duh--wasn’t really prepared for how old these people were. Several had taken Memoir Writing classes and were interested in POD publishing, which is why I was slated to read from my book and then talk about POD.

I did some rapid recalculation and modified my prepared notes as I went along. Completely dropped the longer chapter I was going to read; so just read the Intro, Chapter 1, and two other short ones.

And I really modified my POD information, because these weren’t people who were going to be interested in trying to sell anything they’d written. One woman seemed to have done some research on her own, because she would nod or smile when I mentioned different things.

One woman to my right--ummm, I couldn’t tell if she was bored to tears, or what. She kept looking off to her left, scowling most of the time…and yet she is the one who asked me if I’d open my book at random and read a couple of paragraphs directly from it. (I had printed my chapters onto sheets for easier reading.) So I did--and flipped open to Pop’s biopsy story. She thanked me afterwards…but I’m just not sure what that was about or what she was trying to find out.

Anyway, the pictures had been set up for an automatic slideshow on a projector screen, and it was running the entire time I spoke. Someone asked about the picture with Pop holding all the boxes of Little Debbie brownies; I explained about the cards they were seeing and the rubberstampers. Someone asked if John had read the book and what he thought. He had laughed and cried like everyone else.

All in all it went pretty well. Apparently several people hadn’t realized there would be books for sale and hadn’t brought any money with them. Denise told me some of them might come to her office later looking to buy a copy, which would be nice--I can always deliver them--but I’m not counting on it.

Sold five books anyway, and that was good. Denise bought two--one for herself and one for the library out there. Now, if you’ve plowed through this story thus far, here’s the really interesting and funny part:

The first woman who came up to buy a book had come with her husband. She asked me to inscribe it to him. His name was James May. You’re kidding! Really? James May? Yes.

Did he used to be a gynecologist in Irving, I asked. Yes, he was.

How absolutely weird. Not only was James May my dad’s name, but (because I have a weird sense of humor & irony) 37 years ago, I went to a gynecologist named James May in Irving. And in fact, I told her--and him because he’d walked up by then--I’d called him about a problem I’d been having, and he told me, “Bring it in; I’ll take a look.”

When I’d told John about it back then, it had cracked up both of us, which is why I remember it so clearly.

So I didn’t have a big crowd (but relieved it wasn’t just one or two people!) and didn’t sell a large number of books, but it was a good experience/good practice, and I did actually enjoy it--and that was the whole Point.

My story has finally been published in Beyond Centauri!

2009-07-24T19:37:00.000-07:00

It's the anniversary issue #25. Young adult, science fiction. I haven't looked at my manuscript for months--hope it doesn't sound too dorky.
Anyway, I don't have my copy yet, but if you're at all interested, you can order it at the address below--you'll have to scroll down quite a bit to get to it. Tyree, the publisher, will be glad to accept your order (accepts Paypal, too.) I don't get anything out of it.

These are NICE full color softcover books, not magazines. I used my initials because two boys are the main characters.

http://www.genremall.com/zinesr.htm#sbeyondcentauri

Missing The Point

2009-07-23T15:28:00.000-07:00

Thursday, 7-23-09

It should have been a straight shot; it should have been a snap finding The Point, a swank retirement community at which I’m going to speak next week. I knew how to get to NW Highway; I knew where the main ½ Price book store was--which I thought came just before The Point--and how to get there. No problem.

Unfortunately I wound up way the hell and gone past where I should have been--all the way to Midway Rd. I’d have wound up in Oklahoma if I’d been going north, but I was going east--oh wait, no, I was driving west, so I guess I could have wound up in--well, not Texas anyway.

Now, it wasn’t entirely my fault. Really. I had gotten it into my head that the ½ Price store was at NW Hwy and Abrams. It’s not. But when I was talking with Denise, the program director at The Point, I remember saying something about it being past ½ Price.

Apparently she must come to work driving east, so HER “go past ½ Price” was the opposite of my east, that is--west. Is that right? I’m completely confused. Anyway, she told me to turn right onto Lawther, which was the next light past Abrams, but that’s IF you’re driving east--and coming from home I’d be driving west.

It’s all beside the point, because I didn’t even start looking for either street until I reached ½ Price, which of course meant I was already past both those streets, which is how I almost wound up in Arizona. Or Florida. Don’t talk to me about compass directions!

I called Denise from the parking lot of the Starbucks next to the ½ Price store. I needed fortification. She said there was a Centennial liquor store at the light at Abrams. OK, I started driving again in the right direction. There’s the Centennial…but the street wasn’t Abrams. Son uv a --

Kept driving--and yahoo. There’s another Centennial AND Abrams Rd. Drove to the next light and turned right--which would actually be Left coming from my home direction, but she originally told me to turn right, which would have gotten me all discombooberated anyway if I hadn’t missed the darn street in the first place.

And there it was. Turned in, found the 3rd building. Found Denise. Saw where I’d be speaking, saw the advertising flyers scattered around, got copies of the leaflet that had the July programs in it--including me.

Couldn’t have been there more than a half hour. But as I turned left out of the parking lot back onto Lawther, I got completely disoriented for a few seconds because I thought I’d turned onto NW Hwy. But of course I hadn’t. But when I did turn onto NW Hwy, I turned left and went back to the ½ Price book store. I deserved a reward--and a free refill on my iced coffee!

IT'S HERE! IT'S HERE! IT'S HERE! IT'S HERE! IT'S HERE!!!!!!!!!!!

2009-07-21T16:43:00.001-07:00

The Fall issue of RubberStampMadness. And my article starts on page 36!!

I haven't yet compared my copy (manuscript) to see if they did any editing at the magazine--my neighbor Bob just brought it over. Of all days for it to be misdelivered. I made him stand there while I ripped off the plastic and showed him my article. *grin* His wife used to stamp; don't think she does much any more.

Woo-hoo!!!!

Poetry IS Performance Art

2009-07-18T07:40:00.000-07:00

Maybe you’ve heard that poetry is Performance Art--which I sort of understood, but never truly experienced it until the Poetry Society of Texas Summer Conference in Fort Worth this last weekend, July 9-11.

Trust me. Poetry IS Performance Art. Poetry isn’t just “read.” It shouldn’t be an in-your-face, force-the-emotion on you performance; it’s mostly not the exaggerated body language, over-the-top performance of a stage show.

But when poetry is read well, you have the facial expressions; the movement of hands that reflect in the angle of the head and position of the body. It’s about making eye contact with the audience and not just keeping your eyes on the words in front of you. And everything physical about the reading reflects the tone of voice and style of poetry--from the sharp snap of some words, the easy, flowing, drifting of other words, the slow drawling of these lines, the rapid fire bullets of those lines. It’s about inflection and pacing--and not stumbling over your lines!

If it’s done well, it all works together to create an experience that elicits a visceral response from the listener.

Dr. Jeffrey DeLotto held a workshop on Dramatic Monologues--a poetry form that generally has a historical person speaking to someone else, not the reader, and as indicated from the name--generally is about a serious subject. In one poem, Jeff used Jim Bowie, dying at the Alamo, talking to his servant/slave. The tired, sad, resigned voice of Jim made the Alamo siege seem recent.

And then Jeff read one about a killer/rapist snarling--raging at his victim. It was absolutely chilling. A woman’s worst nightmare.

Karla Morton was recently announced as the TX Poet Laureate for 2010. She is the most delightful young woman--funny, personable, a recent breast cancer survivor, and probably the most talented poet I’ve ever heard. She was incredible. She read one poem that had to do with hospice (I can’t remember details; my brain was fried by the time the conference ended.) Didn’t think it would bother me, but the poem evoked so much feeling that I wound up in tears. And then she read a poem that had--I think--something to do with not touching--we’re not supposed to touch art. And then she described the thigh of a sculpture that was too beautiful in-and-of itself, and when she used her hand--like she was caressing that muscle--suddenly I was in tears again.

Anyway, I went up to talk to her afterwards--and wound up not being able to talk (tears) and she hugged me. She “convinced” me to try a Marketplace-something and we walked to the bar together. She also bought one of my books later--so I really liked her for that. *grin*

When I first thought to go to the Conference, I also thought…well, I like poetry, but listen to it for 2-1/2 days? Ewww. Sounded boring. But, it wasn’t just reading poetry. There were workshops--One about creating chapbooks; one about poems and art growing out of each other; a couple of different kinds of poetry. There was a “You Be the Judge” contest. Several of us brought poems (no author’s name showing, so it’s a blind judging) that were read by two women, and then the audience voted on their favorite three. Of course I voted for mine, but Loretta Diane Walker’s poem was by far the best one, and she did win first place. I’ve since started reading her chapbook, and several of her poems rival Karla’s for impact.

We had several former TX Poet Laureates or PST Presidents. There were two “late” night poetry readings--anyone could participate, and we just read around the circle that gathered. I didn’t attend the first night; I was so tired I figured I’d go to bed and immediately go to sleep. WRONG. But by the time I thought about getting up and going downstairs, that first reading was probably over. I did go the second night, we all read two poems--including Karla, and she’s just as impressive sitting down as standing; as was Loretta.

And not all the poems were serious by any means. Lynn Lewis, a local chapter prez, read one of the funniest ones I’ve ever heard--made even funnier by her attitude and body language.

The other reason the conference was so much fun was the casual, friendly, supportive, teasing, rowdy attitudes and personalities of most of the attendees. If there were any poetry divas there, I didn’t meet them. Even the clothing was casual--and here I’d been so worried about sticking out like a poor relation.

Saturday, after a couple of presentations, a mini-monthly meeting was held, which is when the monthly contest Critic’s Award winners were announced--and Yea! I won First Place! First time I’ve won in those monthlies. So I had to read my poem--which I had to scan when I saw it because I hadn’t remembered entering it. And I stumbled over a line. It ruins the flow when that happens, darn it!

I also got to announce the titles and authors of the chapbooks that were being donated to the Dallas Public Library--and since other books could be donated, I also announced my own book.

Then I won two door prizes, one at dinner the first night, one at lunch the next day. The first was a box of notecards; the second a big book of the Best of the Best poems of some year-span. I wound up giving that to Allison, the youngest member there (20-year-old college student.) They’d also sold raffle tickets for the Lifetime Members Fund; I’d bought a book of tickets. Won a Texas-shaped wall clock made out of old, weathered fence boards, with a brass plaque on the panhandle area…but I wound up trading it for a Staples Gift card, because I could really use that.

The not-great thing was the food. It wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t good either. But the table decorations (hot air balloon themes that changed each day) and table companions were wonderful. And I had two very attentive men on either side of me that first night, which was fun. It took forever for the dining room staff to serve breakfast (not included in the meal package) the first morning; the second morning they offered a buffet--but they didn’t have it announced either, so I’d walked across the parking lot to the McDonald’s, ate grease, walked back, met Linda--who drove the 4 of us there--walked back with her, was joined by Pat, who was my backseat companion--and just enjoyed the company.

Even though Pat lives way-to-hell and gone away from me, she insisted on driving me home after we got back to Marilyn’s in Dallas (which is where we all met for the drive to Fort Worth.) She must be in her 80s, but is really interesting because she used to work for a TV station and used to be a reporter, and she’d been around a lot of celebrities. She said she and her brother also took flying lessons when she was 13. Cost them $10; their parents never knew--thought they were at church…they’d say they were going, and they did go to the church…and then go out to the airfield. Had to quit when the war started.

Anyway, I really really had a good time. Then to top off everything, the Monday after I got home, I received my very First RubberStampMadness paycheck--woo-hoo! And I sold 3 more books. yea!

PST Summer Conference July 9-11, 2009

2009-07-13T15:18:00.000-07:00

I'm exhausted. Had a wonderful time; who knew poets--especially older poets--could be such a rowdy bunch, but this IS Texas. There was one very young lady, a college student & new member, Allison.

Won two door prizes (gave second one away--to Allison), then won one of the Lifetime Member Fund Drive drawings--and upgraded that prize to one that I could actually use. But not the one I really wanted, but couldn't sucker..I mean talk that prize winner into trading. shucks.

Today I won FIRST Place in the Critic's Award Monthly contest, had to read it in front of the group--and my $25 prize check was here when I got home.

I also was introduced 4 different times as new Director and as new Librarian (it's statewide --and even out of state; that is, if you belong to the PST, I'm your Librarian.)

My first official duty as Director was to upplug the loudspeaker that was blasting out nearby eardrums, including mine.

And my first official duty as Librarian was to announce the new books members had written, in which I will now place official Bookplates before they go to the Texas section of the downtown Dallas Public Library. And it's not just poetry books...which means I got to announce my own book. And people will send me their new books from now on, and I will announce them at the monthly meetings and then bookplate and donate them, too.

I took 12 of my books, donated one, sold 5 and swapped books with one of the ladies.
Came home with 5 of my own books, and 15 others--1 free, 1 a gift, the rest paid for.

I also had a bourbon and coke (a DRINK! Not as good as an Apple-tini but pretty darned good; except for the sticker shock: $5.50)-- BUT it was the new for 2010 Texas Poet Laureate, Karla Morton, who had read some of her poetry that morning, who sort of talked me into it, but not really. Gotta live a little--woo-hoo! Karla made me cry twice; she made me laugh several times; she had me in awe the whole time. I ran into her as we were going to the conference room for dinner last night, and she had her drink in hand; told me how good they were, so we went to the bar and I got one, too. She is the loveliest, most talented young woman--only about 42 and a breast cancer survivor--and if I could have a crush on a woman, I would have a crush on her. Actually I think I do have a crush. Her talent is so enormous and she is so much fun that I absolutely love her.

AND at dinner the first night I was bookended by two very attentive men, Bob, a retired family physician and Sandy ...I don't remember. Both married, but it was fun having so much attention. Sandy was a little fickle and sat at a different table the next night, but Bob stuck around. As did David, who is also a new Director. (And yes, I told John all about it. The old girl --me--has still got it. I'm not sure what I got; I just hope it's not contagious!)

Today, Monday the 13th, I received my FIRST paycheck from RubberStampMadness. My article will be in the Fall issue!

Writers Guild of Texas Author of the Month --June

2009-06-29T16:24:00.000-07:00

Since her sun is now heading for the western horizon, Barbara Blanks says she’s blooming as fast as she can. In less than a year she’s had a book signing, and won two first place awards in the Poetry Society of Texas annual contest, and placed in several categories. As a result of that, she was not only a WGT guest speaker in April, but her winning poems and a book review/article about her were featured in the May/June issue of The Senior Voice. (http://www.theseniorvoice.com/pdffiles/0956SV.pdf) As a result of that, she’s been asked to speak (on July 29) at The Point at CC Young in Dallas.

Some of those events led her to being nominated and elected as a Director on the board of the PST, and--through default, she frankly admits--she is also now Acting Recording Secretary for the local Garland chapter of the PST.

And on the basis of a 500-word humorous filler piece sent to RubberStampMadness, a national stamping magazine she’s been subscribing to for twenty years, Barbara was offered assignment work. Her first article will be in their Fall 2009 issue, and she’s about to begin work on a second assignment.

Barbara's story, "A Bird Too Bizarre," will appear in the July 2009 issue of Beyond Centauri, a Sam's Dot publication. She is also pleased about 35 books sold to the New Jersey Book Agency for re-sale --and puzzled as to how they learned about her book. But she says, “When Serendipity slaps you in the face, start chewing!”

OUT OF THE WRECKAGE: The Pop Stories may be ordered from www.lulu.com/content/3677822, or from Amazon at http://tinyurl.com/nb48dp or on Kindle. OR at her website: www.barbarablanks.books.officelive.com

Who says I never go anywhere--

2009-06-26T18:55:00.000-07:00

Just because the last time I traveled was in 2002 when my sister died.

Well, this time I'm not going as far--only to Fort Worth. 3 days, 2 nights. Hope I don't bring home any bedbugs, nice hotel or not.

The Summer Conference of the Poetry Society of Texas is being held early next month. I wasn't going to attend for a variety of reasons, but when I finally mentioned it to John, the husband, he encouraged me to go. Get out of my comfort zone. It'd be fun. I'd enjoy it. It'd give him 3 days of peace and quiet.

But was it too late to register? E-mailed the woman in charge and she got back to me immediately. Call the hotel! This was the last day to get the reduced group room rate. So I did. Got a bit of a runaround--supposedly the people who handled that had gone home, but finally the front desk clerk got it done, got a confirmation number.

But then I wondered--was it too late to send the registration and Meal Package fee? It WAS past the deadline in the last info I had. I found that woman's phone number, called her, deadline had been extended. So I mailed that check off this morning.

So now I just have to get a ride. And clothes. And a haircut. Shoot. I hate having to do the last two.

Oh, the main reason I decided to go is I felt sort of obligated. As an incoming new director and the new Librarian, and newbies are intro'd --well, so much for a sense of duty. POOP. But I should add that I'm really curious. It's kind of like when I decided to attend the PST Awards Banquet, and the Awards Presentation at the Richardson library, even though I knew I'd have to stand in front of an audience. I'd always wonder what it would have been like. I'm getting excited!

Happy Happy

2009-06-20T14:34:00.000-07:00

Take a look here if so inclined--
http://neighborsgo.com/stories/38203

I also just found out I won a 3rd place ($ & publication) in the National (NFSPS) poetry contest, plus 3 honorable mentions. I'm happy. Last year I got only two citations.

There once was a poet named Barb...

2009-06-07T13:51:00.000-07:00

Catherine asked me to join the Garland chapter of the Poetry Society of Texas about 6 months ago, and I did. But the group is practically non-existent. Meets every other month. I was given a membership list of 14 names, not counting me. The most people at the two meetings I've attended has been 5--counting me. Today I took it upon myself to call almost everyone on the list to see if they were still part of the group and if they knew where the new meeting location was, and that the next meeting was this Sat.--i.e., yesterday.

First person on the list was dead; 3 didn't drive anymore and are too old or ill to attend; one woman didn't "like us;" left one message--no call back; one number was no good. The Secretary couldn't come last time and couldn't be there this time--but she's never had a poem to read anyway. One woman actually had an email address, but didn't say if she'd becoming or not. And one woman, who lives not too far from me and who I picked up and drove last time so she wouldn't have to take the bus, told me as soon as she climbed into the truck that she's mentally ill and went on to tell me everything in the world I didn't want to know about her problems, and then she didn't have a poem to share because she hasn't felt like writing.

Well, yesterday I once again picked up mentally-ill member because I'm not too bright. And then it turned out the Secretary/Treasurer of the group had quit abruptly after 7 years--but she didn't bother to tell me that on the phone, so by default, I'm now Acting Secretary. There were only 4 of us at the meeting--one woman the Prez, one the VP, the other the mental, and me, so... I just posted a note at my Writer's Guild, trolling for new poet members.

And then after I dropped off the nice woman who has problems, I went straight to M's house and was there for about five hours. She's a poet/breast cancer survivor, and has a poetry/help book she's written, and we've been trying for over two weeks to get it uploaded to Lulu. Doesn't matter about the details, but we kept having problems. However, last night I downloaded a program that did exactly what we needed it to do, and I got her book uploaded this afternoon. Finally! Now we just have to get her cover done.

She was kind enough to feed me a BLT, chips, and Milky Way Dark minis, so I was happy anyway.

The End.

Lost in the Bewilder-ness

2009-05-31T15:46:00.000-07:00

May 30, 2009, Saturday

Not really lost. I knew where I wanted to go. Thought I knew how to get there--it was straight forward--and it was. I just didn't go straight-forward far enough.

Driving in the right direction, got to my basic landmark--the Richardson Library, and I was supposed to go another mile or two and there should be the street I wanted, at the light. It wasn't there--lights were; not the street. I went far enough that I thought I must have missed the street somehow, turned around and went back. Still no street.

OK, I thought. I'll call and get more specific directions. That's when I realized I'd forgotten to add M's phone number to my printed directions. Which didn't really matter because right after that I realized I'd left my cell phone at home, hooked up to the charger.

So I got all the way home, dragged out ALL the freaking phone books in the world, only to discover we had phone books for just about every place Except Richardson. So I called 411. Her name wasn't listed--probably under her husband's name, I told the operator, but here's the street address I want.

Operator switched to automated; wrote down the number. Called--answering machine picked up...that was odd. Wasn't M at home waiting for me? Left a message, and headed out again.

About the time I got to the Street-Too-Far again, I called M's number--and once more got the machine. Left another message.

Then I decided, by golly gosh jeepers, I had NOT missed the street once again & kept going...and there it finally was, more like 3-4 miles down the road (although, who knows--my distance estimates stink, almost as much as my directional instincts--or rather, they'd stink if I had any). Hooray! Turned, and zip zap I was at my destination--about an hour late. Apologized profusely.

Did you get my messages? No--what messages? Is this your phone number? No, not even close. That's the Richardson number they gave me. "I live in Dallas." sigh...that explains the answering machine. You'd think whoever got the message would at least call to tell me I'm an idiot.

PRESENTATION TO THE WRITER’S GUILD OF TEXAS

2009-05-21T16:42:00.000-07:00

BARBARA BLANKS aka STFLOSSIE

PRESENTATION TO THE WRITER’S GUILD OF TEXAS

RICHARDSON, TX, April 20, 2009, MEETING

I DON’T HAVE A CLUE--AND I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT MYSTERIES
(POETRY AND P.O.D.)

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us -don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

That was written by Emily Dickinson--and that of course is poetry.

Now, in spite of my introduction--or maybe because of it--who am I really?

I haven’t sold thousands of books, haven’t won hundreds of contests or sold hundreds of poems, I’m not a poet laureate of anything, I haven’t been on Oprah …or Jerry Springer … If I had to support myself on what I’ve made with writing, I couldn’t afford to live under a bridge--but I’m mediocre-ly successful.

I was asked to speak because I won a couple of first-place prizes in the 2008 Poetry Society of Texas annual contest, plus three 2nd places, and 14 other assorted placements. They wouldn’t have even known about that except for Dee Stuart telling Cindy, the Program Director, about my wins. I tried to blame Dee for me being up here, but Dee said it was my own fault for winning.

So now I’m trying to blame Marilyn Stacy, because it’s her fault I joined the PST in the first place. It’s true. The Richardson Library held a poetry contest in 2007. My poem came in 8th out of 8 places--dead last but better to be last than not place at all. Marilyn was the speaker at the awards ceremony--and I was surprised to hear her read poems I could actually understand. I had thought the Society was filled with people writing literary, esoteric and incomprehensible poems. It’s not. But it’s definitely Marilyn’s fault I’m here now.

It has to be Marilyn’s fault. I told Cindy I had no clue why I won first place with those two poems. I told her I had no clue how poems get chosen in contests or for publication. I told her I had no clue about most things to do with writing. She said I could talk about that.
So let this be a lesson to you: No matter how shy you are or how much stage fright you have, or how ignorant you are, if you are even semi-successful at writing, at some point you may have to speak in front of audience. My first time was for the Richardson Library poetry contest. I wasn’t even going to attend, but knew I would always wonder what it would have been like if I didn’t. I convinced myself it would be a good experience for me.

Little did I know. Public speaking also includes talking to people at book signings and trying not to scream after the first couple of times someone asks, “What’s your book about?” I also wound up having to read my two first place poems at the PST banquet last Nov. Why did these two win first? I don’t have a clue. The one poem--“Momma’s Face”--had been rejected by a couple of magazines, it only placed in some other contests, it placed in a different category in the PST 2007, but when I placed it in a different category for 2008--first prize.

The second poem was a kind of a last minute throw-together of assorted bits of notes I’d collected--that’s called the Zen of poetry writing. And for whatever reason, the judge of that contest chose mine over 69 other entries. Why? I have no clue. The poems I thought would win, didn’t even place. So you just never know.

It’s not just the whims of the judges, but of editors, too. A Highlights editor rejected two of my stories--one because she thought the plot was light, and one because she didn’t like the cat character--she must be a dog person--yet both times she said she really enjoyed my humor and writing style. She asked me to send more stories--and promptly rejected every one of them, even while telling me she liked my writing.

But getting down to poetry. Apparently no one has talked about poetry for the Writer’s Guild before. A lot of people don’t know anything about poetry--and I’m one of ‘em, but I’ve never let that stop me from talking about something before. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but way back, when I was young and stupid (now I’m older and not quite so stupid), I got really drunk one night and wound up sitting on top of a console TV and talking to my “audience” for two hours, paused for about 30 seconds to give someone else a chance to talk, then promptly talked for another hour. With a Venti Starbucks Iced Coffee in me, I may perch on this lectern and talk for four hours!

Anyway, a lot of people think poetry is esoteric and literary, the reaction being, “What the hell was that about?” The last thing I am is literary--illiterary would be more like it.

But many many many many years ago, I saw a move called, “To Sir, With Love”--starred Sidney Poitier and …Lulu, I think. In fact, it could even be a different movie I’m thinking of, but the point is, the teacher said the class was going to learn about poetry. Of course there were moans and groans, and then he started quoting the lyrics to a song--“The Sounds of Silence” by Simon & Garfunkel comes to mind. (I didn’t bother checking my facts on the Internet--too much trouble.) And of course the students recognized the lyrics, but hadn’t recognized that the lyrics were poetry.

And that is what I’d like to get across to anyone who has a block against poetry.

Poems are songs not set to music, but if they’re done well, they have their own internal music.

Now for those who want to run screaming from poetry, and for those of you who claim to not understand poetry, I give you--by me:

A really old lady from France
was anxious to have a romance.
She attempted to flirt
when she flipped up her skirt,
but no man would give her a glance.

Yes, even limericks are poetry. Poems don’t have to be serious or gloomy. They can be light-hearted, down and dirty, easy to understand. There don’t have to any sub-meanings, any hidden messages--There’s a story about Robert Frost and a certain flower he used in one of his poems. Literature class discussions rambled on about the symbolism of that flower, why he’d chosen it, all the psychological manifestations and sub-meanings. Finally someone approached Frost and himself and asked him about it. He said he was sitting on his front porch at the time, saw the flower and used it. Nothing subtle, no symbolism.

There is a LOT of bad poetry around. Let me re-phrase that. There is a lot of bad poetry being presented to the public that should be kept private. There is a lot of poetry that gets published that I consider awful--not because I’m a poetry snob, but because it’s poetry that’s full of clichés and awkward phrasing--and doesn’t say anything old in a new way. I say that because there really isn’t anything new to say, but it can sound new with the right words. Here’s an example of an old idea that is NOT made new:

This is only part of a poem I found published somewhere on the Internet:

{{Deleted so I wouldn’t infringe on copyright}}

Maybe the emotions in the poem are sincere, but the poem itself is awful. And not to pick on someone else’s bad writing, here’s part of one of mine that I thought was wonderful when I first wrote it several years ago, but makes me want to gag now:

When he was young, he lost his dad;
His mother raised him up.
He had no time to be a child
Before he was a man.
He lost his mother; lost his heart--
Got married, had a son;
He left his farm to feed them,
So lost his way of life.

Why are they bad poems? Bad rhythm, trite rhymes to go with trite words, awkward phrasing, because I say so…

What makes a good poem? I don’t know. Poems are personal--if you get something out of it, if you like it, if it has meaning for you, then in that limited format, it IS good--but only for you. It doesn’t make it a good poem. For me it’s one that makes me laugh, or get teary over, or makes me go “Huh, interesting” or makes me want to re-read it, that makes me think, pause, react in some way besides Yuck--and even Yuck is ok if it’s a gross subject but well written. I’ve read classic poems that are a total bore, so why are they classic? No clue.

Poetry is form and movement, just as some dancing is poetry without words, so poetry is dancing with words.
It can make something ordinary --extraordinary. It can talk about the simplest things in the most profound way, and yet the simpler the words, the more profoundly it can impact the reader or listener.

Edna StVincent Millay is probably my favorite poet. She writes simply, and because you don’t have to struggle to understand what she’s saying, the impact is immediate.

Lament
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Listen, children:
Your father is dead.
From his old coats
I'll make you little jackets;
I'll make you little trousers
From his old pants.
There'll be in his pockets
Things he used to put there,
Keys and pennies
Covered with tobacco;
Dan shall have the pennies
To save in his bank;
Anne shall have the keys
To make a pretty noise with.
Life must go on,
And the dead be forgotten;
Life must go on,
Though good men die;
Anne, eat your breakfast;
Dan, take your medicine;
Life must go on;
I forget just why.

Millay whacks you between the eyes with the emotional impact--Simple words, simple sentences, no over emoting, no beating the breast. I think the mistake so many beginning poets make is too much drama. “Oh woe oh shuckens, my heart is broken / I think I’ll cry and carry on because my sweetheart’s love is gone.” (I wrote that, too.) “Less is More.” If you do any reading about writing, you’ll see that a lot. My mom--my toughest critic--tries to drum that into me.

Anyway, Millay wrote a lot of sonnets, which brings me to Rhyme. There are some schools of thought that say rhyme is dead, but they’re wrong. I don’t even know why there’s a debate about that because so many forms--classic forms of poetry--call for rhyme. Sonnets have 14 lines and a very specific rhyme scheme. They’re also written in iambic pentameter, which has to do with the number of feet--or beats--in a line and has nothing to do with how many toes a poem has.

What makes a good rhyme? There are books that go into detail about that. I don’t have the time to go into it, but for me it’s the right rhythm mixed with something original being said--maybe something unexpected, but not out of place. Even June, moon, tune can be used with originality.

One summer night I heard a tune,
a clacking, whirring melody
just outside the screen door. June
bugs flirted in debauchery
with a yellow porch light moon.

Heh, now I think that’s original and good. But then I wrote it. Generally it’s easy enough to rhyme if you use a simple rhyme pattern, but if you want a challenge, try writing in the rhyme schemes of specific forms.

Now, you’ll know I don’t have much of a life when I tell you some of the most fun I’ve had recently was when I tried writing poems in forms I’d never written in before--the Cinquain, Triolet, Pantoum, Gloss, Villanelle, Sonnet, and Minute, not to mention writing in iambic pentameter both in blank verse and in a sonnet. The cinquain is only 5 lines long, with a syllable pattern of 2,4,6,8,2, and it doesn’t have to rhyme, but it’s fun.

SHATTERED

{{I’ve deleted this poem because I want to enter it in contests and can’t if it’s “published” on-line.}}

The villanelle has a specific rhyme pattern, which also involves a repetition of certain lines in a specific order.

I have long loved a certain Dylan Thomas poem but didn’t know until recently that it’s a villanelle. You probably have heard it:

Do not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn and rave at close of day
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

The villanelle and triolet in particular seem to dance around themselves because they repeat lines in a specific pattern. The Minute form has a specific rhyme scheme and syllable count--60 to be exact, and called Minute because it’s expected it will take exactly 60 seconds to read.

For the longest time I couldn’t keep blank verse and free verse straight--I thought they were essentially the same, but they’re not. There is a definite difference. Blank verse is written in iambic pentameter-that is 5 unstressed and 5 stressed syllables per line-- but it doesn’t rhyme. Used to be poets and their audiences expected every poem line of poetry to end in rhyme. In the 16th century, English poets began copying an Italian style, where lines were 10 syllables long but didn’t use end rhymes--blank endings as it were.

Free verse is just that--no set form, no rhymes, or if there are rhymes, there’s no pattern, no set line lengths or rhythms. It’s probably the easiest poetry to write--which is also why there’s probably more bad free verse written than any other kind. That’s just my made up statistic. I have no clue if that’s true or not.

But even free verse often has a rhythm to it--probably because it tends to take on the natural pattern of English speech, and we naturally and easily use stressed and unstressed syllables.

If you condensed your short story or novel to its theme, you could fit the whole thing into a poem. All poems have a theme--no matter how short. Ogden Nash wrote: Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker. The theme is in the title: Ice Breaker.

I’m not going to try to tell you how to write different forms of poetry--there are books that can do that.
But I can recommend several books that have been useful to me. See the list at the end of this.

If you’re looking for someone to tell you how to write any poetry, I can’t tell you that either. I’m totally clueless about your writing habits and styles. I know someone who has to wait for his muse to strike before he can write. If I waited on a muse, I’d never get anything written. Last year he wrote 3 poems; I wrote at least 50, but even that’s a small number compared to what some people write. It’s not a matter of right way or wrong way--you just have to know your way. I know how I write poetry, and I’m not even consistent in how I do that.

Where do my ideas come from? Well, we’re writers. Where do your ideas come from? Sometimes they just pop into mind. Some contests have categories calling for specific subjects. Sometimes I can spontaneously get something on paper; other times I have a general knowledge of what I want to say, but until I find the right approach, I can’t do anything with it.

I’ve learned I can write a poem about pretty much anything. Might not be Good poetry, but I can write it. And I can write pretty much anywhere, anytime. For you younger people especially--know that it’s hard to be creative when you always have somebody else’s words playing in your ears and filling your mind. Turn off the input. Listen to the silence, let the silence fill you, because what you’ll learn is there isn’t any silence. But the noise doesn’t have to come from outside. Let the noise be your ideas and words. I can shut out the noise coming at me and focus inside my mind--learn to focus, to hear what your own mind is telling you.

Now, you should also know It’s OK to fall in love with something you’ve written, but you have to learn to give it up if it’s not working with the rest of the poem. For example, when I tried writing a Gloss poem for the first time, I loved my first verse, which wound up not working, but I’m keeping the idea, because it might work in a children’s poem--it just didn’t work with the Gloss.

Then there are the poems I’ve written that aren’t really working they way they are, but I’ve discovered that re-working within a specific form can help the poem take shape--or take it off in a completely unthought of direction.

The stricter the form, the more you have to focus your thoughts and really think about what you’re trying to say.

I recently heard a successful poet speak, and she said if we didn’t know what kind of poetry we wrote, we couldn’t know who our audience was. Did we write love poems, poems about nature, humor, tragedy--et cetera. I almost spoke up and told her I must be a multiple personality, a Sybil, because not only do I not have a specific genre of poetry, I don’t want it. It seems somehow limiting to me. Write what you want; if it’s good enough, the market will come. Or not. But at least you’ve written what is satisfying to you.

Now, as you may have noticed, the writing market kind of stinks right now. Not just because of the economy but because so many people are writing and submitting, and most magazines are backlogged with fiction, and unless you write nonfiction pieces geared toward specialty magazines or local papers, you’re going to have a tough sell. It’s one reason I enter the contests.

I’ve written a book--OUT OF THE WRECKAGE: THE POP STORIES. Some people have told me I write the way I talk, and they mean it as a compliment … I think. Sounded like one anyway. Well, I had the book published POD and I want to talk just a little about that.

The book industry has not changed the way it produces books. They distribute them to bookstores and don’t limit returns, and they market the books with no publicity--so no body knows they’re there, so they don’t sell, so bookstores return them. Print books also have to compete with Kindle and everything published on line. Also in traditional publishing, if you later discover a missed mistake, or if you want to make any changes to the book, you can’t go back and do it-- once the layout board is set, that’s it. You’re stuck.

What it means for most writers is it has become harder and harder to find an agent, and even if you get one, it doesn’t mean he or she can sell your book to a publisher. I know someone who has had 4 manuscripts in the hands of his agent for --close to three years now, I think--and she can’t find a buyer for him. Even if a publisher buys your book, it can be another two years before it sees print--and in the meantime, any number of things can happen that will interfere with or completely halt the production of your book. Ideally, it is still to your advantage to have a publisher, but barring that--

First, let's talk about Vanity Presses. There’s a stigma attached to Vanity Press-- The idea being you couldn't find a publisher but you think your book is so good, you pay to have your own book printed, then hawk it yourself. I think a lot of people who go with Vanity Press don't even bother trying to find an agent or a publisher.

Also, with Vanity Press you have to pay up front to have however many books printed, and you have the actual books in hand to sell or give away. It can be very expensive. But there are examples of vanity press books becoming hugely successful--The Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield is one. More recently-- The Shack by Young--he paid to have his book published. Personally I think the book needs some good editing, but that hasn’t stopped it from being successful.

Then there’s POD--Print on Demand publishing--it has the same stigma as Vanity Press--you couldn't find an agent or publisher, who must be ignorant and stupid not to recognize the genius of your work. But, if fact, some publishers are going the POD route just to keep their costs down.

Depending on the POD company and the package you buy, it could cost you a bundle up front just to prepare your book for publishing--and all without including the cost of actually printing your book.

I tried to get an agent, off & on, for about five years. The only reason I don't regret wasting all that time is because I became a better writer along the way--and certainly my book became better because I continued to revise and improve it.

But I reached a point where I decided I had a choice: continue pursuing an agent, possibly have to pay copy & postage costs out of future royalties, in addition to the agent's commission. Or quit wasting my time, go with POD, let Lulu take their commission out of the sales price when someone bought a copy of my book, and be done with it. I wanted to move on.

I took the Lulu package, which meant I had to agree to having their logo on the cover--it’s small and discreet, and to list Lulu as the publisher on the copyright page. They provided me with an ISBN number and a UPC, and they listed it on Amazon.com. I did pay a little extra for an optional package that listed my book in nationwide library catalogs, but in hindsight, I wouldn’t recommend it. I used Lulu's templates, they converted my manuscript to a PDF file, offered a wide selection of book sizes, cover choices from their catalog of files, and bindings.

The cost of a sample copy depends on the book itself--the kind of binding, number of pages, if it has pictures, and so on. You have complete control over what you put in your book. I arranged Out of the Wreckage to fill as few pages as possible because I didn’t want to set an exorbitant price on it.

With POD you have to hawk the book yourself--but guess what. Even if you managed to get an agent who managed to sell you to a publisher, the publisher still expects you to hawk your own book. It's rare that they will promote it. And there's a very small window in which they will even keep your book in print before it's remaindered.

When you get right down to it, ALL publishing is Vanity, no matter what route you take to get to the printed book. Face it. You have to think highly of your book; you have to think people will want to read what you wrote. You have to think someone will buy your product. As long as someone has your book in hand, is reading it/has read it, and enjoyed it--does anything else really matter? I can tell you it is an amazing thrill to hold your first book in your hands.

Whether you wind up going with POD or not, the most important thing I can tell you is get a pitch. You need to be able to tell people what your book is about in no more than 3 or 4 sentences--three preferably because attention spans are pretty short nowadays--and make your book sound interesting. I know how important this is because I have yet to come up with a pitch that rolls easily off my tongue.

Readers have told me how Out of the Wreckage makes them laugh and cry, how much they identify with the characters and /or situations. My dentist recently told me how my book had helped him get through the last days of his mother’s dying.

But Wreckage isn’t about death, it’s not about elder care, it’s not a how-to book. It’s about a relationship, and attitude, about learning to adjust to changes you don’t want, about finding humor even when things seem dark because if you don’t find humor, you have no relief from the stress--but there’s no time to tell someone that. Nor does a potential buyer care about people who liked the book so well, they came back to buy more copies to give to family members. Ya gotta get a gimmick--which is your pitch.

And one last thing--if you’re thinking about having a book signing…Don’t! At least not without a pitch. And don’t expect hordes of people to descend upon you unless you’re Janet Evanovich or Stephen King. Most people don’t know who you are and don’t care. Rather than just a signing, try to arrange a reading.

Poetry Books I’ve Found Useful

Poetry Home Repair Manual by Ted Kooser

The Practice of Poetry edited by Robin Behn & Chase Twichell

(The Teachers & Writers) Handbook of Poetic Forms edited by Ron Padgett --pub in 1987, so it’s not up to date on some of the newer forms, but still a good reference.

Complete Idiot’s Guide to Writing Poetry. This last one has some surprisingly good information in it.

Sleeping with Dogs

2009-05-20T16:54:00.000-07:00

Ultimately, this is all my fault, I suppose. Not that I want to take the credit--or the blame.

When my best friend Nan rescued Buddy, he was about a year old, half-wild, half-nuts, untrained, and had been chained in his yard for most of his life. When the guy who owned the dog moved, he told Nan she could have the dog. She’d been petting on him over the fence, so he already loved her, and vice versa. She called him Buddy.

She had never had a dog before. What better way to begin dog days than with a Rottweiler/Doberman mix. Except about two weeks after she and her husband got Buddy, they had to go north for almost two weeks to visit family. I always took care of their cat while they were gone, plus we had Charlie, our Golden/shepherd mix, so naturally we were willing to keep Buddy here.

Up till then, Buddy had not been allowed in their house. As I said, he was half-nuts. If he got too excited, he’d run in tight little circles. When you’re chained, you don’t learn to run in big circles. Buddy wasn’t allowed in our house either--until the night of the horrendous thunderstorm.

Poor Buddy. Out there all by himself. John was already asleep, so I let Buddy inside…and in order to keep an eye on him, even with my eyes closed--I led him to the guest/junk room and encouraged him to jump on the guest bed--which is the bottom of a bunk bed set, not that it matters, except there’s no upper mattress. The top of the bunk is used for blankets and other-stuff storage.

So Buddy got to sleep on a bed for the very first time. He liked it. He shared nicely. But he was smaller then.

That was about seven years ago. Buddy weighs around 90 pounds now. We lost Charlie to epilepsy, but we have Baxter, a shepherd/chow mix who weighs about 50 lbs., and two cats. Nan is up to four cats, but that’s another story. But she and her husband are north again, and we once again have Buddy. (He stays with us about twice a year.)

Neither dog can stay outside. They stand at the patio door, hitting it with their nails. Buddy doesn’t like sleeping alone. If he goes to the bunk on his own first, and then John and I go to bed, Buddy will get off the bunk and jump onto our bed. He doesn’t care who or what he steps on.

When he decides to lie down, he just collapses--and if one of us happens to be under any portion of that 90 lbs, that’s just too bad. If you’ve ever had a horse step on your foot, you’ll kind of understand what I’m talking about.

Once he’s comfortable, Baxter, who generally prefers sleeping on the floor next to my side of the bed so he can get his feelings hurt when I step on him if I have to get up in the wee small hours of the a.m.-- Baxter, who is either jealous or just wants to play, will jump on the bed and stomp all over Buddy, John and me. Which might or might not get Buddy up and moving.

We can’t close the bedroom door either, because one or both dogs will stand on the other side and scrap all the paint off the door. And it’s not unknown for one or both of the cats to paw at the door and or start yowling at being denied access so they can stomp around on us and the bed.

And they say pets lower your blood pressure.

If we want to get any sleep--and we do--especially John since he has to go to work the next morning--we’ve come up with a solution. It involves John getting our bed and our closed bedroom door.

Leaving me to share the bunk with Buddy…who won’t move once he’s settled, and you can’t make him. And if he gets to bed first, he stretches out lengthwise, just short of using the pillow. Which means either I have to curl up in a tight little ball toward the head of the bed, or stretch out and half fall between the bed and the wall.

So-o-o-o-o-o-- the other night I had a brainstorm. If Buddy won’t move, and since trying to sleep around him makes me wake up about seventeen times during the night, why don’t I get the old camping cot pad (we used to have a cot for a spare bed, now the frame is gone but we still have the pad) and use that instead of trying to share the bed with the dog.

Of course I didn’t think of that before John went to bed, so I had no access to extra sheets, which left me scrounging around through some old linens in the garage, where I found a tablecloth and a beach towel.

I set the pad right-angled to the bunk--hoping if Buddy jumped down, he wouldn’t jump on my head. It actually worked out pretty well. Buddy got some sleep. I got some sleep. Baxter laid down nearby, facing me, and panted in my face before he went to sleep.

Somewhere around 3 a.m., I had to get up, which meant Baxter got up--and Buddy followed. They went outside, I went inside. As soon as they came back in, I raced back to the bedroom and got to the bunk before Buddy. Ha! I got the bed for the rest of the night! Ha! He slept on the floor. Ha!

Think a dog can outsmart me?

That’s a rhetorical question.

I'm in the May/June Senior Voice--twice!

2009-05-17T16:34:00.000-07:00

http://www.theseniorvoice.com/pdffiles/0956SV.pdf

The Senior Voice is a local print paper that's also available on line. My two first place poems are on page 7, and a piece about me and my book, OUT OF THE WRECKAGE: The Pop Stories is on page 13.

This makes sense--in a bizarre sort of way--

2009-05-13T15:05:00.000-07:00

I received a This Is Not A Bill from from the Yellow Pages today, in their subtle way of trying to get you to return your Non-Listing so they can wind up billing you.

First, it's addressed to my business name, which is wrong. Should be "aka StFlossie, Writer," not just "StFlossie Writer."

But what I find hilarious is where they want to list me under the Yellow Page Heading:
AIR TRANSPORTATION

I Didn't Sweat!

2009-05-08T19:21:00.000-07:00

I gave my presentation to the Writer's Guild of Texas on Monday evening, 4-20-2009. I made up my mind that I was not going to be nervous, and mostly I really wasn't--but then I had prepared my notes AND rehearsed them several times, while still allowing for spontaneity. I've been to meetings where it's obvious the speaker hasn't prepared, and I didn't want to be one of them.

Got a lot of laughs (yea!) Disclaimer: I realize now that I said "umm" way too much (those transition pauses), especially towards the end--I was getting tired. So please try to overlook that. For a first time performance, I was actually pretty proud of myself. And I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. Of course, that could have been the Venti Starbucks iced coffee jiving through my veins.

Also, there are 11 clips at YouTube because I wasn't sure how long or short a video could be uploaded. Each one is about 5 minutes long, so really the whole thing takes only about 35 minutes. (see below) The video quality isn't that great (little Polaroid video), but the man who was operating my camera discovered how to make it zoom in, which was great. Mostly the sound isn't too bad, once I got the microphone adjusted, and if I wasn't turned away from it.

Anyway, if you don't want to sit through all 11 clips, at least check out numbers 2,6 &/or 9.

Here's the link -- http://www.youtube.com/stflossie