No Snow Days Allowed

One of the early lessons we learned on Kwaj was that a person could, indeed, survive a full year, a complete trip around the sun, without so much as a single snowflake. Four years, in fact. I have made it my life's plan to experience another such existence, but alas, this plan shall have to wait a few years, probably until the boys are in college. But I predict a warm climate for this blogger's retirement years.

Why would I have days like this ...

... or this ...

... or this ...

or this ...

... when this ...

... qualifies as a snow day in San Antonio, Texas?  I kid you not: a snow day. A classes-cancelled, government-offices-opening-late, honest-to-God snow day. Can you see my nephew Isaac inside that heavy winter coat? No? That's because he's in a sweatshirt! For the record, he doesn't even own a winter coat. I own three: dressy, everyday, and a one just for snowblowing. Blowing snow blows.Unlike the Inuit, I don't need fifteen words to describe it. I only need four: It belongs somewhere else.

I have no use for snow. I don't ski, or skate or play ice hockey or make snow angels. I don't make ice cream out of snow.  My nose gets red and stays red the rest of the day. I look like I've been crying, or I've had too much to drink when I come in from the cold.  I really like hot cocoa, but I can make that a summer drink: I'll just turn my air conditioning on full blast. Yeah, that'll work.

Give me a good tropical  downpour any day of the week. It took some getting used to -- that bath water that fell from the sky on Kwaj. I can recall a dreary November day, the first day of the rainy season there in 1998. Maybe I had the a/c set a little too low, because I was kind of chilly. I looked outside before we left the house on our errands (as always on foot with the double stroller; I used the bike with the trailer as little as possible) and bemoaned to the boys, babies at the time, the grey and bone-chilling kind of November day I was so used to and was surely unconsciously expecting. I even took off my usual flipflops, trading them in for  socks and sneakers. Then I opened the door, and the warmest, humidest solid block of air I had ever felt knocked me backwards. Especially during the rainy season, you had to have at least a couple of sets of clothes planned for the day, because you knew you'd get rained on at least once. You had to plan photography ahead, because you had to give your camera 20 minutes to adjust from the dry 70's inside the house to the humid 88 it invariably was outside. The lens would instantly fog over, like eternally living in your bathroom after a hot shower. 

But by golly, it didn't snow once. And we lived to tell the story!

Interstate Adventures

I found myself in Cranston, RI this morning, where Agent 98 had a bowling tournament at Lang's Lanes. (Don't miss the chili cheese fries!) It was our second time bowling in Cranston in as many weeks. He didn't have the best day, but with a high score of 103, he beat his average, and that's really the point anyway.

So I get on the highway to come home after we're done, and notice a couple of interesting buildings that I hadn't noticed on the ride down ... and then another one ... and then I think to myself, "Where'd Providence go?"   I had driven eight miles on 95 South before I realized my mistake.

If that was only the first time I'd ever gotten lost on 95 that would be one thing. Or if it had been the most lost, I could accept that. But I have an even stupider lost than that. One that makes me cringe every time I think of it. Thankfully, I was alone in the car when it happened.

I had just moved to Medford, and had previously had few, if any, reasons to take Rte. 2 west to 95.  I was headed to Waltham (this was in our Costco days) which meant 2W to 95S. After a couple of minutes on 95 I noticed that the Burlington Mall was on the wrong side of the road (and later learned it wasn't even along my expected route). I absolutely believe that any normal, functioning human being, on seeing the Burlington Mall on the left hand side of the road but expecting it to be on the right, would think "Oh, I'm going the wrong way." Totally normal reaction.  But me? I thought to myself, "Hey, when did they move the Burlington Mall?"

So you try waking up with this brain every morning.

January 17, 2011

I have struggled with how to recognize today: what would have been, and what should have been, Tom's 58th birthday.  So I thought I'd share some more moments. In no particular order:

This was Agent 96's first cous cous dinner. About a half-step lower on the spectrum than a Thanksgiving feast, cous cous dinners were a ritual at our home. In fact, on Kwaj we once had a cous cous feast instead of a Thanksgiving turkey dinner. Tom loved himself some Moroccan food. Tom loved himself food, and sharing it with his friends.

We had to put Neko to sleep in 1998, when she was 18 years old. I knew we'd be going to the vet later this day, and my heart knew Tom wouldn't get to hold her again. Poor little Neko looks comfortable in this photo, but she could barely stand, and could no longer walk. A few months before she died, Neko, who had taken to hanging out with Tom in the office (where Tom had jury-rigged a running water fountain out of a plastic box, an aquarium pump, and tubing) and increasingly tired of walking up and down two flights of stairs to the litter box, had taught herself to use the toilet. We were alone in the house one day, just Tom, sleeping 96, and I, when from the kitchen we heard someone using the bathroom upstairs. We looked at each other, and remarked upon it, but it wasn't until days later that we actually saw that little kitty sitting up there, assuming the position.






Oh, how we loved our tropical Christmases. And what better way to spend Christmas Eve than teaching your 4- and 5-year-olds how to drive? 

 This might be my actual, official wedding portrait ...

  ... but here, my friend Laura caught Tom speaking his vows  -- proof!  This is my favorite wedding photo.  In our church service a few months later, Fr. Hehir, unhappy that we used the same vows, tacked on to the end that God had put Tom in charge of family security, and put me in charge of the household. So whenever I'd ask Tom to take out the rubbish, he had to do it  ... because God said so!

About two weeks before we pcs'd from  Kwaj in 2002, Tom and I spent a long weekend in Pohnpei, FSM, where we visited Nan Madol. We met our friends Mooch and TOO (short for "The Other One") who let us stay in their thatched hut at The Village as long as we fed them.  I don't remember which is which, but I know they were fatter when we left than when we got there.

Our first visit to the Big Island, 1999.   Don't you love  96 & 98 all matchy-matchy like that?  I'd still put them in matching t-shirts if I could! This was moments before the dotcom bubble burst, and if we had had our checkbook with us the day we stepped off the plane on that vacation we would own a little piece of paradise today. And we would never have left.

Lake Mooselookmeguntic, Oquossoc, Maine. Tom had been going there with friends for years before we met, and I was quite honored the first time he invited me along. We went once with the kids in the early days, but were so mortified by "the great magic marker debacle of '99" that we were afraid to make reservations again until the summer of 2006. Ever wonder what to do if you find an unattended black magic marker?  Stop.  Don't touch.  Leave the area.  Tell an adult.

I don't know which was more of a chick magnet: the cool Daytona, or Maxwell. They're both pretty hot. Hmmmm ... all three of them were pretty hot, actually!

I treasure every moment, every memory.  The lifetime of moments that make the life of a man.

Dogproofing Fail

I remember the days when putting a cup on the coffee table got it safely out of reach. I remember scrambling to move stuff to the end table, because suddenly the coffee table no longer meant childproof. Then, to the kitchen table, or higher and higher on the stairs; or, God forbid, I'd have to put something away in order to ensure its safety.

If I wanted to have to childproof my home, I'd have had another baby, thankyouverymuch. Said baby wouldn't have stolen my leftover orange chicken, though, or eaten my Burt's Bees lip balm, container and all. Admittedly, the baby might have chewed through a rattle or two, and maybe an occasional bag of dog treats. But really, Zoet? Pipe insulation?

This is a straggler I just found under the couch.  I really hope this was an open can she found and thoughtfully cleaned for me, and not a can she opened herself.  Have I mentioned the dog only gets dry food?  The cats eat canned.  Miraculously, this treat did not require a followup visit to the vet.  But I predict this episode did not involve any learning, either (by either one of us.)

About the only pristine stuff in my house anymore: dog toys.  Man, they make that stuff to last!  The orange ball and the bone? Those came with Zoet in August.

Oops - gotta run. Duty calls ...

Dont Get Me Wrong

Don't get me wrong.  I love my kids.  This is not even a "I love my kids, but ..." post.

I love my kids.  Period.  Unconditionally.  Forever and always.  Blah, blah, blah.

I love my kids, but ... being the single mom of two teenage boys sucks.  Sucks bad.

I totally get that I'm not the first single parent in the world, or the only one.  I can't even use the excuse that I'm the least experienced one, since I've been going at it almost a year now.  I was raised by a pretty competent one, in fact, who also had two concurrent teenage boys.  And two simultaneous teenage girls.  But we were the sensible ones, so I like to think we mitigated a bit.  And when she was done with us, she still had one more left to go.

Argue all you want about politics, Agent 96, and society, and how people stink and there's no God, and go right ahead and argue that comic books are literature.  And yeah, you can even have input into bedtimes, and menus, and schedules, and extracurricular activities.  But this getting an argument about every little thing is getting really old really fast.  If I mention that we need a new couch, you know what would be totally awesome?

"Okay, Mom."

Yeah, this deviates from my usual fare ...

... but I couldn't resist sharing this StumbleUpon'ed funny!

http://www.boingboing.net/2010/12/28/people-who-touch-you.html

Have a happy, healthy and safe New Year's -- I'll be in-front-of-the-computer-type-stumbling!

It Was Bittersweet

It was bittersweet.

Today Agent 98 had a bowling tournament in Lowell and the Garmin sent me up on 95 to 495 which is my preferred route to points north.  But it brought me home via Rte 3, a route I always detested because before it was rebuilt many years ago it was narrow, curvy, slow, and crowded -- and all speedtrappy whenever it wasn't slow and crowded. I have never have gotten into the habit of using it, and almost didn't today, but it was a Sunday afternoon, so I went along with the instructions.


It was bitter, because for the first time since May 10, 1994, when we crossed 110, I didn't hear how Mr. An Wang had bought the land and built the Wang Labs building (which is shaped like a "W" you know) for something like $60m in the 70's and sold it for something like $100k in the 90's. It was sweet because, well, for the first time since May 10, 1994, I didn't hear how Mr. Wang had bought the land and built the building for something like $60m in the 70's and sold it for something like $100k in the 90's. I mean, really, Tom? You've told me that story before. Like. Every. Single. Time.

So what did I do? When we crossed 110 I pointed out the building and told 98 the story of how Mr. An Wang had bought the land and built the building (which is shaped like a "W" you know) for something like $60m in the 70's and sold it for something like $100k in the 90's.

It wasn't quite the same, but family traditions have to start somewhere, right?

Lap Cat Seeking Lap

From a friend-of-a-friend at the Dana ... her young son is allergic, so she needs to find a new home for her sweet kitty, Anne.

Hard working lap cat seeks new lap to nap on. Also excels at purring, playing with toy mice and generally being cute. Anne needs a new lap as Alec, the 3 year old human child in her family, has been hospitalized twice this year with severe asthma complicated by cat allergies. Anne is an affectionate, sweet 5 year old torti. She has been an inside cat, but would enjoy some outside time in a safe environment. She enjoys the company of other cats. If you or someone you know needs an accomplished lap warmer and all around companion, leave Anne’s mom, Lorri, a message in the comments section, and I'll make sure she gets them. Also feel free to check out more details on Anne’s facebook page: “Lap cat seeking lap”.

Oh, such good news, which my humble blog helped facilitate! Thank you, all!!

Not My Typical Friday Afternoon

I volunteer at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston a day or so a week, usually Fridays. I work at the front desk, and spend a lot of time pointing people to the elevators and the bathrooms. I really love it, and love being a smiling face when patients walk in the front door. Tom was treated there for over a year, and believe me when I tell you that a smiling face could define a day.

Anyway, what with it only being one day a week, and usually a half-day at that, the learning curve has been pretty steep. But the feedback I get from the volunteer supervisor has been generally positive. And they keep inviting me back.

Okay, so now the story of my hopefully atypical Friday begins: A young man walked in and approached the front desk and asked to speak with a woman in the bone marrow transplantation department. He only knew her first name, and it was not an unusual first name, so it took a bit of research to find the right person, but eventually I connected the two of them up. No joke, an hour later a different person calls on the phone and says, "Hello, I'm Joe Goodsamaritan (name changed) and I just got a phone call that I'm a donor match for a transplant, and I need to speak to  ..."  someone with the same first name - and he also did not know her last name. But because it was a such common name, I did not immediately make the connection "Oh, he's looking for that same person from an hour ago" so I put him on hold while I tracked down how I should handle the call. (In the online directory there are five pages of people with her first name!) I then realized who he needed to talk to, and was about to transfer Mr. G (Are you still with me? Good for you! Z-z-z-z-z...) when I realized I had disconnected him!

Let's make sure I have this right, Linda: You have a cancer patient's lifesaving marrow donor on the phone, and he doesn't know who he's supposed to be talking to ... and you disconnect him. WTG.

If a heart can sink to the ground and jump into my throat at the same time, that's what happened to me at that moment.

So I called Bone-Marrow-Lady-With-The-Common-First-Name and explained what happened. She told me not to worry about it, and that she thought she knew who it probably was and that in any event, if he was contacted today, he'll be contacted again tomorrow, so she told me that the situation is no big deal.

I can't help but think one extra day without treatment is the definition of a big deal for a cancer patient waiting for a bone marrow match. I promised BMLWTCFN I wouldn't obsess about it all weekend, but I told her I was surely going to worry about it nonetheless.

All I know is it's never good when that darn phone rings. It's never a question about elevators or bathrooms!

Buried Deep in the Back of my Already Overpacked Linen Closet ...

About a week before Tom started his first drug clinical trial (mid-2009) we spent an afternoon and a fair pile of cash in our local Vitamin Shoppe, GNC and CVS on vitamins, supplements and whatnot. Of course, one of the caveats of clinical trialdom is "no non-prescribed drugs or supplements". So while he had consumed a few pills from some of the bottles, some of the bottles are still factory sealed.

Here's what I have. If I note that the bottle is open, then only a few days' worth are gone.

• American Health Chewable Super Papaya Enzyme Plus 360 tablets - open - exp 6/11
• MushroomScience Certified Organic Coriolus Super Strength 90 tablets 600 mg  - exp 1/12 (I have five of these factory sealed and one open)
• Osteo Bi-Flex 120 tablets - open - exp 2/11
• Vitamin Shoppe Selenium 300 tablets 200 mcg - open - exp 10/10
• CVS Glucosamine Chondroitin Double Strength 120 caplets - exp 9/10 (I have one of these opened and one factory sealed)
• Nature's Way Reservatol Synergistic Formula 60  Vcaps 37.5 mcg - open - exp 2/10
• GNC L-Glutamine Powder 8 oz -  factory sealed - exp 5/11
• Vitamin Shoppe Borage Oil  300 softgel capsules 1000 mg -open -  exp 10/09
• Vitamin Shoppe Soy Isoflavones 120 tablets  - open - exp 1/11
• Vitamin Shoppe Turmeric Extract 95% curcumin  300 capsules - open - exp 11/11
• Vitamin Shoppe Green Tea Extract 75% Polyphenols 300 Capsules 250 mg - open - exp 8/10
• CVS Natural Fish Oil 198  Softgels 1200 mg - factory sealed - exp 7/11
• CVS Spectravite multivitamin 250 tablets - factory sealed - exp 1/10

If you are interested in any or all of these dietary supplements, drop me a comment or send me an email and we'll work something out. I don't want to sell them; I want to give them to you. I'll even pay postage. I just don't want these to go to waste.

You will see that some have passed their expiration date. Keep in mind that I have codeine in my medicine cabinet that was prescribed in 1998 after my son was born (in case you didn't notice, their blog nicknames are their birth years - Agents 96 and 98) by a doctor in Medford. Then we moved to Kwaj for nearly 5 years, and we've been back in Medford for 8 more years. And I took one a couple of weeks ago when I had that sinus headache. So no, we're not so much into expiration dates around here. I won't side-eye you if you respect them.  Just don't lecture me that I don't.

Welcome to My World

"Mom, do you think the cider will be warm enough if I zap it for 15 seconds?"

"No, 98, I'd zap it for a minute."

"Do you think 30 seconds would work?"

"No, I think a minute would be enough."

"Okay, I'll try 30 seconds."

True Story

You May Want to Come Back Later if You're Having Lunch Now

I've had some pretty disgusting moments in my history of marriage and parenting. I was with my husband for sixteen years, and I have two boys, now teenagers, and we've had more than ten pets, if you count all the cats, frogs, turtles, snakes and the dog. And during this time, I have had some pretty disgusting moments. I'm not sure I've ever told my most disgusting moment story from beginning to end.

My most disgusting moment was not the very early on poopy diaper contest, which I won by default when my newborn son turned up on the changing table with poop on the top of his head, and the soles of he feet, and most spots in between. It was also not the time an out-of-town friend so admired some cardinal feathers she found that she displayed them for the rest of her visit on the edge of my upstairs bathroom sink. Unfortunately for us, those feather were still attached to a wing, and the wing had been recently ripped from the shoulder socket of poor Mr. Cardinal, which I knew because flesh still hung from the bones. The bones which rested so artfully next to our toothpaste and soap.


It was also not the great fly debacle, which was not so much a disgusting moment as a disgusting and very long month-and-a-half. Our cat, Alpha, had found an already-dead (read: maggot-infested) frog, which he brought into the house before I could stop him. He ran  into the cellar with it, and I ran after him, but I never found the frog. Days later, flies started showing up in the house; first in ones and twos; eventually we had scores, and probably hundreds of flies, mostly in the dining room and kitchen. So at least our tv watching wasn't too impacted. Only our food prep and consumption. I would herd flies into the area between window and screen and then quickly close the window, cross my fingers and then just wait patiently for all the flies to die. I hoped they wouldn't reproduce in there, envisioning my brand new windows closed and permanently nailed shut as generation after generation grew and thrived: our own miniature entomological Great Barrier Reef, Medford-style, in the making.

And over the years I have simply gotten used to picking up every sort of dead animal, or remaining parts thereof, with the longest-handled shovel I own, and flinging it across the fence into the Fells, or into the creek behind the house for burial, eventually, at sea. So dead rodents aren't involved in my most disgusting moment, either.

Agent 98 is.

He was 8 or 9, and came to me with a hangnail. I kept an eye on it, because there's really nothing but time that can heal a hangnail. A day or so later, a soothing soak in epsom salts. A day or so after that he showed me the finger again, but by now it was swollen and red, and really quite infected.

Look away now if you're still eating.

I did the only thing I could think of: I squeezed it to get rid of the infection.  I heard an audible "pop", and 98 felt instant relief. I found a tiny speck on the kitchen floor, and cleaned it up with a wet paper towel. I recall being a bit surprised that his giant swollen finger didn't leave more ... ahem, sorry ... evidence. But I cleaned up, and went on with my life. Ah, not so disgusting, you say?

Weeks later, Tom was in the kitchen, glanced up at the ceiling, and spied what he immediately recognized ... again, ahem, sorry ... as the missing piece of the puzzle.

Yup, I took a picture.