tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51628295470268021292024-03-14T02:08:40.417-06:00Jane In Her Infinite WisdomJust Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.comBlogger967125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-283677661806951712020-03-26T16:16:00.000-06:002020-03-26T16:21:17.922-06:00Alexa...What Time is It?I'm having a hard time with time.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, when I'm in the bathroom at the start of the day or the end of the day, I can't remember if I'm doing my nighttime routine or my morning routine.<br />
<br />
In fairness, the only real significant differences between the two is whether the contacts are going in or coming out and whether or not I need to remove my makeup before I wash my face or if I can just wash my face.<br />
<br />
Unless, of course, it's a shower night and then that's easier to remember although remembering whether or not it's a shower night is also part of the challenge.<br />
<br />
And yes, I shower at night and no, I don't shower every night.<br />
<br />
Before you get all EWWWW! That's gross!!! on me, you should know that it isn't good for your hair or your skin - especially in a dry climate like Colorado - to shower every day. At least, that's what the Mayo Clinic via the internet and my hair stylist tell me.<br />
<br />
And I do wash the most important bits every morning. You know the bits.<br />
<br />
Anyway!<br />
<br />
I'm having a hard time with time.<br />
<br />
And not just hour or day.<br />
<br />
I was just outside on my patio and all of a sudden I couldn't remember what month it was or even what season. There are dead leaves on my honey locust tree that are left over from a freakishly early, cold start to autumn and the air is brisk and I was struck by confusion all of a sudden.<br />
<br />
Is this October? Is it April yet? No. Still March. Just wrapping up week 2 of Work From Home.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, our interwebs went down for about 30 minutes mid-morning. When we called Xfinity to report the outage we got a recording, "We are aware of the issue and working to resolve it. Estimated time to fix the issue is March 28."<br />
<br />
WHAT?!?!<br />
<br />
I freaked out.<br />
<br />
Because my brain was thinking that it was March 18, not March 25, and 10 days with no way to access work or Instagram or Netflix's <i>Tiger King </i>was simply UNACCEPTABLE!<sup>1</sup><br />
<br />
But then I calmed down...a little...when I realized it wasn't 10 days but 3.<br />
<br />
Although I'm not quite sure what 3 days is anymore. I'd count them in sleeps but I might nap and then I'd have to remember not to count the naps as sleeps and sometimes that's hard to remember too. So 3 days might feel like 6 or 7. Or it might not feel like days at all but just a few hours.<br />
<br />
It didn't end up mattering though. Because Xfinity restored service 30 minutes later and we've been fine ever since.<br />
<br />
That was yesterday, I think.<sup>2</sup><br />
<br />
Colorado's now officially under Stay at Home orders from the Governor as of 6 a.m. this morning.<br />
<br />
Which is fine with me. I love being at home.<br />
<br />
Except that I had to leave my home because I had a grocery order to pick up from the King Soopers at 11 a.m.<br />
<br />
But then Scott from King Soopers called me at 10:45 to tell me they were a couple of hours behind and could I please come by at 1 p.m. instead? Sure thing, Scott. No sweat. There isn't much difference between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m. in my current world.<br />
<br />
So I left my house at 1 p.m. and went to the grocery. But when I called to have them bring out my order, a guy whose name was not Scott, told me my order wasn't done being picked. And I said, "OK! Should I wait or should I come back? What's your advice?"<br />
<br />
And he said, "Could you just come back tomorrow?"<br />
<br />
Which wasn't what I was expecting but I am supremely grateful for the grocery workers and know they are working their asses off for us and so I said, "Do you think if I came at 8 a.m. I could get my order?"<br />
<br />
And Not Scott said, "That'll probably work."<br />
<br />
Forgive me, Not Scott, but I'm not sure I have a lot of confidence in that answer.<br />
<br />
So I'll go back - defying Stay at Home orders for the second day - and we'll see if I have better luck.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure I have enough cheese to see me through until then.<br />
<br />
I might need to set an alarm to help me remember to go though.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSYZN1IsSLZC3EfQ36PxoziSh353ExXjKF_jv3vpFayPEfV2enqCrsObmtOSG35uCxJ2U3ncMxwVhdqGbW0uNQMOFBSGRXsJgM68i21rGqJ66t3gV-Df2nQ8y1TnLDsP4OS5StM_SBog/s1600/Cheese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSYZN1IsSLZC3EfQ36PxoziSh353ExXjKF_jv3vpFayPEfV2enqCrsObmtOSG35uCxJ2U3ncMxwVhdqGbW0uNQMOFBSGRXsJgM68i21rGqJ66t3gV-Df2nQ8y1TnLDsP4OS5StM_SBog/s400/Cheese.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Current State of the Cheese</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
1. I accidentally did a Zoom conference with my phone, forgetting to switch from data to wifi, so I'm currently at zero data remaining on my phone plan.<br />
<br />
2. OMG! What if it wasn't 30 minutes?! What if it was actually 3 days and I didn't notice?!<br />
<br />Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-16115054593532069822020-03-24T14:57:00.004-06:002020-03-24T14:57:34.756-06:00Because why not? I've been thinking a lot about <i><a href="https://www.littlehousebooks.com/books/the-long-winter/9780064400060/" target="_blank">The Long Winter</a></i> lately.<br />
<br />
It's the sixth book in the <i>Little House</i> series by Laura Ingalls Wilder and, for reasons unknown, is my second favorite in the series (my favorite is <i><a href="https://www.littlehousebooks.com/books/these-happy-golden-years/9780064400084/" target="_blank">These Happy Golden Years</a>, </i>just, yannow, FYI).<br />
<br />
In the installment, Wilder details the winter of 1880-1881 during which she and her family, living in her father's store building in town (De Smet, South Dakota), endured <b>7 months</b> of near constant blizzards and extreme cold. Cut off from food supplies and largely isolated from the other townspeople for most of that time.<br />
<br />
They didn't have any toilet paper either.<br />
<br />
They definitely didn't have Netflix.<br />
<br />
They nearly starved to death.<br />
<br />
Thinking about that - how difficult that must have been for them and how terrifying this pandemic must be for so many now - makes me acutely aware of my privilege and I am supremely grateful for all that I have at my disposal.<br />
<br />
I have a secure job with the ability to work from home 100% while physically distancing; I have all the right tech equipment and in house tech support (thanks, Lex!) to make it possible; we have cheese and Netflix and my Kindle is chock full of unread books. And, just in case we run outta TP, I've got a large stockpile of cheap washcloths at the ready and a sanitation setting on the washing machine.<br />
<br />
I'm worried, of course.<br />
<br />
I'm worried about the physical and emotional health of my family, friends, and co-workers. I'm worried about the financial fallout. I'm worried that people will start to say, "Fuck it!" and deliberately expose themselves to the virus to get it over with so life can get back to business as usual.<br />
<br />
No matter that whatever business was usual pre-COVID-19 no longer exists.<br />
<br />
<i><b>I worry that this virus could be the death of me.</b></i><br />
<br />
But I'm remarkably low anxiety. I don't ever remember not feeling anxious so this is new.<br />
<br />
And welcome.<br />
<br />
I know what I can control and what I cannot.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>I can't control others.</li>
<li>I can't control the supply chain.</li>
<li>I can't control what happens in politics, on Wall Street, next door.</li>
<li>I can't control my dramatic over-consumption of coffee apparently.</li>
</ul>
<br />
But!<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>I can control my attitude.</li>
<li>I can control my actions.</li>
<li>I can control my focus on showing love, compassion, and care for myself and everyone around me.</li>
</ul>
<br />
That is enough.<br />
<br />
So!<br />
<br />
Every day, I wash my face, brush my teeth, put on Grown Up clothes and shoes. I style my hair and take my pills and listen to music and work. I snuggle with the cat and push him out of the way at least 10 times a day. I talk to Lex. I interact on social media. I read nice things and try not to consume all the news...or the snax.<br />
<br />
I dyed my hair purple.<br />
<br />
Next week it's going to be pink. I think.<br />
<br />
I'm trying every makeup and skincare sample in my stash and I'm trying out lipsticks I've never worn because I thought they weren't my color. I'm wearing all sorts of different eyeshadow in a variety of combinations because Peej told me THERE ARE NO RULES.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow I might wear a dress.<br />
<br />
At the very least, it makes all those video conference calls for work a little more interesting.<br />
<br />
I'm taking selfies...and posting them. Up 'til now, I think I'd taken maybe 10 selfies in my whole life. I've taken 10 just today.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing.<br />
<br />
Life is short, People.<br />
<br />
I don't know who will be here next week, next month, next year. I may not be here next week, next month, next year. Not to be all Debbie Downer on you or anything, but thems the breaks. Thems always the breaks - pandemic or no. We just don't know.<br />
<br />
So...<br />
<br />
Here we are. Suspended in the lost hour of Daylight Saving Time. That lost hour where everything that felt normal and fast and inconsiderate disappeared. That lost hour when time stopped and we all stood still.<br />
<br />
I'm doing what I can to use the lost hour wisely. To try new things. To take care of myself and my loved ones. To appreciate what I have and what I can do. To make do.<br />
<br />
That's why I'm wearing the green eyeshadow.<br />
<br />
Why not?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY65mqVr4C1roQHzLflEm2JEf4e5w7InuMF7His4koeKQVg7ZY7ZBWTgfY5UieclFTvEtyKJld-MbEZbMGTW1MPTHExy_DRa3WK6IQp0u18iqTpXhlB5G2aY28pz6BCbLo9bJPAwv6gtY/s1600/Wear+the+green+eyeshadow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1171" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY65mqVr4C1roQHzLflEm2JEf4e5w7InuMF7His4koeKQVg7ZY7ZBWTgfY5UieclFTvEtyKJld-MbEZbMGTW1MPTHExy_DRa3WK6IQp0u18iqTpXhlB5G2aY28pz6BCbLo9bJPAwv6gtY/s400/Wear+the+green+eyeshadow.jpg" width="292" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Patrick's Day - Pandemic Green</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-78822981498790098402017-01-01T20:39:00.000-07:002017-01-01T20:39:22.085-07:00Now That THAT'S Over<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXDKruO5yl8joS9bz87fGkOaFbaAitJBEoz-_1n0WjlInFg0CO6UdO8E6xrV3HQlkwauz9IBHOkTXrkbmGc69DrPnwU8Jx5GAYgFHJBhgRa4KJk0ga0ydDr2SDqH_9tvHYXJDq8BR0pc/s1600/Kicking+2016+right+in+the+kisser.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXDKruO5yl8joS9bz87fGkOaFbaAitJBEoz-_1n0WjlInFg0CO6UdO8E6xrV3HQlkwauz9IBHOkTXrkbmGc69DrPnwU8Jx5GAYgFHJBhgRa4KJk0ga0ydDr2SDqH_9tvHYXJDq8BR0pc/s320/Kicking+2016+right+in+the+kisser.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was awfully glad to see 2016 come to an end.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Shocking. I know.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And while I know there are people out there who poo poo the whole New Year, New Me thing [my stink eye is aimed right at you, McKnuckles], surely it’s a natural time to reflect, take stock, and resolve to discard what isn’t working anymore and embrace something new.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For the first time in a very long time though, I don’t even want to look back and reflect on 2016. Not even a little bit. I just want to slam that book cover shut and hurl it across the room. I’d burn it but I’m decidedly on the anti-burning books side of things. So we’ll just let it lie there in the corner, quivering in anticipation, hoping I get close enough for it to bite.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2016 was a year that just oozed grief, distress, tension, sorrow, and then more grief. It wasn’t just the celebrity deaths - which felt very much like mortality bitch slapping the Gen X’ers right in the kisser. It was Pulse, Aleppo, the election, and deaths of just regular joes...people I knew. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It got to the point I didn’t even want to turn on NPR first thing in the morning because the only time the lead story wasn’t Trump was when it was something far far worse [hard to believe, alas, true. There are actual worse things and they actually happened].</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It got to the point I didn’t even want to go outside.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So...I didn’t. Much. Unless I had to. To which, most of my friends - if I even still have any - can attest considering I haven’t seen most of them for many many months.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It got to the point I didn’t blog at all.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Oh I tried. I have drafts galore. Most of them can be summed up with the subject line: So I work in HR. And many of them should be titled “How to Annoy the HR Generalist and Ensure Your Resume Ends Up in the Trash: A What Not to Do Guide on Applying for a Job”.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My heart just wasn’t in it though.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Instead, I spent day after day binging on anything (legal) that didn’t make my heart hurt...wine, food, television, mahjong. All good in moderation but I’ve never been particularly solid on the moderation front. If I’m in, I’m all sorts of in. Bleah.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That’s how I spent 2016. Hiding. Mostly. Checked out.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But there were some pretty cool things that happened in 2016.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For instance, I had a wonderful time this spring celebrating a friend’s 50th birthday over the course of a weekend and got to see several out-of-town people I rarely get to see.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I got to go to a work conference in Washington D.C. in June where I learned an awful lot. It was during that trip that I made a new BFF on the airplane there and then caught up with an old BFF from high school - someone I hadn’t seen in 20 years.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For the first time ever, I didn’t have to take any sick time other than a half day to go to the dentist and the eye doctor. Otherwise, I was pretty healthy (physically; spiritually was an entirely different matter).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In August, my eldest sister and my nieces (one by blood, one by “adoption”, and one by relationship), came over from Utah for a girls’ weekend and we had a fabulous visit!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I put as much emotional distance between my father and me as I possibly could. I’m sticking to it...so far.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And then, very recently, I reconnected with one of my teachers - a very special and dear teacher who gets much of the credit for pulling me, kicking and screaming, through the last two years of high school. I’m meeting her next week for coffee. I’m looking forward to seeing her and getting to know her again. This time, as equals. As friends.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don’t know what 2017 is going to have in store for me or for any of us.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It’s possible that 2016 was just foreshadowing the doom and gloom ahead. Not just possible. Likely. David Bowie was the first. Carrie Fisher won’t be the last.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One thing is for certain. I’m not content to continue to hide.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If there’s one thing 2016 has taught me, my days in this meat suit are numbered. And every day I spend hiding away from what hurts is one less day I have to spend doing what’s important.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So...I guess that means I’m back. For whatever that’s worth. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Who wants to do Church of Brunch on the 21st? Yannow, for 45th birthday celebratings?</div>
<br />
“I watch the ripples change their size<br />
But never leave the stream<br />
Of warm impermanence and<br />
So the days float through my eyes<br />
But the days still seem the same<br />
And these children that you spit on<br />
As they try to change their worlds<br />
Are immune to your consultations<br />
They're quite aware of what they're going through”<br />
-- David Bowie, “Changes”<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-64344229377889987232016-07-15T21:24:00.000-06:002016-07-15T21:37:35.580-06:00Living in Oblivion...Albeit Thirsty<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We lost our internet webs<sup>1</sup> the other night and for a whole 24 hours.</span></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-7e42f438-f1a1-06c9-1015-c559be9646e4" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A freak thunderstorm came up out of nowhere - or, really, it came down from the northwest - and I was just sitting here, minding my own business, when...</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">KABLOOEY-BLAM!!!</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A lightning/thunder strike so close it rattled the windows and made me jump out of my chair and exclaim, “Holy schnitzel pretzel crisp!”<sup>2</sup> It also scared Vinny so bad he did a Scooby Doo run on the throw rug before taking off like a rocket downstairs.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next moment, I got a notification pop up in my system tray indicating my “internet connection has been lost”. </span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I’m all, like, dammit, Internet Connection! You do not even have my permission to wander off and get lost. Next thing I know you’ll be getting in a white van and taking razor-bladed candy from a stranger.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I hollered down the stairs at Lex - the Keeper of the Internet Connection - and told him to DO SOMETHING.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But he couldn’t just then. Because he was a little busy cursing loudly at the modem/router and at his computer...all of which had, a split second after the KABLOOEY-BLAM, went sizzlesizzlesizzle poof. And died.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At least it was a quick death. They didn’t suffer. We don’t think.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That is not to say there wasn’t suffering though. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">WE suffered. Oh my yes. There was suffering. For, at least, 40 minutes.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because not even my mahjong game likes to be without an internet tube web connection. And that’s saying something. Mostly because Microsoft Games should just be...standard...in the “accessories” folder...like they always have been...internet web connection not required. Not with Windows 10 though. Alas.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But after 40 minutes I just kinda shrugged and retreated upstairs to read </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pride_and_Prejudice" target="_blank">Pride and Prejudice</a></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Again. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hardback. Hold the candlelight.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because Mr. Darcy makes even the lack of an internet connection better.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can’t say Lex fared quite as well. The quality of his life depends on three things. The internet, pot, and good snacks. He had two of the three. But it wasn’t enough.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Regardless, none of this is actually the point of this post except for the part where, once I’d retreated upstairs, I realized that I’ve lived 3/4 of my life without an internet connection and before there was an internet I was certainly able to keep myself easily entertained with something.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Right?</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Right.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I think.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I just don’t actually know now what that something was. </span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Except reading, now that I think of it. And solitaire the old-fashioned way...with shuffling. Both highly satisfying activities still.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Regardless, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>totally,</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> not the point.</span></span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So...the next day, I’m driving to work, toasted modem/router riding shotgun waiting to be delivered to xfinity for exchange. I’m grooving out to SiriusXM’s 1st Wave - Alternative 80’s...because I’m a middle aged white lady driving the 21st century’s equivalent to a minivan and that’s what we listen to<sup>3</sup> when we’re in the car (when we’re not listening to NPR) - and drinking my coffee. I set my coffee down as I approached my turn and...that’s when it hit me.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The internet webs aren’t the only thing we lived without in the 20th century. The internet webs aren’t even the most significant thing we lived without. Nay, People.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Would you like to know what else we lived without?</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Car cup holders.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Think about that for just a moment.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Car" target="_blank">modern car</a> was born in 1886.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It would take over a century before the <a href="https://thesocietypages.org/socimages/2013/03/08/when-did-cars-get-cup-holders/" target="_blank">car cup holder</a> became a standard feature in every automobile.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My first three cars - a 1981 Chevrolet Malibu Classic, a 1984 Toyota Corolla, and a 1992 <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyundai_Scoupe" target="_blank">Hyundai Scoupe</a> - had no cup holder. The Chevy had bench seats in both front and back. This meant that I either had to have a navigator to hold my Big Gulp whenever I headed to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blockbuster_LLC" target="_blank">Blockbuster Video</a> or drive with that 32 oz. cup of delicious, fizzy goodness between my knees. Sounds safe.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At least once bucket seats for the front became standard I found I could wedge said Big Gulp (but only a Big Gulp anything more or less could not be accommodated) between the emergency brake and the passenger seat...which worked pretty well unless I had to start or stop suddenly.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thankfully I never had an emergency requiring the emergency brake.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I didn’t have a vehicle with a cup holder until 2001. Less than a decade before Blockbuster would become completely irrelevant.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mind. Blowing.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Especially when you consider that the <a href="http://webfoundation.org/about/vision/history-of-the-web/" target="_blank">world wide web</a> was launched to the public in 1991...2 years before we could buy a car where a cup holder was standard equipment.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What the actual fuck?</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The struggle. Real.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So...when I think about what life was like in 1988 and compare it to now I had no idea that instant access to cat videos no matter where I am would trump a convenient place to hold my beverage of choice in my car in level of importance. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Back then? All I wanted was a [diet] Pepsi. And a place to secure it. In my car. Where I felt safest of all.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="line-height: 22.08px;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LoF_a0-7xVQ" width="420"></iframe></span><br /></span>
<span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Perspective.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div style="line-height: 1.38;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I haz some.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Along with a cheezburger. And a cat video.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></div>
<ol style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thank you, Chewbacca Mom.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t even know.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Listen to what’s playing on the muzak at the grocery store. Then maybe you’ll believe me.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span>Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-38825348528422295352016-01-30T21:16:00.000-07:002016-01-30T21:16:00.628-07:00So This is 44<div style="text-align: justify;">
I posted my very first blog entry 10 years ago last week.</div>
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It was originally posted to Friendster (which, for you young ones, was an actual thing before LiveJournal was a thing and way before Facebook was <i>the</i> thing) but I also cross-posted it to LiveJournal when I discovered Friendster wasn’t really a blogging platform as much as it was a hookup forum and that’s not what interested me. I just wanted to write and be read.</div>
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Friendster doesn’t even exist anymore. LiveJournal, while seeing a bit of a resurgence in popularity-ish awhile back, barely exists. I sometimes wonder how much longer Blogger will hang around.</div>
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Regardless...not my point.</div>
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My point is that my very first blog entry was called “So This is 34”. Because I had just turned 34 and was at the tail end of a practice run at a midlife crisis. It mostly went like this…</div>
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<i>Yesterday I turned 34. I didn't even so much think about the fact that it was my birthday. I mostly thought about what bare essentials I needed to bring down the mountain with me until I find a job and a place to live and have somewhere to put all my stuff. And I have a lot of stuff. What is that all about??? Can anyone please tell me why I insist on carting around a stack of half used spiral bound notebooks from college?! Wasn't it George Carlin who did the bit about how much stuff we accumulate? Or maybe I'm just thinking about the commercial for the <a href="http://milehighfleamarket.com/en/">Mile High Flea Market</a>. Hmmm...that's an idea. Except...well truthfully, most of my "stuff" is boxes full of books and how could I part with those? They're my friends! Every few years I do try to weed out the collection, but so many are ones I read and re-read - like food, they are comfort.</i></div>
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<i>Anyway, back to my point. What was my point? Oh yes. My birthday. So yesterday I filled my trunk with 2 suitcases, 3 trash bags full of clothes and shoes, my laptop and 2 assorted bags chock full o' supplements and organic foods my naturopath has prescribed for me (shhh...don't tell her about the bag of peanut M&M's that is nestled quite comfortably in between the psyllium husks and the B12 injectables) and, after a rather tearful goodbye with Ms. Kitty (for both parties), I was on my way down the mountain to re-claim my life.</i></div>
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<i>THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! Mid-life crisis (my first - drum roll please) in full swing.</i></div>
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<i>So I find myself unemployed and homeless at 34 with absolutely no direction. I know I can get a job but I don't know what I want to do or be and I don't want a job that sucks just so that I have one. I sorta feel like Lloyd Dobler right now - except without the whole kickboxing thing...my legs are too short for such a sport.</i></div>
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<i>I feel sort of lost right now. That'll go away in time. I'm fighting fear, fatigue, sadness, and loss. I can grieve for a relationship that I failed and one that failed me, even if I'm the one that said goodbye...right? Truth be told, I miss Antonio very much. I'd like to call him but I wouldn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to say either. It's just...complicated. </i></div>
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<i>And this is a passage on the road. My sister invited me to come stay with her and her husband in WA. Be careful what you wish for, big sista! You never know what might happen. Could I eat meat at your house? More importantly, could I store and cook meat at your house? Organic, cage free, grain fed only - I promise :-). I know how to cook now even. And I clean. Plus, I'm cute and love board games. I promise not to vomit on you in your bed if you promise not to chase me about the house with a butcher knife. And I swear I'll make my bed (and yours) every day.</i></div>
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<i>Ugh. What do I want to be when I grow up? Will somebody please just tell me? Besides just being me - what else is there?</i></div>
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Not long after I wrote that, I found a job - one with an organization who still likes me enough to continue to promote and pay me all these years later. </div>
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I never went back up the mountain to retrieve the rest of my stuff. It was donated and/or disposed of and I miss none of it. Not even the books. It was a difficult process to disconnect my internal Self from the physical stuff I’d accumulated but, once I got there in my head, it was wonderfully freeing. I’d never realized how much emotional weight could be packed so tightly in and around objects. Saying goodbye to all of that literal and figurative weight was quite possibly the single most important life lesson I’ve learned thus far. Buy what you need. Buy quality over quantity. Buy only what you are willing to pack and move. Buy experiences, not things. Because, at the end of the day, it’s the experiences I treasure. Nothing else matters except the memories.</div>
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When I wrote that entry, I had no idea there was no such thing as being a grown up. I had no idea there wouldn’t ever be a time when I wouldn’t want my mom to figure shit out for me because this life business is <i>hard</i>. I had no idea that my mom doesn’t have shit figured out either because she’s not a grown up anymore than I am. We’re all just...kids! We’re all just pimply, occasionally angsty adolescents costumed in business suits and graying hair saddled with sometimes ridiculously hard responsibilities we don’t know how to handle.</div>
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Being a grown up doesn’t just mean we pay our bills on time and eat vegetables with every meal.</div>
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Now I know.</div>
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And knowing lends a great deal of compassion and forgiveness to others. When I realized my expectations for the adults in my life to be capable of adulting all the time were set way too high, that there was no secret ritual/rite of passage/adulting handbook I would eventually be privy to when I finally FINALLY entered adulthood, I could understand and forgive them for not adulting very well.</div>
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I’m 44 as of last week.</div>
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I know a whole lot more than that girl who came tumbling back to reality in 2006 - emotionally beaten and bruised and confused - who was actually ready to learn, live, love, trust, and grow after hiding herself away, trying not to be noticed just in case the consequences of being noticed were going to be painful, for too many years. </div>
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I know pain is part of it now. Pain is an important part of it. So is grief and inexpressible joy.</div>
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I know that sometimes I’m a great friend and sometimes I’m a shitty friend and, while that’s not necessarily OK, it’s human and that <i>is </i>OK...to be human with faults that sometimes lead to hurting other people. If I have hurt you, I am so very sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Really. I swear. Please, if you can, forgive me.</div>
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I know that growing up isn’t a destination. It’s a process we never complete. </div>
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I know that age isn’t just a number but a reminder of just how fast 30, 40, 50 years can pass...and that counting down the days to Friday eventually feels pretty scary when you realize there aren’t that many more Fridays left.</div>
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I know that the best friendships are the most enduring ones. The ones that started when you were 4 (Andrew and Liz), or 10 (Brad), or 12 (Mr. Bliss), or 15 (Beasley and the Divine Ms. D. and Darling Nykki). That these are the friends, decades later, you will love the most because you’ve loved them the longest. That these are the friends who, decades later, still think you’re cool, even when your mom doesn’t.</div>
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I know that, even now, therapy is still a thing I occasionally need...if only to remind me that I’ve already been there, worked through that, and received the t-shirt.</div>
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I know that purple hair, at 44, is weird and uncomfortable and laughable for those under 30 who see it and think I’m little-old-lady-cute, and a <b>RECOGNIZE</b> moment for those over 40 who see it...and get it.</div>
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I know love is a many splendored thing and that, while those who are lucky enough to have found enduring love are to be envied, there is something to be said for those of us who experience love in short, intense bursts. </div>
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I know that sharing a bathroom, the older we get, is a very big deal. And that, if we don’t really, truly, wholeheartedly love the person with whom we share a bathroom, we’ll resent them. Forever. Thanks, Mom. I get that now.</div>
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I know that 34-year-old Jane saw a whole life ahead of her.</div>
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I know that 44-year-old Jane sees more than half of her life behind her. Wondering...am I living up to Thoreau’s expectations?</div>
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“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.”</div>
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This.</div>
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This is 44.</div>
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xo,<br />Jane...In My Infinite Wisdom</div>
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Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-34037166756462688342015-12-31T22:09:00.000-07:002015-12-31T22:09:57.754-07:00Ready<div style="text-align: justify;">
I’m ready.</div>
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100%.</div>
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I can officially state, for the record, that I’ve actually got my shit together - at least, my physical shit - so that I can start the new year off with some semblance of order in the business of my life.</div>
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One benefit to having been thrust into GO! mode, dealing with my dad’s affairs, over the last couple of months is that, once the crisis was finally over, the urge to make my hay while the sun shone hadn’t yet dissipated going into a week off from work. This allowed me to tackle a number of tasks and projects that had been weighing me down for awhile.</div>
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Instead of collapsing in a heap of exhaustion and self-pity, I just kept moving and accomplishing. I cleaned - including the disgusting excuse for a refrigerator - this house to a Mom-worthy level of clean, I found frames for all the artwork friends had gifted me over the last few years and got everything framed and hung so that the house is, as Lex likes to call it, “spruced up with interesting bits”, I shopped for and replaced all the clothes of my dad’s that went missing at rehab, I drove up to Loveland to see my dad, I organized my jewelry, I washed my car. I saw a movie...in the theater - something I haven’t done since <i>Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince</i> was released. </div>
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As a result, I feel really good about where I am and what’s to come. </div>
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While, in many ways, 2015 sucked, it sucked for all the right reasons.</div>
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It sucked to have received that come to Jesus call about my health and taking charge of it...or else.</div>
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It sucked that my dad declined to the point where I had to intervene and take over.</div>
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It sucked that I had to say goodbye to a friend.</div>
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It sucked that I had to replace my furnace at a terribly busy, overwhelming, worrisome time.</div>
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Yeah, 2015 sucked.</div>
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But only because what made it suck were all things that required Major Adulting AND HOW!</div>
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Instead of dwelling on the suckage then, let me tell you how the suck changed me and/or my thinking for the better.</div>
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It sucked to find myself in urgent care and then the emergency room twice in approximately 2 weeks and to find out I have a heart condition. And yet, I’m also grateful. Because I have super solid, affordable health insurance that allowed me to find out what the hell was going on in order to take charge of my health to the best of my abilities. That same health insurance is helping me manage my condition in whatever way I choose to pursue. I have options. I have options a lot of people in this country <i>still </i>don’t have. I have incredible access to professionals who can help me help myself. </div>
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And! I have this health insurance because I have an amazing job I love, working with incredibly talented, intelligent, fun people, by (mostly) contributing to their own well-being and happiness every single day.</div>
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Yeah, it sucks that my dad is declining and can’t take care of himself anymore.</div>
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His problems have put a major crimp in my self-serving lifestyle (no kids, no spouse...no one but me, Me, ME! to worry about *tongue definitely poking hard in my cheek right now*).</div>
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As much as I can’t stand my dad, I also have discovered a deep well of compassion for him. And, yeah, there’s some love there too. He’s a bigoted, misogynistic asshole, to be sure. But he’s also a sad, sorry man who, even though he had all the brains to be someone great, didn’t love himself enough to even try. Instead, he sat around waiting for affirming adoration, without even attempting to apply himself.</div>
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Compassion aside, the last few months have been chock full of important lessons for me. </div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;">Plan for the financial future! Even if the future might end tomorrow, it very likely will not be over for quite some time - long after working age and long after your body takes a major crap on you. The elder care game is a lucrative, rape-y kind of game full of well-intentioned people who are overworked, under-paid, and directed to cut costs at every corner for the corporate good. If you don’t have any money, your last years will be spent sitting in shit...your own. And that isn’t anyone’s fault but your own.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Take care of yourself! As we age, our minds go, our knees go, our balance takes a dive. Take care of yourself now! There are so many many many things we can do now to help ourselves later and the pay off to our self-respect can be HUGE!</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I am not alone. This is the biggest, most important lesson and gift I’ve received. I am not alone in all the heartache, hassle, and sadness associated with caring for my dad. I am so incredibly grateful for all the advice and camaraderie extended to me by my friends and colleagues who are in various stages of this very same dilemma. Every single bit of advice, every hug, every knowing nod helps!</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I am so ridiculously privileged to have the smarts and the education to navigate extremely complicated healthcare and legal systems on the behalf of someone else. I cannot even begin to imagine what this situation would be like if I didn’t have the vocabulary, problem-solving skills, or ability to think of and ask questions and keep track of all the ridiculous details involved in making sound decisions on behalf of my dad. I am so very sorry for those in this same situation who haven’t had the same advantages I’ve had to help me through. This shit’s hard, y’all. Very very hard. Calculus hard. Geometry is a paid vacation compared to this<sup>1</sup>.</li>
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Saying goodbye to a friend is almost always hard. It sucks. Especially when it’s a close friend. There is grief - grief as though the person died instead of just the relationship. </div>
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In all fairness, I’ve been grieving for two years.</div>
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And yet, I find gratitude that I was able to finally recognize a lost cause when I should and subsequently set a firm boundary. I’m grateful for all the other extraordinary people in my life (who I resolve to see in 2016!) who would never take the opportunity to elicit congratulations for themselves at the expense of someone else’s desperate plea for help. I’m grateful to have known him and relieved I’m not obligated to care for him in a way that should have never been my responsibility to begin with.</div>
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Gratitude. Relief. Good things.</div>
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Finally.</div>
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The furnace.</div>
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Furnaces are expensive. Ridiculously so.</div>
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And, it turns out, unless you’re conditioned to spend your life in a fur-lined parka, living it up in an igloo made of snow/ice like an Eskimo, furnaces are a necessity. An evil, evil, heat-producing, flaming necessity.</div>
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It sucked, hard, to have to replace mine.</div>
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I was cold for four days. And it was expensive. All while I was worried and stressed out about my dad.</div>
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Here’s the thing.</div>
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I am so lucky!</div>
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That furnace I replaced? It was mine. I owned it. Acquired it when I BOUGHT MY HOUSE.</div>
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That furnace I replaced? I didn’t have to scrounge up the money for it - or, worse, live without heat for the next six winters while I saved up the money for it - because I have excellent credit and could qualify for six months, no interest financing which allows me plenty of time to sock away enough savings to pay for it.</div>
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Grateful that I can pay it off in six months...or less.</div>
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So there.</div>
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That’s what’s good about 2015 that I carry into 2016.</div>
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<li>Gratitude.</li>
<li>Relief.</li>
<li>Compassion.</li>
<li>Privilege.</li>
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I’m shaking off the bad and embracing the good.</div>
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And that is a tremendous amount of good!</div>
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So, so good.</div>
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Bring it, 2016.</div>
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I’m ready for you.</div>
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Armed.</div>
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And dangerous.</div>
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1. Kind of a quote from <i>My So-Called Life</i>. </div>
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Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-34894434023398937922015-12-26T20:43:00.000-07:002015-12-26T20:43:15.085-07:00The Ghost of Christmas Presence<div style="text-align: justify;">
This may be the very first Christmas ever that I spent the day in near constant motion.</div>
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And by motion I mean cleaning, de-cluttering, organizing.</div>
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Normally, I’d use the fact that it’s Christmas as an excuse to move as little as possible while drinking as much coffee and eating as much chocolate as possible. Isn’t that what Christmas is all about? Lying about in one’s pajamas reading or watching movies or playing with/looking at one’s loot while indulging in all manner of not-good-for-you things?</div>
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Never mind that it’s been nearly 20 years since I had any actual loot to speak of - with the exception of that one Christmas I spent in Seattle in 2007. I don’t generally buy Christmas gifts for pretty much anyone. I don’t encourage people to buy Christmas gifts for me. I make donations every year to whatever charities resonate and that’s where the money for presents people don’t need goes. I typically spend the day alone - except for a Lex who doesn’t celebrate hiding out in the basement - and do whatever I want and eat whatever I want (usually Cheetos and boxed wine thankyouverymuch) and, aside from calling my mom and dad to wish them a Merry Christmas, I don’t generally speak to anyone on this day. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m not a Scrooge. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Not by a long shot.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I actually love Christmas.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I love the lights, the smells, the songs.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I even have a few decorations I usually put up (last year, I didn’t take them down until April *laughing*).</div>
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<br /></div>
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It’s just been a long time since I’ve celebrated the holidays in the traditional sense...the planning, the shopping, the baking, the family. </div>
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<br /></div>
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This year though was, in a nutshell, weird and awful and heart wrenching and frustrating.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The weeks and months leading up to Christmas were a blur. Halloween apparently happened and Thanksgiving too. But both those holidays were spent at rehab with my dad and I didn’t have any time to think about anything else except all my growing responsibilities as an unwilling parent to him while trying to stay employed.</div>
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<br /></div>
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There wasn’t any time to think about home or Lex or Acr0 or me.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m totally not whining, by the way. It is what it is and I’ve done the best I could even when I sincerely didn’t want to anymore. I even went so far as to send an email of resignation to my family one night. </div>
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<br /></div>
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“I QUIT!”</div>
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<br /></div>
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Knowing full well this was one job I didn’t have the luxury of quitting.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Thanks, Obama.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hIIb-pZkiuI" width="560"></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>
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So I didn’t quit.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I pushed through until my brother and his family stepped up and in, providing Dad a place to go when he didn’t have anywhere left.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The final days leading up to Christmas then were spent taking care of the business of essentially an eviction, making arrangements to haul all of his stuff out of his apartment and into storage.</div>
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<br /></div>
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That meant there really wasn’t time to think about Christmas...or decorations...or Band Aid...or Cheetos and chocolate.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/bjQzJAKxTrE" width="420"></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>
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Instead, I woke up yesterday morning with really only one plan.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Getting my shit and my house in order.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Because I’ll be damned if I start a brand new shiny year with no catastrophes in it yet buried under a dozen loads of laundry, a layer of dust an inch thick, and mounds of papers - Dad’s and my own - lying about just waiting for an opportunity to mock me over my lack of willpower when it comes to filing.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So that’s what I did.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I scrubbed, laundered, sorted, organized, FILED, and just generally kicked up so much dust I went to bed sneezing.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Because if there is one thing I’ve learned through all of this?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Life is short.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Life is messy.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Clean it up now.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Before someone else is forced to clean it up for you.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Next year? </div>
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<br /></div>
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Next year I’m decking my halls within an inch of their lives. Hell! I think I’ll even buy a tree...or, yannow, at the very least, a fresh pine wreath. Because evergreen smells so damn good! I’m blasting carols - especially Band Aid - from Thanksgiving through December 25 as often as Lex will let me (which, OK fine, let’s face it, will be once before he threatens me with bodily harm). I’m going to bake. I’m buying presents and I’m going to be present. I might even send cards! (HA! Who am I kidding? Cards. L.O.L.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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And I am NOT going to spend another Christmas with my hands shoved down in my toilet(s) (plural. I’ve got 4.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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Because I love Christmas.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I love the lights. The smells. The songs.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And life is short.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Too short.</div>
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<br /></div>
Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-51696737675116362742015-12-19T21:42:00.000-07:002015-12-19T21:42:39.777-07:00Nobody Puts Gershwin in the Corner<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FItu9x58Ro8" width="420"></iframe></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s done.</span></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-0ece7d39-bda0-989a-6cb3-aa543745ffaf" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m risking a possible jinx here by saying this but, for now, the Dad crisis that has been all-consuming for the last 10 weeks is officially over and I can hopefully get some good sleep for a change.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At least tonight anyway.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stupid Anxiety is an expert at finding any manner of Next Things to worry about so, at best, I suspect I’ll get a night or two of tranquility before I’m waking up at 2 a.m. chewing on something new.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But I’ve at least got tonight. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The last 10 days have been a whirlwind of urgency. Yannow, because the preceding 60 days weren’t quite urgent enough.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I found out Thursday evening of last week Dad would discharge from rehab - per the insurance company’s polite decline to pay for any additional days - on Wednesday. At the same time, I was informed his independent living community’s director had determined he was no longer sufficiently independent for independent living and would not be allowed to return to his apartment.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Surprisingly, I didn’t actually panic.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We - my siblings and I - had been told a week or so before by the rehab staff this was likely going to be the case and so we’d had an e-mail discussion about our options already.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<ul style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Move him in with one of us.</span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Personally supplement his income for assisted living.</span></div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fortunately, my brother and his wife stepped up and offered a room in their home about an hour away as a short term solution until we could find somewhere he could afford without requiring the rest of us to drain our own savings (risking our own future long term care needs) to pay for something outside his budget.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Which is so great! I cannot even begin to tell you how incredibly grateful I am that they were both able and willing to open up their hearts and homes to, let’s just face it, an extremely cranky, bitter, negative old man.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Seriously.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It isn’t something I think I would have been able to do emotionally even if I could have done it physically (my home has all sorts of accessibility issues...namely lots and lots of stairs). He...just...yeah. His opinion of me is probably about as good as mine is of him.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hard to believe, I know. Because you all think I’m all sorts of upstanding and spectacular and I would have to concur. However, he suspects I’m a weirdo drug dealing meth cooker. Because, yannow, I really like wearing black.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The purple streaks in my hair don’t help.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And still...he granted me Power of Attorney and signing privileges on his checking account..</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">[insert maniacal laughter here...I’m kidding...sorta]</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Totally not my point.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What was my point?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hold on. Let me look.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh! Oh yeah! I hadn’t quite gotten to the point yet. Gershwin.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So anyway! </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yeah. We - my siblings and I - made the determination that Dad would go to my brother’s house at discharge. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But…</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That also meant in just five very short days we had to figure out what to do with all of his stuff. And he has a lot of stuff. Stuff that, frankly, no one but him really gives a shit about.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What did he want with him (aside from everything)?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What did he need with him?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Where would we put everything else?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We figured it out - not helped even one tiny bit by a rare dumping of a foot of snow over the front range on Tuesday - and put the plan into action.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">U-Haul rented.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Friends enlisted.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Storage found.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Packers/movers procured.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was crazy, let me tell you. But we made it happen. Everything - mostly - fell into place.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then…</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wednesday afternoon, after work, I went to his apartment to meet with the senior services moving company I’d hired to help to do a walk through/assessment/cataloging of his belongings so they could give me a fair estimate of the cost to pack and move most of his material life into storage.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“That goes to Loveland.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“That goes to storage.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Loveland.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Storage.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Until the end.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we were standing in the living room, just finished with the tour, I spied him.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">George.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Face eternally uplifted, a cigar chomped in his mouth. The bust of George Gershwin, created by an prominent Wyoming artist, my mother had gifted my dad decades before, years before their marriage dissolved - the occasion long ago lost.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A visceral, emotional, irrational reaction happened deep inside me. I cannot explain it. All I can say is that, in my head and heart, I knew, “Nobody puts George in storage”.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I picked him up and set him by my purse.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“This goes with me.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wasn’t cherry picking.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have no idea of that piece of art’s worth.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Honestly, I don’t care.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve told my brother and sisters that I took it. I’ve told them if they want it to just let me know.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I just...I couldn’t bear seeing it go into a 10’x10’ storage unit.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Like my dad.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And all the rest of his stuff.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH40Qw3-JL5hDziuQcx70cWNlg3K0GKm_PiF7PpFZDhF5qlYD3KUsQ3_Fdpt5C7G89k8QpJXYJwpXxLaKbzJhThEgwqGOZfAI4gL7lN9oBW5fJyRdy8L3ggzTHcCnV967qmqFVCDYYz3k/s1600/20151218_193835-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; white-space: normal;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH40Qw3-JL5hDziuQcx70cWNlg3K0GKm_PiF7PpFZDhF5qlYD3KUsQ3_Fdpt5C7G89k8QpJXYJwpXxLaKbzJhThEgwqGOZfAI4gL7lN9oBW5fJyRdy8L3ggzTHcCnV967qmqFVCDYYz3k/s400/20151218_193835-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">George just hangin' out on my mantel. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></div>
Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-81806669927135183612015-12-11T22:04:00.000-07:002015-12-11T22:04:09.423-07:00THIS is Getting Weird<div style="text-align: justify;">
The night my father was admitted to the hospital the first time, October 16, for falling...twice...in one day...I wasn’t precisely sure how long he would be there. Originally, all the ER doctor told me was that she was going to have him admitted “for observation”.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In my mind, at that time, “observation” just meant overnight. Just to be safe.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, it was with that informed-by-too-much-television knowledge I arrived at the hospital the next day mid-morning. Just in case he was ready for discharge early<sup>1</sup>.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I followed a man and woman into the hospital from the parking garage.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I wasn’t paying much of any attention to them. As I walked toward the elevator, honestly, I was really calculating what time I absolutely had to leave the hospital, if he wasn’t ready to discharge that morning, in order to arrive at my hair appointment scheduled for 1 p.m.<sup>2</sup> and, well, sometimes that kind of arithmetic is hard for me (and requires the use of fingers...and toes...shut up).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
They reached the bank of elevators ahead of me but not so far ahead of me that they couldn’t hear me exclaim, “Up? Are you going up? Hold the elevator please!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I rushed on just before the doors closed.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I reached to press the button for “fourth floor - telemetry”. They’d already pressed the button for the floor I wanted.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Right away, the man looked at me and immediately said, “This is weird. I know it’s weird. It’s probably all in my head. But wow! You look really familiar.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I snapped out of my calculation revelry, looked at him, didn’t really recognize him and said, “Well...what is your name?”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He responded, “Bruce.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
OK.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now most of you have no idea that I have no aptitude for faces but I am a wiz for names.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As soon as he said “Bruce” my brain’s rolodex started google-searching for the name “Bruce” and I landed on only one “Bruce” from my life - aside from the Rick Springfield song anyway<sup>3</sup>. A Bruce I hadn’t seen in 20 years.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
20 years.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Did you ever work at Lehrer’s Flowers?” I asked.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He smiled.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Nodded emphatically.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And then threw his arms wide open for a hug.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I’d worked at Lehrer’s Flowers in college in the early 90’s. At the time, he was the manager of their main store. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He was my first interviewer with the company and recommended me for hire.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ultimately, he would become my boss’s boss after I left to finish up college in Nevada. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We didn’t really know each other well.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I remembered his name. He remembered my face.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And, by some strange coincidence, 20 years after we’d last seen each other, we were in the same place at the same time going to the same floor - him to room 432, me to room 423 - to see an ailing parent (his mother, my father).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Pretty cool, right?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This shit gets better (and weirder).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Round 2. November 19.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My dad had been home from his first stint in rehab (for falls, not drugs) after his first hospitalization for exactly one week before his primary care doctor sent us back to the hospital with some urgency to have my dad admitted for things <a href="http://www.janesinfinitewisdom.com/2015/11/help.html">earlier described</a>.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I dropped my dad and visiting sister off at the ER entrance and then went to go park the car.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As I was walking toward the ER, I saw a familiar looking man walking out of the ER toward a parked car. I couldn’t believe it. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“BRUCE!” I yelled.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yep.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One and the same.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He’d brought his mother into the ER for a severe allergic reaction to her medication. She was stable and he was taking her home.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Right at the same moment my father was coming in.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I hadn’t seen him in 20 years.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now I’d seen him twice in a month.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I told him we really had to stop meeting like this.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We looked at each other wearily. He nodded. “Yes. I know.” </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Just wait.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It gets better. And weirder.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Four days later…</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was supposed to be the day of discharge.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I’d taken the morning off work - Dad’s doctor having assured me the day before that he’d be discharged before 10 a.m. - took the elevator to the telemetry ward - the only place they’d had a bed when he was admitted a few days before (even though, this time, he was there for GI) - and, after exiting the elevator, looked both ways, checking for oncoming foot traffic, before taking a left to room 432.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I looked right.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I looked left.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Wait…</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I looked right again.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You have GOT to be shitting me!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To the right, in front of room 423, stood Bruce, looking as forlorn as I felt.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
His mother had been admitted again.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This time for a broken rib...which has about as much to do with telemetry as bloody stools do.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Woot.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He saw me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I approached him.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We hugged.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I said, “The next time I see you it better be over a bottle or three of wine.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I haven’t seen him since.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But I could really use that wine.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm thinking we're long overdue.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1. Ha! HA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! 9 weeks and two hospitalizations and two rehab stays later. HA!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2. My stylist is fabulous and kinda hard to get into and, well, let’s just say I have my priorities.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3. <iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EW1Frr4OcRc" width="420"></iframe></div>
Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-69426031213444232172015-11-27T21:42:00.001-07:002015-11-27T21:42:08.556-07:00Help<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started to write all the sordid details about what’s been going on the last 10 days but it wasn’t making for a particularly coherent story. </span></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-1f2b3704-4c5c-3421-2bd8-0b975250f251" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rather, it felt frantic, disjointed, and, frankly, like a ginormous, vomitous purge of anxiety and angst.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I’m starting over with this:</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After a hospital and rehab stay that lasted exactly 4 weeks, my father is, once again, back at rehab - a different facility this time - after precisely 1 week at home and another 5-day hospital stay.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He didn’t fall.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This latest adventure, instead, includes:</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rectal bleeding</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fecal incontinence</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Radiation proctitis</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Colonic polyps</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That’s why he was back in the hospital - for a colonoscopy he couldn’t prep for at home without a lot of support.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Turns out, radiation therapy for prostate cancer has some lovely side effects...even 18 months after treatment ends.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All but the polyps were a direct result of 45 radiation treatments to an area adjacent to the rectum. The polyps? Who knows? Except to say my paternal grandmother died of renal failure due to colon cancer and genetics run strong when it comes to cancer. (Get your colonoscopies, Kinfolk.)</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He’s back at rehab because, after spending a few days sitting on his bum in the hospital, he’d regressed, losing pretty much all the strength he’d gained during the first rehab stay, his feet swollen to epic proportions because of his severe edema exacerbated by not keeping his feet elevated above his heart. On the day he was to discharge (Monday), he was unable to stand without significant help and completely unable to walk - even with the walker and with human support.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">PT and OT evaluated him and recommended rehab.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Back to square one.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Except…</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This time? We’re in a major living situation and financial crisis.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The bleeding, the proctitis, the polyps, all of that was rectified during the colonoscopy.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But the incontinence - both bladder and bowel - is uncontrolled and uncontrollable.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing to be done. Except, I suppose, to force him to sit on the pot. Permanently.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was so mad at him!!!</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On Monday, the day he was supposed to discharge, the doctor instructed me to be there at 8:30 a.m. to go over discharge orders before taking him home. I was there 5 minutes early, impatient to get through the process, get him home, get him settled, and get on with my own life - a life in which I get to tuck the thought of him away into the recesses of my brain so I can attend to more pressing (and pleasurable) matters.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When he said he had to go to the bathroom and I watched as the nurse attempted to get him up to walk to the restroom 15 steps away and he couldn’t do it, I was seething. I’d told him several days before to do the exercises his physical therapist had given him at rehab - the exercises he could do in a chair on his own - so he wouldn’t lose all the progress he’d made. He’d clearly not done them.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m ashamed to admit I was curt, sarcastic, passive-agressive, snide.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When the occupational therapist came in and told him he needed rehab or around the clock care, he said he wasn’t going back to rehab. Period. No way. No how. 24-hour care it was to be.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I lost my shit.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I yelled at him. “How are you going to pay for that, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dad</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">? There is NO money. None. And I can’t take care of you full time.”</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He waved his hand at me as if to shoo me away. “I’ll figure it out,” he said.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“NO! DAD! There is nothing to figure out. You have NO money. None. The $5,000 you’ve got in savings won’t last you 5 minutes with 24-hour care!”</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I sat there for 6 hours, fuming, waiting, as one by one, the occupational therapist, the physical therapist, the case manager, the doctor all came in to say one thing, “rehab”.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You think?</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I went home.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started to panic.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here’s the thing...he isn’t independent anymore. The bladder and bowel incontinence requires him to have assistance...possibly beyond assisted living.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Diapers, adult ones, are an indication that a nursing home may be in order. </span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I wasn’t lying about the money.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He doesn’t have any. And neither do I really.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I mean, I live pretty comfortably. I have a house and a brand new car (that I haven’t started paying on yet but, when I do, yowch squared to my expendable income). But I am by no means prepared to hand over an extra $1,000, $2,000, $3,000 a month toward skilled nursing care for anyone - not even myself. A fact that scares me, knowing my own impending long term care is potentially looming, knowing there is no daughter or son to take care of me when I can no longer care for myself.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My mom says, “Well, just get him on Medicaid! Problem solved.”</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">No, Mom. I love you but problem is not solved.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Medicaid is designed for the indigent. The poor.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Affordable Care Act has helped to loosen the qualifications for Medicaid but not much. And, because my dad was never much of a saver or believer in investing in property, but a decent wage earner, he is stuck in an untenable position.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He brings in too much from social security to qualify for government assistance but too little to pay for the care he needs...which is a lot...of care and money.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He has no property to leverage. No car. No house.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing but the clothes on his back.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even his personal effects - a few sticks of furniture and some books he’s never read - amount to...little more than nothing.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He’s saved every nail, every bolt, every screw he could get his hands on over the course of 77 years. He’s saved canceled checks from his mother’s checking account from 45 years ago and my Great-Aunt Lue’s ledger book and last couple of tax returns. But dollars and cents? Not so much.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is a way to get him on Medicaid which would pay for both diapers and skilled nursing...in a nursing home. Oy vey.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s called a Miller Trust.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I’m working on it. But it requires the help of an attorney.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oof.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because yeah. Of course it requires an attorney...who costs money. And time I don’t really have.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But money is not the point of this post.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although money is driving a significant section of this Anxiety Road I’m on toward Panic City.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He finally agreed to rehab - as long as it wasn’t the “HELL” rehab he’d been in a week before.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I found him a new rehab that his insurance would pay for (Medicare Advantage Plan C...don’t do it!!! Pay the extra for Medicare straight out if you can). It’s better there. At least, I think. So far.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On his first day there, Tuesday afternoon, he and I were talking. I met him there about the time he arrived so I could help him, if necessary, sign paperwork.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He told me how, before he’d come to rehab that day, he’d been sitting there in the chair at the hospital and, all of a sudden, without warning, he’d pooped himself. </span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">No time to call for help.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">No time to do anything but sit there and let it happen.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And something inside me just...broke.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I burst into tears.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I sobbed, “Daddy? That’s not rehab kind of stuff. That’s not assisted living kind of stuff. That’s...that’s nursing home kind of stuff.”</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He looked at me, tears in his eyes, and whispered, “I couldn’t help it.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I’m so devastated.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because he knows.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t know what to do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Help.</span></span></div>
Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-44494785078585976272015-11-06T22:30:00.000-07:002015-11-06T22:30:19.224-07:00Hot Wheels Hoolihan<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I bought a new car today.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://www.hyundaiusa.com/santa-fe-sport/specifications.aspx">This car actually</a>.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6a_nnEpWJPr0W2ufnA4zreelvlfFNy1MI44w_9Cgu546rhhpFrmWA-otBhNnsOxIc2SnY-_QOx9g85_BRgzEh_Y643iL4UVldW2B88Y66SQnyQHJmB-vN0EjLV5KBSrSHiEh4whOsUjw/s1600/Platinum+Graphite.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6a_nnEpWJPr0W2ufnA4zreelvlfFNy1MI44w_9Cgu546rhhpFrmWA-otBhNnsOxIc2SnY-_QOx9g85_BRgzEh_Y643iL4UVldW2B88Y66SQnyQHJmB-vN0EjLV5KBSrSHiEh4whOsUjw/s400/Platinum+Graphite.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Which is technically an SUV so I’m now one of THOSE people.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t mind being one of THOSE people. It’s awfully nice to be able to see in the sea of other SUVs. Which was kinda my point when I went looking for something to buy...being able to see. Not something one can easily do in this day and age when driving a sedan. Not when nearly every other car on the road is an SUV - aka THOSE people - or a truck (the other THOSE people).</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">My choice had nothing at all to do with my level of sporty. If it did, I’d be driving a Smart Car.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Instead, my choice - like so many of my choices lately - had nearly everything to do with visibility. Seeing and being seen. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I should have gotten the <a href="http://www.janesinfinitewisdom.com/2015/10/red-is-new-black.html">Serrano Red</a> one<sup>1</sup>. Heh.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQ0B7CGL29m5WpAQcu9f9Wlh1ikccdpSoyeehUSJMT48ck_pAbM-Zw-VRL4Ti2wEmSpQzQF5eEcp3O6GlNFpl2Qnf2jbGPK6fHouGwr114IMb_XjmidvklgLADvLZ1eAecV4ywTKfFmc/s1600/Serrano+Red.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQ0B7CGL29m5WpAQcu9f9Wlh1ikccdpSoyeehUSJMT48ck_pAbM-Zw-VRL4Ti2wEmSpQzQF5eEcp3O6GlNFpl2Qnf2jbGPK6fHouGwr114IMb_XjmidvklgLADvLZ1eAecV4ywTKfFmc/s400/Serrano+Red.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">But visibility (or invisibility as it were) is not the point of this post. That one’s coming. Maybe. Or it might just be in the book.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anyway!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The point is actually about money. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The <a href="http://www.femininefaceofmoney.com/">Feminine Face of Money</a>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Long time readers, friends, will know that, at the end of 2010, I gave myself a stern talking to about debt. Specifically, <a href="http://www.janesinfinitewisdom.com/2010/12/for-once-realistic.html">a come to Jesus talk</a> to get the hell out of debt. I even started (and never finished) <a href="http://www.janesinfinitebudget.com/">a blog about my experiences with debt</a>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am super duper ecstatic to report that, 4 years and several expectation/attitude adjustments later, I did just that. I clawed my way out of debt - and <a href="http://www.janesinfinitewisdom.com/2013/07/light-tunnel-end-whew.html">bought a HOUSE</a> in the middle of it! - one paycheck at a time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">That happened just this spring. But I was too tired and sick to tell you about it. (Another post. Or, yannow, book about debt. We’ll just have to see.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">For the last couple of years then, really since I bought the house and found out my FICO was 724 and on the climb, I’ve been monitoring my credit and FICO via <a href="http://credit.com/">credit.com</a>. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Climb it did. 100 points, in fact.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pretty much perfect credit.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So, since I had near perfect credit and no debt (aside from the mortgage), I started thinking about the last time I drove a new car off the lot in 2001 - a car that, after 14 years, had almost reached its useful life - and about buying a new car. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Subsequently, I did extensive research (thank you, Interwebz!) about the various cars I wanted to buy, the incentives currently offered, best practices in car sales negotiation, and what it means to be truly “well qualified” for the best financing options.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then? Then I got pre-approved for credit.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So, walking into the dealership this afternoon, armed with the knowledge of my excellent credit - no matter the measure, my pre-approval for the absolute best rate for my terms, and knowledge of the car sales industry, I should have been ridiculously confident...cocky even...about what they would do for me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Instead, I was a nervous wreck driving over there.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Why?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because I’m a woman. Without a husband who can negotiate on my behalf and “do the math”.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because I was terrified that all the financial power I’d gifted myself and knowledge I had in my brain, sans man, would somehow fly right out the window during the test drive...while I was falling madly in love with the car. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or I’d somehow doubt myself under the influence of a more knowledgeable, capable salesperson. (WTF?! I don’t even.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">But something happened as I pulled into the parking lot of the dealership, taking one last, long satisfying drag off my cigarette. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">All of a sudden I said to myself, “Self?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fuck that.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fuck this attitude.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fuck them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know what I know.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And what I know is that I’ve worked damn hard for my credit score and that hard work should have them doing everything they can - within reason - to keep me from walking out the door.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">What I know is what’s fair. For me. For them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I popped a couple of mini altoids in my mouth (yo, cigarette), walked through the door, and asked for John Francis (the internet manager I’d been speaking with about my Price Promise from <a href="http://edmunds.com/">Edmunds.com</a>).</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">My experience was pretty typical for a woman, at least, at first...I think. Unfortunately.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was all about the color...exterior...interior.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Which I cared about a little. I mean, at what point have any of you ever thought my personality just screamed “ORANGE!!!” aside from never? And, frankly, when I think of the word “beige”, I can’t help but think about that horrible sexist joke told to me in high school about painting the ceiling beige.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Once we’d established I wasn’t hung up on color (interior or exterior...except for that awful orange) and was more interested in driving feel, we took a test drive. Which was fabulous. And, in just 10 minutes, I was crazy in love (with the car, not John Francis...although he’s totally sweet and adorable and someone - who wouldn’t qualify as a cougar like me - should just scoop him up with a love spoon).</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was sold.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then the finance guy pretended to run the Price Promise numbers.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Which came out to $100 a month more than I knew I should pay (because research).</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I said, “Uh...hrm. John Francis? This isn’t anything like the number I came up to when I ran the numbers every which way to Sunday.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And he was all, like, “What number did you come up with?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I told him. Because it was honest.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">He said, “OK. Give me a few minutes and I’ll get back to you with what my finance manager says.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">10 minutes later - and a couple of quick double checking of my math and theirs on my smart phone (turns out they were attempting to get me to agree to finance the MSRP LOL) - John Francis came back to me with a number. THE number. The one I knew was 100% fair.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I was all like, “OK yeah! There it is.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So here we are.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve got a crazy gorgeous new car.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">SUV.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whatever.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">On my terms. Which, in my opinion, are pretty damn fair.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And, as I was sitting there, signing the paperwork, I thought to myself, “Sticking up for myself, knowing what I know, wasn’t so hard. I did good. Dianne Juhl would be proud of me and my feminine face of money.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am the feminine face of money.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don’t fuck with this face.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Alright?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">1: I didn’t get the red one - even though I strongly considered it - because Acr0nym has a Santa Fe in red (albeit several years older). Otherwise, the red one would have been mine!</span></span></div>
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Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-55824393424577720222015-10-31T21:45:00.000-06:002015-10-31T21:45:58.328-06:00It's All Relative<div style="text-align: justify;">
My father fell.</div>
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Twice.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On the same day - about 14 hours apart.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He has no recollection of the first fall. It happened in the middle of the night and he has no memory of getting out of bed, of going to the bathroom, or why he fell, landing half in the hall and half in the bathroom. When he came to, he tried to reach the emergency pull cord to alert staff at his independent living facility but couldn’t maneuver himself in any kind of meaningful way to be successful.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So he laid there.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For hours.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The fire department came, once the aide who’d come to assist him with his compression stockings around 9 a.m. discovered him, got him on his feet, checked his blood pressure and made sure he could walk. He declined a ride to the hospital and insisted he was fine.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And then, just a couple of hours later, while another aide was there to check up on him, he fell again.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This time, he’d gone into the bathroom but was a little too late, starting to urinate before he’d gotten fully seated, so the floor was wet. When he tried to stand, his feet went out from underneath him and there he was, once again, on the floor. Stuck.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The fire department - same crew - responded again<sup>1</sup>. This time, however, they weren’t letting him off the hook. They insisted on taking him to the emergency room for a thorough work up. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That was just over two weeks ago. He was admitted to the hospital for observation for a variety of reasons. His heart rate was elevated, his blood pressure was ridiculously low, and his kidney functions had skyrocketed...mostly because of the muscle breakdown from the fall trauma and lying on the floor, unable to move, for so long.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It became painfully clear, even in the emergency room, that the falls had impacted his ability to move or walk even a little. He was unable to stand on his own, urinate on his own, or even adjust himself in the bed without a lot of assistance.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To be clear, my father is a large man - weighing in at nearly 350 pounds. His mobility and balance have been getting increasingly worse for the last couple of years - due, in large part, to his weight - which is why we moved him to independent living to begin with...for his own safety. My siblings and I, along with pretty much everyone else he regularly comes in contact with, have been urging him for months to consider a walker.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He refused.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He would throw an absolute hiss over the suggestion, claiming he hated walkers because everyone at his apartment building is totally inconsiderate with their walkers and he wanted none of it. Forget about suggesting he could lead by example with his own walker. Foot down. NO.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And then he fell. Twice. In one day.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hello, Walker.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxHyZbvt-gXXB0WG9HwW0HEGio5gNiinw6U1qPOR1RNhSmcfk1q-Jn7GmL_g1burvmQbjpS3ONhmvLsx8EUjYpUCoyFTLegrXHsQVxrRWz1b8pH4dhXtkRKcPud59ui-GRXRL_j5FXjM/s1600/Dad+on+the+walker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxHyZbvt-gXXB0WG9HwW0HEGio5gNiinw6U1qPOR1RNhSmcfk1q-Jn7GmL_g1burvmQbjpS3ONhmvLsx8EUjYpUCoyFTLegrXHsQVxrRWz1b8pH4dhXtkRKcPud59ui-GRXRL_j5FXjM/s400/Dad+on+the+walker.jpg" width="207" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Using a walker for the first, certainly not the last, time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He was in the hospital for a total of five days (including day 0...his arrival in the emergency room). He met with a physical therapist and an occupational therapist that first full day and both immediately recommended rehab upon discharge.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And so now he’s at rehab (for falls, not the Amy Winehouse kind). Now that his heart rate, blood pressure, and kidney functions have returned to normal-ish.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And he ain’t happy about it. Not even a little bit. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Frankly, neither am I.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There’s a reason why I don’t talk much about my dad.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mostly, I don’t talk about him because I don’t really like him very much. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There. I said it. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He’s one of the most negative people I’ve ever had occasion to know. His <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Locus_of_control">locus of control</a> is so externally focused that, if I didn’t know better, I’d think it was <i>my</i> fault I was ever born. He’s extremely passive aggressive and controlling. He rarely has anything nice to say. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Not about anything.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Most certainly not about me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But that doesn’t matter. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Based largely on proximity (my sisters both live out of state and my brother is 90 minutes away), I am his Power of Attorney, his Medical Durable Power of Attorney, his caretaker. When he is incapacitated, as he is now, I’m in charge. <b>The Boss</b>, as he likes to say.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That doesn’t sit well with someone who absolutely must be in control.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He doesn’t like it and, right now, I’m not sure he particularly likes me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Especially when he found out that he couldn’t discharge himself against medical advice. Only I could as MDPA.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And I won’t. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Because no. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Because doing so means he has to have around-the-clock care and that’s not something I’m able or willing to do and I told him so. I told him that I would no longer provide <i>any</i> assistance to him if he even tried to get himself discharged before he was capable of caring for himself.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hello, Boundary.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He’s not a fan of boundaries. He said, “Fine. Whatever.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hello, Passive Aggression.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe9eUqrCd1AiwVqe2hqSdQ2mFgyJL0QBC6D1FOQSVYlD9L9m0Grg_7W6VoTETzOKPfp7OKnPYqeVyddzyhGyxExTlh_gGlDu50tRgUMVfHNxUDK8Io0B6PsZSpWZb1_98n-VnIj0NXSoI/s1600/AMA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe9eUqrCd1AiwVqe2hqSdQ2mFgyJL0QBC6D1FOQSVYlD9L9m0Grg_7W6VoTETzOKPfp7OKnPYqeVyddzyhGyxExTlh_gGlDu50tRgUMVfHNxUDK8Io0B6PsZSpWZb1_98n-VnIj0NXSoI/s400/AMA.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My face when he said he was going to discharge himself against medical advice.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I’m not complaining.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Really! I’m not.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I’ve spent the last 30+ years in therapy, on and off, dealing with my feelings and attitudes toward my father (among other things). What would be hard for many people - the onslaught of negativity, criticisms, boundary pushing - isn’t particularly difficult for me. I figured out his number years ago, which is why we’ve been largely estranged for the last decade or so, so pretty much everything he does or says rolls right off my back or gets met with a solid boundary. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
CAUTION: DO NOT CROSS.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mostly?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I just really feel sorry for him.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I feel sorry for him that he has no will to live.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I feel sorry for him that he has no hobbies or interests outside of game shows...and porn<sup>2</sup>.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I feel sorry for him that he has no friends despite the fact that he has the ability to make and keep them if he would just. Let. Them. In.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I feel sorry for him that he’s spent the last 7 decades assuming everyone was out to get him instead of realizing just how often it’s not been about him.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I feel sorry for him that, no matter what anyone does or says, it won’t be good enough to suit him because, in the end, he doesn’t feel like he’s good enough to deserve it.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I feel sorry for him that he has held on to something I said over 30 years ago when I was 13 (“I’m not the one who abandoned my family!”) and let it cause him so much pain for so long without even trying to let it go.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I feel sorry for him that he can’t even enjoy the simply glorious feeling of warm, autumn sunshine on his shoulders without complaining about how he might burn.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ILGLTDPWBx0B5uXeyoCgsD6FR_-np5_F0y5_91VrszC-hZGoGJjyncfzjPun1o_7DnkovVx1B-vz6P00ImeE2HYyq9U4YCFkIN94QwKpyxWfoloIttYE91bgzrBqB7w9YXVqGEd2Ph4/s1600/Dad+in+the+sunshine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ILGLTDPWBx0B5uXeyoCgsD6FR_-np5_F0y5_91VrszC-hZGoGJjyncfzjPun1o_7DnkovVx1B-vz6P00ImeE2HYyq9U4YCFkIN94QwKpyxWfoloIttYE91bgzrBqB7w9YXVqGEd2Ph4/s400/Dad+in+the+sunshine.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He said, "How do you want me to smile? Funny or normal?" I said, "So it reaches your eyes." Fail.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I feel really really sorry for him.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
His life, if he’d chosen it to be, could have been so much happier!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Instead, here we are. Nearing the end. And he’s so very very sad. Has been sad. Maybe always. Just waiting. Waiting. Waiting to die.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He’s working with a therapist for the first time ever...at my insistence. He thinks she’s snooty. I think she’s brilliant.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He’s getting physically stronger every day.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He knows he’s got to earn his way out of this one.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He’s been told more than once that he’s lucky to have me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Whether he believes it or not.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I’m here.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Not bitter or resentful or obligated.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I’m...Resigned. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Compassionate.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He’s lucky.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So am I.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In spite of him.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1: The City and County of Denver’s fire department provides a free service called Lift Assist to help people who have fallen and can’t get up.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2: I recently discovered that he was ordering pay-per-view porn nearly every day in addition to having subscribed to the Playboy and Hustler channels on cable. *shaking head* The internet is FULL of free porn, Dad. Seriously. Welcome to the 21st century.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-68855523047887723582015-10-14T21:06:00.000-06:002015-10-14T21:06:06.284-06:00Red is the New Black<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s been a long time since I felt beautiful.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Years really.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And before you say or think anything...this isn’t a fish for compliments or affirmation or anything of the sort so, yannow, just let me finish.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I say “felt beautiful”...that has very little to do with physical appearance - although physicality does play a small part. I think what I generally mean by feeling beautiful though is feeling good, positive, energetic, peaceful. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I hadn’t felt beautiful or ugly or anything in between. I just...hadn’t given any thought to beauty or myself. At all. Completely disconnected. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Invisible.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">2013 was an epic year for major change - a series of (mostly) unrelated events - that would seem to change the trajectory of my life in ways I’d never anticipated. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">You know I bought a house.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">You know I moved my dad to an independent/assisted living apartment.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I changed jobs.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">What you don’t know is that Spux and I, well, we had a massive falling out. And someone who’d been such a huge presence in my life wasn’t there anymore and I started to withdraw from the places and scene where I might run into her to avoid conflict and discomfort.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">You also don’t know that I quit Denhac. I didn’t have the time or energy or the enthusiasm to dedicate to the space anymore and I felt the members deserved a Board who could be there in ways I couldn’t. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I suppose you might say I withdrew from that scene too.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I was already feeling kind of lost at sea.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">In November and December of that year, 2013, Acr0nym - my near constant companion, my non-sexual non-husband, my BFF - suffered a MAJOR mental health crisis. I mean, y’all, it got bad. And then it got worse. And then it got to New Year’s Eve and, well, I did the unthinkable. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had him committed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was dawn on New Year’s Day 2014 when I rolled back into my garage after having spent the entire night talking him down off the proverbial ledge and convincing him to go to the ER and subsequently sitting in the ER with him while waiting on pins and needles for the doctor to decide whether or not to place the 72-hour hold on him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I fixed myself a cocktail at 7 a.m, watched the sunrise, and collapsed in ginormous racking sobs as the anxiety and terror and exhaustion of the prior weeks rolled right over the top of me in waves.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">He was safe.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I could shut down.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So that’s what I did. For many, many months.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Before I go any further, Acr0 was hospitalized for 13 days. During that time, his father died and so the staff worked to stabilize him enough to be able to release him so he could be with his family. It’s been a very long road since then but he is better now. So ever much better! For real!</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">2014 was a blur. There’s not much to say about it except to say, while my friendship with Acr0 was still intact, he had his hands full just trying to get by and so, for the first time in years, I was on my own. I think, after his father’s memorial service, I saw him a total of maybe six times throughout 2014 and even less in 2015. Also of note, my father, already declining in hearing, mobility, and function, was diagnosed with prostate cancer in February and underwent radiation daily for 6 weeks (the treatment worked - he’s cancer free). </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mostly, 2014 and the first part of 2015, as far as I can recall, didn’t actually happen. (Although something good <i>did</i> happen! Spux and I made amends and are, for real, great friends again!)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shut down, beat down, withdrawn, disconnected, I had a vague sense of the passage of time but viewed it with apathy - like time was passing but it wasn’t related to me - I was moving on automatic right through it. The more tired I felt, the more invisible I tried to become, and, with invisibility comes silence...on the blog, on social media, on any platform where I might have been heard and/or seen.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I will, however, assert here that I don’t believe I was depressed. I’ve experienced depression and this wasn’t it. Rather, I believe I was physically and mentally exhausted and getting sick...sicker by the minute and much sicker than I realized.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Until…</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the spring of this year, I suffered a series of health problems. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I won’t go into it here...at least, not tonight...but it was an extremely loud and incredibly close wake up call to PAY ATTENTION! I wasn’t taking care of myself in any way. I thought withdrawing from people in my personal life would help me re-charge, re-energize and that would get me moving in the right direction - ANY direction - again. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It didn’t.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The only purpose withdrawing did was to allow me an uninterrupted path to a complete physical break down. Woot.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">That wake up call, as so often happens, was the exact call I needed to get moving in more ways than one. I started eating better. I started walking again. I bought a Fitbit. I started thinking more about myself and what was good for me and less about what others needed from me. I started to evaluate what was good, what was bad, what was necessary, and what was nonsense.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started to care about and pay attention to me again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started to sleep again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started to really feel compassion again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started to forgive...everyone.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started to emerge.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">To see and be seen.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And THAT is how we come to now and feeling beautiful.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">About a month ago, while I was on vacation, Acr0 took the day off to spend with me and he told me we could do whatever my heart desired.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I made a list. </span></span></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Visit his mom. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tour <a href="http://www.tinkermill.org/">Tinkermill</a>. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Have lunch with our friend, Monk. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tour the <a href="http://www.wildanimalsanctuary.org/">Wild Animal Sanctuary</a> in Keenesburg. </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And so that’s what we did. It was a perfect day. The weather was gorgeous. There were no hiccups or tensions. Everything was entirely right with the world and incredibly easy in a way it hadn’t been in a couple of years.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">At Tinkermill, where we ran into Monk earlier than we’d expected, the three of us walked out to the parking lot together and, as the sunlight hit me, Monk exclaimed, “You are beautiful!” completely out of the blue.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was taken aback.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I hadn’t thought of myself as beautiful in what felt like forever. No one had thought to acknowledge me as beautiful in nearly as long.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And so I chewed on that for awhile.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then I went shopping...for clothes...which I normally dread.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And all of a sudden what appealed to me wasn’t black, black, and some more black.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">What caught my eye were reds and purples and blues. Oh my, yes. Lots of red.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I spent way too much money on clothes in colors and patterns...things I’ve abhorred in the past.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then I wore them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And, on the first day I wore red, as I drove toward work, I thought, “I feel really beautiful. I should wear more red.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And so...I am.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Red. It’s the new black.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I’m beautiful.</span></span></div>
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Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-59356606508982616422014-05-06T11:20:00.000-06:002014-05-06T11:20:33.505-06:00Virtual Friends, Meatspace Strangers<div style="text-align: justify;">
In high school, most of nearly every girl's time is either spent thinking about, talking about, or scheming up ways to best subtly approach boys.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I was no exception.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Well...except that I never could work up the courage to subtly approach anyone resembling a boy and, instead, used the not so successful tactic of pining away silently and hoping the object of my affection would notice. </div>
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</div>
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It shouldn't surprise you then to learn my first serious boyfriend didn't come along until the year after I left high school.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But this story isn't about that first boyfriend.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There was a boy I liked - let's call him <a href="http://villains.wikia.com/wiki/Vigo">The Honorable Lord Vigo, Scourge of Carpathia and Sorrow of Moldavia</a><sup>1</sup> - Vigo for short. I really only saw him a handful of times. We didn't attend the same school. Hell! By the time I met him, I lived in another town. So it wasn't one of those <a href="http://youtu.be/s_Etd_CYI_k">angsty, heart-wrenching, watching-him-lean-on-his-locker-and-slowly-dying-inside-day-after-day</a> sort of crushes. It was simply one of those crushes where, from the moment I met him, I just really liked being near him. It felt good to be near him. He was adorable and funny. So, whenever I was in his town visiting, I was always super happy when our paths crossed.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Me, of course, being the shy, tongue-tied, type didn't ever hope to make an impression. If I recall correctly, I may have said all of 10 words to him during that time and likely they were monosyllabic. And, as one-by-one my closest friends from that town - Beasley, Brad, Nykki - moved up and out of it, I didn't see Vigo again...Not for nearly 25 years.</div>
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Eventually, the crush floated away on the winds of Wyoming as it blew in other boys who would become men.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Still...every once in awhile, I'd wonder what happened to him.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I would, rarely, get updates through the Beasley-Brad-Nykki vine. Eventually, they too lost touch with him. For many years there was nothing.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And then? Facebook happened. I think it was Brad's 40th birthday party invitation when I became aware of Vigo's online existence and knew he was physically present here, in Denver. He had a new last name and only recent pictures but it couldn't possibly be anyone but him. It was him. That was in 2010.</div>
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<br /></div>
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You have to understand...I wanted to send him a friend request back then. I really did! But! There are many people who date back from that time in my life - people I thought quite highly of - who, I fear, wouldn't even remember me. It was a time in my life I spent mostly in the corner, smoking, writing bad poetry, fearing rejection, deflecting attention. I didn't want anyone to see me...except that I really did...unless I knew they would like me. I was convinced no one actually liked me...except Beasley, Brad, Nykki.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Finally, at Beasley's insistence, near my birthday in 2013, I sent Vigo a friend request. It was weird. I felt weird. But he accepted right away.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Turns out? He did remember me.</div>
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Turns out? I intimidated him back then.</div>
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I blame it on resting bitch face.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbs5wbAFgLrQG17QjHVMiBhBVkRUTnfklbdXuhPApy5vXKPyU1-HHFfr6P0Lr7bwC6dzKkGkKETQVjWgp7VcnUezmI-_la365DlSfBHpVFfKhsDtzpAuUydmCsNYFO9ttiE4YAo66MPv8/s1600/Jane+is+getting+serious.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbs5wbAFgLrQG17QjHVMiBhBVkRUTnfklbdXuhPApy5vXKPyU1-HHFfr6P0Lr7bwC6dzKkGkKETQVjWgp7VcnUezmI-_la365DlSfBHpVFfKhsDtzpAuUydmCsNYFO9ttiE4YAo66MPv8/s1600/Jane+is+getting+serious.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still got it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And the fact that, since I couldn't actually formulate full sentences in the presence of testosterone then, I likely just grunted and growled and, occasionally, squeaked which probably made me seem a little whacko.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Anyway!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He accepted my friend request. Subsequently, I learned more about him and the man he's become through Facebook than I ever knew about the boy he was then.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But, even though he was here, in Denver, my adopted city, we weren't compelled to hang out until last week. We'd exchanged a few private messages prior to last week. Mostly about my dad, last summer, when I was looking for an elder care facility for him...something Vigo knows a lot about.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But then, last week, I was thinking a lot about being an empath. I stumbled <a href="http://themindunleashed.org/2013/10/30-traits-of-empath.html">across an article</a> and, in reading the comments, I developed a theory about empaths. A theory that suggested empaths, including me, feel lonely, even in the presence of fellow empaths, because, in social situations, we are so used to feeling the feels of others and giving away our energy that it's all but impossible for us to know how to receive it. I wanted to test my theory - or discuss it with a fellow empath. So I posted something about it. Asked my friends on Facebook if they identified as an empath.Vigo said yes.</div>
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<br /></div>
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That's what started it. The conversation.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I think I started it - the private conversation - after he commented that he was an empath. We talked. A lot. We shared a lot via email. Not just about being empaths. About lots of things. And then he asked me to meet him on Friday for supper.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So...Friday night, we met, for the first time since 1989.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I was nervous. I was shaking as he approached. The high school crush thing wasn't the issue. It felt as though I was meeting him for the very first time. Virtual friends, meatspace strangers. What would he think of me? Would we have anything to say? Would we argue? Would we meet each other's expectations? Would we run out of conversation before we'd reviewed the menu? Would I forget my words and resort to prehistoric grunts and growls and squeaks?</div>
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</div>
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I worry too much.</div>
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<br /></div>
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He got to the table, I stood up, and we hugged long and hard and then we both just started laughing. </div>
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The moment we sat down, we were on. </div>
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Words, his, mine, tumbling over the top of one another. Tell me this story, that story, OMG! That really happened?!</div>
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There were tears. There was laughter. There were stories galore!</div>
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Five hours we sat there asking, answering - empath to empath - about everything under the sun. We shared secrets. I told him things I haven't shared with anyone. It was a gloriously stimulating energy exchange the likes of which are exceedingly rare in my experience. </div>
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<br /></div>
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By the time I got home, there was an e-mail from him. We talked via e-mail for a couple more hours. I was so energized, I was practically giddy. I stayed up past 3, writing for the first time in months.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My theory was thoroughly debunked and in the best way possible. It would also seem that whatever that exchange was cured me of the constipation of the writing kind from which I'd been suffering since January. Pretty cool, huh?</div>
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</div>
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So...that's the story. It's better than the first serious boyfriend one anyway. Trust me.</div>
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</div>
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Thanks, Vigo. That was rad. Let's do it again soon.</div>
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</div>
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</div>
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1. I asked him how he'd like to be known for this entry. That's what he selected. </div>
Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-9768654117920411482014-01-20T20:32:00.000-07:002014-01-20T20:32:27.760-07:00The Story I Would Have Told If We Hadn't Been in Church<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Speaking in front of an audience and, especially, at funerals is hard. And, frankly, it never occurred to me, in my frazzled state, that there would be an opportunity to speak at John's memorial today. So, as we sat there waiting, sometimes awkwardly, as people came up to say a few words, I was frantically racking my brain for a favorite story to share and kept drawing a blank. Until just as the minister was drawing to a close and the strains of the bagpiper at the back of the sanctuary began playing the first notes of "Amazing Grace" and I completely lost whatever vestiges of composure I had, I remembered this story...which is probably for the best.</i></div>
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It was Thanksgiving of 2012.</div>
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<div>
I decided I wasn't up to hosting the 5th annual Grotto Thanksgiving so, instead, a few of us Denhac-ians decided we should throw a Denhac Thanksgiving potluck. Everyone was invited - open to the public - I supplied the pies. Someone else, Sidragon, I think, wiped out his entire personal stash of single malt scotch and brought it over for our delightful consumption.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Acr0nym and TC, after stuffing themselves at the obligatory family get together, packed up TC's twin girls and his and Acr0nym's dad, John, and headed down to Denhac to join in the festivities.</div>
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Well. Turns out, John had a particular liking for two things: pie and single malt scotch, to which he helped himself to plenty.</div>
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<div>
As the evening progressed, normally quiet John became the life of the party. He entertained a number of us with several hilarious stories and jokes, his bright, blue eyes (so much like Acr0nym's) twinkling. He held a captive audience and it was clear we were all enjoying ourselves very much.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Until TC and Acr0nym realized their dad was on the slippery slope toward drunk.</div>
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And the consequences sunk in. </div>
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One of them was going to have to return their quite lit father to their feisty mother and have lots of explaining to do.</div>
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An argument ensued<sup>1</sup>.</div>
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TC: You take him home.</div>
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Acr0: No, YOU take him home. You brought him. He's your responsibility.</div>
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TC: But I have the twins and I'll have to go home and I'd rather stay here for awhile longer.</div>
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Acr0: Yes, but you're the oldest and she won't be mad at YOU.</div>
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TC: Oh she'll be plenty mad no matter who takes him home. You should take him home because you have to come back this way anyway to get home.</div>
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Acr0: But if you take him home, you'll be within a mile of your own house.</div>
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<div>
Back and forth and back and forth they went. Both afraid to take him home and both with valid-ish arguments.</div>
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Meanwhile, John headed back to the "bar" for more scotch.</div>
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Eventually, TC drew the short straw and poured his hilariously happy father into his car, much to both their chagrin.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I never did learn of the outcome of that fateful trip. If Evelyn was pissed, I never heard about it. Regardless of the consequences, it's my favorite memory of one of the kindest, generous, most gentle men I've ever known. A memory in which he shined so brightly and so happily and held us all enthrall with his tales.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Rest in peace, John. I'm sorry I never got the chance to bake a cherry pie for you, my biggest pie fan. You are already sorely missed by so many.</div>
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Love,</div>
<div>
Jane, in my infinite wisdom</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div>
1: This is, to the best of my recollection, the actual argument. I'm sure I am grossly paraphrasing but, knowing TC and Acr0nym as I do, I can promise you it's about as accurate as an actual transcript would be.</div>
Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-40796519343917672622014-01-19T19:06:00.001-07:002014-01-19T19:06:38.694-07:0042<div style="text-align: justify;">
I turn <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/42_(number)">42</a> tomorrow.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The age all Douglas Adams fans anticipate with great excitement. The year we become the answer to life, the universe, and everything...whatever that means. We're all still looking for the ultimate question as far as I know.</div>
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And I'm celebrating it by attending the memorial service for Acr0nym's father.</div>
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He had a heart condition - his first heart attack came 25 years ago - so it's not like this was completely out of the blue. But the timing couldn't be any worse...for Acr0nym, for TC, for their mother...for me.</div>
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The last two months, I...well, there isn't much I can say about it publicly. In so many ways it isn't my story to tell. Even though I played, and continue to play, a central character in the story, it still isn't my story to tell and I am so lost for words. I am so lost period.</div>
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Lost enough to seek out therapy for the first time in 8 years.</div>
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Lost enough to beg my doctor for help in the form of as-needed anti-anxiety medication for the first time ever (which, as it turns out, I'm too damned anxious to take).</div>
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Lost enough to be worried about how many hours a day I'm sleeping...something I haven't done since I was 15, since my suicide attempt. Worried and wondering if I'm sleeping because I'm depressed and attempting to escape my reality as I did back then or sleeping because it's my body's way of trying to heal from trauma.</div>
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All the time knowing anxiety is driving the question and the answer (TAKE THE PILL ALREADY, JANE!!!).</div>
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Still...the jury is still out because anxiety doesn't trust itself.</div>
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Anxiety, like all mental illnesses, lies.</div>
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And there has been so. much. anxiety.</div>
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So much grief.</div>
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So much loss and lost.</div>
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While trying to be strong and available and proactive and ridiculous. </div>
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I'm going to regret this in the morning.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/cqnh0hXqNgs" width="420"></iframe></div>
Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-12997400559975369812013-11-01T21:30:00.000-06:002013-11-01T21:30:07.742-06:00Only Way to Beat It Is to Bat It Down<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>And the only way you're going to get that title is by listening to the song at the end. So there.</i><br />
<br />
We have a pretty sweet recording/performance studio at my work.</div>
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<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And by sweet, I mean, it's the kind of place in which world-renowned artists have performed (like, yannow, that Yo-Yo Ma guy, for one). And, since a certain adult alternative (AAA or triple-A) format launched a couple of years ago, the performance studio has become a veritable revolving door of any manner of musicians dropping by to visit and record.</div>
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Mostly, I don't pay too much attention. I'm compensated for my work and they prefer it when I work and my work does not include loitering near the performance studio to catch a glimpse of the bands. Occasionally, when I'm lucky (or unlucky...depending on who it is), a band will load in through the door right next to my office and I can peep out my blinds and ogle them like the dirty, dirty voyeur I am. Which then gives me bragging rights because I can honestly say I have been two feet away from a handful of famous folks...even if there was a wall between us and they couldn't see me.</div>
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Every once in awhile though, if it's a particular favorite of mine or if I have a special connection to the band (like any time Alameda and my friend, Jessie, come in), I'll make a point to find business near the performance studio.</div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
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As an aside, did you know that if you carry papers in your hand and walk through highly populated areas relatively fast, you look busy and important and no one questions your motive or destination? It's true.</div>
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Anyway!</div>
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There are a handful of musicians who, if they magically appeared before me, I'd promptly drop to the floor and uncontrollably flop like a fish out of water in a self-induced fan-girl swoon. Artists who have touched me in profound, intimate, formative ways. Paul Westerberg comes to mind. Bob Mould, check. Mark Kozelek, yes, yes, yes. Zoe Keating, of course. Also, Patti Smith and Exene Cervenka would likely render me unconscious. And if they all came in together, you'd probably need to order an ambulance in advance. There are others. Bowie, David Byrne, Robert Smith, Debbie Harry, Terri Nunn, Greg Gaffin, Trent Reznor, Gary Numan...larger than life and, frankly, unimaginable.</div>
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But none of those artists (and more) are likely to roll into our humble little performance studio. Yo-Yo Ma was a well-timed fluke...right? RIGHT?! That's what I believed anyway. At least, I did until this week.</div>
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And then Tuesday happened.</div>
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Tuesday morning, mid-morning, I was attempting to schedule a conference room for a training session and accidentally clicked on the calendar for the performance studio. Before I could realize my mistake I saw, scheduled from 10 a.m. to noon, "Mike Doughty". Don't worry. I have edit access to that room's calendar. I was totally allowed to be all up in it. And the booking wasn't intended to be clandestine or anything.</div>
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Perhaps it should have been.</div>
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At that moment, it was 10:46 a.m.</div>
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My heart started racing. MIKE DOUGHTY! OMG! He's here! He's here! He's OMMFG! Mike Doughty is yards away!!!! </div>
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I do realize this means nothing to most of you. </div>
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Suffice it to say that Mike Doughty is, to me, one of those artists I might faint if I met in real life. (<a href="http://www.janesinfinitewisdom.com/2012/02/it-was-either-somali-pirates-or.html">Hide the glassware</a>.)</div>
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Knowing time was of the essence, I leaped up from my desk and ran - yes, I...who never runs...ran from my desk out into the lobby where I came to a screeching halt when I saw Keefer, the guru who coordinates such artists for the performance studio.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
*SLIDING TO A BREATHLESS HALT*</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Me: Is *gasp* Mike Doughty really *gasp* in this building?</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Keefer (while looking at his phone): Huh? What?</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Me: Is. Mike. Doughty. Really. Truly. In. This. Building?"</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Keefer (looking worried): Well...he...um...was. He just pulled out of the parking lot.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Me: ... ... ...</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Keefer: He finished up a few minutes ago. That's him in the RV pulling out of the parking lot.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Me: ... ... ... *tears welling up* FUCK!!!!!!!!! Excuse my language. [Inappropriate for an HR professional in a high-traffic area.]</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Keefer: Are you a fan?</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Me: I'm...yes, I'm a fan. I have every album he's ever put out.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Keefer: Oh! Wow. I'm sorry you missed him. Do you want me to put you on the list for his show tonight? Free tix.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Me: Where?</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Keefer: Boulder Theater.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Me:... ... ...</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Yeah, right. Me drive to Boulder. At night. On the freeway. Alone. Sounds likely. Or not. Not even for Mike Doughty. For Acr0nym or my mom in an emergency MAYBE. But only if it's life or limb threatening and even then only maybe.</i></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Me: Shit! [Still inappropriate language.] No. I can't...I can't get to Boulder.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Keefer: If you change your mind, let me know. I won't turn in the VIP list until 1.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I slowly walked away.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Fuck.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://www.janesinfinitewisdom.com/2011/11/fearing-fear-itself.html">Stupid brain.</a></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/NSNuqX3EY70" width="420"></iframe></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
PS Yes, I stopped driving on the highway most of the time two years ago. I <i>can</i> do it, occasionally, if I absolutely have to but will avoid it if at all possible and, with the exception of a trip up to Loveland this summer - and only because I had 3 other licensed, mostly capable drivers in the car with me, have avoided driving on the highway outside very specific Denver city limits ever since.</div>
</div>
Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-5476632899728387192013-10-11T23:51:00.000-06:002013-10-11T23:51:14.435-06:00The Least You Could Do is Offer Us Cake<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>For Janet: Because I promised her I would.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear Members of the United States Congress,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My name is Jane, I'm white, I am a U.S. citizen, and I live and work - for a 501(c)(3) charity - in the state of Colorado. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Who I am specifically is of no consequence. I have no illusions that you care anything for me. If we met in person and it wasn't a photo or sound bite opportunity, I suspect, you wouldn't greet me with a smile or really acknowledge me at all. That's OK. I understand the delicate intricacies those of you who are rich and/or powerful must adhere to when interacting with the help.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And make no mistake...I <i>am</i> the help.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Most of my family and friends - as well as the vast majority of this country - are<i> just</i> the help too. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You know who we are or, at the very least, you know our collective faces. Every few years, you descend into our masses, riding in your pimped out buses through middle America, stopping to shake our hands, kiss our babies, and promise each of us the moon in exchange for the one thing we can give you that you can't (I still say with a fading glimmer of hope) buy.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Our votes. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The votes you need to land a <a href="http://usgovinfo.about.com/od/uscongress/a/congresspay.htm">cush government job</a> - one with a salary - a salary many of you don't even need - few of us can ever hope to aspire to; an automatic, annual, cost of living increase which, most of the rest of us, haven't received in the last decade or more; one with a pension; and one with the crème de la crème of benefits...affordable health care and paid leave and special perks. You are wooed by lobbyists, star on television (albeit mostly on C-SPAN), and get invited to all the best cocktail parties (wearing couture dresses, drinking top shelf booze, and feasting on fancy canapés).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Do you know what that actually means?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><b>*Irony Alert*</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We, the help, put you in your position of power. We did so with the confidence that you would do what we, the help, intended for you to do...serve us. Represent us. Speak for us. Make sound decisions for us. We delegated the basics to you because we don't have time to fuss with the details. We're too busy literally greasing all the various wheels that make our country function. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That means, in essence, we, the help, are the ones in a position of power. We are your hiring manager. <i>You</i>, in fact, are, or were intended by the founding fathers to be, the help. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Oh! Um...hai...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>You are really Really REALLY </i><b style="font-style: italic;">REALLY</b> <i>not helping.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
None of you.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Somehow, somewhere along the lines, you've come to believe we, your bosses, are no more than some hypothetical, pushover pussies that don't actually matter. That what you do, as long as it doesn't impact you directly, is inconsequential and can't possibly touch you. You've relegated us to the role of the invisible help who doesn't deserve your attention unless we've done something to fuck with your day and must be punished.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But "<a href="http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0709/25675.html">let me be clear</a>": we do matter. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In the last several weeks, I've listened to political analysts - on every side - describe this government shut down as "an epic game of chicken". I've heard unintentionally recorded conversations where some of you - <i>from every side</i> - have stated, "We're WINNING!". I've been told this shut down would only be effective - for every side - if it lasted long enough to hurt us - the American people who elected you to serve <b>US</b>.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Guess what? We hurt.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
All of us...even you - maybe especially you.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Individually, we might not yet feel it. Individually, we may not have been furloughed or know someone who has been furloughed. We may not have tried to travel around our country to explore various historical sites and been denied access to a national park, monument, zoo, museum. We may not depend on disability benefits or <a href="http://www.fns.usda.gov/wic">WIC</a> to feed ourselves and our children. We may not be trying, in government shut down vain, to buy our first (or second, or third) dream house. We may already have access to affordable health care, because our employers care, and couldn't give a shit less if anyone else does. We may not all give a rats if that everyday Joe is eligible to work in the United States - the one whose eligibility must be verified, via a website that is no longer accessible, within the first 3 days of employment because <i>you</i> said so. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Still...whether we or you know it or not...every single one of us hurts from this game you are playing. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sometimes the onset of <i>feeling </i>pain is slow.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And that is something you should be aware of...sometimes the onset of pain is slow.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You may not feel it now. You may not yet see the stain of human blood on your hands. You may not know that your games now will eventually equal pain, for you, later, but! There will be pain...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At, the bare minimum, the polls.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You are representing me and those like me who told you, with our votes, to represent us. We gave you that salary, that COLA increase, those benefits, those perks as incentives to do a job well done on our behalf.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Do you remember what your momma said when you were being especially naughty? "Child! I brought you into this world. I can take. You. Out."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And, if you remember that, you might also remember that if Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Right now, Momma really Really <i>REALLY </i>ain't happy. If you've talked to your momma recently, you'll know this and still feel the sting from her slap upside the head.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You're doing a crappy job. You have a 5% approval rating. Cockroaches and hemorrhoids, right now, are doing a better job of satisfying their constituents than you are. And dude? I've had both cockroaches in my house and hemorrhoids up my ass - neither of which is pleasant or desirable - so that's seriously saying something.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If the members of Congress were subject to an at-will employer, you'd be hosed. For real.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, you know, get your shit together.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Stop believing this is a game. The lives, the welfare, the health, the double-iced-espresso-mochas of the American public isn't all fun and games until someone loses an eye.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Your job and your success isn't dependent on how many 1-ups you collect from your colleagues or how many virtual dungeon bosses you defeat.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>THIS IS NOT A GAME!</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Your job and your success depends on me...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Your boss.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Your help.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Don't believe me?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'll see you at the polls.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sincerely fuck you,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Jane</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/WGiX5tbLKiY" width="560"></iframe></div>
Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-13886253011264084332013-09-16T22:50:00.000-06:002013-09-16T23:09:30.753-06:00Wait Ten Minutes<div style="text-align: justify;">
That's what they say about Colorado weather...if you don't like it, wait ten minutes. It'll change.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was only a couple of weeks ago that Denver and the Front Range were seeing record-breaking temperatures nearing 100º. School districts were closing some schools early or altogether as the attempts to keep old buildings without air conditioning relatively cool against the oppressive heat failed miserably. Everyone in this neck of the woods has heard of that glorious unexpected holiday known as a "Snow Day". No one, to my knowledge, can recall schools closing for a "Hot as Hell Day". It was unprecedented.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I think most of us have been waiting, anxiously, for that first hint of autumn. That first morning we step outside of our houses and feel that first bit of a chill signifying its inevitable approach. This summer started much like the last with fires raging - devastating communities, destroying homes, contributing, psychologically, to the unbearable heat. It felt hotter than normal - at least, to me. Maybe that's because I was moving in the middle of it. I don't know. Regardless, I don't believe I'm in alone in saying that, last weekend, when the powers that be began forecasting cool temperatures and rain for several days in a row, I let out a ginormous sigh of relief. AT LAST!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ahem.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
About that...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Tuesday, September 10</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After a long day at work and an extra long, intense acupuncture treatment for tennis elbow (apparently from all that, um, tennis I play) I sat out on my patio in the gloaming, enjoying an adult beverage, when the wind kicked up and I realized I was sitting outside and I was cold and not really in a good way. There's a difference between a crisp chill in the air and a cold wind stirring the leaves ominously. I shivered. I went inside and grabbed a sweater. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It began to rain.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Wednesday, September 11</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was lightly raining as I made my way to work. It didn't seem unusual or even particularly heavy. Just, you know, rain...like the rain that rains in Seattle a good portion of the time. It had rained off and on throughout the night. Occasionally, very occasionally, that happens around here. I had an umbrella. I left it in the car. That's what most Coloradans do...cuz, you know, why carry an umbrella when, in ten minutes, the weather will change?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It rained pretty steadily all day but was, all in all, uneventful. I went home. I slept well. The rain was such a nice change from the weeks of blistering heat.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Thursday, September 12</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Morning dawned. It was raining still. Light and steady most of the time but punctuated every once in awhile with a hard shower. I thought nothing of it beyond how annoying morning rain is when it impacts my ability to enjoy my morning cuppa joe out on the patio.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A couple of hours later, when Acr0nym rolled into work, he IM'd me and said, "This shite is crazy!" I made some comment about how this was just like Seattle so what's the big deal. And that's when he told me about Boulder.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Boulder was flooding. Boulder was, in effect, closed. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Huh? Boulder's closed because it's RAINING?! That's almost as ridiculous as Denver Public Schools closing buildings because it's hot.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And that's when I thought to tune into the news.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ahem.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It wasn't just Boulder. By then, Lyons and Jamestown had been completely cut off - no way in or out. Reports of houses collapsing and being washed away in Nederland. And then Longmont, home to TC and Mrs. TC and Mr. & Mrs. Acr0nym Senior - his whole family, cut in half by the St. Vrain River and impending evacuation orders issued. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Both of us sat, mesmerized, horrified. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj71aTUR3feJL32tffWIzmsq6xFCJaemo4L9CBT0455pJFtIUywjjmXAEVM5efAiq-XBz2_xavwyKya6fmN2ku_ffT65TIu73hJGRBBeS0JRkUWO_6c2bdFkvE4X6-v4GCi6P2FHreqfz4/s1600/Flood+2013+Highway+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj71aTUR3feJL32tffWIzmsq6xFCJaemo4L9CBT0455pJFtIUywjjmXAEVM5efAiq-XBz2_xavwyKya6fmN2ku_ffT65TIu73hJGRBBeS0JRkUWO_6c2bdFkvE4X6-v4GCi6P2FHreqfz4/s400/Flood+2013+Highway+7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Highway 7 12 miles west of Lyons, CO from the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151951101280769&set=a.101134190768.82230.101132665768&type=1">Camping in Colorado</a> Facebook page</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Parts of Commerce City, near Denhac, evacuated. Pictures rolling in, stories of wide-spread havoc and devastation from Colorado Springs to the south all the way up practically to the Wyoming border 100 miles away.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And then I saw this picture on the 9 News website...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qjppnZpefzakHQoGU9S8M2hqEytsMuBLaBCHc4uhkk376yqsS0IYKPhOrd5ZgTdghWT5vAb46dHy3QaV-yQXWBxQZpYowYM-KlQAIQjfxpxe8apHik710o3qE1BA9DMa18snbWXa7CI/s1600/Flood+2013+Utah+Park.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qjppnZpefzakHQoGU9S8M2hqEytsMuBLaBCHc4uhkk376yqsS0IYKPhOrd5ZgTdghWT5vAb46dHy3QaV-yQXWBxQZpYowYM-KlQAIQjfxpxe8apHik710o3qE1BA9DMa18snbWXa7CI/s400/Flood+2013+Utah+Park.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Utah Park, Aurora, Colorado </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Utah Park is approximately a mile from my house. My NEW house.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And then I saw this picture also on the 9 News website...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqE8E_AFyz_o1sIYy4qPt_MHz8LJuNLfMn9S91tjyeGhzmLhd6OGNIFrI5Q1FMIW-qNYcRWayYl6Q8pyJRAinN6bM1LCGofu_EvjW5Q3LzCihiNTDcAmfhHKKVO_n_bTjpEn2a8K-9Gxs/s1600/Flood+2013+Dayton+and+Mississippi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqE8E_AFyz_o1sIYy4qPt_MHz8LJuNLfMn9S91tjyeGhzmLhd6OGNIFrI5Q1FMIW-qNYcRWayYl6Q8pyJRAinN6bM1LCGofu_EvjW5Q3LzCihiNTDcAmfhHKKVO_n_bTjpEn2a8K-9Gxs/s400/Flood+2013+Dayton+and+Mississippi.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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This is a picture of an apartment complex right up the street from my house.</div>
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And all of a sudden I just really really wanted to go home. Because those pictures, while not nearly so devastating, were much closer to the little world I've carved out for myself, for Lex, for Vinny.</div>
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I canceled my chiropractic appointment (my back had been whacked for weeks) for that afternoon, sounding to my doctor, I'm sure, like a helicopter parent who has left her child at daycare for the first time. He told me to go home. He told me he was at a conference all weekend but, if I needed him, to call his cell. I assured him I would be OK. I told him I'd see him on Monday. Ha. Hindsight. 20/20.</div>
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My house was just fine. We were snug as bugs in our little nest. While the streets and neighborhoods around me were inundated with flood water, hail, and torrential rain, my little neighborhood's roads didn't have so much as one puddle. I counted my blessings. I worried about my friends, family, loved ones who pepper the communities hit hardest. I went to bed.</div>
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<i>Friday, September 13</i></div>
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My back hurt.</div>
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Bad.</div>
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Badder than it had hurt since I had a strained <a href="http://depts.washington.edu/msatlas/215.html">sacral ligament</a> and spasms in my <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piriformis_muscle">piriformis</a> muscle back in February and spent weeks and several hundreds of dollars on acupuncture and chiropractic care getting put back to rights.</div>
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I took an ice pack with me to work. It got worse. I started to re-think the wisdom of canceling the appointment with my personal wizard, Dr. Sid, the day before. </div>
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I crossed my fingers and just hoped I could muscle through (ha ha) the pain until Monday. I doubled down on the Aleve. I iced. I rooted around my recently unpacked medicine chest and found an old prescription of <a href="http://www.rxlist.com/robaxin-drug.htm">Robaxin</a>...just in case<sup>1</sup>.</div>
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It was still raining.</div>
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I barely noticed.</div>
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I posted to Facebook: "Oh hai, Back Spasm. Been expecting you. Why you gotta land on a Friday when Dr. Sid is busy at a conference all weekend is beyond me. Regardless, I see a weekend fueled by Robaxin and the haze that goes with it. Also? Friday night couture should not include ice packs in the pants. Pretty much ever."</div>
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I went to bed.</div>
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<i>Saturday, September 14</i></div>
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I guess it was about 1:30 a.m. when I awoke with excruciating pain radiating down my left leg.</div>
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"Oh my gawd. What fresh hell is <i>this</i>?" I thought to myself as I grabbed for the Robaxin and then stumbled downstairs to retrieve a fresh ice pack.</div>
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But I already knew. Sciatica. An affliction that, in 1988, landed Betsy, the Mom, flat on her back for days and on prescription strength painkillers ever since. An affliction that's plagued several people in my life...Acr0nym (who, if he is even a few minutes late taking his evening anti-inflammatory, gets a little panicky), Beasley, my boss to name a few...for years.</div>
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I cannot possibly describe the pain. There aren't words. Only if you have experienced nerve pain can you truly understand. All I can tell you - those of you who have never had the pleasure and by pleasure I mean suckage of the <a href="http://www.dyson.com/">Dyson</a> kind - is that the pain was so intense, so horrible - the worst I've ever experienced - that amputation, if offered, would have come as a welcome relief.</div>
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Sincerely.</div>
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It was that bad.</div>
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I confess. I cried. The ugly cry. Several times.</div>
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The muscle-relaxer/sedative fog descended. Still...I couldn't sleep. The pain was the worst if I sat or stood still for just a few seconds. Even lying flat on my back hurt. The only thing that remotely helped was to keep moving. Walking and ice. I paced. And paced. And paced. I shoved ice packs down my pants<sup>2</sup> quite possibly more than was prudent. I paced until my spasming back screamed shrilly in protest and I was forced back to my bed, tears streaming, begging some unknown and unbelieved in deity to please Please PLEASE just make it stop.</div>
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It didn't stop.</div>
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I took deep breaths and considered my options.</div>
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While dying was preferable, it wasn't forthcoming. That was plan A. Plan B was to make it until Monday when I was scheduled to see Sid. Considering a moment felt like an hour, that didn't seem survivable - especially knowing I'd have to sit at my work desk for a full 8 hours before my scheduled appointment. Plan C was the ER. However, knowing what I know about sciatica, muscle spasms, and western medicine in general I knew Plan C would result in either a cursory examination and a handful of prescriptions for crap that wouldn't do much of anything that the Aleve and Robaxin I was already taking weren't doing or a bunch of ridiculously expensive tests and an even more expensive reservation in a surgical suite for an epidural. That left me with Plan D...seriously inconveniencing the 2 people I count on the most in these kinds of situations on a weekend...my acupuncturist and my chiropractor.</div>
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Luckily, my acupuncturist, the lovely St. Jude, was due at my house that day around 2 for a leisurely afternoon on my patio. So, you know, I kinda knew her schedule was already blocked out for me. I called her. I left a tearful message. "I need you. Help me." The call to Dr. Sid, even though he'd told me to call if I needed him, was harder. He was busy doing continuing education-type chiropractor things. It's hard enough to interrupt a friend for professional reasons on a weekend. It's way worse to interrupt when they've paid money to attend a conference you're going to rudely circumvent after you needlessly (as it turns out) canceled your appointment at the very last minute because you can't seem to control your out-of-control anxiety and helicopter homeownershiphood.</div>
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Still...I made the call. He answered. After listening to my tearful, plaintive plea, he said, "Call me at 9 a.m. tomorrow and I'll see you in the morning. Unless Jude can't help you today. In that case, call me this afternoon after 3."</div>
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St. Jude, however, came to my house prepared, carrying an old fashioned doctor's bag filled with needles and a heart full of healing gold. She laid me out on my bed, stuck me full of needles, and then we talked. We talked about my diet. About diarrhea. About yogurt. About wine. I don't know why. The pain was alleviated...a little. There was little she could really do until the root of the problem - that pesky sacrum and piriformis - was resolved.</div>
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It wasn't raining. I hardly noticed.</div>
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Afterward, I took her out on my patio. I took Vinny (harnessed and leashed) out on my patio. The sky above was broiling with angry, black storm clouds. Within ten minutes (wait ten minutes), we heard no less than 3 emergency sirens going off in several directions. "Tornado?" I said. "Flood," she said.</div>
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Fuck.</div>
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I invited her into my living room - the living room whose accommodations include one ratty old couch and boxes of stuff we don't know what to do with and haven't unpacked. She sat on the couch. I laid on the floor. I got up. I took a muscle relaxer. I laid back down. We turned our heads toward the picture window and talked not looking at each other - one of us more coherent than the other - as we watched the hail and the torrential rains pelt the world outside.</div>
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Jesus. Is this ever going to stop?</div>
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In my head, I was questioning my question...am I talking about the rain or the pain?</div>
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Both.</div>
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She left a couple of hours later with me issuing grateful promises to gladly have her back in a couple of weeks when I was functioning and able to host her appropriately. </div>
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I retreated to my room. I tried to sleep. No go.</div>
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<i>Sunday, September 15</i></div>
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The hours between the wee sma's and 9 a.m. were spent pacing, pacing, pacing intermittently spattered with futile attempts to sleep in my bed and then the guest bed - a bed that, while certainly lacking in lavish comfort, is lower to the floor and easier to enter and exit - and excursions to the freezer for more ice and to the patio for a smoke.</div>
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At 9:05, I called. </div>
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"Help," I said.</div>
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"OK. How soon can you be here?" he asked.</div>
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"Now," I said.</div>
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20 minutes later, I found myself lying on my stomach, the e-stim machine attached and scritching away at my back, stimulating the muscles, in hopes that they would relent and allow Dr. Sid to provide me with full release from my agony.</div>
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He gave me an extra long time on the machine in order to "cook" he explained.</div>
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I took deep breaths in time with the machine.</div>
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"I hope this works," I said.</div>
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"It will. You'll be OK," he said.</div>
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The machine beeped as it stopped.</div>
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"Take a deep breath. Now let it out," he said.</div>
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And I did.</div>
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Pop!</div>
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Pop!</div>
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Pop!</div>
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My spine.</div>
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"Turn over on your side," he said. "I've got you," he said.</div>
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POP!</div>
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My hip.</div>
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"Turn over on your other side," he said. "No really. I've got you. I've got you! It's OK, I've got you," he said.</div>
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POP!</div>
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My other hip.</div>
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Immediate relief. No pain. Just sore. The muscles and the sciatic nerve retreating in defeat.</div>
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"Don't lift anything heavy. I'll see you tomorrow," he said.</div>
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"Thank you. I can't even tell you how much," I said.</div>
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I drove home. I slept deeply. I watched the last 6 episodes of <i>Homeland</i> season 1. I no longer hurt.</div>
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It wasn't raining.</div>
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I didn't care.</div>
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<i>Monday, September 16 </i></div>
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It was so beautiful today! Blue sky, low 70's. Colorado in September. My adopted home of 20+ years that I love so much. I relished my new lease on life without pain. I'd forgotten about the floods.</div>
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As I drove to work on dry roads, relishing the tasks that laid ahead, the sun shining, listening to Colorado Public Radio, there was a story about the floods. A girl - 15, I think - describing how she and her mother, each carrying a cat, escaped from the devastation of Lyons, CO. just a few short miles from my little nest. "They're saying we won't be able to go home for, at least, 2 to 3 months at the soonest," she said.</div>
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Wait...what?</div>
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Acr0nym, later, said, "Jane. Lyons is basically gone."</div>
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Wait...what?</div>
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The gravity hit me again. Floods. Devastating floods. Lyons is gone? The <a href="http://www.lyonspinball.com/">pinball museum</a>? The original <a href="http://www.oskarblues.com/?verified=true">Oskar Blues</a>? What about the commune where my darling, Nykki, lived for a time? Gone?</div>
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They are calling it a 1,000 year flood. 30+ bridges washed out. The rescue effort the largest since hurricane Katrina. Towns - towns I know intimately, towns whose citizens are friends - devastated, no water, no sewer treatment, no electricity.</div>
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All of a sudden I understood...</div>
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Ten minutes is a lifetime.</div>
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When it's ten minutes of pain. When it's ten minutes of devastation.</div>
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Ten minutes can feel like infinity when it's your life.</div>
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Wait ten minutes and everything can change...for better. For worse.</div>
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1. I really hate taking drugs period. But I especially hate taking drugs whose potential side effects include jaundice because that means the liver is compromised and, well, if I'm going to compromise my liver, I'd at least like to enjoy it. </div>
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2. FYI: Every ice pack in my house has now been shoved down the backside of my underpants several times. Just know that, in the event you need an ice pack while at my house, you are one degree of separation from my ass. You're welcome.</div>
Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-62010314873190006402013-08-22T21:08:00.001-06:002013-08-22T21:08:52.330-06:00Novel<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have a lot of drinking glasses - glass, thermal, and plastic - in a variety of sizes and shapes.</div>
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Mostly, Lex and I both reach for the non-glassware, of which we have a ton, for our various beverage container needs. So, even though we have a handful of actual glass glassware - most of which came from the Divine Ms. Dayna - they rarely get used unless there is a special occasion like a supper party.</div>
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However...</div>
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In that same cupboard with the plethora of glass and non-glassware, mixed in with the plastic tumblers of various sizes and shapes, the collection of coffee mugs, and any number of travelers are two very special glasses...</div>
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One is a pint glass from the first and only time I went to Nederland for the annual <a href="http://frozendeadguydays.org/">Frozen Dead Guy Days</a> a few years ago. I bought the glass because I was with friends I loved and we had an extraordinary lunch and I wanted to bring something home with me that would remind me of the experience.<i> </i></div>
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The other is a glass from the first and only <a href="http://www.whitecastle.com/">White Castle</a> I've ever been to...the White Castle Acr0 and I ate at - because neither of us ever had - when we were in Wisconsin on the <i><a href="http://www.janesinfinitewisdom.com/search/label/American%20Gods%20and%20Roadside%20Attractions%20Tour%202011">American Gods and Roadside Attractions</a></i> roadtrip a couple of years ago. The White Castle excursion that, ultimately, made us miss 2/3 of the <a href="http://www.thehouseontherock.com/">House on the Rock</a> tour we'd set out to see. That glass was one of the only souvenirs I brought back just for me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICctzTF2Idb9XlT83y1UWzLiJvk7_jML1bmNJ4yxNmN1i7ADkPtivEBZ4BpI4Mr5W2Y9e52J7AkG43iLA8gfnIucgWoxykLQT5w_lpU22I6Stl-boYVnqZ7kTDABdNowyYR7cMZ3IFgI/s1600/White+Castle+Hans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICctzTF2Idb9XlT83y1UWzLiJvk7_jML1bmNJ4yxNmN1i7ADkPtivEBZ4BpI4Mr5W2Y9e52J7AkG43iLA8gfnIucgWoxykLQT5w_lpU22I6Stl-boYVnqZ7kTDABdNowyYR7cMZ3IFgI/s640/White+Castle+Hans.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Both mean something significant to me.</div>
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And yet...</div>
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For some reason, whenever Lex has guests - and maybe it's only Lex's guests because he's more apt to point to the cupboard and say "help yourself" whereas I'm much more host oriented and serve my guests drinks - invariably one or both of those glasses get pulled out from the recesses of the cupboard, plastic tumblers and regular, every day glasses shoved haphazardly aside, and placed into precarious play.</div>
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I don't get it.</div>
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They aren't the biggest or smallest glasses. The aren't the prettiest and they certainly aren't the most durable. The rest of the glasses - glass and non-glass - aren't uniform so that eliminates the concern that perhaps the glass might be mistaken for someone else's. </div>
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The only thing they are is unique and obviously commemoration glasses - one of a kind in my cupboard - that people, Lex's people I guess, gravitate toward.</div>
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And it irritates me.</div>
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Because <i style="font-weight: bold;">I</i> don't even use those glasses. Unless there is beer and only good beer and that is hardly ever.</div>
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So I ask...</div>
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When you go to someone else's house - especially a house of someone you've never met - and are told to "help yourself" to a glass and beverage...do you go for whatever is closest to your size need or do you automatically reach for the novelty cup?</div>
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Cuz if you reach for the novelty cup? You're being an asshole. Most likely. Or maybe that's just me.</div>
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PS The Frozen Dead Guy Days glass is in play tonight by someone who helped herself to it without invitation. I've met her once - 3 days ago - and she navigates my kitchen as though it is hers. She's already spilled Pepsi on my living room carpet and, even though she tried to clean it up, the carpet I've owned for a month will require a steam clean. So I'm grumped...a lot...by the nerve of some people's children. </div>
Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-24216480374148357212013-08-19T21:31:00.000-06:002013-08-19T21:31:24.490-06:00Snippet<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yesterday, Acr0nym and I went on a Sushi Adventure in my new neighborhood. </div>
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Because sushi.</div>
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The place we wanted to try - <a href="http://www.denver-sushi.com/?gclid=CLaT65qEi7kCFYtDMgodbAIAUg">Sushi Katsu</a> - was closed for lunch on Sundays so, instead, we drove a block down to the Seoul BBQ and Sushi joint...that may actually <i>be</i> the name of it, "Seoul BBQ and Sushi", hence the capitalization...to roll the dice against ptomaine. </div>
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I'm happy to report ptomaine didn't win and both of us are alive and well-ish.</div>
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It's a nicely appointed restaurant - the decor is tasteful, the food is above average. It's not the best sushi in town (that distinction, in my humble opinion, continues to be awarded to <a href="http://www.japonsushi.com/index.html">Japon</a> until further notice) but it hit the spot even if the rolls were ridiculously, unnecessarily messy.</div>
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What was unusual, at least for us, was that, after we'd placed our order, the waitress appeared with a dozen <a href="http://wiki.answers.com/Q/What_is_a_monkey_dish">monkey dishes</a> full of various "side dishes" to partake of while we waited for our <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mandu_(dumpling)">gunmandu</a> (dumplings), sashimi, and rolls. And because we were starving, we dug into them with our chopsticks, regardless of the fact that we couldn't really identify any of the contents.</div>
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Conversation:</div>
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Jane: Well...I think this is tempura-fried zucchini.</div>
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Acr0: BLECH! No. Cucumber.</div>
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Jane: Oh...uh...sorry. [Acr0 can't stand cucumber.]</div>
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Jane: What do you think <i>this </i>is?</div>
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Acr0: Um...carrots?</div>
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Jane: Not even. Potato maybe?</div>
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Acr0: I'm sorry I put this in my mouth.</div>
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Jane: What is it?</div>
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Acr0:.. ... ... parsnip maybe? I've never had a parsnip so I'm guessing.</div>
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Jane: Uh no. Not parsnip or turnip. But I'm also sorry I put it in my mouth.</div>
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Jane: I'm not eating this one.</div>
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Acr0: Why?</div>
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Jane: Because it looks like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orc_(Middle-earth)">orc</a> boogers.</div>
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Acr0: Say again?</div>
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Jane [slowly]: ORC BOOGERS.</div>
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Acr0: Heh. Oh. It's just seaweed.</div>
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Jane: Uh huh. Still not eating it.</div>
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Jane: Also? I'm pretty sure this one is bugs.</div>
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Acr0: Bugs?</div>
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Jane: Bugs.</div>
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Acr0 [taking bite]: Hrm. You may be right.</div>
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A moment or two later the waitress came by and we asked her to tell us what stuff was. Sweet potatoes, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kimchi">kimchi</a>, seaweed (the orc boogers), and on and on. And then she pointed to the bugs and said something unintelligible. </div>
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I said, "I'm sorry. What did you say <i>this</i> was again?"</div>
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And she said, "Dried shrimp."</div>
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And then walked away.</div>
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Acr0 and I looked at each other, nodded once, and, at the same time, said, "Bugs".</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsTdo1Dxdri0CjoT8FQIbbaDIIw8Kuc8h5oZ6tin8P91wTNI7XbTDXOjUnnUMYwcbyR1QMrmCvfdzExzALx0VsvnOThg6Fv7ifwzORKWlNaRtfLA0K5d5k2gh0lL38PaUEk3q5qnxVTqU/s1600/bugs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsTdo1Dxdri0CjoT8FQIbbaDIIw8Kuc8h5oZ6tin8P91wTNI7XbTDXOjUnnUMYwcbyR1QMrmCvfdzExzALx0VsvnOThg6Fv7ifwzORKWlNaRtfLA0K5d5k2gh0lL38PaUEk3q5qnxVTqU/s640/bugs.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seoul BBQ and Sushi bugs</td></tr>
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Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-63306280146110969322013-08-04T21:03:00.000-06:002013-08-04T21:04:50.233-06:00It's Like That<div style="text-align: justify;">
And...just like that, it's done.</div>
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As of Monday evening just past, I am down to just one house - MY house - that I own.</div>
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As of Wednesday afternoon, I am down to just one job - the NEW job - one that I love.</div>
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Yesterday morning was the first weekend morning in months I didn't wake up in a panic wondering how I was going to get everything done that had to get done before:</div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;">I moved my dad</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I closed on my house</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I moved into my house</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I vacated The Grotto</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">I started my new job full time.</li>
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Friday marked the end of 60-70 hour work weeks. </div>
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It occurs to me I won't ever have to throw a post-apoca-audit party again.</div>
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I've spent this weekend shopping for household goods and groceries, unpacking, re-arranging, and finding new places for long-kept treasures. Slowly but surely, the boxes are disappearing as Lex and I make this space our own. </div>
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Both of us fall a little more in love with our house and our neighborhood each day. The "modern" conveniences we now have that we've lived without for the last 5 years - a dishwasher, central air, a double-car garage, our own designated trash and recycling receptacles, reliable postal service, OHMYGAWD bathrooms!!! 2 for each of us!!!, and space...alotta space to spread out - seem like the best kind of magic. We have way more elbow room than we've actually got elbows.</div>
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Lex said tonight, "It's pretty great here. It's like...we've moved up...to that deluxe apartment in the sky."</div>
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It's also way too quiet here. For years, we've fallen asleep to the sounds of buses, "street tv", and oontz oontz Thursdays (and Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays, Mondays, etc.). It's so quiet that, when I'm sitting out on the patio enjoying my morning coffee or an adult beverage and a smoky treat, I jump when the a/c condenser pops on and does its thing - whatever that "thing" is - to make it cool inside my house. As a result, I'm listening to NPR pretty much nonstop. I've revived the habit of tuning into the BBC during the night - a little something I picked up while dating N8 the GR8 all those years ago. I feel smarter already. At least smart enough to win Karl Kassel's voice on my answering machine by answering all the questions on <i>Wait! Wait! Don't Tell Me!</i> Heh.</div>
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I'm missing Defcon going on right now. I was supposed to be a Goon again this year but saw the rude writing on the wall back in early June boldly, brazenly stating I would not have time or the physical/mental capacity to live through the stress of all the packing and the moving and the switching jobs and the care and feeding of an aging father AND plan/execute a trip to the desert to sleep little and party lots with the nerd corps. So I backed out.</div>
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I hate that I missed the world premiere of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3010462/?ref_=sr_3">Defcon: The Documentary</a> in which I have a (albeit extremely short) speaking part. I hate that I'm not there with friends...with Acr0nym. I hate that I'm not adding to my badge collection (although Acr0 will be bringing me my 4th annual Defcon souvenir knife). </div>
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And yet...I have a house.</div>
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An awesome house! With a <a href="http://www.target.com/">Target </a>and a <a href="http://www.noodles.com/">Noodles & Company</a> and Korean BBQ and scrumptious sushi and Sam's No. 3 nearby. </div>
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I have a house.</div>
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MY house.</div>
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A lovely house.</div>
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And a grown up bedroom freshly outfitted with grown up furniture and bedding.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPfk_8xq752vukYtW_QgVm9NXshQjFUFbQCAhaVwRCwuxtqU-Kf7T-JGkc2_iVeiqFW-QATYP0dvP4r7pjqKCUr-aSFGqr6m1KtZ4zclLTkfrVJU9YNhYXpd51V2QyWjEd3oNgbsgspL8/s1600/House+Janes+Ridiculous+Room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPfk_8xq752vukYtW_QgVm9NXshQjFUFbQCAhaVwRCwuxtqU-Kf7T-JGkc2_iVeiqFW-QATYP0dvP4r7pjqKCUr-aSFGqr6m1KtZ4zclLTkfrVJU9YNhYXpd51V2QyWjEd3oNgbsgspL8/s400/House+Janes+Ridiculous+Room.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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It's done.</div>
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Just like that.</div>
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Whew.</div>
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Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-27627099561929733172013-07-19T22:13:00.000-06:002013-07-19T22:13:11.716-06:00Light. Tunnel. End. Whew.<div style="text-align: justify;">
I own a house.</div>
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As of 9:30 this morning, the paperwork had been signed, checks to all but me were distributed, I had keys and garage door openers and a neat little folder with my copies of the paperwork that would suggest someone - a bunch of someones - had examined every square inch of my financial life and found me to be grown up enough to carry many many many many many thousands of dollars worth of debt.</div>
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The closing was a lot of fun! I'm not joking. My agent, the seller, the seller's agent, and I laughed and giggled and hooted throughout the entire process. So much so that the closer, as she was leaving, said this was the most fun closing she'd ever had the pleasure to attend. At the end, the seller said, "OK. We have GOT to hug this out! I can't just walk away from this experience without it." So we hugged more than once and we both got a little teary and we both recognized ourselves in each other and we both said "thank you"...and meant it.</div>
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That's my kind of closing that is really a beginning...for both of us.</div>
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I'm exhausted.</div>
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In the last three months, I have not only gone through the home buying process, I also assumed control of much of my aging father's life - his finances as well as his physical and emotional well being; I researched, found, and moved him into a senior community; I applied for a new job within my company and went through the most rigorous interview process of my life - three interviews and a writing assignment; I started said new job while still performing my old one two weeks ago working 60-hour weeks; and I packed up The Grotto in anticipation of moving to the new house which is, as yet, unnamed.</div>
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The movers are due to arrive tomorrow at 7 a.m.</div>
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I've neglected Denhac. I've neglected my friends. I've neglected the blog, the facebook, the G+, my blog feed. I feel disconnected and waves of loneliness. </div>
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But I also feel something else. Accomplishment...pride...for what I've managed to make of my finances ever since I, three years ago, made the decision to take control of my financial life in a way I never had before. I feel creative in my work. I feel a deep compassion for my father - a man I'd had little contact with over the last decade, a man I resented, occasionally despised - a love, sympathy, and understanding for my father that I, perhaps, have never felt. I feel a deep humility and gratitude for the amazing Dayna who spent her entire day off today being a complete packing and human-equivalent-of-Xanax rock star. Dayna who also volunteered to come to the new house tomorrow to help me unpack...to keep me sane. I feel spoiled by non-husband, Acr0nym, who came over to the new house this afternoon, a collection of goodies in tow, even though he was sick and stressed out.</div>
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This is it.</div>
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The light at the end of the tunnel of my crazy summer and the last night in The Grotto. Tomorrow I will sleep in a new bed in a new house that belongs to me. I can finally settle in, settle down.</div>
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Everything's coming up Milhouse.</div>
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Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-43461393967813713952013-07-13T20:43:00.002-06:002013-07-13T20:43:29.753-06:00Skeletons in the Closet<div style="text-align: justify;">
Have you ever started reading a book and gotten, say, a third of the way through and then went out of town - on business or vacation or whatever - for, like, a week and you forgot to bring your book so you're forced to buy a new one at the airport Newstand or the 7-11 and then you get home and you're halfway through the new book so you don't want to stop reading that one to pick up the first one and so, by the time you get back to the first one, it's a month since you last read any of it and you read half a page and realize you've got no idea where the story started, who the characters are, or who you are rooting for and so you have to start from the very beginning again?</div>
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I kinda feel a bit like that about this blog. Even I've lost the thread of the story and it's my own story to tell!</div>
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And I know that I can't just jump right back in and start writing about this moment forward because there are chapters I've introduced still missing huge chunks of my story that are pertinent to this point in time - huge chunks under which I'm even now still buried - and yet explaining those chunks feels daunting and somewhat stale because I've been living them for awhile and I'm kinda tired of living them, explaining them, hashing them out in my overly anxious head, examining all possible angles as I search for ticking time bombs of impending doom.</div>
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However, in order to move forward, I'm going to have to look back at most of what's been happening and it's going to have to be over the next few posts because it's too much to disseminate in just this one. I think this will be to everyone's benefit...perhaps especially mine as much of this remains undocumented.</div>
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Tonight then I bring you a tale of a house...THE HOUSE that turned out not to be THE HOUSE at all.</div>
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If you reach back into your memory, you may recall I'm <a href="http://www.janesinfinitewisdom.com/2013/03/that-one-night-i-actually-you-know.html">buying a house</a>. You may also recall I was buying a house way back in March too. If you're really into my every last word, you might even remember said house I was buying was a <i>Short Sale</i> which made all the normal house buying hoops considerably more complicated. But I was prepared to wait. And wait. And wait. Because the house I'd found was EXACTLY the house for us.</div>
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Ahem.</div>
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First of all, I need to give you a little background on the sellers and the seller's agent. Remember, I've never met any of these people personally but, you know, I'm human, therefore I judge.</div>
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When a person attempts to sell his home via short sale, it's because, most often, the owner is in financial distress and is on the fast track toward foreclosure. The game then is to sell the property - at a loss - before foreclosure proceedings can conclude. Realistically, a short sale is better for the homeowner's credit somewhat and usually it's better for the seller's lender's bottom line. Occasionally, foreclosure is cheaper for the lender than short sale but rarely. However, it is typical for the property to go into pre-foreclosure proceedings at the same time a short sale is being attempted. The Bank, you know, they hedge their bets always and The Bank will always win...you can take that advice, heh, to The Bank. Knowing that the clock is ticking on one's credit though should behoove the seller to get the short sale approved as quickly as possible. Usually, it does. Usually, the seller is extremely motivated to sell and GTFO so as to call off the hounds baying at their heels.</div>
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Ahem.</div>
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<i>Note: the number of short sale and foreclosed homes on the market, as I'm sure you can imagine, has been extremely high over the last half dozen years. In fact, for awhile, and even now to an extent, the market contained short sales, foreclosures, and hunks of junk and that was about it. So it's no surprise I ended up under contract to buy a short sale really.</i></div>
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When I made the offer on the property, I remember talking to Lex about the fact that it was a short sale and that I felt really good about making the offer at list price, knowing I was helping the sellers out of a massive financial jam while getting a decent deal on a house we both loved. Enlightened self-interest, to be sure, but still a good deed.</div>
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My feelings of good will toward the sellers continued even though their (pompous asshat of an) agent nonchalantly missed the very first deadline of contract acceptance by more than 24 hours. My good will continued even after their agent said he couldn't possibly get the short sale negotiated with the seller's lender in our specified 30 days, needed 45 days, and then sent over the counteroffer specifying <i>60 days</i>.</div>
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I didn't balk once. I simply signed each and every document my agent - my darling <a href="http://www.olsonsells.com/">Courtney</a> who is full of win - sent over to me within the hour it was sent. And then I waited.</div>
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While I was waiting, I, because I am me and am obsessive, full of anxiety, and have access to <i>The Google</i>, began researching both the property and the sellers and the HOA. What I discovered was that the owners had filed for, and been awarded (Yay! An award! You like me! You really like me!) bankruptcy last year. This wasn't a particular shock to my system. I mean, a short sale indicates financial distress so, you know, it made complete sense to discover the distress wasn't isolated to just their home. I must confess, it added to my, and Lex's, feelings of good will.</div>
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But there was also this gnawing inside my somewhat altruistic - even though altruism doesn't actually exist - soul. Because this bankruptcy might have been averted. Thinking back on what I saw in their house...the matching leather 7-piece living room set, the gorgeous master bedroom suite mahogany furniture, the 50" flat screen TV down in the man cave complete with wet bar, the high-powered telescope in the guest room, the gorgeous, top of the line, massage table in the office...bankruptcy my ass! They'd kept up with the Joneses all the way to, and through, court!</div>
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Still...awesome house. Help people out of a jam. Fight pompous nonchalance with patience and responsiveness.</div>
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Let no good deed go unpunished.</div>
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So I waited.</div>
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And waited. And waited. I waited 3 months actually. And even when the seller's lender came back and said they needed to net $11,000 more in the sale to move the file forward, I didn't hesitate. I signed on the bottom line, e-mailed said signature back to Courtney, and continued to wait. Even after I found out the property was no longer FHA eligible and knew I'd have to find alternative financing - I secured that financing, starting basically from the beginning of the financing game - and continued to wait.</div>
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But then...</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
THEN!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When we were <i>thisclose</i> to short sale approval...within just a few days...the bomb went off. That pesky little ticking time bomb I hadn't anticipated.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The morning of the bomb, I'd received an e-mail from Courtney saying she'd heard from the seller's agent stating everything looked great and the file was moving forward with approval imminent.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was on Cloud 9. House! I'm buying a house! <i><b><u>THE HOUSE</u></b></i>!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That afternoon then, when another e-mail from Courtney came in, the one in which she said "Read this and then tell me your thoughts" I expected to open the attached pdf and read about how the short sale had been approved and we were clear to proceed.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ahem.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Expectations are pre-determined resentments.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The pdf contained 2 things...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1) A letter of compromise to resolve the lawsuit brought against the seller by the HOA offering, in light of their bankruptcy, to waive the almost $24,000 debt owed to the HOA - for which they held not one, not two, not three, but FOUR liens against the property. But only if the sellers signed...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2) The restricted covenant absolving the HOA of any liability of expenses incurred for repairs to the portion of the roof in which unapproved skylights had been installed...pretty much half the roof.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The seller's agent had sent along these documents to Courtney with a note that said the lender was giving them cash to negotiate the lien but he just wanted to make sure I wouldn't have any trouble with the rest of it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I immediately called Courtney. And I said, "Courtney? You really REALLY don't want to know my thoughts."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Because really. <i>REALLY?!</i></div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>
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Here's the timeline:</div>
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<br /></div>
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December 20, 2012: HOA sends letter of compromise and<i> </i>restricted covenant agreement.</div>
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<br /></div>
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December 28, 2012: Homeowner signs all the paperwork and disclosures - including the property disclosure (which asks the seller if there are any liens against or issues with the property - specifically <i>skylights and roof</i> - in which they've definitively answered a resounding NO!) - with their agent to list said property.</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>
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January 3, 2013: Property listed for sale.</div>
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<br /></div>
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March 14, 2013: Offer to purchase extended <i>by me.</i></div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>
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March 16, 2013: Offer accepted.</div>
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<br /></div>
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June 4, 2013: Bomb dropped.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Bottom line: <i>they </i><b style="font-style: italic;">lied</b>.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>They lied!</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><u>THEY LIED!</u></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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Liar liar pants on mutherfucking fire!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
By the way? I don't have a whole lot of compassion or respect for liars. Especially liars who are depending on the good will of someone else - namely me - to wriggle out from beneath the increasingly tight spot under which they are pinned...while lounging upon a leather chaise and watching reality TV on a 50" screen while scooping Nutella onto their tongues.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC1P5-s7BJontMFlhfMaIKlQRd0r-ZA9I18MwjGk5uAecoNIWdCTdL-s9cGRdU-OzxeQJiByFWDvMKOrB1CH-aUPDQLSZKvmSQDKjhD6-I_8FYkthh3Y_ZvddwBS2ew3i2movso4pC4-U/s1600/nutella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC1P5-s7BJontMFlhfMaIKlQRd0r-ZA9I18MwjGk5uAecoNIWdCTdL-s9cGRdU-OzxeQJiByFWDvMKOrB1CH-aUPDQLSZKvmSQDKjhD6-I_8FYkthh3Y_ZvddwBS2ew3i2movso4pC4-U/s400/nutella.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evidence of Nutella in the Mormon pantry - 2nd shelf from top, far left</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Still</i>...<b>THE HOUSE!</b><i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i>Right?!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Wrong.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I told Courtney that afternoon, "They've got 48 hours to figure this shit out. They've got 48 hours to come up with a specific plan of action to resolve both the lien and the lack of insurance coverage on the roof. Otherwise, this deal is off. I'm not buying a house that is partially uninsured due to no fault of my own. And I don't want any vague 'working on it' answers at the end of the 48 hours. CLEAR plan of action. Period. I'm not waiting longer than that. If they can't give us the kind of answer I deserve then the deal is off."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At that point, I was just done. I'd been patient, responsive, ridiculously accommodating, and generous during a time when they - the seller and their agent - had taken their own sweet time to have it the Burger King way...and we still had to get through the inspection and appraisal during which I could expect no compromise from the seller's lender.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/CJMsFGH4eoQ" width="420"></iframe><br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We heard nothing...nothing at all...for the better part of those 48 hours.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At 36 hours, I knew instinctively that it was over. I couldn't possibly expect a timely response from people who had so nonchalantly ignored my initial offer, could I? No. I could not.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So...I logged onto Realtor.com that morning and halfheartedly looked to see what was available for sale fully expecting nothing much as had been the case for months. Courtney had warned me to keep my expectations low about the inventory a couple of weeks before when we were debating about whether or not to accept the $11,000 net increase on <i>THE HOUSE</i>. She said, "We can let this one go if you don't want to go that high. Can I find you a house? Absolutely! Can I find you a house tomorrow? No. It's going to take some time. The market is ridiculous right now. It'll be awhile. Are you OK with that?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At that point, no, I wasn't OK with that. It was <i>THE HOUSE </i>we were talking about after all and I readily agreed to the increase.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After 36 hours of additional waiting with no response though, feeling jerked around once again, I suddenly became completely OK with the fact that it would take possibly <i>much</i> longer than I'd wanted to find the right house. I was done with the house that was clearly not to be. I was done with that asshole agent. I was done with those clearly irresponsible, lying sack of shit sellers. I was ready to look. Again.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lo and behold, that morning, there was a brand new listing...less than 12 hours old. A listing that was in my price range, with beautiful pictures, in the precise area I wanted to live in (The House was not in my original desired location area), and contained all the must haves Lex and I had identified for ourselves several months ago. Even though my heart was downtrodden, Hark! A small beacon of hope!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I e-mailed Courtney the link and said, "While I will certainly honor the full 48 hours I gave the sellers, it's time to start looking again and we need to start with this house. Send me the MLS information."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She did.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I looked at what she provided which only confirmed my belief that it was a property worth a closer look. She arranged for me to see it that afternoon at 4 p.m. - 2 hours before the 48 hours were set to expire on <i>THE HOUSE.</i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Just before I arrived at the prospective property, Courtney called <i>THE HOUSE's</i> agent and told him he was out of time and he'd better have something "meaty" to convey. He said, "I just got off the phone with the HOA. The lien has been negotiated down to zero. They will keep the restricted covenant in place but that's no big deal, right? I mean, what a shame for your buyer to back out now when we're so close."</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Courtney didn't tell me about this conversation until after we'd crawled all over the new property, falling more in love with it with each step we took.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It wasn't quite perfect. But no house ever is...not even <i>THE HOUSE</i>. It didn't have the Mormon pantry. It didn't have the attached garage. It was smaller by several hundred square feet.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But it had personality. And it had obviously been well-loved and well-maintained. It still had a 2-car garage (albeit unattached) and it still had space for me to have an office on the main floor which, in hindsight, is a much better, less isolated place for me to spend the bulk of my time.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And, after I was thoroughly, hopelessly in love with it, Courtney told me about her conversation with the other house's agent. What I felt like saying at that point, and probably did say to Courtney privately, was, "It's not a shame that I'm backing out of the contract <i>thisclose</i> to short sale approval. What's a crying shame is that, because they are all LIARS, they wasted my time. If they'd disclosed the lawsuit and the restricted covenant at the get go, I would have been much much more likely to work with them. Instead, they lied. Fuck them."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I instructed her to terminate the contract.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I then instructed her to make an offer - list price - on this standard sale property.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She did and she did.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
By 10:55 a.m. the following day - just over an hour before the deadline we'd imposed - my offer was accepted without counter.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have a contract. I've had an inspection that passed with flying colors, I've had an appraisal that came in $6,000 over contract price, I have a closing date. Both the seller and her agent have been incredibly responsive and cooperative. I love them nearly as much as I love <i>THIS HOUSE</i>.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So...I'm buying a house. <i>THE HOUSE</i>. But not the one I started out buying. And that's OK with me. It's better than OK. It's perfect...for me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We move a week from today. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
OMG! I'm buying a house!!!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Epilogue</i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The original house I was under contract to buy is back up as an active listing...at the same asking price I first offered. I don't know if the whole "we need to net $11,000 more" was a ploy to get more money out of me after they saw my credit or if they - the sellers and their agent - are attempting, once again, to sucker someone new into biting before knowing what they will ultimately be given to chew. It did make me take pause though and understand that, either way, these people are parasites...all of them.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Courtney is still in awe at the fact that I found something even more perfect for me immediately upon making the decision to terminate. So am I frankly. But I'm not questioning it. I'm just going with it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Being willing to compromise, to be accommodating, to be helpful, gracious, and responsive, doesn't mean a person can't have firm boundaries and be willing to pull the plug on something that should have been right but ultimately wasn't. There are, as the saying goes, lots of perfect fish in the sea.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>You should only push me so far</i>.</div>
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<br /></div>
Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com5United States30.145127183376129 -145.89843755.4292901833761285 172.7929685 54.860964183376126 -104.5898435tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5162829547026802129.post-84547714451721606592013-05-26T00:40:00.000-06:002013-05-26T09:47:28.958-06:00Sticks and Stones<div style="text-align: justify;">
If I had to pinpoint the precise moment my father began to think of me as "the bad kid", I would venture to guess it was during the divorce when he forced me to choose between living with my mom in the town in which I'd lived for 7 years or moving 150 miles away from my school, my friends, my piano and violin and viola teachers to live with him.</div>
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I chose to stay right where I was which, when I was 13, was kinda where I needed to be.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dave, by all accounts - and yes, I call my dad Dave to his face even - is not an easy man. Oh, he's totally rad, jovial and funny, if you aren't related to him. He has always been well-liked by his colleagues and his students. But living with him was never particularly easy for any of us that called him family and, at times, I was afraid. He wasn't physically abusive - <i>to me</i> - but his silences were deafening when he was annoyed and he wasn't above explosions during which whatever inanimate object was near at hand would suddenly and without warning take flight. Mostly though, it wasn't his angry outbursts that made him rather unbearable to spend time in his company but his little jabs made in jest that cut to the bone.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/sticks_and_stones.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/sticks_and_stones.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <a href="http://xkcd.com/1216/">xkcd</a>: the hover text reads "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can make me think I deserved it."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The decision to stay with my mom then was kind of a no brainer.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I was 20, a couple of years after he'd moved down here to Denver, I moved in with him for the first 2 years I was in college and then again for a short time after I graduated. We hadn't lived together for 8 years and he never could quite reconcile himself to the fact that I was no longer in junior high school and was, in fact, a full fledged adult. I struggled more than he did. I had a curfew, a bedtime, and little freedom. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But this entry isn't about that time. I tell you this only to give you a bit of context of how I came to live (and have for the last 21 years), once again, in the same city with my father.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It turns out, Denver is mostly big enough for the 2 of us. Since I moved out from underneath his control 15 years ago, our relationship deteriorated to the point where I rarely talked to him and saw him even less. At first, when I began to withdraw from him, he came to the fascinating conclusion that I was dealing drugs and that's why I was avoiding him. Uh huh. Yes. Because that totally seems like something I would do *rolling eyes*. </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Just so we're clear, that's totally <i>not</i> something I have or would do (so don't call me looking for a fix unless it's a fix of pie and then, well, I'm your girl but not after 9 p.m...especially not on a week night). However, it's indicative of what kind of opinion he has of me and the person I've become. And he has to have that opinion of me because to suggest otherwise means that, if I'm not a criminal, I'm avoiding him for some other reason...like the fact that he's an <i>asshole</i>. We can't have that, now can we?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
OK!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Flash forward to just over a year ago when I get a call at work from the emergency room. It's him. He woke up in the morning having a severe dizzy spell and got so scared that something was significantly wrong that he called 911 and an ambulance. I rushed to the hospital as a good kid is supposed to do and the first thing he says to me when he sees me is, "What are <i>you</i> doing here, <a href="http://www.janesinfinitewisdom.com/2012/02/world-premiere-of-scarface-starring.html">Scar Face</a>?" Thanks, Dad. Good to see you too. *sigh*</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was at that point when my siblings - my sisters who live hundreds of miles away and my brother who had just recently moved back into the area and lives about an hour away - and I started campaigning to convince him to move into some kind of retirement community where he would have 24-hour access to help if he needed it. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He kept saying no, no, maybe, no, maybe, no, no, <i>NO!</i> until a few weeks ago. </div>
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And then...</div>
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He got a phone call.</div>
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"Hi, Grandpa. It's me. Did you hear the bad news?"</div>
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"No, James. What's going on?"</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At that moment, the moment my dad said "James", the scammers had him.</div>
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To the tune of $6,000 over the course of 24 hours. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And then my life became a lot more complicated and a lot more full of Dave time...something I've successfully avoided over the last decade until now.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Because, you see, there was additional leverage for me to convince him that moving into a retirement community was all gain and no loss. He was (is) feeling vulnerable and stupid. Angry and foolish. We, my sisters and brother and I, took advantage of that and the very first mention of a senior center was met with relief. Yes, please. Help.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So I'm helping him. Because I'm here.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Spending time I don't have, ignoring myself and my other obligations, putting my financial neck on the line (because of course he has nothing to leverage financially to assist him - he can't even pay for this move) when I can least afford it (the house buying saga is another story altogether) to help him be safe...to be happy...to get the most pleasure, peace of mind, reassurance out of the last few years of his life.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm helping him.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Because that is what good kids do.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And yet...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Earlier this week, I picked him up and took him over to sign the initial paperwork and put down a deposit on an apartment at the community he chose for himself after we'd toured several. The last couple of weeks, in fact, have been a whirlwind of phone calls on his behalf, carting him around to tour different facilities, keeping my siblings (and my mom...because she still cares...<i>especially</i> about me) updated on our progress, and fretting over just how we were going to pay for everything since he'd, in essence, wiped out what little savings he had when he sent the phone scammers money for nothing.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As we were getting ready to leave, he told the marketing director, Connie, that I was actually his "bad kid". (I shit you not.) He said, "Yeah. This is my bad kid. Now my daughter, Jenni, she's my good kid<sup>1</sup>. She's a mathematician. <i>So</i> bright and <i>so</i> talented!!! I'm very proud of her." He went on but that's the gist.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
If I'd had a spork, I likely would have stabbed him with it at that moment<sup>2</sup>.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Because I'm not a bad kid.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm actually a pretty good kid.</div>
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For the most part, I've been an exemplary kid. I've been a smart kid. I've been a talented kid.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Oh sure, I've made <i>lots</i> of mistakes over the last 41 years. Seriously though. Who here hasn't?!</div>
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And yet...I'm the bad kid. </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
The kid who allegedly deals drugs. The kid who tried to commit suicide to get attention. The kid who tried and tried and tried to get his approval and failed time and again because I was never quite good enough to live up to his unrealistic expectations.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
What I, the 41-year-old self-sufficient adult, should have said at that moment was, "Fuck you, Old Man. I'm done with your abuse. Figure all this out yourself."</div>
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But I didn't.</div>
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Because I'm a good kid. I'm a kid still seeking her father's love and approval and acknowledgment that I am a good kid and a decent, loving, compassionate person.</div>
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Despite him.</div>
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Sticks and stones.</div>
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Indeed.<br />
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Inside though, I'm flipping him the bird and telling him to fuck right off. Because even good kids have their limits.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">1. I harbor absolutely no ill will toward Jenni - who <i>is</i> a shining star. She is bright! She is talented! I love Jenni. I love all my siblings. Offense was taken because all my siblings - AND ME! - are all bright and talented and, most importantly, <i>good kids. </i>Each one of us deserves such praise for vastly different reasons.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">2. Oh crap! I just realized I <i>did</i> have a spork! My<a href="http://www.crkt.com/EatN-Tool---Spoon-Fork-Bottle-Opener-ScrewdriverPry-Tip-Metric-Wrenches-Carabiner-Clam-Only"> Eat'N Tool</a> I got for volunteering at Defcon last year and keep clipped to my purse all the time. *sigh* Missed opportunity to, for once, prove I am the bad kid and, as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warren_Ellis">Warren Ellis</a> would say, Stab! & Stab! & Stab! Damn.</span></div>
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Just Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02861216483398553225noreply@blogger.com4