Memorial Day weekend

I spent this weekend with some old friends - friends I have known for a long time, although we are also getting older - at a get-together that has become known as Women's Weekend.

WW began as a reaction to the husbands' Memorial Day weekend canoe trip, which started as a two-day trip down the Eel River, during which the guys ran out of beer and had to call for replenishment. Since then, their annual adventure has become a nearly week-long trip into the wilds of this river or that. Meanwhile, the wives were left at home with the kids and the hope that their spouses' life insurance was paid up. In the spirit of reciprocity, WW was born.

Most years, we got together twice a year, usually at the same location: a reconstructed and modernized log cabin on the property of one of the participants. No phone (and this was before cell phones), a tiny TV which we hooked up to a VCR, no children allowed except nursing babies (and I don't recall that happening too often). While the guys were interested in activity, all we wanted to do was veg.

Initially, WW was about overindulging, in wine, chocolate, card games, R-rated movies we couldn't watch at home, (tobacco) cigarettes we couldn't smoke in front of our kids, etc. Conversation usually centered around our children. Nowadays, we mostly do the same things, but less so, as we are older and more health conscious. We still talk about our kids, but also grandchildren and aging parents and pending retirement and our various and sundry aches and pains.

While the spring meet-up continues, it has become more of a struggle to get together in the fall. You would think, now that the wee ones are adults, it would be easier, but no. Now we are more involved in our jobs and/or communities and/or extended families, doing a lot of the things we couldn't while actively parenting.

We started WW 36 years ago (I think). The first "weekend" was actually an afternoon. After a while, it became an overnight, then an entire weekend, from Friday night to Sunday afternoon. We talk about trying to take a week and travel to somewhere together. Given how difficult it is to arrange a weekend or two, I doubt this will happen, but it is fun to discuss the possibilities.

There is a core group that makes it to almost every WW. There are a few who come when they can. One or two have fallen away entirely. So far, we have not lost any members to death, but that is just a matter of time. It will be interesting to see how our tradition evolves over the next decades. Hopefully, we will be doing this for another 36 years.

A day with grandma

First, we went to the library, where we had to try out all the seating.

Then we went to the Salomon Farm Fiber Arts Festival, where we learned to treadle and went for a hayride.

Then it was home for a little quiet time (while grandma caught a few Z's)...

...followed by exuberant hopscotch.

The day ended with a meltdown when daddy came to pick her up. Too much fun. My work here is done.

I signed up so you don't have to

I subscribe to the New York Times headlines, so I get an email daily that keeps my ill-informed. (Since I am not a real subscriber, I can read only 10 articles a month.) There are a few ads sprinkled through the email, including one from The Grommet that is usually intriguing. But to get into The Grommet website, you have to supply an email. Being the clever bear I am, I have several email addresses, including one I never check, so that is the one I use for shenanigans like forced sign-ups.

The product advertised in today's NYT email is this:

It's an "ostrich pillow"! Available in both adult and junior sizes for a quick power nap after lunch. There are days at work (everyday?) when I really, really, really need something like this as long as it does not leave an imprint on my face. We don't have cubicles anymore, just "cubbies" with only enough space for laptop, keyboard, monitor, and mouse, but I could retreat to a privacy room for a quickie.

Would you pay $99 for this product?

Debating

I've been contemplating just what to do with the four (yes, FOUR) blogs I maintain for myself. (There are two others, one for my neighborhood association and another for an organization I am a member of, but both of those are practically defunct from neglect.) This is how I plan to divvy things up:

• Woodchuck Acres: for yard and garden (obviously). This blog serves as a record keeper, to help me keep track of what I have done when. I also enjoy looking back to previous years.
• Bitten by Knittin': for knitting, dyeing, spinning (again, obviously). Another record keeper, this blog helps me keep track of things fiber-related. I could replace it with more extensive use of Ravelry, but from my statistics, I see I get many visitors after-the-fact, looking for information about this or that.
• Between Rome and Paradise: for what's happening to and in the house. Right now, that is mostly remodeling. Adventures in the kitchen could go here as well.
• October Rose (you are here): for the up-close-and-personal stuff. This may border on TMI at times, but I hope it becomes more reflective. This also seems like a good spot for travel stories, book and movie reviews, autobiography, etc.

That is the plan. For now. Hope you stick around to see how it all evolves.

Does my sweetie know me or what?

The tee shirt says, "Recluse. Just stay home."

Roads are snow-covered. So are trails.

Finally FINALLY I went cross country skiing this winter, yesterday at Metea County Park, today at Fox Island County Park.

Metea is one of those secret gems. Despite the development going on all around, this nature preserve remains quiet and relatively underused. There are trails of course, plus a creek, pond, nature center, sledding hill, etc. Yesterday there were quite a few cars in the parking lot, apparently all having to do with the cross country ski clinic going on in the basement of the nature center. I expected to at least hear the newbies when they hit the trails (falling down in the snow invariable causes high pitched screaming), but I was done before they began. I did not meet another person on the trails, so enjoyed a peaceful interlude.

Fox Island is another story. Usually it is quite noisy, the sources being planes, trains, and automobiles, but last night's snow limited air and car traffic, for a while at least. I was the first on the trails this morning, but by the time I finished, I was meeting other solitary skiers and one couple, all of us trying to beat the crowds. When I reached my car, several families were setting out with much giggling and shouting. Yes, time to head home.

In a previous lifetime, I was self-employed and had time to get involved in volunteer work at both Metea and Fox Island, so became quite familiar with the trails. That was 15 years ago. Now it is easy for me to get turned around at either. Not a big deal ordinarily, but when I decide I am done skiing, I am invariably far from the exit and also confused about the shortest route there. At Metea, I found my way back to the car without too much trouble, but at Fox Island I felt compelled to take the long way back to the parking lot, in order to avoid this hill that does not look bad from the bottom but is adrenaline pumping from the top. I usually force myself to go down it, but after last summer's fall, decided not to tempt fate.

Before going out today, I watched a couple of You Tube videos on how to cross country ski, just to pick up some pointers.



My style is more a shuffle than a glide, but otherwise not too bad. Today I worked on gliding more, and now there is a small blister on one toe of my left foot and a larger blister on the heel of my right foot. Must be like golf - if you are doing it right, you get blisters.

Cold bound

Last night, despite the frigid temperatures (which gave me an excuse to work from home), I was forced to leave my cozy house: haircut, jump start for my SO, library drop-off, milk pick-up, grocery run. As I backed the car out of the garage, I tried to remember the last time I drove or even left the property. I think it was last Thursday, when I worked at work. Five days of house (ar)rest.

I wasn't totally isolated during that time. The granddaughter came to stay with me for a few hours on Saturday, so I saw both my daughter and son-in-law then. The weather and an impending cold/virus thing spoiled the usual get-together with my SO on Sunday, but we were in close contact. Monday the electrician stopped by for a pre-remodeling consult (everything is fine). And when one has the Internet, one is never really alone. (Hi, NSA!) I *could* have gone somewhere one of those days, but there was no need, so why bother?

Unlike some, I don't mind long stretches with only myself for company. The pets offer their own special companionship. With the marvels of technology, I'm not cut off from human intercourse. I see and hear my neighbors as they come and go. And with my myriad hobbies, there is always plenty to do. Since I wasn't feeling too perky to begin with, a couple of days on the couch, knitting and reading and napping, with the occasional foray to the bird feeders and mail box, seemed nearly ideal. Of course, it helps that I wasn't very sick and we never lost power and no pipes froze.

Now that I have stocked up on toilet paper, dairy products, fresh fruit, and chocolate, I am ready for the next wave of winter weather.

How are you surviving the polar vortex?

Targeted

I was one of those people who shopped at Target during the holiday season. There was no suspicious activity on my account, but my credit union was extremely proactive about identifying those who were vulnerable and replacing their cards. After reading a NY Times article on just how lax Target's IT security is, I now use only cash while shopping there.

A few days ago, I received an email from Target, offering me free credit monitoring. At least, the email *looks* like it is from Target. There are no links in the email to take me to god-knows-where, but I don't know *how* Target would get my email address or would know that I had shopped there during the time in question. The only legitimate answer is, my credit union shared my email address with them. Illegitimate possibilities abound, though.

It is not unusual for the ads in FB and Yahoo and other sites to reflect my online browsing and shopping, so I don't think I am being paranoid. Or am I?

Decluttering side effects

This past Thanksgiving, while my little family was all gathered together, I dragged my music collection out of the closets and cupboards. There were 50-year-old LPs, 25-year-old cassettes, 5-year-old CDs. My SO had already taken the few LPs he was interested in, so I let my son and son-in-law pick through the rest. The son-in-law is into vinyl, so he took *all* the LPs. (I told him if he sold one for $1 million, he had to split it with me.) My son helped himself to various and sundry cassettes (his car is old enough to still have a cassette player) and CDs. The leftovers will go to the local library and Goodwill.

I enjoy music but it is not something that is central to my life. When I do listen, it is with Pandora or through other online sources. Once, I borrowed a turntable to play some of those LPs and rediscovered the annoyance of that background hiss, of all the scratches, of having to flip the record after 20 or so minutes. The cassettes were nearly as bad. And my stereo system is so old that the disc changer frequently would not release the CDs. So I saw no reason to hang onto all that junk.

What surprised me was my (internal) reaction to releasing all that personal history. That is what our crap is - a record of who we were and where we've been, especially the LPs and cassettes. The LPs are from my teen and college years and 20's, the cassettes are what I listened to as I commuted back and forth to my new career in my 30's. The CDs were purchased post divorce. When that music when out the door Thanksgiving night, I felt like I was losing something vital.

Over the next several days, I fretted and regretted, but eventually forgot about it. I don't notice the hole in the closet the LPs filled because, quite frankly, they were in the way. The cassettes and CDs were in a cupboard I rarely access, so there is no visual reminder of them, either. All that remains is a paper grocery sack of the rest, that gets shuffled around until I eventually shuffle it out the door.

My reaction helps explain why I have closets full of old computer equipment. Another significant period from my life was the year I was self-employed. I started my own software development business while still working and continued it when I returned to the regular workforce, but eventually the clients dried up. I'm glad I tried it, do not regret its passing, have deposited the software printouts in the recycle bin. The hardware itself has been more difficult to deal with.

Even though I have not even powered up most of those old PCs for 15 years (and wonder if they would even start anymore), they continue to take up space in my storage-challenged house. The oldest computer is at least 20 years old, has a Bournoulli drive and multiple parallel and serial ports, as it became my utility computer. There is a slightly newer desktop that connected me to the Internet. There is a notebook I carried to the clients' offices and used for development; I backed up my work to a Zip drive.

One complicating factor to getting rid of all this stuff is I want to check the hard drives for mementos, like the early emails between my SO and me. How I would get this precious-to-me information off the hard drives is a problem, as they predate the USB era. I may have to print them out; I think I have a cable that will let me do that.

Yes, cables. Lots of cables of one sort or another, with connections of various types, with "gender benders" for mixing and matching the innies and outies. There is probably a modem or two, too, with their own multiple cables. And mice and keyboards and peripherals and god knows what else. It is all there, in my closets. It is probably a good thing I don't have a basement or an attic.

When my children were little, I would go through all their old clothes on an annual basis, to pick stuff out for garage sales. Some long-outgrown items remained behind each time, until their hold on my heart released. Eventually, it all went, as will all that I have now, if not today, then some day, when I am gone, too.

Part of me says, It's my crap and I'll keep it if I want to. But I really don't want to. It feels like so much dead weight. Starting with the newer equipment first, as it is not imbued with such power, would be easier. Once I start, it hopefully will become easier to let go of the past. What feels vitally important to me won't matter to anyone else down the line. It really doesn't matter all that much to me, except as a dim reminder of someone I used to be.

That time of year again

I searched my blog(s) for last year's resolutions, but all I found was this back-patting post. Nothing special was promised, but I am happy to report that I am still jogging, and MORE. My employer provided us with FitBits and mine has actually helped me become more active. In fact, most days I hit my 10,000 step goal. It is not hard to do, but it is also easy NOT to. I wear the thing constantly so every step counts, even middle-of-the-night trips to the john. Still, I have to make an effort everyday.

The result is, I feel more sure on my feet (which should help prevent anymore falls like this one) and my cholesterol numbers are improved. I am also insufferably smug (on the inside). Over xmas break, I even inspired one of my neighbors to get out and walk the nabe.

Another resolution was to declutter. Better late than never, I started that effort just last week. The room my granddaughter sleeps in is now relatively kid-proof and de-yarnified, and has room for the crap she keeps here at my house. I improved the state of the West Wing by moving the spinning wheel and its accouterments to the other spare bedroom which has become my new yarn room. The treadmill has been relocated to the family room, the better to make use of it now that the weather has turned nasty (I watch Netflix on my Nook while walking about 2mph - steps are steps). Two garbage bags of this, that, and the other were delivered to Goodwill. There is still more to do, but this is definitely progress.

This year's resolutions are more of the same: eat less, exercise more, keep house better. Re eating less, this requires constant vigilance. I gained back a few pounds over the holidays - could have been worse. Re exercising more, I got off track this fall with my shoulder PT exercises, so there is room for improvement there. Re the housework, I would like my house to be clean and tidy enough that, should someone stop by unexpectedly, I am not embarrassed. It doesn't have to look perfect - after all, I live here - just reasonable.

What about you? Any new goals on your horizon?

When life hands you lemons, make lemon bars

Xmas is fraught with, well, everything. There are expectations and emotions and disappointments. There are holiday highs and holiday blues. There can be loneliness, regardless of the number of cards, gifts, phone calls, visits. There can be stress, despite the yoga and deep breathing, the planning and strategizing. It all just goes with the territory known as The Holidays.

When I was a child, we followed the Danish custom of opening presents on xmas eve. Even though we did not continue this tradition with my kids, when my daughter married, she saw it as the perfect solution to the in-law problem of where to spend xmas. Somehow eating Mexican also became part of the ritual, so now it is tacos and fajitas on xmas eve at my house.

And desserts. I have made what I call Mexican wedding cakes and also cheesecake in the past. Last year's cheesecake was not all that great, though. True to my make-it-from-scratch-if-reasonably-possible philosophy (and my definition of "reasonably possible" is rather loose), I made the cheese from cream skimmed off my herdshare milk. Unfortunately, the herdshare milk had a peculiar tang to it (common in late fall/early winter, presumably from a change in diet for the cows), so the cream cheese was particularly strong. It didn't bother most, but I found the cheesecake barely edible and my son could not swallow even one bite. So ixnay on the eesecakechay in the future.

This year, however, the herdshare milk did NOT have that seasonal tang. In fact, it tasted better than ever. So cheesecake from homemade cream cheese went back on the menu. I made fromage blanc last weekend and baked this French cheesecake recipe Monday night.

Now, I know I have used this recipe before, but I think I did not do the flipping called for after baking. Or it I did, the results were better. Flipping the entire cheesecake over onto a wire rack is supposed to keep the filling from deflating. I dutifully flipped and all appeared to be fine. Then, as called for in the recipe, I left the cheesecake upside down on the wire rack for 20 minutes.

Well. When I later righted the cheesecake, I found a good deal of the filling had leaked out through the wire rack and onto the counter. The filling also did not seem all that cooked, so I scraped it off the counter, plopped it back in the pie shell, and baked it for another 20 minutes.

I'm sure the cheesecake would have been fine, but this is when the xmas gremlins hit. A major cooking failure on the day before a fraught holiday can do that. I was also feeling hormonal. You know that feeling, when your whole life feels absolutely shitty even though you cannot name one particular reason why. So, while one part of me was calmly looking through Betty Crocker for dessert alternatives that did not involve a trip to the grocery store, another part was trying to cry/not cry.

I used to be quite good at generating self-pity, but the older I get, the more ridiculous that effort seems. This particular evening I certainly felt the need for some self-pity and a good cry, but every time the tears welled up, I found myself laughing at my histrionics. Oh, poor me, I can't bake a cheesecake, I'm a failure as a cook and a mother and a human being, boo hoo hoo, followed by, Seriously? Get over yourself.

Eventually, I baked some ginger snaps and lemon bars, so solved the problem of xmas dessert. Everyone had plenty to eat and no one complained about the lack of cheesecake (and if they had, I would have let them sample the semi-disaster because it is still in the refrigerator). And so another holiday season comes to a close.

(I've always wanted to make Hoppin' John for New Years. Maybe this will be the year. Ham hocks, anyone?)

Back to the future

After a year or so of combining knitting, gardening, and me into one blog, I've decided to go back to separate blogs for each. I am also toying with the idea of copying the me-related posts to this blog so they will all be in one place. That sounds like a really tedious time-consuming task, so we'll see how far that idea goes. Anyway, welcome back to October Rose.

Dumb idea undone

I have a habit of over complicating my life. As if maintaining three blogs were not enough, I tried to start up a Twitter account for each. Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad. So I am going to pare that down to one Twitter, and while I am at it, combine my three blogs into a single brand new one: Between Rome and Paradise. I hope you will give the new blog a whirl. Regardless, thanks for your readership!

Don't worry. Be happy.

Warning: This post is mostly about medical issues. Sorry.

Thanks to the three doctors I have seen in the past four weeks, we had to cancel our vacation plans. I was running an intermittent fever and suffering from severe abdominal pains that were initially brushed off as "some virus" and constipation. I would probably still be suffering except one doctor finally noticed my blood work showed elevated liver enzymes. The CT scan showed diverticulitis - yay, proof I really am sick - but the meds were almost worse than the disease, providing a preview of what Alzheimer's must be like. I could not drive, I could not knit, I could not successfully make Jello. Once I finished the meds, the fog lifted, thank god. I'm almost back to normal.

During one of many office visits, when I told the doctor I had had an endometrial ablation years ago, she blurted out, "Maybe you have uterine cancer!" Which sent me to Dr. Google. Turns out an ablation does not increase one's chances of getting uterine cancer, but early signs may be missed because the cervix is scarred shut. So now I will schedule another appointment with another doctor, so I can stop chewing on that.

All through this ordeal, one thought comforted me: at least my hip does not hurt any more. But last week, after two days in a desk chair, the pain returned. Fortunately, between a deep tissue massage and my own self care, that has been beaten back. It is hell getting old.

Back to the diverticulitis, they don't really know what causes it. They say eating a low fiber diet may, but I eat plenty of fiber. My doctor said nuts and seeds, but that theory has been debunked. My neighbor's doctor told him eating bacon is the culprit, but I think he has it confused with gall bladder attacks. There is an element of stress, though. Hence my new motto: Don't worry, be happy. This is an effective method of short circuiting obsessive thoughts as the song fills my brain's thinking space, doing fierce battle with Babe Ruth's "Wells Fargo".



Since I could not do much besides watch TV, I spent my time watching four seasons of "Breaking Bad". And now the eighth season of "Desperate Housewives" and the fourth season of "Damages" are available. All is right with the world!

Six weeks since my last post, time for another

As I mentioned last time, I started a new position at work. Still in IT but on a different team, a team that is actually located in the same building. I had not realized how isolated I felt, when the rest of my team was 600 miles away. I also had forgotten how annoying people can be. One is a big sigher - yesterday she was sighing so deeply and so often, she sounded like she was gasping. She also clips her fingernails at work. Another gets herself cranked up over things that don't really concern her, but when they do, she can get a bit weepy. Which I understand perfectly, as I get that way myself at times. I am also becoming a sigher. The work is less stressful, but incredibly boring.

Since I have a local team now, I work at work most days. The additional time required for dressing, making a lunch, and commuting is putting a real crimp in my schedule, plus there are some things I do at home during the workday that I can't do in the office. Like take a quick nap at noon, or run through some physical therapy exercises while taking a break. There are "privacy rooms" at work, large enough for a small table and four chairs. I found one that is a little bigger than most, and have commandeered it for a half hour of stretches at lunchtime. The people that see me carry a blanket into that room probably think I am taking a nap (and some days, were it so!) Yesterday I bought a cheap yoga mat at Tuesday Morning to use instead, so besides the stretches I can do a few exercises as well.

Besides all the shoulder, wrist, back, and hip exercises I have been doing, I am also going to a chiropractor. As much as I hate my job, I LOVE the benefits, especially since learning the health insurance covers unlimited chiropractic treatments. The treatments themselves are a bit disconcerting - one part involves ankle restraints and a table that moves - but my headaches have abated and many parts of my body feel better. Except my right hip. It has been bothering me for about a year. I've tried yoga and deep tissue massage; rest and massive doses of ibuprofen; gone to my GP who first sent me to PT, then when I developed sciatica, for an MRI (which showed nothing significant); now chiropractic treatments. Oddly enough, it doesn't bother me when I am moving, but when I am sitting or standing for extended periods of time (and by "extended" I mean 30 minutes or so). And sometimes at night, when I lay down, so some nights I have to sleep in a recliner. Thinking my mattress might be part of the problem, I even made a pallet of comforters and afghans and slept on the floor for a while. I'm getting rather discouraged.

Which brings me to a complaint I have about people in the medical profession: once they hear certain phrases, like "shooting pain down my leg", they leap to one and only one conclusion, like sciatica, dismissing or not really listening to anything else you say. Something is hinky with my hip, but instead of being curious, they trot out the usual recommendations. Bah.

One reason I want my hip to feel better is my daughter and I are taking the granddaughter on a long road trip, to see my dad, who will be 93 next month. It is one of those trips that could be a lot of fun or a painful ordeal, and like most things, will probably be a bit of both. Toddler N will be two soon (TWO!)

This, that, and the other

I suffer from insomnia. Lately it has become so bad that I signed up to participate in an online insomnia study. To qualify, I completed a questionnaire and submitted to a telephone interview. Then I kept a sleep diary for two weeks, recording what time I got into bed, what time I tried to go to sleep, how long it took to get to sleep, how many times I woke up during the night, how long I was awake, what time I woke up in the morning, what time I got out of bed, etc. Needless to say, my insomnia was worse while recording all this information.

The "meat" of this study consists of two websites for treating insomnia, to determine which one works best. I must have been assigned to the placebo, as it consists of the same tired advice for insomniacs I have been reading for years. It also isn't clear if I am supposed to actually follow any of this advice as part of the study. I already refrain from vigorous exercise and large meals late in the evening, but I'm not going to give up the simple pleasure of reading in bed or get out of bed if I can't fall asleep. They say to stay up until you are sleepy, but don't take daytime naps even if you are sleepy. Oh, yeah? I just took a twenty minute nap and it was delicious.

The website makes no mention of menopause. Sometimes when I wake up at night, it is because of a hot flash. Nor does it ask about pain - sometimes I can't sleep because my hips or shoulders ache. And it does not ask about stress or worry. Like I said, I must be in the placebo group.

One source of stress for me has been my job. I hate, hate, HATE what I was doing. But I am doing it no more. I still work for the same employer but as of July 1 in a different role. Already I can feel the difference - my shoulders are no longer hunched around my ears and one source of inner chatter has quieted down.

An omnipresent worry I have is growing old. Like most people, I know I will die someday but I can't really imagine my own death. I don't have to imagine growing old, though, because it is already happening. In the past six months or so, my body has crossed some invisible line and I can tell I will never be able to cross back. I'm not infirm by any means, but there is a difference.

I also find myself drawn to reading not just memoir, but memoir of old people (and by "old" I mean "older than me"). I just finished I Feel Bad about my Neck by Nora Ephron, am in the middle of This Is Getting Old by Susan Moon, and Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake by Anna Quindlen is in the wings.

So I have something to read in bed before going to sleep.

Six states in seven days

My SO and I took a road trip last week, crossing Indiana and Illinois on US 24, following the Mississippi up to Galena, then crossing the river to Iowa followed by heading west in southern Minnesota, then north in eastern South Dakota, before meeting up with family in Minneapolis. We cross Wisconsin on the way home. Whew!

A few highlights of the trip:

When I first saw this bumper sticker in Indiana, I was in disbelief. Upon closer inspection, it said "People Eating Tasty Animals." Ah - that made more sense.

Because Carl Sandburg was all about cosmetology, dental hygiene, and therapeutic massage.

The one that did not get away.

As we were returning to the car after admiring the Jolly Green Giant, the LOUDEST tornado siren I have ever heard went off, followed by an equally loud PA announcement that "this is only a test".

Can you believe that the town where this sign hangs has two institutions of higher learning? True!

Ride 'em, cowboy!

Paul Bunyan, in case you can't tell.

I wish I had taken photos of the welcome signs outside many of the small towns we passed through. Each town has its own motto, none of which I can recall, but that seemed curious at the time. Or maybe it was road fatigue that made it seem so.

How to drink beer in Minneapolis

This vehicle is known as a PedalPub. It is powered by the passengers. I'm guessing the exercise helps offset the drinking. This photo was taken Saturday morning, well before noon; maybe it was the same people we saw the night before?

Yes, I was in Minneapolis last week. My SO and I met up with some of his family members, for a couple of days of museum hopping and food consuming. One restaurant we supped at was the News Room, where I saw someone that looked remarkably like R. I could not get a good look at this R's date, but I think R's husband H is really tall. So I watched and waited, and when they got up to leave, confirmed that this H was indeed very tall. Back at the hotel, I showed my SO a picture of R on her blog, and he too thought it was her. We were convinced. But guess what. We were wrong. Thankfully, I'm too shy to accost strangers in public.

Done and done

Once in a while a co-worker will insist they told me something and I pull a complete blank, have absolutely no memory of what they said, which causes my heart to leap with panic and my brain to latch onto a diagnosis of Alzheimer's.  Then the co-worker says, Oops, my bad, I told that to so-and-so.  Jeeze, don't DO that!

Yesterday was my last session of physical therapy - yay!  It was very helpful, as it should be when each session took TWO hours.  The protocol involved manual manipulations (aka torture) by the therapist herself, plus exercise, plus the delivery of cortisone to the joints being treated by means of iontophoresis (I think that's right - it involved electrodes), plus electrical stimulation of the muscles (more electrodes), plus heat packs.  I still have issues, am not 100% yet, but any further improvement to strength and flexibility will be incremental and can be accomplished on my own.  I am tired of going, tired of the time commitment, and tired of hearing the same stories over and over again from my unfortunately chatty therapist.

Still struggling with insomnia.  I've become accustomed to the Ambien and use that a couple of times a week.  Other nights I use valerian and melatonin.  When I find myself jerking awake from dreaming about work, I reframe that problem by telling myself, It's okay to dream about work.  Maybe you need to dream about work, which has turned out to be surprisingly effective.  And I try to quiet the middle-of-the-night monkey mind by saying, Think about that in the daytime, not at night.

Last night that last bit was not very effective because today will probably be Fern's final trip to the vet.  She acts okay, but there is a lot of discharge from her mouth, some of it blood-tinged.  She still tries to clean herself, and her fur gets matted from the discharge.  She pulls out the mats she can reach, so her once beautiful coat is a mess.  Eating and drinking have been difficult for her, resulting in weight loss.  But now she has stopped eating altogether, despite my efforts with a variety of cat and human foods.  It is time.  Unfortunately, Fern will not go gently into that good night.  She will try to hide from me when I go to put her in the travel crate, she will cry on the drive to the vet, she will huddle against me on the exam table.  She will break my aching heart.

Little road trip

My SO and I drove down to Indy last night to listen to the Wood Brothers.  (I did not take these videos.)



I would describe their music as southern rock with folk/blues/gospel influences.  Besides Oliver on guitar and Chris on bass fiddle, they had a percussion guy (Jano Rix) who for some songs thumped a guitar modified to be played percussively.  It looked like he had a mini-tambourine on one drum stick, too.



We would have stayed for the whole show, but 1) there was a warmup act (Seth Walker), so by the time the Wood Brothers hit the stage, it was already past our bedtime, and 2) there was no place to sit.  The few chairs set up were reserved for people we presume won tickets from the sponsoring radio station.  The crowd varied in age, with a preponderance of twenty-somethings who drank beer, danced perilously close to our feet, frequently thumbed their phones and took photos of themselves and each other (I photo bombed at least one picture), and talked, talked, talked.  While we greatly enjoyed the music, we might be getting too old for the other shit.