HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO ME

This week, as I rolled up to the one year anniversary of writing this blog, I thought about ending the blog today. 

Some of you have been trying to contact me through AOL.  I have let my account suspend as I try and figure out exactly what I wish to do next.  So... for right now you can post comments and read my blog, but ims and email are not coming through.  I am not ignoring you...

Trace, my dearest friend from Minnesota is ending her AOL account as she has FINALLY upgraded from dial-up to DSL.  She is one of the reasons I stayed with AOL for all these years.

In the final year of my marriage I was given a laptop at work.  I was asked to load all the software loan officers were using and test for conflicts with Loansoft.  Many LO's had AOL accounts, so I was able to load and test AOL.  Thus marking my introduction to the world of AOL sometime in 1997. 

In the evenings, not wanting to engage with my husband I would search the Internet for information on Ireland.  One night back in 1997 I discovered a chat room called, "Irish Heritage" where this bright, funny engaging large group of people gathered to discuss Irish politics, women's issues, and the state of Ireland today.  I was hooked.

Get a bunch of Irish together telling stories (interrupting each other) and it is one hilarious show.  One of the funniest, was this rather quiet screen name "Tgreengirl."  When she would finally type a response or comment on something, 50 people would stop typing and start laughing.  She embodied my kind of humor.  Her name ... is Tracie (I call her 'Trace').

Over time we began instant messaging each other and creating funny stories about different screen names in the room.  A deep friendship was born.  She could make me laugh out loud so hard that the cats would come see what I was up to in the kitchen.  We became best online friends.

Eventually I poured out my heart to her about how done I was with my marriage.  I was broken and defeated.  There is nothing like working to save a marriage that is doomed.  The heartache is almost unbearable ... days and nights run together like one long prison sentence.  In time, she confided that she was living on her couch and was in the same sad situation.  I was also sleeping separately from Brian's father.  We shared a common life across the country.  The states between us faded.  It was like she lived next door.

Trace worked graveyard at a medical facility and began calling me in the middle of the night.  I would take the portable house phone and go sit in my backyard to talk and laugh for hours.  We were both contemplating affairs with other men.  I had promised myself that I would never cheat on anyone, but sadness and loneliness is a slippery road.

I ultimately packed my x's bags and told him to get out - I was done.  The process made me sick to my stomach.  I couldn't eat.  I couldn't sleep. Trace called me every night during this time.  She always calmed me down and said the one thing we women always want to hear, "Everything is going to be just fine."

One day while at work, I allowed my x husband to come into the house to remove the belongings we separated and agreed to split up.  He ended up stripping the house.  I had to call and threaten him with the police to get my things back.  He brought the items back and the house remained like someone had moved into the place in a hurry.

Then one morning Tracie calls me in a panic.  Things had been escalating with her husband.  I was worried I was going to see on national news that she was found dead - murdered by her husband.  She was breathing fast on the phone, her husband had held a knife to her throat, tired of her living on the couch.  She kneed him in the balls, causing him to almost cut off his own thumb and he ran off to the hospital.  He was at the hospital when she called me.

Panicking that he would come back and kill her, she asked me what to do.  "How much money do you have in the bank?" I asked.  She replied, and I knew it was plenty for her to 'take a vacation' to California.  So I said, "Pack a bag, grab your kids - go to the airport and catch the first flight you can find to California.  I'll pick you up at the airport and you can come visit me."  She thought I was kidding, but I was never more serious in my life.

So she packed bags, grabbed her kids and left the state of Minnesota for the very first time in her life.

Now mind you, I had never even seen a photo of her and I drove to the airport to pick her up.  Some might think we were crazy, but it was my destiny to befriend this girl from Minnesota who made me laugh until my sides hurt.  I was to meet her in baggage claim and walking into the claim area, I recognized her at first sight, even though I had never laid eyes on her before.  She smiled at me and we embraced in hugs that ended up in sobbing tears.

Like long lost sisters separated by several lifetimes we stood in the SF Airport baggage claim crying, laughing and hugging.  She was with her son, and the most beautiful, little precious girl named Mary (Hi Mary :-)).  I packed them in my car and drove out of the airport into our grand adventure.  They never left Minnesota, so this was their first time in California - and there before them in all it's night time glory was the San Francisco skyline.

All firsts...first time across the Golden Gate Bridge, first time seeing the Pacific ocean, first time through Marin County, first time on the 101, and first time to Santa Rosa California.

When she walked into my house and saw all the picture and paintings against the wall and things laid about, she comments, "Well this is too fuc*ing sad and we have to do something about it while I am here!  Let's get the kids to bed, put on some coffee and open the wine and talk."  I smiled as she was exactly the same as she was online and over the phone.

It was like having a sister come for a visit.  I didn't realize how lonely I had been, or how depressed. 

I would leave for work in the morning and she would have coffee made and breakfast going.  The first night I came home from work, the smell of something wonderful greeted me as I walked through the door.  It was the smell of dinner - how I missed this.  She walks out of the kitchen handing me a glass of wine, as she smiles and says "Welcome home honey!"  I laaugh. There in my kitched is Brian, bathed and in his jammies (he was two), her two kids and a set table with dinner.  I never knew how much I needed this .

I walked into my bedroom.  My bed was made, my laundry folded on my bed, and everything was in it's right place.  I put on my sweats as she yells to come eat.  She informs me that we will rearrange my living room and set it right after the kids are fast asleep.  She walked around Santa Rosa that day and to the grocery store.  She reminded me that I still needed to create a home for Brian.  She was an angel.

She stayed a week and went on to Seattle to stay with friends there.  When she boarded the airporter with her children I waved goodbye and began to cry.  I wanted her to stay and for us to get a bigger place.  I wanted to raise our kids under one roof and date men, laugh (like the TV show Late and Allie) and enjoy life.  But she had to go back home, and get herself divorced.  I wished that life just once would do what I wanted it to do.

I hoped she could come back and try living in California, but she ended up meeting Dennis and ultimately marrying again.  Oddly, Minnesota became one of my training regions and I was able to fly and stay at her home.  She lives in some pretty country...and collects a whole lot of rocks. 

Last year she found she had an Aunt on her father's side whom she has never met.  Turns out ... this Aunt's latest address is in Santa Rosa. She has lived here for many years and was a local school secretary.  While staying with me, Trace walked by her house without realizing.  Holy crap. 

I knew it was destiny.

And now... she is leaving this place where we met.  I am having trouble finding a reason to stay on AOL as I have Comcast myself.  I can move the blog to another host, and start over....year two.

I'll keep you posted.

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

 

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LIFE

Clouds pass across my sky

Loitering endlessly

Tears of rain pierce through my soul

My existence, on stand-by.

 

I raise my hand to push aside

To stop the shower

My firm stance defiantly

Pressure, as my life collides.

 

My eyes close, eyebrows tight

Thoughts of warmth, of joy

A faded memory

I’ve lost my anchor-light.

 

Where is my sun, I curse in vein

My muscles weaken

I face the sky, fist to the Gods

Flee from me oh drops of pain.

 

But the clouds, and rain

Remain.

*****

Happy 1 year anniversary of writing this blog.

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

Twenty three days of rain.  I know...those of you in the northeast buried in snow will think "Whah."  Do you get 23 days of snow? 

Travel companies here have seen a 40% increase in bookings because so many want out of the rain.  I am right there with them.  Spring break I am heading up to Folsom to lay in the sun with Ebet and watch the kids swim in their pool.  Her husband will spoil us rotten - I just wish it was TODAY.

23 days of rain...

IRISHNESS

I often think of this poem by Robert Herrick when my mind wanders to worry and I forget how lucky I really am ...

Lord, thou has given me a cell
Wherein to dwell.
And little home, whose humble roof
Is weatherproof.
Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft and dry.
Where thou my chamber for to ward
Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts to watch and keep
Me while I sleep.
Low is my porch as is my fate,
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my door
Is worn by the poor,
Who thither come and freely get
Good words, or meat.
Like as my parlour, so my hall
And kitchen’s small:
A little buttery, and therein
A little bin,
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unchipped, unflayed.
Some little sticks of thorn or briar
Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coal I sit,
And glow like it.
Lord, I confess, too, when I dine
The pulse is thine,
And all those other bits that be
There placed by thee:
The worts, the purslane, and the mess
Of water-cress,
Which of thy kindness thou hast sent;
And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet,
To be more sweet.
‘Tis thou that crownest my glittering hearth
With guiltless mirth,
And givest me wassail bowls to drink,
Spiced to the brink.
Lord, ’tis thy plenty-dropping hand
That soils my land,
And givest me, for my bushel sown,
Twice ten for one;
Thou makest my teeming hen to lay
Her egg each day,
Besides my healthful ewes to bear
Me twins each year;
The while the conduits of my kine
Run cream for wine.
All these and better thou dost send
Me, to this end:
That I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart,
Which, fired with incense, I resign
As wholly thine;
But the acceptance—that must be,
My Christ, by thee.

Tuesday marks two of my three weeks that I am suppose to wait and see how I am doing.  Doctors orders and all that.  This week I recovered from a cold within 48 hours that seemed to take others down for weeks, I gardened, hiked with Boonie, completed all the laundry and found the theme to my story that I have been at a loss to create.  I handled a three boy sleep-over where I think they went to sleep at 3:30am and awoke at 5:00am. 

So maybe this is working?  We also had breaks from the rain, where I was able to get outside in the sun.  There seems to be something with me and the sun.  Possibly I don't get enough Vitamin D...?...

Brian's conference with school "team" went very well.  I adore his teacher, and I can see that she cares deeply for my son. I WAS NICE.  My x husband quipped, "Wow, you sure handled that superbly."  Like I don't always??  How does he think we got Brian to this point?

John instant messaged me this week for an update and questions on some past stuff.  I realize by his im that I often forget to 'wrap up' my stories.  Hey - I am impressed a beau from about eight years ago actually reads my dither.  So now I have to complete my stories...? 

Never finishing a story is an Irish trait.  My grandmother was this way.  She'd juggle oranges and tell us kids a story, be interrupted and we'd have to chase her down to get her to tell the ending.

This week begins the countdown to my next Dr's visit and a review of how I am doing.

I just wish the medicine came in dark chocolate...

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

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ENJOY YOUR BIRTHDAY, DAMNIT!

This week my brother turned 49, and I went to a dinner party at his girlfriend Terry's home to celebrate this event.  My niece showed up in a bucket of tears, as when my brother went to pick her up (she would not come to wish him happy birthday unless he picked her up from her mother's and took her back home) she unveiled her new 8 inch tattoo on her lower back.  My brother, who has managed paving crews thinks tattoos indicate time spent in jail and the ride over obviously did not go well.

Brian was out playing basketball with the neighborhood kids so he missed my niece's dramatic entrance into Terry's home.  I thank GOD that I have a son and not a daughter.  She informs me that she is 18, and is expressing herself and plans on three more.  "Then why are you sobbing?" I think as she buries her sobbing tears into my mother's open arms.  Obviously the ride over was a fight.  And why does my 78 year old mother have to see this?  Does this girl have no respect for her grandmother?  I want a martini and a limo ride home.

Self expression is all well and good, but I do not think she is expressing anything but a cry for attention. LIKE ME PLEASE LOVE ME PLEASE LIKE ME NOW as she stands before me about 95 pounds soaking wet, pale skin and enough earrings to cover half of California.  She forgets that I was once a model, an A student and have oh so been there done that.  I wanted to smack her for presenting her tattoo to my brother as a birthday gift.  But alas, she is not my kid.  She is the product of parents who put their own happiness and life ahead of their children.  Psychiatrists say (like when in a descending plane) "to put on your own air mask and then your child's."  Sometimes I think psychiatrists are full of shit. 

I realize in divorce there are anger issues and I realize that people get hurt - especially kids.  But someone has to talk about the elephant sitting in the living room and my niece is slowly disappearing with great flamboyantcy right before our eyes. I have loved this girl from the minute she came into this world, but she doesn't want to hear it from me.  This is all about her mom and dad.  I think anorexia is a woman's wish to disappear while everyone is watching.  My niece ate three green beans for dinner.  My son ate three ribs, a salad, two rolls, pasta, two glasses of milk and belched how great the dinner was before asking what was for dessert.  I smiled, as I think men will always win in the world as long as they eat and women don't.

Enter my beginning to the week. Family drama, sore muscles, and a big ole blister. HA!

Monday dances in with Stephanie inviting me out to tea, Brian wanting a breakfast Starbuck's with hot chocolate and a share of the comic section of the paper, and my x husband finds a doctor that does a call in conference call for my disease.  Boy, does he want me to hurry up and support him again or what? (*Wink*)  My feisty self is coming back I can see by my bitching here.  Janice sends me an invite to a girl's PJ party in April for a handbag designer that is about to make the talk show curcit from here.  Little changes...little changes. I catch my first cold in a year.

Wednesday we have a "conference" with Brian's principal, teacher, and "team".  When kids have 'learning differences' they get a "team" at school.  Having a team doesn't change getting the school system to do what they are suppose to do, but they feel good that they have a 'team'.  My x husband has already asked me, "Are you going to be nice?" (laugh).  Depends on what the 'team' says.  And I AM ALWAYS NICE. (laughing and laughing).

There are some other things brewing with me, but I will write more about it as it unfolds. 

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/ 

OK ... I CAN GOLF NOW

 

GO TO:

 

 

http://www.golfsmith.com/ws/display_styles.php?sty=245406,246295,240652,245396,245394,241786,bl100

 

 

Thanks KB!

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

 

OH

And Peter...just bite me.

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OK...

I'm sore and blisters are a bitch.

URGES ARE SURGIN

Here I go, only three days out on my new drugs and I get the urge to hike Spring Lake.  I used to hike at three miles here every single day, sometimes five and on the weekends, often ten miles. 

When I began really feeling sick from this thyroid mess, the idea of hiking around the lake seemed insurmountable. I stopped even thinking about one of my favorite past-times....hiking. 

So Friday at about 3:00 pm I decided to drive up into the lake parking lot and perhaps take a light walk around the lake ... maybe a mile ... I don't have my good tennis shoes.  It is a partially cloudy day, but you can feel the warmth of the sun.  Quite a few outdoor enthusiasts are beginning to kick off their weekend past times.   As I step away from my truck I feel like a stranger in a place I once knew better than my own face.

I start to walk, and by the time I am in to the park a mile, I feel fabulous and decide to continue the hike up through one of my old trails on the ridge.  It is still muddy from the recent flooding.  I should have my hiking shoes on, but I don't, and persist in spite of my shoes. 

I feel the weakness of my muscles at about two miles and am frustrated at the thought that right now a man might be able to kick my butt in the bedroom.  I ignore my talking muscles and continue to where there is a view of the park.  I am now at almost three miles into the park.

I decide to turn and hike down, and realize I am thirsty.  I have brought no water.  This tells you how long it has been since I was the hiking queen.  At the fourth mile, heading out of the park,  I feel my muscles growing tired.  I stop at a water fountain and try to drink water between heavy breaths. I want to stop here and have some sexy man on a Harley magically ride up and offer me a ride ... or a horse ... a man on a horse would do.   But, alas ... no man to the rescue.

Small kids are passing me now.  I have to save face and walk.  On the last half mile of this almost six mile walk, I realize I am wearing one hell of a blister on to my left heel.  The last quarter mile I am limping from the blister.  I make it to my truck and think I must be nuts, but it felt oh so good.  I had to smile at myself.

I ponder if my doctor will kill me.

His words "Three weeks Catherine, give it three weeks!" echo in my head.  I stretch and get in my truck.  Luckily Brian has left one of his bottled waters in the truck.  I guzzle it down.

I just hiked over five miles (BIG GRIN).

I drive to the store, still limping like a warrior and buy some sushi for dinner.  Once back home I remove my shoes and socks to eye a blister the size of a quarter.  Not too bad.  It is going to bug me like a bitch the next few days...

I enjoy my light dinner and decide to clean up my home.  I haven't had this much energy in three years.  I even take a call from Peter at 11pm, who is thrilled at how I sound. 

I sleep like a baby all night and arise ready to kick some butt today.  This seems to be working - keep your fingers (and toes) crossed for me.  Doesn't the soreness kick in day two...?....

Tomorrow I could be so sore that I have to lay my toothbrush on the counter and move my head back and forth to brush my teeth...

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

CEAD MILE FAILTE

Hail! Hail!
My beautiful Red
My beautiful, beautiful Irish Red.
Hail! Hail!
My sweet lil’ Red
None can compare to my Irish Red.

Can’t say no
What you make me do?
Is All day long I wait for you
I’d walk for you
Y’know it’s true
From Caherciveen to Killarney

Hail! Hail!
My beautiful Red
My beautiful, beautiful Irish Red.
Hail! Hail!
My sweet lil’ Red
None can compare to my Irish Red.

Caramel kiss
With mild bitterness
you to my lips is saintly bliss!
I’d sing for you
Y’know it’s true
From Inchinveema to Gortlatlea

Hail! Hail!
My beautiful Red
My beautiful, beautiful Irish Red.
Hail! Hail!
My sweet lil’ Red
None can compare to my Irish Red.

Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Daoibh...

Until next time-

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com

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DOCTOR DOCTOR GIVE ME SOME NEWS...

Up two flights and down a long hall, surveying suite numbers as I pass, I come to a closed door with the name of Isaac Gardner, MD printed on the outside.  I have come face to face with my future.

A bag full of medications, vitamins and notes hang from my right arm.  I was less prepared when selling to my brokers, but this is, after all, my health. I open the door slowly to a tranquil sitting room where there is a couch, copy machine, a coat stand and a wall of articles on auto-immune diseases.  Soft classical music plays in the background.  There is no receptionist to greet me, just a typed note on the second door directing me to press a button to indicate I am in the waiting room.

I feel like Alice In Wonderland.

I press the button and take a seat on the couch surveying the many articles that hang from the bulletin board that covers one complete wall.  There is a note that says "Feel free to copy anything that interests you."  I am recognizing some of the research articles I have read.  I can see that this doctor is familiar with the latest studies and is a patient advocate.  I am liking him already.

The second door slowly swings open and a young, sweet girl smiles at me as she says "Hello Catherine, welcome to our office!  Do you have your paperwork completed for me?" she extends her soft hand to shake mine.  I smile back and reach into my bag, pulling my completed paperwork and hand it to her.  "Very good" she responds "Dr. Gardner is with a patient and will be with you in a few minutes."  She turns and disappears behind the closed door.  At least she wasn't a tall rabbit with a pocket watch mumbling, "I'm late, I'm late for a very important date..."

I survey the titles to the articles on the wall and it reads like the thoughts in my head.  I want to hurry up and see him.  After about 10 minutes, the girl opens the door and says "Come in, Dr Gardner is ready for you."  She directs me through hertiny office to a third door where this gray-haired man in glasses says "Hello there" and pushes his door open.  "I am Dr.  Gardner," he smiles and directs me to this large room.

Because he combines Psychology with endocrinology, half the room is like a Psychiatrists office with a couch and traditional counseling chairs and the other half of his office looks like a typical medical office.  One corner is his desk, which is piled high with paperwork.  It looks like the Mad Hatter's Tea Party, except the medical office version.  He points to two chairs that face each other and says. "Have a seat Catherine."

He sits across from me with a long legal pad and begins to drill me with great questions.  By his fourth question he has already asked more than any of my other Doctors combined.  He holds a perfect poker face, as there are few times I can tell my disclosures disturb him with the medical treatment.  He asks me over and over about my Synthroid (T4)and I can tell that he thinks the drug is useless.  I worked in my mother's doctor's office for many years - I can recognize a disgusted doctor's face.  They don't like criticizing each other, but within these first 30 minutes I can tell he is furious at my medical treatments.

Doc, welcome to my world.

His questions drift along the line of energy, mood and memory.  It is like he is pinching at my heart.  He doesn't explain his line of questioning, he just nods his head and feverishly takes notes.  I open up my heart and soul to him.  The only person that knows this much about me is God.  In the end, he runs some tests, takes my blood pressure and removes his glasses.

"Did you know that you are amazingly healthy in spite of this disease?" he sits down facing me.  "My guess is that you take good care of yourself, but this disease and the lack of proper medical care has sadly diminished you Catherine.  It is nothing you have done.  I am shocked you look as well as you do." he pats my arm.  With this, tears flow down my face as I realize someone finally sees the real me.  "Can I get better?" I ask in a tone like I expect him to say 'no'.  He smiles, leans back and begins to unload his diagnosis.

It seems I have probably had this since I was a young girl.  To him, I am a fighter.  He concludes that I have been fighting my way through life for years.  He asks me about my mornings and whether I have ever felt good when I wake up.  My answer is never, and he doesn't look surprised.  "I bet you are cold quite a bit and hate winters.  You are probably at your worst in the fog," he comments as I nod my head in agreement.  "Your prescription medications are all wrong.  I am having trouble with the level of Synthroid, which I think is useless in your system.  The T3 level that is prescribed is a joke, and we are going to consistently raise it over the next 4 weeks.  I am prescribing you a good sleeping pill.  Next week, I want your x husband to take your son.  I want you to take a hot bath, turn off your phone, put on pjs, take a pill, turn all distractions off and go to bed.  I want you to sleep until you are sick of sleeping.  Then, when you wake up, call a good friend and go for a nice walk."

"In three weeks, because of the increased T3 and rest I expect to see a slowly improving Catherine.  I will run blood tests at this time and I expect we will begin to see a slow recovery.  In time, you will have a whole new view of life.  I have seen sicker patients and you should see how well they are doing today."  he takes a breath and hands me a Kleenex.

"This is a difficult disease to bear because the lack of a healthy functioning thyroid messes with your hormones, your body and your mind.  The mind is the hardest part Catherine."  he squeezes my arm as I wipe my eyes. 

He writes out my new prescriptions and arranges my next appointment.  He hands me over to his assistant who smiles at me like she knows that every patient leaving his office is already better.  "He is pretty wonderful," I comment to her.  She nods as she says, "Oh yes he really is."  I finally found my savior in this little gray haired Einstein-looking doctor.

Now I only hope, as interest rates continue to rise that I can keep business going long enough to get well enough to find something else to do to support me while I finish my first book. 

My new hottie 'uberman' muse has offered to meet me to help along with my chapters.  He is too special to invade his privacy to write of him here, but sometimes God sends us angels when we least expect them.  Now I have two.  I only hope I can keep it all together long enough to get back on my feet.  I am so close to going under that it frightens me and to rely on my x husband is killing me.  I am so done with it all.  I pray myself to sleep every night that  I make it just one more month - buy myself just a little longer while I get better.

Like Moses towards the end of his crossing of the desert from Egypt to Midian, maybe these are the shepherds that take me in and allow me to shape a new life.

Until next time-

C

 

HERE'S YOUR CHANGE MA'AM

My mother often tells me, "Everything can change in just a day Cath, you will see.  One day you spin around and everything is different." 

I just wish it would hurry up. 

This coming March 30th will mark one year that I have been blogging here.  A year of opening my heart and soul to the world.  My first entry was called "In the beginning" (http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/entries/59).  I look at the photo of myself and wonder if I will ever get her back.

Tuesday morning at 9:30 I meet with the new Doctor with a new way of looking at my thyroid disease.  I have no idea where it will lead.  I can only hope that it somehow removes the shackles from my ankles and sets me free to have the energy to live the life that spins around in my head. 

I haven't fallen in love in such a long time. I worry that I may not be able to anymore.  I have put so much into helping Brian and making his life better, especially with his father.  There were friends who didn't think I would be able to do this - not because of my abilities - but because Brian's dad was so unreasonable (and often insane).  I just never gave up. 

It has taken its toll on me.  The well of Catherine has quenched many a soul's thirst, but no one (not even me) has been replenishing the well.  I started the blog, because I once believed that if you kept a diary, and wrote your thoughts, your life could completely change.  Since I love to write - it is such a passion.  I hoped it would help restore my soul.  I see that Brian's life has changed.  My dreams for him are slowly coming true.  But for me, my own, I am not seeing it.  maybe it is one of those cases of being "in the picture" and not being able to see the frame.

If you don't know me you might not know that I tend to push and push and push at something until I overcome it.  However ...the thyroid thing and the changing my life thing haven't exactly been budging.  Every time I think I am turning a corner ...

I ran into Oscar at Albertson's tonight.  Well...I didn't run into him exactly.  I was racing through the store at 80 miles an hour and slowed down at the eggs.  It turned out to be one second too long.  Approaching me is this tall, handsome, dark haired man.  It takes me a second because I ALWAYS check him out before I realize "Oh crap!"  and recognize him.  It is something in the way his eyes look at me ... like I make him twisted up inside himself.  When my eyes meet his I have to glance away, because I don't want to get sucked in.  I don't want to talk with him - why is he approaching me?

More to the point - I don't believe in coincidences.  Why am I always running into him in Albertson's? 

Somehow I manage to avoid him, but not tonight.  He goes out of his way to approach me.  I wonder how in the hell he caught me speeding through the isles.  He says "Hello" and looks straight at me.  He is approaching me to have a conversation - GOD NO!  I look at his eyes and think "Oh hell no you don't even get one moment of me!" and I maneuver the cart around him, racing off as fast as my slip on shoes will carry me. I sort of put up a hand waving him off as I race away down the closest isle.

There is no Prince Charming there just a man afraid of getting hurt, who's eyes, if they mean anything, say he is hurt.  It is interesting how fear of getting hurt, just never seems to protect us from getting hurt.  It must be some strange law of hurt physics.

But then, I always have been the girl the guy wants after I am not available anymore.

I wouldsure like to change the physics of this too.

Until next time-

C 

IS THIS THE NORTH POLE?

Ok, so I hate being cold and am ready for Spring and Summer to begin.  I have been ready since November.  We all know I dream of living in a home near water, where it is so warm I leave the windows open - no screens.  My home is filled with the smells of the sun and outdoor breezes.

Then Trace goes and sends me this photo of the view from her window at her home in Minnesota.

YEIKS!

I have been to her home in the summer.  I thought it was beautiful with all the cornfields and such.

Could you IMAGINE me living there?  Lord, I'd go nuts.  It makes me laugh every time I think about it.  Her husband should just book her round trip tickets to SF to come see me every year about this time.  I think he'd be afraid that we'd have so much fun she'd never be heard from again.

Lord THAT is some snow...

Until next time-

C

POWDER, FLAKES AND ALL HAIL

Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful...since there's no place to go...let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Yes, as I drive Brian home from work tonight, tiny flakes stick to the windshield.  It is snowing in California.  I want a pretty wrapped gift and a visit from Santa Claus.

I don't often write about my dating life.  I worry as to who has access to this blog. I don't like revealing my poker hand.  Besides, it doesn't often make for an interesting read.  No matter how many of you want to hear about Peter the 23 year old...

But I got one of those 4pm, "Would you like to go to dinner this weekend?" Friday afternoon phone calls from a man.  It pisses me off.   As a redhead, even though I fight feeling sick, I do not take well to being someone's afterthought.  I can't decide if he has nothing better going on or if he actually expects I would change my plans to accommodate him.  I know there are women who give up their kids to a babysitter at the first sight of a date and a free dinner. I am soooooo not one of those women.  If I was going home tonight to cut my toenails I would not have said yes.

Dating always comes up for me...especially when I am trying really, really hard not to.  Dale, someone I used to date, who remains a friend, says "I thought you were hiding."  From what?  I walk out my back gate and I see single men walking their dogs, riding their motorcycles, working on their cars and they always stop and talk to me.  I have no idea why.  If this is hiding - what is hiding?

Usually I am just wondering if my son has clean socks.

I do notice something funny has happened since I was diagnosed with this disease.  My x husband is very kind to me.  Really, he is.  Old boyfriends have looked me up and checked in on me.  Men respond to me in a sweet way.  I couldn't really figure itout at first, but I think I have changed.  I have become more vulnerable, more open.  I do need help, which allows men to do things for me.  I used to be all about "I can do it MYSELF!"  My mom says I started saying that when I was 3...

Funny, because I never really wanted to do it all myself.  It is too exhausting to do things alone, and much more fun to accomplish goals with the help of other people.  Truly, in many ways this disease has been a blessing is disguise.  It gave my x husband an opportunity to make up for being so awful to me those first 5 years we were divorced.  I didn't think I was ever going to be able to forgive him.  It has given friends the opportunity to be heroes, and men the opportunity to prove they really can be the good guys.

On another lovely note...Brian got his best report card ever.  He is either 'at grade' or 'above grade' except for writing, where he is 'approaching grade'.  The tutoring and tamatis worked.  How is that for wonderful?  He is on his way.  My mother cried on the phone today when she said "You did it, oh dear god my lovely daughter, you did it!"  I suppose, but Brian did it too.

I just HAVE to write about these kids so I can help the rest of them.

Wish me well my favorite readers...

Until next time-

C 

HOPE

There is an Italian saying "Hope is the last thing ever lost."  I almost forgot to post the latest on my Hashimoto's condition.

After many, many, many months, many tears and ohhhhh so many prayers...

I found a Doctor who specializes in treating patients just like me... and he is HERE in Santa Rosa.

This coming Tuesday morning I have an appointment with one Isaac Gardner, MD.  He even has a web site (so you know this is a match made in heaven) at: www.psychoneuro.com , How is this for great news people???  He's not cheap, but I don't care if I have to eat rice for a month I cannot wait to see him.

The humor in this story is that my x husband, upon seeing how much I have changed and how hard I fight to stay in the game ... tells EVERYONE what is going on with me.  I think he is scared he'll have to be a more responsible father if I don't get better.  Through his many confessions to strangers, he found women who knew someone, or heard of someone with all my same remaining conditions.  Each one pointed back to this Dr. Isaac (I like the biblical name) who made them well with the right blend of medications, vitamins, and hormone replacement therapy.

For many are not aware that the thyroid gland is one of the endocrine glands, which make hormones to regulate physiological functions in the body. The thyroid gland manufactures thyroid hormone, which regulates the rate at which your body carries on its necessary functions - it regulates your metabolism. Other endocrine glands are the pancreas, the pituitary, the adrenal glands, the parathyroid glands, the testes, and the ovaries.  It is believed that when one of the endocrine glands is compromised, then one or several of the others become compromised as well.

I carry an anti-body that thinks my thyroid is cancer.  My good little T cells are doing their great job and trying to kill the cancer - except it ISN'T cancer - it's my thyroid gland.  Several things happen when the thyroid is under attack by T cells.  Women can develop cancerous nodules on their thyroid or a goiter (an enlarged thyroid gland).  Luckily for me, three years ago I tracked what was happening to my body, personality and life and handed the list to my Dr. who did manage to refer me to the best specialists.  One Dr found the anti-body and caught it before it killed my thyroid, or caused a goiter. It is called Hashimotos Disease.  One good thing is my body has cells that sure want to fight for me.

One of the women my x husband found out about (another redhead mind you) called me.  She was EXACTLY where I am several years back.  She is a dynamo now and looks fabulous.  She attributes it all to seeing this Doctor.  I am so excited I could cry.

Aren't strangers often wonderful?  Here this woman reached out to me, calls me and makes sure I call her Doctor.  It was pure heaven talking to someone who went through what I am going through and is doing so well.  Two kind offers came to me this week.  The other one ... he's rather a super hero who is offering to be a muse.  I can be a great muse too (*wink*)...

Hope feels wonderful wrapped about by body.

Until next time-

C

FEAR OF FLYING

A man gets on a plane and finds himself seated next to a sultry redheaded woman.  He immediately turns to her and makes a move, "You know," he says, "I have heard that flights go quicker if you strike up a conversation with a fellow passenger.  So let's talk."

The redhead, who had just opened her book, closes it slowly and says to the man "And what would you like to discuss?"

"Oh, I don't know," says the man, smiling coyly.  "How about nuclear power?"

"All right," says the redhead.  "Could be an interesting topic.  But... let me ask you something first if you don't mind..."

"Go right ahead" the man smiles thinking he can take anything this redhead hands out.

She continues, "A horse, a cow and a deer all eat the same thing...grass.  Yet the deer excretes small pellets, the cow turns out a flat patty and the horse produces muffins of dried poop.  Why do you suppose that is?"

The man is dumbfounded.  Finally he replies,  "You know, that is a great question and I haven't the slightest idea why."

"So tell me," says the redhead,  "How is it that you feel qualified to discuss nuclear power with me when you don't know shit?" 

For the remainder of the flight, she happily read "Fear Of Flying" in peace.

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

 

MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

Tonight I was searching for an old necklace of mine and came across my pile of love letters tied neatly in a bow.  I pulled them out, putting the stack to my face to smell.  I don't know why I felt the need to do this, as they smell of age and forgotten yesterdays.  I pull them to my heart and carry them to my bed.  I haven't looked at them in ages.  I am missing many, from the years of moving.  I am surprised this many remain.

My favorites, and the largest group come from Mustafa Atakay.  When I was 8 years old, I joined a UN pen pal writing group that wrote letters abroad to teach foreign students English.  I chose Greece, Spain and Turkey.  I received pen pal letters from each country, two boys and one girl.  The boy who wrote most often was Mustafa Atakay.  He was from Izmit, Turkey.

His handwriting was like art across paper, his words tentative and polite.  We'd send photos, drawings, gum - anything that would fit in an eight and one half by three inch envelope.  When his letters arrived I would snatch it from the mailbox and run to my secret hiding spot at the North side of our house, behind some bushes, against the fence.  Once there I would tear open his letter and read about his life in Turkey.  I would read the words over and over, hearing his deep voice (as I imagined it) in my head.  I would then lay on my back, staring at the clouds above, wondering if the clouds would eventually pass over him.  I would close my eyes and send him a mental thank you for his beautiful letter that filled my soul.

We wrote to each other for 18 years, with each year the letters growing deeper and more personal.  Now, when I pull them from their worn envelopes I blush at how much love is written within the torn, weathered pages.  I have forgotten what it is like to read a man's heart when he is in love.  It is a beautiful, breath-taking experience.  This was the day before computers.  Someone loved me deeply without ever touching my skin, feeling my lips or holding me in his arms.

Oneof the last letters I received from him, he was dating someone and felt he should settle down.  We were both "old" in the terms of marriage and his culture.  I was living with Rich in the house he had built.  Mustafa and I were feeling trapped by the pressure to settle down. conform, and grow-up.  He wrote to me of his torn feelings.  He was Turkish.  I was American.  That was that.  Rich (who I was living with) was jealous of Mustafa's letters and I took to hiding them in a secret place.  I couldn't bring myself to tell Mustafa that I was living with a man.  He had worried that I went out alone at night without an escort - he never would have understood a woman living with a man, even though he had his Masters in Engineering.  There is no amount of education that can change a culture completely. 

Our cultures viewed women differently.

Mustafa often wrote how much he had changed through knowing an "American" girl.  He liked brains and independence.  He felt a man would go far with such a combination in a wife.  We were bridging a gap between two cultures through the use of a pen, even our political leaders were unable to accomplish what we had achieved. 

He would often end his letters, "Now I am finishing here dear Cathi it is late and I must go to dinner.  I am finishing with the wish of receiving a letter of yours as soon as possible. I do not think I will sleep well tonight because your letters make me happy.  There is always much love between us.  It is good.  I love you. Mustafa"   The innocence stares up at me from the yellowed pages.

We lost contact when I left Rich.  I assume Mustafa married and had children.  Recently I came across a Mustafa Atakay, who is a CEO for a software company in Turkey.  I wrote to their help desk and told a very brief version of my story.  I did not hear anything for months.  Yesterday I received an email from an excited help desk person who realized my email had never been answered and was excitedly forwarding it on to one

Mustafa Atakay.

Until next time-

C

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AS YOU WISH

After 14 days of not being with Brian (in the sense of Brian sleeping over) my x husband takes Brian for what should (note the word should) be the beginning of a “week on” for Brian with his dad.  I was at the verge of crashing.  All week I could feel it coming on - like a car that is sent reeling over a cliff in an accident, no matter how much you try to steer it, eventually you crash to the ground.  Thus Friday night the ground greeted me as this disease kicks my butt and sends me to bed.  I cry myself to sleep because there is so much I want to do and no energy to make it happen.  These wonderful thoughts race around in my head, but my body tells me it has had enough and I must sleep.

 

I awake late Saturday afternoon to no heat, no hot water and no oven.  I called Bill, the handyman, who thinks all single mothers are angels, races over to see what was the problem.  Here I am in my jammies, hair in a pigtail answering the door.  I have piles of folded clothes everywhere, as it takes every bit of energy I have just to keep up with Brian, let alone keep the laundry clean and in drawers.   I figure, “Hey I am at least clean” and let him in.

 

I leave to pick up an increased dose of my meds in the hope that it will get me back on my feet and thank God that Walgreen’s has a drive through pharmacy.  Upon return to my place Bill is fixing the garbage disposal, ordering a new fridge and petty much taking over taking care of me.  God love handymen.  I take my meds, and begin to put my place back together from the 14 days of Brian.  Midday I notice I am feeling much better and really decide to go at our home, as if guests are coming with Bill working away on everything he finds wrong (turns out to be a problem with the main fuse outside - eventually PG & E will have to come this week for a complete repair).

 

By Saturday evening, thanks to Bill's efforts I have heat, a beautifully clean place, a hot shower, a new book, sushi, candles and energy to complete a half hour of yoga.  I am coming back.  Sunday morning I arise with energy enough for church and a little shopping.  In the middle of staring at some beautiful paintings my x husband phones, “Can you take Brian?”  his first words.  “It’s only been 36 hours, why?” I respond.  “Well I have this thing at 4” (Which I know means female) he answers.  Silence grips me as I am torn about this.  If I say no, he will jockey Brian to his mother’s house or someone else.  “I need to call you back” I answer and hang up the phone.  Anger engulfs me like a blanket and I try to breathe to contain my rage.

 

Recently, Brian told me that his biggest wish is that his Dad not date for a year and spend time with him - instead of it always being about someone else.  And here it is, once again.  I often think of the song, Cats In The Cradle when I experience this with Brian and his dad ("...the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, Little boy blue and the man in the moon. "When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,But we'll get together then, dad. You know we'll have a good time then...")

 

I know that you cannot change other people, only yourself.  Growing up I was always welcome at home and my parents did everything to provide a good home life for us.  How can I say no?  No is like telling a child they cannot come home.  It isn’t in me to do that and I can’t change Brian’s dad.  I call him back and ask what time.  My brief rest is already over.

 

Now, I can choose to be bitter or I can choose to make this a wonderful experience for Brian.  It is a stormy Sunday, so I return home to light a fire, light all the candles and turn on launch cast radio to Movie music (http://radio.launch.yahoo.com/radio/clientdata/1/player.asp?cid=1&iid=1&ltw=LaunchRadioTarget&p=1&m=1102&d=0&modeInitialized=1&mode=1&resized=1&bridgeInit=1&bridgeMode=1 ) under More Genres – Film Scores.

 

I prepare Brownie mix and put our favorite movie “A Princess Bride” into the VCR.  We like to play a game where we put ina movie and listen to Launchcast Film scores with the sound turned off on the TV.  The movie then plays like this opera and it is amazing how well the music fits with the movie.

 

“Don't rush me sonny. You rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles.”

 

The back door opens and in runs Brian full of energy and thrilled to be home.  Hs dad sheepishly says hello as Brian dog comes too and I manage a smile while thinking “You are such an ass”.  The smell of brownies fill the air and I can tell by my x husbands face as he surveys the candles, fire and comfort of the place that he would like to hang.

 

I can think of his neck…

 

I open the back door and stand with my hand on the door handle, indicating his time is done.  “I will call you on my way back” he says.  (Yeah right).  I notice Brian’s school backpack, which indicates to me his dad is hoping to be laid and leaving his options open.  How this man still underestimates me. 

 

Once gone, I sit down with Brian to teach him the art of Origami boat making.  It is the perfect rainy day for chasing boats down rushing water.  It takes me back to when I was his age and my best friend Nancy, who was Japanese, would sit with me and fold paper for hours on end.  We would end up dawning raincoats and chasing our creations until they were swiftly eaten by a storm drain and sent to sea.  We would imagine them floating all the way to Japan.

 

Music fills the air and I think there is nothing more perfect than this moment.  Herein lies my quandary.  I can spend this time being angry and frustrated at Brian’s dad or I can accept it for what it is.  I waited my whole life for God to send me an angel.  I had no idea it would be Brian.  Often, I watch Brian in awe, as I feel grateful that his spirit chose me to come visit with for a while on earth.

 

Whatever it is on the ‘other side” Brian decided I was the one he wanted to learn from.  And here he is.  Is being mad that I do not get enough rest really worth not enjoying this brief time Brian is in my world?  At some point we will be separated again, just as it is with my father and me.  I often ask myself “If this were my last day on earth what would I do?”  Well I would spend every inch of it with Brian.  Life is an uncertain roll of the dice, and during this roll I want to spend it with him.  I know these are the memories that will last Brian a lifetime.  There is no doubt in Brian’s heart that I love him more than anything.

 

With that said, it is time to make dinner  and talk about  the week coming over bites of delicious food.  My own life is just going to have to wait.

 

Until next time-

 

C

PS.  "Life is pain, your Highness.  Anyone who says differently is selling something."

 

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

LENT ... THE BIG EASY?

Today is Ash Wednesday, the start to Lent.  It is also the day after Fat Tuesday, the day everyone joins Mardi Gras (carnival) and wants to be Catholic.

With ashes on my forehead and the decision to give up swearing and do some other things for Lent (just buy me a punching bag) I am reminded that Lent evokes somber images of ashes and fasting, sin and self-denial, suffering and death. Throughout the 40 days of Lent, many church alters are draped in purple, gray, or black, and music turns a tad mournful (well more mournful than usual).  As a Catholic, I have never found church crackling with energy and shouts of love.

Being Catholic is such an interesting way to go through life.  I mean who else walks around with a big black dirt spot on their forehead for a day?  Usually I fast the whole day, but I didn't this year - the day sort of snuck up on me.

I did celebrate Fat Tuesday with my son though.  I let him have ice cream for dinner while I had a hamburger with a bun.  I think the last hamburger I ate was when I was 40...

Maybe I should have given up Hamburgers for Lent? 

Just think, in several weeks when we come up out of this, it will be Easter - it will be SPRING ;-)  Time to plant gardens and go back out into the world - daylight Savings begins - and my favorite time of year.

Until next time-

C 

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/