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/