Life, According to Cali

Remembering Daddy...

2014-06-15T07:30:00.000-07:00

As I opened the door late last night, to let the dog out, I realized that it was a lot cooler outside than it was in the house…

I followed the dog outside and sat down in a rocking chair on the patio. Of course, I immediately looked up at the stars. I cannot look at the stars without thinking about my daddy. We used to lay on his USMC green, wool blanket on the back lawn and look at the stars. He would tell us the names of the constellations and how sailors used the stars to navigate.

I’ve told the story many times before, along with a lot of other memories about my daddy, on my blogs. I guess the star-gazing memory is special to me…

As I sat there, looking up at the stars, I realized that my memories are tangible to me; perhaps because I think about them—and Daddy—often. Something else occurred to me as I sat there: all those memories from so long ago happened right here in this same backyard.

Tangible memories….

I can sit where he sat, eat where he ate, look at pictures from our house back then….that is still my house now, and remember him. And when I do, I feel surrounded and comforted by those same memories.

Life ends, eventually, for all of us. I am so glad that my daddy lives on in my memories…

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!

Late Night Revelations...

2014-06-13T22:32:00.000-07:00

He wants to buy a trowel. Simple enough, right? We couldn’t go to the big box store to get it today because he was too tired….

“Too tired” happens a lot around here, more so now than a couple of months ago, truly. And, of course, it’s understandable: that is what chemo does to a person.

Still, he wants to buy that trowel…

I did get him out for a while yesterday morning: we went to Harbor Freight Tools, Kohl’s, and the neighborhood grocery store. He bought more solar lights at HFT, then picked out new shorts at Kohl’s and, by the time we got to the grocery store, he was tired and waited for me in the car….

After watching golf, soccer, and political shows on TV this afternoon, he had to lie down again. Because he was tired….

We’ll try again tomorrow to buy that trowel.

I was sitting on the couch tonight, watching “my” shows and I feeling sorry for myself. There I was, alone, watching TV with nobody to talk to…. But that’s not true: there are a lot of people who would be glad to sit and talk with me, anytime I want.

As I felt guilty, I suddenly realized something important about that darn trowel. It represents hope. To him, trying to finish the enclosure he has been building (for the trash cans) requires a trowel. We have the bags of cement, and sand, and the bricks. The trowel is the only thing keeping him from finishing the project.

He needs the trowel because he intends to finish the project!

We have always looked at this cancer journey as one that we would survive and recover from. We have talked about travel plans when he feels better and getting back to our routine of weekly “adventures” together.

True, he can’t finish the enclosure right now because he is too tired. But, in his mind and heart, this condition is temporary and eventually, he will need that trowel.

Viewing a bad time as temporary and having hope that things will be much better in the future is important if we are to get through these hard days and my infrequent bouts of “poor me.” Hope is the lifesaver we have to cling to as we try to stay afloat in a sea of uncertainty.

Hope is a trowel….

Change....

2014-05-30T18:03:00.000-07:00

“You must be the change you want to see in the world.” Mahatma Gandhi

We went to the library today…. As we walked back to our car, there were two men doing yard work. One was mowing and the other was using a weed whip to edge the grass. As we walked closer, both men turned off their machines to let us pass by. As I walked past the man with the weed whip, I smiled at him and said “thank you.” He nodded and returned my smile.

No big deal. Not earth-shattering. And certainly not worthy of a blog, right? Wrong. This small, insignificant incident is the epitome of my understanding of Gandhi’s words. Both men were working and both had a schedule to follow, I’m sure. Yet, they took the time to be considerate of others.

How many of us take that time? How many of us spend as much time doing good things as we spend complaining about the sad state of our world? Seriously….how many?

I have read so many of Dr. Maya Angelou’s quotes in the days since her death…. I wonder how many people have been touched by her words. How many have thought about something differently, or reacted differently, or taken a different path because of the words she shared with all of us?

I doubt that my words will ever have the impact that hers have, in the general population of the world. But in MY world, I have the power to influence friends and family with my words. How often do we take the time to tell someone how much we appreciate them? Do we uplift those around us, or tear them down?

Each one of us has the opportunity (read: responsibility) to treat others as we want to be treated. Imagine what this world would be like if we did that….

Yesterday, I had a very long wait at the lab. Several other people who were waiting were less than kind to the lab techs who were doing their best in the situation. One woman, sitting across from me, proudly told her companion how she had “told off” the tech. Oh my…

When it was my turn, I went to the draw station with a smile on my face. When the tech apologized for the wait, I told her that I understood and it couldn’t be helped. When she was finished drawing my blood, I thanked her and left…

Perhaps nearly forty years’ of service as an RN influenced me: so many patients treat nurses like waitresses, and scream at them for things that are out of the RN’s control. I know I have taken a lot of verbal abuse in my career…

Or perhaps I just wanted to be the kind of patient that she wished all the others would be…

Maybe I just wanted to be the change that she needed in her day…

Living With Cancer...

2014-05-27T09:21:00.000-07:00

On a scale of 1 to 10, our life is somewhere around an 8. It would be a 10, truly, if it weren’t for his cancer battle. Life together has always been fun: he completes me and I complete him. We find the joy in every day and find happiness in a simple existence.

People used to comment that we seemed to always be going and doing…. We went to the mountains frequently, since they are almost literally in our backyard. Picnics, hikes, photos, and a view that visitors come from all over the world to see…. Couldn’t ask for much more.

We went out to eat several times a month. One of our favorite trips is to Fresno, an hour away. We have a couple of favorite restaurants up there and shops we like to visit. Podunk no longer has a bookstore, so Barnes&Noble in Fresno is always a fun destination.

We have travelled, too: Yosemite, Yellowstone, Chicago, Milwaukee, Disneyland, Las Vegas, LA, Monterey, and my favorite: Morro Bay. Yet we don’t have to leave town to have an adventure. Even going to the grocery store (Tuesday mornings, mostly) is fun just because we are together.

All that changed on January 4, 2014, at ten-thirty at night: the surgeon walked into the ER exam room and told us: he has colon cancer. We spent the next two hours, alone together, in that darkened room, thinking. And praying. Each time I started to cry softly, he would squeeze my hand and say “I love you.”

It has now been almost five months since that fateful day. To us, it seems like a lifetime. In the beginning, there was numbness, with resolution. “We will fight this” we would say. He said he would do whatever was necessary to help himself get well. I said that, if love could cure his cancer, he would be cured.

The early months were a maze of doctor visits, tests, labs, and trips to the pharmacy. I started a binder to keep all of the pertinent information together and to record his journey. At nearly five months, the binder is two inches thick…

As he began chemotherapy, we were hopeful: he had chemo for three days every two weeks. By the end of chemo week, he was beginning to bounce back. By the beginning of the week off from chemo, he was nearly himself again…

But chemo is cumulative: each time he has chemo, he bounces back a little less. Each time he has chemo, his chances of having all the nasty side effects increase. Now that he has completed nine chemo sessions, bouncing back is minimal…

Now we plan our outings more carefully. We have to optimize his chances of enjoying what we are planning to do. And now, we mostly just go to the grocery store on Tuesdays…

It’s all doable, we both agree. I tell him that we will look back on this time and realize how hard it was, and rejoice that we made it through and he is getting better and stronger. His lab numbers seem to verify that he IS doing better, so maybe all the suffering now will have a big payoff later. I hope so.

It doesn’t bother me that his hair is falling out. Or that he tires easily and has to nap frequently. I look at him, nearly forty pounds lighter than a year ago, and I have grown used to it… His gaunt face is a reminder, to me, of the battle he is waging.

But sometimes I hate what has happened to him. Sure, the massive chemo drugs he is being given have improved “his numbers” but they have taken such a toll on him physically. And when I see that, it is like a fist to my gut….

Last night, as I walked into the kitchen, he was getting some plastic wrap out of the drawer. My “what are you doing” was met with his explanation: “I fixed myself something to eat but I can’t eat it…..” Sitting there on the kitchen counter was a lovely salad: lettuce, tomatoes, and sliced chicken, untouched.

I was so angry! The irony of it all: here is a man who, more than ever, needs nutrition to help his body fight the cancer AND the chemo and he can’t even eat. Why? Mouth sores. Mouth sores that are unabated by “magic mouthwash” and Orajel. “What can I do to help him?” I asked myself…

The truth is, there is nothing I can do except support him, love him, find some more liquid nutrition for him…..and pray.

And I pray mightily. Day and night….

Celebrating Life...

2014-05-25T10:06:00.000-07:00

Well, it’s my birthday. I have had a lot of birthdays in my time. A few parties, gifts, and their memories linger for many of them.

I remember turning eighteen: I had been up all night finishing a paper for my Contemporary History class. I slept in, and then went to school in the afternoon. When I got home, there were eighteen pink roses waiting for me, a gift from my boyfriend.

Most of my birthday celebrations were family affairs. As a child, I was allowed to choose what I wanted for supper on my birthday: I always chose barbequed spare ribs. And mostly got them…

As a mother with small children, my birthday became less of an occasion as my children’s birthdays took center stage. My youngest was born on May 27^th, so I stopped having my own birthday cake. It was just too much to have two birthday cakes in two days.

I remember my fortieth birthday. I spent the day alone, moping. When it was finally over, I was ready to carry on with my life. Just that day bothered me….

That’s sort of where I am right now, without the moping. I celebrate the day with family and then just carry on…. I have reached the age where many of my friends and acquaintances have died. Any thoughts of immortality or invulnerability are gone…

Each day is like a birthday: waking up and being grateful for the day I have been given. By making every day special, a birthday is less of a celebration and more of a normal occurrence. I like it that way: celebrating the everyday and appreciating what each day brings.

And yes, celebrating birthdays is still fun. My kids will be here later today for a BBQ, not spare ribs but hamburgers. And the cake is left over from John’s birthday in March. It’s a little munched after being in the freezer but, I’m sure, it will still be delicious.

Happy Today! This is my present….

Finding What You're Looking For...

2014-05-17T17:18:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, as I read posts on social networking sites, I just want to scream. People ranting about everything that is wrong in this world. People who know what they want to know and nothing else. Yes, I could scream, but that’s not what I do….I stop reading them instead. I read things I totally disagree with, yet I am not willing to comment. Why? That’s where those people are looking, and they don’t want to change..

We find what we are looking for….

In the past, I was somewhat of a Negative Nellie. I would have a performance evaluation at work and, typically, I would forget the 99 good things and focus on the 1 thing that needed “improvement.” I didn’t need a manager to tell me what was wrong with me, I already knew. And so, I was nearly crushed under the weight of the negative comment.

Not such a great way to live, believe me. It’s okay to be sensitive and caring, but having such thin skin was quite detrimental to my everyday existence. I was constantly criticizing myself for my mistakes, or my failures, or my inadequacies. And I usually found some way to improve the source of the negative comment.

And then something happened…

To say “I got older” is too simplistic. As I grew older, I began to be kinder to myself and more lenient with my mistakes. Why? Perhaps because I was starting to realize that, good or bad, I am who I am. As the positivity started infecting me, I began to be more forgiving and more tolerant of myself.

I changed what I was looking for…

Taking five minutes each day to look around and find the positives started changing my life….and me. The glass started being half instead of half empty. The sky was bluer. The birds now sing louder. My prayers are full of gratitude instead of supplications. I woke up and realized that I am in a really good place now.

I can’t take full credit for my change of philosophy. I owe a huge debt to the wonderful man who came into my life. No, he didn’t make me happier, I did. I firmly believe that we are each responsible for our own happiness…

All he did was love me. Just the way I am flaws and all. And I started to like myself better, too. Yes, I do love him, but I also love me when I am around him. He helped me see myself as he sees me, instead of in the negative light that I was used to…

I know that there is a war raging in many parts of the world. I know that children go to bed hungry. Innocent people are murdered. Or robbed. Or enslaved. Famine, drought, hunger, poverty, political machinations, slavery, dishonesty….it’s all around us.

And so are miracles. And random acts of kindness. And people who are willing to go out of their way to help others. People making a difference. Just as I try to make a difference in some small, meaningful way.

That’s what I find when I go looking…

In the Still of the Night...

2014-05-14T02:52:00.000-07:00

Photo from Pinterest

After more than two hours, I now realize that sleep isn’t going to come easily. I was yawning and sleepy as I walked into the bedroom but, as soon as my head hit the pillow, my mind went into overdrive.

Thoughts about my family. Detailed plans for remodeling homes I used to live in. Even more detailed plans for decorating/improving our current home. Thinking about going to sleep and wondering how long until I succumbed to slumber….

For naught. It is now two in the morning. The still of the night. The noise from the freeway some six blocks away has subsided. The quiet hasn’t been pierced by sirens yet tonight. Or the helicopter which flies over our house on its way to the heliport at the hospital. Or dogs barking.

Even the birds seem to have gone to sleep for the night. But not me….

There was a time when I would have been stressed by the inability to fall asleep. And that stress kept me awake, too. I had small children, or I had to be at work at the crack of dawn. There was always a reason why sleep was mandatory during the night hours. Or the day hours, when I worked night shift.

Life has gotten so much better in that regard. We have plans for early tomorrow morning: put some things in the attic and get down all the portable fans. We want to do it before the heat builds up in the attic, and it is supposed to be 100+ degrees Fahrenheit tomorrow.

No problem. I can always take a nap. Or two naps, if I choose. There is little urgency in my life now, and I like that. I worked in a very stressful profession and spent my time being where others expected me to be, with very little time for myself.

Of course, I am not unique. We all have stressors. And nights when we cannot sleep. What is different for me now is that 1) the stressors are mostly self-imposed; and 2) sleeping at night is not mandatory. I like that, too.

Right now, I’m thinking about going outside and looking at the stars. Or doing a Sudoku puzzle. Or working on my scrapbooking. Or reading….

Whatever I decide to do will not negatively impact my day today.

And I really like that…

Remember Me...

2014-05-11T18:39:00.000-07:00

Today is a difficult day for many of us. It is hard to be devoid of expectations on a day filled with commercial hype….

For those of us who have lost our own mother, it is a sad day, too. And if, like me, you had a difficult relationship with your mother, it can be even harder. Sometimes, I just wish I could show her that I have “turned out all right” and that I am not a failure… Other times, I feel guilty for thinking how much better off I am without her guilt trips.

As for my own children, I don’t harbor much in the way of expectations. I am lucky enough to know that they love me, and that’s enough. I can’t deny that I would love the special brunch, or dinner, or a barbeque in my honor, but it isn’t really necessary.

I look back on the years when my children were young, and I see things I did, or didn’t do, that I would like to change. Of course, that’s not possible. I have to remind myself that I did the best I could at the time and that I did better than my own mother did for me.

That’s what it’s about really: doing things better than the last generation. Doing or undoing things that we remember from childhood. There are many things from my childhood that I didn’t do to my children and I am grateful for that. It means that lessons were learned, albeit the hard way. I am also sure that my mother did better than her strict, Germanic mother did. It’s a progression, a journey, toward perfection as a mother….

My mother has been gone for thirty-two years, nearly half my life. I have reviewed and relived many things from the past in my mind, second-guessing her motives and chastising myself for not being different, or “better” than I was….

But it all comes to naught. The past is the past. The future isn’t here yet, and today is all we have. So today, I am grateful to have three beautiful children who have grown into loving, responsible adults. I am glad that I taught them to be independent and that they mastered it.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I love my children and I know they love me. I don’t need anything special on Mother’s Day, just what I hope they do every day: remember me.

And to my children: please know how much you mean to me and how proud I am of you. I pray for you every day and think about you always. I see you in your own children and I delight in the memories they evoke for me. I know you love me and that you appreciate what I did for you, and you are most welcome!

Just please, remember me….

Dylan

2014-05-06T19:56:00.000-07:00

He was my first grandchild. My first grandbaby to hold and to love unconditionally. He made me a grandma and I thank him for that. He was adorable from the get-go, with huge eyes and curly brown hair. He stayed with me while his mom took evening classes at the local junior college.

The first thing he did when he got to my house was to take his shoes off. It was hard to get him to put them back on, too, when it was time to go home. He would scream and bang his head on the floor. I watched in amazement as his mother asked him which shoe he would like to put on first. The decision to put on his shoes was made for him, but he got to decide which one first….and it calmed him down.

As he got older, he loved to watch videos. First it was “Bahhrey” (Barney) and then it was Disney movies. I remember the evening he asked me if he could watch “Reck U was” and I didn’t understand what he was saying. I asked him to repeat it and I still didn’t understand. Frustrated, he took me by the hand, down the hall, to the bookcase where the movies were kept. He grabbed the video and showed it to me: “oh, you want to watch “The Rescuers”? With a smile and a big sigh of relief, he replied “yes!”

As he got still older, he loved to play with Legos. By this time, his family had moved three hours away, and our visits were limited to a few times a year. He would spend the weekend with me, never wanting to go anywhere, and just play with Legos. When he was six or seven, one of the Jurassic Park movies came out on video. As I sat next to him, he warned me when the movie was going to be scary, so I could hide my eyes. “You can look now, Grandma” told me that it was safe to look again….

As he got even older, his passion became video games. He would sit for hours and hours and play them, when he was with me.

I always let him stay up as late as he wanted since he only came to visit on weekends. I didn’t make him shower, either, unless he got really dirty. His favorite breakfast became Lucky Charms and root beer, which I always had on hand for his visits. His local cousins would come to see him and the older one would always want to stay the night. Of course, I said yes and prepared myself for a night full of giggles and other strange boy noises.

And then he finished high school and tried junior college. He felt lost and didn’t know what he wanted to study. He was/is very interested in philosophy, but that won’t pay the rent. And so, he enlisted in the USAF. After basic training, he was sent to Germany.

That was nearly two years ago and I miss him every day. Oh how I would love to have another weekend of Legos, Lucky Charms and root beer. Miss you, Dylan!

Heroes...

2014-05-05T19:55:00.000-07:00

There is a church at the end of our street, one house away from me. Over the years, having churchgoers coming and going several mornings and nights a week becomes fairly routine. For that reason, I rarely spend any time looking at people as they come and go to and from church. There are times, though, when someone catches my eye…

I saw Superman yesterday. He was very short, with short, curly brown hair. He was wearing a dark blue tee shirt and light blue pants. And wearing his Superman cape, of course. His mom parked her SUV in front of my house. As mom, baby, and Superman walked up to their car after church, I noticed them.

Superman was walking fast, in front of mom and baby, his hands in fists, his eyes searching, and a crouching-leaping motion to his walk. Nothing was going to hurt mom and baby; not while Superman was on duty!

Superman was only about two and a half, or three years old. He caught my eye because he was so serious about what he was doing. “Protecting Life” is important business, you know.

Kudos to his mom for letting him wear his Superman cape to church. And kudos to mom for letting him be Superman, too. Fostering imagination is an important parenting skill, I think. But the Superman thing is more than that, to me.

This world is full of bad people and bad stuff. We read about it in the news on a daily basis. Sometimes, that bad stuff happens to us, or our friends or loved ones. Isn’t it great that this little guy has signed on to defend “good” against “evil”?

Maybe I’m making something out of nothing, but I don’t think so. Teaching a child the difference between right and wrong is an important thing for us to do as parents and grandparents. But being Superman goes beyond the lessons taught: my little Superman friend is learning right from wrong and is actively promoting all that is right and good in this world.

Well, maybe that’s a little far-fetched for a two-year-old, but his acting out the Superman role is further embedding those life lessons in his mind. So, do you think he would stand up for a kid who was being bullied? Do you think he would help another child who fell off his bicycle? Will he grow up to be an honest, law-abiding adult?

I think so….

Birthday...

2014-05-04T11:40:00.002-07:00

Forty-eight years ago today, I became a mother. I didn't care whether I had a boy or a girl as long as the baby was healthy. God, in His Infinite Wisdom, gave me a little girl and I named her Jennifer. She was so cute and cuddly and smiled so easily. If I was overwhelmed by motherhood, she calmed my fears. The person in my life that she most reminds me of is my Other Mother, Jean Harriet Bryant. Although Jean is gone, Jennifer embodies her spirit of gentle kindness and concern for others. She has grown into a magnificent woman with features chiseled by her experiences and a heart untouched by the evil in the world. She is my first child, my only daughter, and the light of my life.
Happy Birthday, Little Girl!!

Scatter-brained….

2013-09-18T15:24:00.000-07:00

There was a time when I would have used that term to describe myself, but not now. It’s still true: I am “scattered” these days. But I made a promise to myself that I would try to be as nice to me as I try to be to others.

So, no more name-calling, even just “in my head.” I am not “stupid” or a “moron” or “lazy” or any of the other descriptives that I used to apply to myself. I am “smart” and “busy” but not scatter-brained.

That said, I am still scattered. There are so many things I want to do, or need to do, that I sometimes don’t know where to start. Fortunately, I have no problem leaving all those things to ferment whilst my love and I go off on another adventure!

What’s fermenting in my brain right now? I want to write more, attend to my blog more, and somehow become more disciplined in the whole blog thing. I also want to learn more of the “nuts and bolts” of web sites and layouts and advertisers and content and yada, yada, yada.

I am really Jones-ing to get to my art journaling, too. I have so many wonderful supplies and journals and ideas in my head. I have things to remember and lists to make and drawings to draw and, well, just lots of stuff to journal. And to be a journalist, I guess.

I have hiking trails to try and clothes to make (or not) and parties to plan and an antiques booth to keep stocked. And then, there’s the house….

Not only are there rooms to clean, and rugs to beat and flowers to plant, but there are window frames and moldings and doors to paint. It never ends, does it?

So, where does that leave me? Scattered? Over-planned? Too busy to ever get it all done? Or what?

Ah, that’s the best part: being busy all the time! True, sometimes I’m “busy” reading or resting, but it’s busy nonetheless…

Life is full to the brim for me and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I will enjoy each moment and fill it with what feels right at the time. If the house gets cleaned, that’s great but, if my art journal gets started, that’s even better!

When I’m gone, I want them to say: “her house wasn’t always clean but her heart and her life were full.”

That works for me…

Cali

[P]interesting....

2013-08-26T10:26:00.000-07:00

It’s hard to believe that summer is almost over, but it is. Around here, the kids are back in school, even as the temperatures are languishing perilously close to the triple digit mark. But the seasons really are in transition, I believe. Yesterday, I purchased faux flowers (I love that term) in lovely fall colors…

I have a party coming up a month from today, and I want to be ready. Of course, that means turning to my fave internet site: Pinterest . With almost 36,000 “pins” to date, you might think that my house is cleaned using homemade, environmentally-friendly household ingredients. My house is impeccably decorated for the current holiday season. Our meals are healthy, nutritious, and beautiful to see. We travel to exotic places frequently. I wear fashionable clothes, accessorize perfectly, wear cute shoes, and use Nutella in hundreds of different ways. Oh, and I buy things at flea markets and spruce them up with chalk paint…

Yeah, right.

I guess, for some, Pinterest is the stuff of daydreams, or good intentions. Or just a “trip” to another place, I suppose. Not me. I have actually made some of the recipes I have pinned, used some of the cleaning tips, decorated with ideas I saw on Pinterest, and printed out my favorite quotes.

It’s not all about me, either. I have a board full of garden ideas for him to do….(hasn’t happened yet, but I’m an optimist!). I have found great ideas for birthday presents, birthday cards, and scrapbooking.

It’s a never-ending journey of discovery and learning. Fascination and frustration. No, the recipes aren’t always tested, the chalk paint may be a little thick, and the “easy” thing isn’t always easy. It’s a lot of trial and error but, as one of my favorite quotes says: “if you’re not failing, you’re not trying.”

And so, I pin. Every day, at least once a day. I find the most wonderful things and add them to my life. Some of my current favorite “things” are:


I have collected quotes forever, but now they're all in one place!

My favorite place to be....

A fairly new board filled with snippets of history.

I started this board when I was planning my studio.


Would LOVE to have an RV again!

Who doesn't like cheap?

My current fave color (sorry, Pink!)

I'm really liking industrial style right now...

Whatever you do today, enjoy the ride!

Cali

Hotter Than Hades...

2013-06-17T16:00:00.000-07:00

It’s cooler this weekend that it was last week, and I’m glad for that. I can’t really complain: we have insulated windows and air conditioning. It’s just the pits to go outside when the sun is out….that’s all.

As I tried to go to sleep last Saturday night, it was too warm to be comfortable. Sleep did not come easily.

I found myself remembering a long-ago encounter with a patient and reliving it in my head. Not just remembering it: analyzing it to figure out how I could have done it better…

Have I mentioned that I think too much? I do….

So, it was about ten years ago, on a very hot, muggy evening. I was the nurse on call for my home health agency and there was a little boy who needed to be seen and given antibiotics at six in the evening.

He was so little. About four years’ old, if I remember correctly. His skin was very light colored, and his huge, brown eyes were dull, not shiny. He had been home from the hospital for about an hour when I arrived.

I must have looked like the circus came to town, hauling in a box of IV supplies and dragging an IV pole behind me. Usually, the infusion company would deliver the IV supplies but I didn’t want to have to wait for them, so I picked them up myself.

His mother spoke only Spanish, so my interpreter was his six-year-old sister. As I assessed the little boy and asked the required questions, I began to realize just how hot it was in their apartment. I began preparing the IV infusion, and prayed that I would be able to start his IV on the first stick. (Some well-meaning RN in the Peds Unit at the hospital was “afraid” to send him home with an IV needle, so she took it out….)

I excused myself to go to the kitchen to wash my hands before doing the IV, and there, on the counter, was a slab of brown-gray meat covered with flies. Apparently, mom was defrosting it for supper. Knowing that the little boy was hospitalized with sepsis, I wondered if the family food preparation practices had anything to do with his condition.

Should I say something to Mom? Could a child-interpreter really do justice to what I had to say? Was it really something I needed to address, or was I out of line? As the visit unfolded, I realized just how much this young mother was overwhelmed with her son's illness. And life, in general...

I returned to the patient’s bedside and started his IV. I needed to stay until the infusion was complete and discontinue it. Another RN would come to the home the next day and do the infusion again. Since it was only for three days, and since there was a significant language barrier, it was decided that we would not teach the mother to do the infusion.

I could feel my uniform sticking to me, wet with perspiration in the stifling heat of that little apartment. My patient was sleeping now and it was quiet in the room. Mother sat staring at nothing and stroking her son’s hair, soothing both of them.

Suddenly, there was a loud BANG as the front door slammed shut. Mom stood up with a look of panic on her face: her husband was home and she had forgotten to turn on the air conditioning so he would be comfortable. She ran and turned it on as he walked towards the bedroom.

I turned around and looked up to see him glaring at me. He turned to his wife and asked her, in Spanish, “Who is this woman and what is she doing to my son?” I was genuinely concerned by his demeanor. Mom explained to him that I was a nurse and that I was giving him his IV medications. He said, in English, “no more! Finish what you are doing and NO MORE!”

What to do? I decided to be as blunt as he was. I explained that the ONLY reason his son was able to come home from the hospital was because a home health RN would come administer the remaining antibiotic doses. If he would not let us do it, his son would need to go back to the hospital. Or risk becoming very ill again...

After a heated discussion with his wife, in the hallway, he came back in and said: "OK.”

I walked out into the warm evening relieved. The visit was over and, although I had a couple of hours of documentation to do on the computer, the worst of my evening had just passed. I chastised myself for not being…..whatever it was that I thought I should be. I didn’t feel comfortable about that home situation but I didn’t know what to do…

All these years later, I can still see that little boy and his mother and sister. I can’t remember dad’s face that well, but I will never forget his voice. Was I too intimidated to do the right thing? That was the question that went through my head over and over last week…

And I still don’t have an answer…

Cali

Blog Redux: "Run, Forrest, Run!"

2013-06-15T18:15:00.000-07:00

{Here's a repeat from last year. It still resonates with me. I hope you enjoy it!}

“Life is like a box of chocolates….”

Last week, on Wednesday, we had lunch at Bubba Gump’s on Cannery Row, in Monterey, CA. For an hour or so, we were immersed in all things Forrest Gump. The waitress even quizzed us on our knowledge of facts from the movie. We got 4 out of 5 right!

I love the premise of that movie: life is what we make it, and our image of ourselves is more important that what other people think they see. That sense of self-esteem is what made Forrest so successful in his endeavors.

On our table was a sign: “Run Forest Run” in blue. Underneath it was another sign, in red: “Stop Forrest Stop”… The waiter explained that we should turn the sign to the red one if we needed anything, or leave it on the blue if everything was fine.

In my life, I think I leave the blue sign up most of the time. I might not be running, per se, but I am moving and doing and being. Only in times of great sorrow, as the death of my parents, have I had to turn up the red sign. Even then, I’m back to the blue sign as soon as possible.

Life is going to happen, whether we want it to or not. We can go with the flow or buck the tide. The choice is always ours, as are the consequences.

Sometimes in my life, I feel that I have faced a brick wall, six feet high and ten feet wide. I have tried and tried to climb over the wall without success. And then, at some point, figured out that I can just walk around it most of the time…

So, maybe that’s a good motto for this time in my life: “Run Forrest Run……”

And I think I will keep moving, keep being, and keep living until the sun goes down for the last time.

Pass the chocolates, please!

Cali

Thoughts About Adornments...

2013-06-12T17:03:00.001-07:00

Bracelet from Kohl's.com

I spent some time today cleaning some of my jewelry. I used those cleaning cloths to get the yuck off some bracelets, mostly.

I have purchased some new pieces of “costume jewelry” (read: not expensive) recently and today I rearranged everything after it was cleaned.

In the past couple of months, I have purchased several new purses, too. And scarves. And shoes.

Why?

That’s the question I have been trying to answer today…. Is it because I suddenly care how I look when I leave the house? Is it because I have the time, now that I’m retired, to choose my ensemble more carefully? Is it because I have lost so much weight and so many more of my clothes fit again? Or is it because I am no longer spending my days in scrubs, “adorned” only with a watch on my left wrist and a stethoscope around my neck?

All the above, I think….

Whether you prefer wild prints and sky-high heels, or jeans and a tee shirt, I think it’s about feeling comfortable in your own skin. Whether you must follow the latest fashion trends, or you are comfortable with your own, personal sense of style, it all comes back to your sense of self.

For now, I’m having fun choosing adornments to go with my clothing: jewelry, purse, shoes…. Six months from now, I may just wear sweats and a tee shirt and flip flops and be comfortable. Or I might ramp up my fashion look to suit my changing style. Probably NOT the crazy shoes women are wearing these days. I spent too many years taking care of patients in sensible shoes….for twelve hours at a time.

I wrote a blog a couple of years ago about granny shoes. My point was: I won’t be pigeon-holed by my age and wear “appropriate clothing” as they say (in that case, it was pink high heels that I liked). I am thrilled to be my age and not dead! I don’t care about my “lumps” and scars and imperfections anymore. I guess I am finally comfortable in my own skin….

In any case, I will wear what I like, add a big smile to the fashion statement I’m making, and enjoy my day.

Cali

Happy Birthday, Matthew...

2013-05-27T12:07:00.000-07:00

What do you say to someone you haven’t seen in eight years? How do you explain all that has happened since he left? Or all that happened when he was younger? How do you communicate with children who speak Italian? What is there to say, after all these years?

Today is my younger son’s birthday. I sent him a birthday wish on Facebook. I think about him all the time, and even more so on his birthdays and holidays. It’s tough: we don’t communicate well. Not just Matthew and me, but all of us in our family. Most of us don’t like to talk on the phone, don’t write letters, don’t Skype, and then regret that we don’t do it.

Sending him a package costs nearly fifty dollars. A phone call isn’t much cheaper, either. Ah, excuses, right? Yes. And more. I am not sure I could talk to him on the phone without crying. I know I would not be able to explain my tears to him, either.

I feel as if part of me is gone, broken, or lost. I feel the need to reconnect with my son but I cannot do it by myself. I have tried sending an email to all three of my kids, hoping it would spark an interest in communicating with each other. We could just “reply all” and share our day-to-day life with each other. Didn’t happen…

I tell myself that, even though I don’t hear from Matt, he does love me and miss me, too. I tell myself that it is just the Great Communication Barrier that keeps us from getting in touch with each other. I tell myself that it is my duty, as a parent, to keep the lines of communication open with my kids. And I tell myself that I’m not doing a very good job.

Why? I don’t really know. Maybe it is just easier to miss him desperately than to tell him and make him feel bad. I know he’s busy, I know his life is full with family, work, and whatever else he chooses to do with his time.

And I tell myself that we are going to sit down and have a chat about it. Soon. I will tell him how much I love him and miss him and that I wish I could find a way to keep in touch with him. I will tell him stories about when he was growing up and how he delighted us with his wit and wisdom.

And I will apologize for hurting his feelings when he was 7. He rode his bicycle all the way out to his grandparent’s house (8 miles away) because I said something that hurt him and he wanted Grandma to comfort him. I will ask him to forgive me for being unkind because I didn’t really mean to be…

I will hug him and spend some quality time with him.

He’s coming home to visit June 18^th……

Cali

Thank you, Nathaniel(s)....

2013-05-23T18:16:00.000-07:00

Both of you….

On Tuesday, I went to the local AT&T store and purchased my new iPhone 5. Yes, I know the next version will be out soon—this summer—but I wanted mine now. After almost an hour in the store, I left with the new phone (and its hot pink cover) in my hand…

We had other errands to run, so I didn’t get a chance to plug the phone into my laptop and download my apps until the early afternoon. Well, the “quite simple” process became less so: the phone “froze” in the iTunes home screen.

Nothing I did changed anything. I turned it off, and then back on. I restarted my computer and plugged the phone in again. Nothing. Just the same, stupid, frozen screen….

(I remember when I was four years old and our phone was on a party line. I didn’t have any trouble with it: I would pick it up and listen, that’s all. Of course, at four, I didn’t realize that it was rude to listen in on a party line when others were having a conversation. When the operator called my mother to report my activities, I received a lecture on privacy and respect. Oh well, nothing “froze”….)

So, the next step was to go BACK to the AT&T store and get them to fix it. As I walked in the door, the greeter asked me what I needed and I explained that my phone was frozen. She then asked when I bought it and I told her “three hours ago” and when she asked where, I said “here”….

And so, I met Nathaniel Number 1. He plugged my phone into a computer and tried to “unlock” it. Then he tried another computer. No luck, still frozen. He then excused himself and went to talk to his manager. When he returned, he was on his cell phone, talking to someone about me. It soon became apparent that he was talking to Apple Care….

After the phone call ended, he told me what my two options were: 1) go home and call Apple’s tech line and have them walk me through the process of unlocking my phone; or 2) drive an hour to the nearest Apple Store and have their techs do it for me.

And I was frustrated—and rude—to him. “How can I CALL tech support when the ONLY phone I have is locked and won’t work?” He could have been rude right back, but he wasn’t. He was empathetic and supportive. I apologized for my outburst and he said he would feel the same way…

And so, I went back home and picked up my laptop and John so he could make the trip to Fresno with me. Of course, in my frustration/confusion/whatever, I gave him the wrong driving instructions and we drove an extra half hour to get to the Apple Store….

I felt so guilty that I encouraged him to sit in a comfy chair in the mall and have a Starbuck’s coffee while I took care of my phone problems...

Enter Nathaniel Number 2: a very nice young man in his late twenties or early thirties. Even though he hadn’t used Windows in fourteen years (he’s a Mac), he was able to help me navigate my laptop to facilitate the process. Not only was he patient, he taught me some things I didn’t know…and need to know. It turns out that I have to block my Avast “firewall” in order to download stuff from iTunes…

I explained what was going on with my phone and that I had no intention of going home until it was fixed AND all my apps were downloaded from iTunes. He apologized for my long trip to the store and agreed to help me do all that before I left.

While my apps were downloading, he went to help another customer. There I sat, staring at my playlist on iTunes, on an HP laptop! Right next to me was a Mac. On the other side of the table were two people with iPads….I felt like a fish out of water.

So, when Nathaniel Number 2 came back, and my apps were all downloaded, I thanked him for not making fun of my weird playlist. He looked through my songs and mentioned several artists that he liked, too. He noticed that I have Rufus Wainwright’s version of Hallelujah and he said Leonard Cohen’s versions are his favorites. I asked if he had heard k.d. lang’s version and he hadn’t: he plans to download it and listen to it for himself….

As six pm approached, NN2 excused himself: he had to leave because they are not allowed to have overtime. He found someone else to help me with signing up for Apple Care + and he was off to clock out and go home….

So, what was supposed to be easy wasn’t. What should have taken about an hour took most of the day. And yet, what I will remember about the experience, and the day, is the two Nathaniels. Two very different-looking men who tried everything they could to help me, and finally succeeded.

At my age, days are not to be wasted, and Tuesday certainly was not a waste. I have my new phone, it actually works, and I met two young men who renewed my faith in “the younger generation”…. As I approach my birthday (Saturday), I am thankful that I have had the opportunity to have many positive experiences in my life….

And thankful for the two Nathaniels….

Cali

Friends....

2013-04-22T19:00:00.000-07:00

I am sitting here looking at a photo of a long-time friend. I can see her, and hear her, as I look at the photo. She had an infectious laugh, a heart of gold, and she never met a stranger. Unfortunately, the photo is on the front of the program for her memorial service: she died March 25^th.

We became friends in high school. I loved being around her because she was always so upbeat. She had that kindness that many espouse but few really practice in real life. She was only a stranger for ten seconds after you met her, and then she was a friend for life…..

Our children were just about the same age: the oldest being a girl, followed by two boys. I remember when she used to come visit me at my home and bring her kids. All the kids got along well and played together so we could sit and talk. I remember, too, that her daughter taught my daughter the names of all the colors, or at least, all the colors that M&Ms came in….

A lot of stuff happened in her life that could have made her angry, or sent her in a downward spiral, or caused her unbearable bitterness. But she wasn’t that way. She was resilient. She had an abiding faith in God and in her ability to bear anything that happened to her through His Grace.

I didn’t want to go today. I am not a fan of funerals, but then, who is? I asked John to go with me and, of course, he did. The church is just two doors down from our home, so we walked. And in the warm sunshine, I felt a shiver. Regret?

Perhaps. I know that the last time I talked to her on the phone was too long ago, and I was calling to cancel a lunch date. She lived at the coast and I was vacationing there and wanted to see her, but life intervened and I had to come home early. I never, ever thought that I would never talk to her again.

But life is like that, isn’t it? We postpone things we ought to do until “another day” and that day never comes. And today, that feeling would not leave me until I got into the church and saw her smiling face in the photo slide show. And I know now that she thought of me as often as I thought of her, and that we could get together tomorrow and it would be just like old times.

But there won’t be a tomorrow with her.

As we walked in the church, we were greeted by another friend from high school days. She approached me, smiled, and gave me a hug. I heard someone else say my name and I turned around to see another friend from high school. And I got another hug.

As we were trying to decide where to sit, I saw more friends, and decided we would sit right behind them. And there were more hugs. And introductions, although they all knew about John and our “adventures” from my posts on Facebook.

The service was amazing. The eulogy caused many, many tears in the church. And the testimonials from all those high school friends made us all smile and laugh despite our tears.

Is it possible to learn lessons from someone who is dead? Or maybe it’s lessons from the exemplary life she led…. She reminded me to stop having regrets and to act on my instincts. “Get out there and live and stop being so introverted!” I can hear her saying that to me and then laughing.

The tragedies that befell her in her life were terrible, but the joy she brought to each and every day of her life was inspiring. She never felt sorry for herself, and she never stopped trying to find the good in everybody and everything.

After the funeral, we walked home and I cried. I was overwhelmed with the outpouring of kindness and the hugs I received. I was deep in thought about my friend and wondering how to deal with my thoughts. I decided to go shopping….

Retail therapy? No, not really. There are two new babies in our family and we want to send them gifts to let them know how happy we are to have them in our lives. No more assuming that they will know how much we care.

I have to tell them…..

I was shopping in a craft store when I saw someone I used to work with in the operating room. Being somewhat introverted and socially awkward (in my opinion), I would normally have just kept going and assumed that she was too busy to talk to me or she wouldn’t remember me.

Not today: I walked right over to her and said “hi!” We spent almost 45 minutes “catching up” on what has been going on in our lives. It was good to see her again, but it was great that I didn’t just walk away, knowing that she didn’t see me…..

And tonight, I will wrap baby gifts and address the boxes, then mail them in the morning. I think I will also send an email to each of my kids and remind them that I love them and I’m thinking about them. And I think I’ll send messages on Facebook to the friends I saw today and tell them how good it felt to see them again.

Thank you, Jeannie……

Cali

Out of the Dark

2013-04-06T12:09:00.000-07:00

It’s hard to describe how I feel today. It’s beyond hopeful, more like joyful. As I have been saying for almost a year now: I am on my way.

Where? You ask. There is no easy answer but, “out of the dark” describes it to me. Out of the dark that was my life last year. For a year after I retired, I was in daily pain, spiraling into a deep depression, and full of self-doubt and self-loathing.

During the time that my back injury was treated as a Workers’ Comp issue, I had physical therapy and several spinal injections. The first two spinal injections provided some relief for a few weeks. The final injection was terrifying, merciless, and of no use: the pain was greater, not lessened.

And so, I retired. To what? A loving husband, a nice home, and a constant state of pain. I couldn’t take a step off a curb without serious pain in both my knees and one or both hips. I couldn’t walk very far without becoming winded. I was eating the same as I did when I was healthy, active and pain free and the pounds were adding up.

I couldn’t look in the mirror. And I made jokes about my wardrobe: “it’s not hard to find something to wear because very few of my clothes fit!” Hahahahahahahaha…..

Or not….

My physician sent me to a rheumatologist: he offered suggestions that were immediate and addressed the “now” and not just the future “when you lose all this weight.” And I was humiliated beyond belief: I hadn’t weighed myself in years and the numbers on the scale were frightening.

I came home resolute: I will get beyond this place and get my life back again. I signed up for Weight Watchers Online the very same day. I was overwhelmed by the task at hand and the changes I had to make. At the same time, I was determined to do something for myself so that I didn’t have to be ashamed of how I looked and felt.

It’s been a slow process: ten months and counting, so far. But I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and, if it’s not just a freight train, I will keep heading toward it. One day at a time, one step at a time, one meal at a time, and one pound at a time….

I have lost more than forty pounds. I am four sizes smaller than last summer, and I have LOTS of clothes to wear. In fact, there are so many choices that I don’t know where to begin sometimes. And isn’t that a lovely dilemma?

Out of the dark and into the light. It’s a glorious feeling. My depression is mostly gone, my activity level has improved: going to the gym, hiking in the mountains, and walking any chance I get has helped me realize the progress I have made.

There is no magic pill. No diet. No sacrifice. What little I have had to give up (Diet Coke and sweets come to mind) is far outweighed by my sense of well-being and my ability to move and do and be, once again.

The darkness that was retirement life in pain has given way to the light that is enjoying every day for what it is and smelling the roses along the way. As Nora Ephron admonished: I am once again the heroine of my life and not the victim…

And it feels good….

Cali

Gym Tales

2013-03-08T18:09:00.000-08:00

(Another blog from my archives...)

He walked out of the elevator with his wife by his side. Gripping his walker, he willed his weak left leg to move forward. Each step took time. His wife looked as if she had all the time in the world…. Wearing a ball cap, backwards, he looked straight ahead as he walked. There were no emotions visible on his face, just determination…

Probably in his mid-fifties, he thin and muscular, as if he was very active—physically—before his stroke. His hands grip the walker as he moves, his knuckles white from the effort. At last, he reaches his destination: a weight machine that will firm and strengthen his triceps.

Slowly, thoughtfully, he moves as close to the seat of the machine as his walker will let him. Finally satisfied that he can make it, he grabs the machine and plops his rear end in the seat with a thud. Hovering nearby, but not “babying” him, his wife moves the walker out of the way.

She pulls the handgrips up toward him so he can grab them. He moves quickly to place his right hand on the grip, firmly holding the machine. His wife picks up his left hand and places it on the grip, smoothing his fingers around the rubber grip.

He tries to life the weights, but it is too heavy. His wife reaches down and moves the pin, decreasing the resistance on the machine. Again, he tries to lift the handlebars and he is successful. His right arm bicep and triceps are flexed and doing most of the work. His left hand stays in place on the left grip.

His wife walks over to the nearby chairs and sits down, waiting for him to finish with the machine. This is repeated many more times as he works on other machines in the gym. I have seen him at the gym many times, and he uses the machines that strengthen his core and his upper body.

As I watched him, I was awestruck. I have cared for so many stroke patients in my life, but few with this level of determination. Few who have continued to work out after finishing physical therapy. Few who had a wife who would help. Few with a caregiver who could assist without taking his dignity away….

There are many other “tales” at the gym. Tales of overcoming debilitating physical conditions. Tales of triumph after tragedy. Tales of determination, and will, and hope.

Tales that make me smile…..

Cali

Fruit Loops...Redux

2013-03-07T11:42:00.000-08:00

(I've decided to share some "oldies" with you. Blogs I wrote a while back and am revisiting today. This one is from a couple of years ago, maybe more. And it was summertime when I wrote it. Warm weather sounds good, doesn't it?)

Fruit Loops....

So, just to make your day: the generation gap is alive and well. I thought you might like to know.

Of course, I have a reason for saying that. La Belle Noelle, Princess of Quite a Lot, is spending the weekend with Grandma. So far, we've had a lovely time. Mostly playing but hey, that's okay, too.

We went to the grocery store this morning. Bought everything we need for the weekend: Fruit Loops, potato chips, and stuff to make ice cream. We're going to make “cookies and cream” ice cream by following the recipe for vanilla ice cream, then adding chopped Oreos to the mix for the last five minutes.

I think it is very important to eat healthy, nutritious meals, don't you? As far as Noelle is concerned, we have three of the food groups covered: dairy products, Fruit Loops and Oreos. I think I'll make sure she takes a daily vitamin today and tomorrow and hope for the best.

We also went shopping for “accessories” this morning. There is a store in the mall that she loves to look in, and found several things she thought she had to have. I asked her to wait and look at Penney's, since I had to go there, too. She agreed.

And then, an “aha” moment for her: Grandma did NOT buy her everything she wanted. I explained that I cannot spend that much money on her when it is not Christmas, not her birthday, and she didn't do anything to earn the money.

Apparently, that got her thinking.... She did choose a couple of items, which I did buy for her, but she had to choose, and she had to put several things back that she really, really wanted....I wouldn't buy them. If you know me, you know how hard it was for me to deny her anything.

But I did....

And so, she thought about what I said. “You didn't earn the money...” must have stuck in her head. Just a little while ago, she came to me with a proposition: she would do some chores around the house and I could give her some money for her efforts. Okay, fair enough.

And then, the generation gap reared its ugly head. She offered to clean the kitchen counter, dust the family room, and fold clothes. She wanted $25.00 for her efforts. Uh, NO, I don't think so. I tried telling her about the state workers who have had their pay reduced to minimum wage. I got a blank look...

In my head, I'm adding up all the money I have spent today.....No way is twenty minutes' worth of fussing around the house worth what I have spent already. So I stood firm. No. No $25.00 for work I do for free. For myself.

She has now been working for an hour and 10 minutes. The last chore was to use the Swiffer Sweeper on all the wood floors. This is a big house, so that was a big job. She also watered the container garden and swept the kitchen floor....

She offered to “rearrange” the stuff on the bathroom counter and make it look better. I said no: I wouldn't be able to find things after she leaves. She offered to dust the inside of the car. I said no: it's in the triple digits outside, and even more inside the car. I don't need for her to get sick.

Ah, she's straightening up the family room now, putting all the Wii stuff away. By the time she's through, it will have been an hour and a half, almost, that she's been working. I will split the difference with her and give her ten dollars.

Ten dollars for the opportunity to learn one of life's important lessons: nothing's free....

Cali

Cali Explains Painting...Or: If You're Wearing Honest-to-Goodness Carhart Painting Overalls, You Must Be an Expert.

2013-02-26T16:42:00.000-08:00

So, no more than a month ago, I had a brilliant idea: turn the little-used guest room into my very own craft room. I have been poring over the IKEA catalog, drawing plans, and dreaming about it since then. I know what I want in the way of furniture and what I am going to put in each drawer and on each shelf.

As OCD as that might sound, I think I have a good reason: I am currently crammed into a little space in our home office, having commandeered several shelves of the bookcases. I know what I use to scrapbook and where/how I would like to store it. By drawing the furniture and assigning my scrapbooking supplies to each space, I was able to determine how much (or how little, if you prefer) furniture I would need.

Somewhere along the way, in the last week or so, I decided that I HAD to paint the room. And why not? It’s completely empty right now, as the thrift store people hauled off all the furniture a week ago… Perhaps it’s because the room looks dirty and disheveled without furniture. Or, perhaps, the furniture was hiding a litany of sins…

Several years ago, I painstakingly scraped all the wallpaper off the walls in my soon-to-be craft room. Then I painted the walls in a faux denim finish that I liked for a couple of years…. No more. Time for a change….

And so, after countless hours of prep (which I HATE to do), I was able to put some “Cotton Grey” paint on the walls. As I started, it looked beige, not gray, but after the blue was all covered, it was the color I had hoped for….

This room was my brothers’ room when they were growing up. Boys are hard on furniture and walls. Thanks to years of putty repairs and millions of coats of paint, the walls are uneven and difficult to paint. The roller rolls right over some of the deeper recesses, and going back over the wall with a brush is a necessity….

Okay, okay, you know how to paint, enough of the details. But do you know all of the little nuances of painting? I know I didn’t…..until now.

For instance, did you know that no matter how many times you paint gray over blue, you will still see blue wherever you look? Some of it I really did see, and I hit it with a brush-full of gray paint….

Did you know that, after sanding the baseboard a hundred times, you STILL won’t see all the remaining carpet fur until you have given it a coat of paint? So you sand it again. And again. No, the carpet is long gone, but not the fur, apparently….

Did you know that you can go from excited to get started to ready to be done with it in a matter of moments? And boy, have I had my moments…..you should see the floor…

No longer my entree into "High Society", my Crocs are now
relegated to my "paintin' shoes"...

I also think, but I could be wrong, that the doorway has shrunk due to the 15+ coats of paint that it has had in the past 62 years. I know that I have given it three coats this week myself, and I’m wondering if the new furniture will fit through the door…

I’m down to the last chore: the touch-up detail. It’s really quite simple: you have a small paint brush with the wall color on it and another one with the trim color on it. You touch up the trim where you got the wall paint on it and then you touch up the wall where you just got trim paint on it. It can go on for hours. And hours…

And then it suddenly hits you: “it looks great” you tell yourself. Does it really? Doesn’t really matter, in your mind, you’re DONE!

And, if you are unfortunate enough to be asked by the painter: “how does it look?” do NOT blurt out that it looks perfect! We both know it isn’t perfect and painters don’t appreciate being patronized.

To a point….

When asked that loaded question, take your time answering it. Look up curiously at the freshly-painted walls and trim. Squint one or both eyes to denote that you are really working at this, then sigh softly and prepare your answer.

The answer HAS to be positive. I have worked much too hard to have someone, anyone, point out what is wrong with the work that I did. So be charitable. Use a word that doesn’t tell me that you’re lying through your teeth. If you’re a gusher, tell me it looks “fabulous!” If you’re not, just say it looks “great” and pat me on the back…..but not too hard because I’m sore all over…

I may not be the best painter, but I DO make the best messes!

Cali

Telling Stories....

2013-01-27T15:13:00.000-08:00

When I started blogging five years ago, I frequently wrote about my experiences at work. Or family life. Or something I saw and wanted to comment about. I used a photo to illustrate the blog and that was it. Ever since I started, I have always hoped that my words would make my readers think and relate what I have said to things in their own lives…

A little more than a year ago, I started scrapbooking again. Things have changed in the scrapbooking world: it’s not just about photos cut into cute shapes and lots of stickers to decorate the page. Somewhere along the line, people figured out that pasting photos on a page wasn’t enough. And cutesy stickers didn’t add much to the story of when, why, and where the photo was taken.

And so, scrapbooking (in whatever form you choose) has become a method of telling our stories about our lives, our families, and our adventures. Photos are accompanied by “journaling cards” that recount what happened, or was going on, in each photo. Sure, there are still stickers and other ephemera but they are an adjunct to the story, and a small one at that.

Currently, I am doing Project Life for the second year in a row. It’s a system of telling our stories in an easy-to-do format, with pockets for photos and other souvenirs of everyday life. Becky Higgins

What I like about Project Life is that it makes me focus on today. Sure, yesterday and tomorrow were, or will be; important in their own time, but today is what I have right now. In other words, I live in the moment, recording life’s ups and downs as they happen. The only thing better than living in the moment is being able to go back and look at those moments later…

My just-completed first page from last week.

And my second page from last week.

I bought in to the project, literally, and purchased a “core kit” from Becky Higgins. This year, I have been making some of my own journaling cards to add to the core kit. I want to personalize my story, after all, as I am the only me around…

A few of the journaling cards I have made...

Whether the photos show snow-capped mountains or mountains of laundry in front of the washer, there is a story there. Not a what-I-did-last-summer story but the story of everyday….. And that is what matters: telling our stories.

So, though the format and content of my blog may seem different, it really isn’t. I am still focused on telling my own story but I am using several modalities and not just writing. The important thing is that, someday, someone who knew me and loved me will have a better glimpse of who I was and what I did.

That’s telling my story…

Cali

Going Home Again...and Again

2013-01-13T11:54:00.000-08:00

Then

In an unexpected turn of events, we traveled 25 miles southeast of Podunk to another, even smaller, Podunk… Having been sick with a cold for more than a week, I was glad to get out of the house and “see the world” as it were…

We traveled to a quaint little town east of Podunk to visit my favorite antiques shop. Afterwards, we stopped in at the hardware store. Truly, a hardware store, with creaky wood floors, items displayed in divided shelves, and an old-fashioned heater grate in the floor.

Ever solicitous about my health, he asked me if I wanted to go home…. I said “no” because I was enjoying being out in the sunshine. And so, he had an adventure in mind: “let’s go to Lindsay (an even smaller Podunk) and find the house you lived in….”

I don’t know why, all these years later, that I remember the name of the street we lived on….But I do. And I found it on my iPhone’s Google Maps app. As we drove through town, the little blue dot on the screen was moving with us, ever nearer to Linda Vista Drive.

I remember what the house looked like because I have several photos of family in front of it. My mother told me once that the house was featured in Sunset Magazine in 1947. I don’t know if that is true or was invented by a realtor who wanted my parents to buy the house. I think I may have to look into that at some point…

I felt a lump in my throat as we drove down the street…..and there, at the turn in the road, was the house. I remember it as being gray—the color of the kitschy cinder-blocks used to build it—and now it is a beigy-gold paint color. The window frames are still hunter green, and the windows are original, too. A cooler is precariously perched in one of the bedroom windows, and the lawn is winter dead.

Now

Although we only lived in that house for a couple of years, and I was VERY young, I do remember lots of things about it. For instance, the bathroom floor was black marble. Why do I remember that? Perhaps because I spilled my mother’s face powder on it and she thought she would never get it all cleaned up…

My favorite spaces in that house were all outdoors. There was a screened-in sleeping porch along the entire back of the house and I would sleep there at night during the long, hot summers. Just beyond that porch was the back patio, which was huge. It was angled and free-form to make it blend into the back lawn in a pleasing fashion.

One of my favorite things to do (remember: I was VERY young) was to push Daddy’s push mower across the patio, delighting in the clackety-clack sounds it made on the cement. I do remember the last time I did that, too, as Daddy was home for lunch and came outside to ask me to “stop doing that!”

I remember the houses on each side of ours, too. On the one side was the “elderly” neighbor with the apricot tree. I amazed my neighborhood friends by being brazen enough to sneak into her back yard and steal an apricot from her tree. Not only that, I stopped at the faucet under her kitchen window and washed it off before running out front to eat it in front of my cohorts…

On the other side of our house was the home of my best playmate and friend. She and I had some great adventures, such as painting her porch red with the blooms on my mother’s rose bush. Also not a popular pastime with adults…

That relationship had its ups and downs, too. When I was allowed to paint the picket fence on her side of the back yard (remember, I was too young to have read “Tom Sawyer”), she was upset that I wouldn’t let her help me. I tried to explain that my mother told me just to paint our side of the fence, and that she had to ask her mother before she could paint her side of the fence….. She was frustrated and slapped me—hard—on my cheek. Without thinking, I ‘slapped’ her with my paintbrush across her cheek. After hearing both of us shriek, our mothers both came out of the house and, needless to say, neither one of us got to do any more painting….

We had moved to that little town because that’s where Daddy found a job after the war. I also remember why we left that house and that town….

It was Christmastime, 1950, and my mother was busy getting ready for Christmas. One of the things she did to “get ready” was to take down the living room curtains and wash and iron them. It was a whole day’s chore, I’m sure. And then, on Christmas Eve, the weather dropped to below freezing. Since that little town is situated in the middle of miles and miles of orange groves, the night air smelled of the smudge pots burning all around us, keeping the oranges from freezing.

Perhaps it worked, and the crop was saved. I really don’t know. What I DO know is that, on Christmas morning, my mother shrieked when she saw her newly-washed and ironed curtains: they were now charcoal gray, thanks to the freezing temperatures and smudge pots…

By the next Christmas, we had moved here, to Podunk, to the very house where I am writing this…

We had prolonged freezing temperatures here in Podunk last night….maybe that’s why I was thinking about that house in that even smaller Podunk, 25 miles away…

Cali