Ahead of the Wave

Wisdom from Dad

2012-02-09T08:29:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, in the context of Dad spending his 95th Birthday in the hospital, he mused (and I wrote it down to preserve the quote), " You never know what tomorrow will bring".

True this.

There are inklings, premonitions, and predictions but in the end you never know.

My Dad's 95th Birthday

2012-02-08T21:03:00.000-08:00

For reasons I could never quite pinpoint, the anticipation of my Dad's 95th Birthday celebration created in me more anxiety than excitement. I felt vaguely troubled and strangely longing for the party to be over. Weird, I thought. Why would a sense of dread color what should have been all about family and friends gathered together to acknowledge our love for a truly remarkable man who has lived long and well?

Last night I told Denny I felt a foreboding; like something was going to spoil the day. I knew in my heart this would likely involve my Dad's health, an illness, a turn for the worse in his frail, ofttimes teetering-on-the-edge condition. Then, I'd rationalize that such an event could happen any day; why would it hit on his Birthday? But still, I stewed and thought about the rare but possible chance that one could be born and die on the same date. My thoughts can take me in all directions, especially into the macabre.

So, when the call from the lead caregiver at the adult family home came just after 8 AM today advising me that Dad was not doing well, suffering from another upper respiratory syndrome with fever, I wasn't at all surprised. All those free floating concerns of the last few weeks crystallized instantly. "I knew it; I just knew it.", I kept saying over and over to myself. Deeply sad inside, all I could do for the next hour was let the tears run. The timing sucked and there was nothing to be done about it except deal with it.

The caregiver and I made the decision together that Dad needed to head off to the ER for evaluation and treatment. He wasn't happy about this but he's good about following advice. He was whisked off to the hospital and spent the rest of his birthday as a patient. He's going to be OK with medical attention, antibiotics, and a bit of time. He may even get to come home tomorrow.

Dad wasn't too happy that his party had to be cancelled. At one point he told his grandson who so lovingly sat with him in the ER this morning that we should all "just go ahead with the plans" for the party without him. "You should dance!", he said. Chris explained that we didn't want to party without him, the guest of honor. This offer is so typical of my Dad. Only he would want the party to go on while he hung around a hospital ward, working on getting over his bout of pneumonia. Sigh. We'll celebrate later this week we told Dad and he seemed OK with the change of plans.

By the time I arrived at the hospital to check in on him, he was looking pretty good; tired and weary from all the hoopla, a bit hungry, and eager for a good nap but surprisingly on-the-ball. I fetched him a carton of chocolate milk from the cafeteria and sat with him as the huge mylar birthday balloon floated near the ceiling of his room. It wasn't long before the lead caregiver from the adult family home arrived with Dad's glasses, hearing aids, and teeth! Add to those necessities, the NY Times and the updated Exxon stock quote and he was all set. Dad started singing and I knew he had rallied despite the rocky start to the day. Once again.

Tonight, I think of Dad in his hospital bed. I hope he has a decent night's sleep and gets to come home tomorrow. This is the first birthday he's ever spent in a hospital. He was born in upstate New York, at home, as was the custom for the early 20th century. Even as a newborn, he never saw the inside of a hospital on that Thursday, February 8, 1917.

Happy Birthday to You, Dad! We'll party with you this weekend; better late than never!

Eating Green

2012-02-05T17:49:00.000-08:00

Every now and then it's time to head to Uwajimaya and get lost in the produce section. Amazing. Fun. Inspiring.

And, these were just some of the green things. Orange, purple, rust, red, and yellow; all for another time.

Cedar Rapids: The Movie, not the City

2012-02-04T22:35:00.000-08:00

When some Netflix titles end up in our mailbox, I often wonder if they've been delivered to the wrong house. They're usually Indie movies that vaguely register with me as having been added to the queue way back there in time. And so it was with Cedar Rapids, a flick with a rather uninspiring description on the DVD sleeve. I had not a clue as to who, what, when, where or more importantly WHY this one made the cut. The movie sat around for weeks waiting. Waiting.

Sure; Cedar Rapids is a nerdy, raunchy, if not predictable flick but there were more than a few really, really good laughs along the way. Call me easily amused but this one was fun. Here's the trailer if you're so inclined.

Dad LIkes Things Just So

2012-01-30T16:33:00.000-08:00

Dad subscribes to the daily and Sunday editions of the N.Y. Times. The newspapers arrive in a thin blue plastic bag. Dad doesn't read much of the paper but he always looks at the front page and has one of the caregivers give him the small font Exxon stock quote from the Business Section.

Dad saves the Sunday paper for me. He never opens the blue bag and has little interest its contents. He knows I love the Sunday paper with the Book Section and all the other extras. He is extremely particular about wanting the Sunday paper intact in the blue bag, resting on the side chair in his bedroom where he can keep an eye on it until I come by to visit and pick it up. Caregivers offer to take the paper out of its wrapping but Dad has a vehement "No" response.

Just why he is so particular about this small ritual interests me. He's not at all happy when there is any variation from what he feels is the way it should be. I smile inside. Let him be finicky, picky, an insistent on things being a certain way.

He'll be 95 in about ten days. He can be however he wants to be and we don't need to know why.

Near Northgate Mall

2012-01-30T16:08:00.000-08:00

Free Floating Anxiety

2012-01-21T09:28:00.000-08:00

Today and tomorrow are my last days off before the week on call starts on Monday. Even though I've had a nice long break since my last week on the hospital service in December, I still dread jumping into the fray once again. Unpredictable, challenging, frustrating, exhausting on the one hand and, just to be fair, also (occasionally) exhilarating, enlivening, fulfilling, and (maybe) fun on the other hand. Right now I'm not feeling fair so the first four descriptors are the way I really feel about next week.

Coupled with thoughts of the future (why can't I live in the moment?), other free floating anxieties plague me.

Yesterday my colleague's two young children came by the office. Three and seven years old, they laughed and played with their Dad's I phone, the joyous giggles a reminder of how in-the-moment kids live and how innocently they move through time and space. Unencumbered by thoughts of the future or the past, I long to cultivate the child's mind. Whisked back to twenty years ago when my two were youngsters, a pang of bittersweet swept through me.

Everyone knows: parenting never ends. Parenting just changes face. It's not necessarily easier or more difficult; each phase is new, uncharted territory. How we respond as parents to whatever happens in our children's lives is individual but we still respond. Doing nothing or something counts as a response.

I am a worrier. I think about the effect of natural elements: snow, rain, ice, water, wind. I ponder abduction, assaults, accidents, and alcohol. Fire (I learned that from my Mom most surely) lingers in the background of everything. When my kids are on the road or out of town, my thoughts get pulled back to where they are and what they might be experiencing.

Is this internal wiring, learned behavior (I had the most powerful role model ever....my Mom) or both?

The physical feeling is a tightening in my shoulders and a I realize my breath is uneven and short. I need to open into utrasana pose and breathe in and out with intention.

So Sweet, Dad....

2012-01-19T20:50:00.000-08:00

This week with our stormy, icy, snowy weather, my Dad has worried about me driving about in the elements. This was always my Mom's job. My Dad stood by, watching her torque up about all manner of disastrous things that might happen, no matter how unlikely. My impression was that he rarely, if ever, let himself get wound up in worry. Not so now.

It seems my Dad has taken over the role of "elder worrier" although he has his own unique touch.

The other night we chatted on the phone and he, aware of the treacherous weather, said, "I'll pray for your safety tomorrow [driving to work]." Unlike my Mom who'd always finish her call with an admonishment to "call me when you get home", Dad's voice cracked with emotion. Hearing his concern made me feel at once sad and touched. So sweet, Dad.

When I called him yesterday to let him know that I was safe and sound, out of harm's way and inside for the rest of the day, the relief in his voice was palpable. "I'm so glad to hear you voice, sweetheart."
So sweet, Dad.

Round two today with more rugged weather and another phone call to Dad. One of his caregivers answered his phone and shared with me that Dad had been asking about me, "about 5 times". So sweet Dad.

I'm home, Dad. We'll catch up again tomorrow.

BRRRRRR....

2012-01-19T17:50:00.000-08:00

Western Washington has been beaten up by snow, ice, freezing rain, and wind over the last 3 days. The storm isn't over yet. We've a good 6-8 inches of snow at our house and the temperature is only 29 degrees. In other areas, conditions are worse; icy and treacherous. Power is out for a lot of folks from fallen trees, laden with ice.

View from hotel window Wed. AM

Tuesday night before the storm hit, I drove down to Federal Way and checked into a hotel so that I could make it to clinic Wednesday and Thursday. The drive in good weather takes just under an hour each way. I didn't want to fight the snow and ice Wednesday morning and it turns out that was a good call. By Wednesday morning the entire Puget Sound region was blanketed in snow. The 3 mile drive from the hotel to clinic took me almost half an hour on hard pack snow and ice. Due to inclement weather conditions, the clinic closed early, around 1 PM and everyone headed home.

I retreated back to the hotel, put my feet up and read all afternoon. Nice.

Overnight, there was freezing rain in Federal Way coupled with a drop in temperature to 28. Everything turned to ICE. My car was encased in a quarter to half inch of solid, frozen ice when I walked out of the hotel this morning. 30 minutes later, after hacking away with my two dollar ice chipper (did a pretty good job considering), I was ready to roll. Slowly. My car did well considering the conditions.

I definitely got in my work-out today chipping away at recalcitrant ice caked on my windshield, windows, and side rear view mirrors. Chunks came off in sheets that hit the ground and shattered into smaller pieces. Check out these photos of my car during the process.

Hard to believe this is my windshield from inside the car

Had to muscle my way into the car; frozen shut.

The frozen back window

Looks like cracks in the mirror but it's all ICE!

The drive to clinic once my car was de-iced wasn't too bad. Half a dozen brave patients made it in for their appointments but again, by 1 PM, the clinic shut down for the day.

The harrowing part of the journey was the drive back up Interstate 5 into Seattle with blowing winds, chunks of ice flying off of passing vehicles and blocking visibility, and intermittently icy roads. By the time I got into my neighborhood the roads were laden with freshly fallen snow which was almost fun to drive through compared to the freezing rain and ice. All a matter of perspective I suppose....

I'm so glad to be home! It's warm, the power is on, and tomorrow is another day.

Of Mammography Suites and Anxiety

2012-01-16T14:46:00.000-08:00

The Breast Center (aka mammography suite) at the clinic where I work is a lovely, modern and thoughtfully designed facility. Just inside the door is a small waiting room for those accompanying their wives, girlfriends, mothers or friends to the procedure. Next is the registration desk, offset from the waiting room to preserve privacy. From there, the woman is escorted back to the dressing room area, given friendly, well rehearsed instructions on how to don the gown after undressing from the waist up and where to put the valuables. There are doors with locks on the well designed adjacent wall. The key attaches to a flexible pink plastic wrist-let which is worn into the inner sanctum, as I like to call it. This tastefully adorned room just for women-in-waiting invites. Lovely, comfortable chairs, soft lighting, and lots of magazines welcome the weary if not the slightly anxious. There's barely a sound to be heard.

And then, the summons. My turn and I'm led back into one of the exam rooms. Today I read the name on the machine: "Mammo-mat"; the vice that flattens that breast into a pancake. Nice. I've never seen the same technician twice in all these years of repeated mammograms. This one was prompt and efficient, going about her work with intention and care but little humor. Of course, she may have been reacting to my vibe which was serious and stoic.

Four views, two on each side. The images populated the screen within seconds and the technician showed me the pictures. I haven't a clue what's OK and what's not OK. I don't ask what she thinks much as I'd like to. She'd say she couldn't comment, I'm sure. I'll have to wait for the formal reading.

And then, it's over. Reverse order: past the inner sanctuary with other women quietly reading magazines to the re-dressing area and around the corner to the reception desk and out the door. I'm done. Slowly the anxiety creeps in. I feel it in my upper arms and shoulders, a tightening refusing to relax. Try as I might to divert my attention, the physical sensation will persist and my mind will periodically be pulled from the present moment to the future, the what if? question.

Two points:

The mammography suite has become an art form over the years; moving from a meager extension of the existing department of radiology to a distinct entity. Privacy is respected. No longer do women sit out in an exposed waiting room where the world walks by and the sign above reads "Mammography Department". The inner sanctum resembles a spa. If I weren't so edgy, I'd want to stay there all day and read magazines and ponder life, maybe with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc at my side.

Secondly, I can't escape the escalating anxiety over the results. The waiting time is short, way shorter than most women wait to learn of their results but I'm a gal that wants most things NOW. Once I get the good news, all that tension is history and the mammography suite evaporates; until next year around the same time..

Thoughts to Consider

2012-01-15T17:49:00.000-08:00

"We cannot do great things on the Earth, only small things with great love."

"There is a terrible hunger for love. We all experience that in our lives--the pain, the loneliness. We must have the courage to recognize it. The poor you may have right in your own family. Find them. Love them."

--Quotes from Mother Teresa (1910-1997)

This is the second day I've focused on quotes. I'm going within. Thinking. Pondering. Some people say it so well.

Great Question: Great Answer

2012-01-14T11:16:00.000-08:00

Always in search of a pithy, powerful quote on the meaning of life, I came across this fifteen word sentence that made me sit back and smile as I invited this thought into my mind. Yes; if this isn't "it", then it's close enough for me.

See what you think.....

"The central purpose of each life should be to dilute the misery of this world."

Karl Menninger spoke these words, He was born in 1893 and went on to become a famous psychiatrist. He was a co-founder of the Menninger Clinic in the 1920's, a clinic with a revolutionary approach to the treatment of persons with mental illness. The Menninger Clinic, opened in Topeka, Kansas but more recently relocated to Houston in affiliation with the Baylor College of Medicine.

This quote resonates with me. I've not read or heard a more succinct statement of why we are here on this earth. There are endless ways to dilute misery. Every one of them counts. Life and love are verbs. Let's, all of us, get going.

A Commitment (of sorts) to Healthier Eating

2012-01-08T17:44:00.000-08:00

Does a week of "being good" constitute a commitment to healthy eating? I hope so. The fact that D and I are BOTH following Weight Watchers makes for mutual reinforcement . No, we aren't going to meetings; this foray into health is on line, consistent with the times, I suppose. We started on New Years Day.

Usually he's on Atkins which is all about meat, cheese and eggs. I've played around with South Beach which is in no way sustainable for a carb lover like myself. Weight Watchers is a reasonable way to get healthy; it's not about deprivation as much as it is about choices. I like that.

Yesterday we went shopping and spent most of our time in the produce aisle; I suspect that's the point.
D, ever the cook, made two hearty soups yesterday and is making a duo of other dishes tonight. We'll be well positioned for a healthy week of eating.

We've yet to dial in the exercise portion of the commitment; somehow it's just too cold and wet out there and there are too many temptations inside the house (surfing the net for me, on-line gaming for him). Both of us know the exercise part is key. Somehow I rather cut back on food and sit still rather than move my body and eat more. Choices. Choices.

Visiting Dad

2012-01-08T17:16:00.000-08:00

I try to visit my Dad every day that I'm NOT working. That could be two times a week at my busiest times or 4 times a week on a less busy stretch of time. When my brother and sister are in town, I scarcely (if at all) visit. Once they leave for home, my visits begin again, shorter, maybe an hour but often a bit less. My sibs stay with Dad for hours at a clip and take him out in the car for a drive, to church or they sit together, pouring over old letters and photographs. I think the local offspring (me) paints the background and the far afield children spice up the canvas with color and interest. The marathon vs the sprint, or some such analogy.

All this is O.K. This is a practical and effective use of time. Dad appreciates all of it. He says so.

He'll be 95 in a month. Celebrations are in order. He's looking forward to his birthday and has mentioned it several times.

Today he gave me the Sunday NY Times which is his custom. I sat in the chair opposite him and flipped through the Book Review. I gave him the front section as is his interest. He never pulls the blue plastic wrap off the Sunday paper; he waits for me to arrive, open the paper and then we sit together. Reading.

He's doing amazingly well. For that, I'm grateful.

Really? Who Wears These?

2012-01-07T19:31:00.000-08:00

In the words of my daughter...."Who does that?" Or perhaps, "Who wears that?"

I found these treasures online today while researching shoe styles for an upcoming post on my other blog. The shoes have nothing to do with my post but I thought, Good God, who would wear these? On the other hand, who would wear these?

Better these black shoes than the backless, ankle strap men's shoes. I mean, really....who thinks of this stuff?

Trash, Yard Waste, Recycling and Swapapalooza

2012-01-02T19:59:00.000-08:00

Monday, January 2nd and all is well. The trash, yard waste and recycling trucks all made a stop in front of our house today.

It's so wonderful to unload stuff.

I feel lighter already.

The good news is that most of that stuff was either biodegradable or recyclable; very little trash.

I'm starting in (slowly) on the closets, weeding out more stuff to give away or clothing to trade away at Swapapaloooza. This year I'll finally make to the big event in February. My niece, Jeanne is one of the founding members of what is now in its 4th year. Check out the web site and see what happens when women sort through their closets and trade away what is no longer worn but is still a great piece of clothing. Tremendous idea, Jeanne! I wonder what treasures I'll find this year.

January the First

2012-01-01T22:01:00.000-08:00

The New Year begins!

Just past midnight, the fireworks lit up the chilly night sky to welcome in the start of another year. D and I sipped on champagne and enjoyed the light show from the comfort of a warm living-room. One of these years we'll venture down to the Space Needle for an up-close look. Never have done that in 20 years of New Year's Eves.

The clock flips over to January 2nd soon but not without a tasty meal of black-eyed peas and split pea soup.

Let 2012 begin!

Another Year Slips Away

2011-12-31T19:00:00.000-08:00

Whoa....where did the week between Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve go? Days whiz by so fast, I strain to keep up mentally. The holidays are all but over for another year although the decorations remain, waiting patiently to be wrapped up and packed away.

January is on the way; a favorite month for me because of a sense of starting anew. What will the New Year bring?

Tonight we've no particular plans. Some years, I've turned in before the stroke of midnight but this year feel energetic enough to hang in there to watch the fireworks spew forth from the Space Needle (turning 50 years old this year!). Denny bought a bottle of champagne earlier today unbeknownst to me and has it chilling in the fridge. When I went out this afternoon to do a few errands, I bought a bottle of bubbly Italian Prosecco. Now we've two bottles; which one to drink tonight will be our major decision.

The house is empty; all the visitors from Houston returned home and Laura back to Spokane. The house is quiet. The cat sleeps peacefully. The heater turns on and then turns off. There are few sounds. Quiet.

A View Forward and Back

I don't like resolutions much but I'm hoping for favorable states of being in 2012: good health, energy, creativity, peacefulness, and fulfillment. All are within reach through that window on the future that reflects back at us with its mystery and magic.

Blessings for the New Year, 2012.

Holidays 2011

2011-12-30T19:23:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving through Christmas 2011

Memories of Amahl and the Night Visitors

2011-12-24T15:16:00.000-08:00

This painting, The Adoration of the Magi, by Hieronymus Bosch from the 15th century was apparently a significant inspiration for Gian Menotti, the composer of Amahl and the Night Visitors. The opera in one act was commissioned by NBC in 1951 and was the first opera specifically composed for television.

Amahl and the Night Visitors was a favorite of my Mom, the story as much as the music. I grew up with an old LP record of Amahl that we played at Christmastime. As a young girl, she took me to a screening of the movie in the early 1960's in New York City. How she got tickets, I never bothered to ask. In 2001 we saw a live matinee performance at Benaroya Hall in Seattle. Like Mom, the story is the magic of Amahl.

Place: Near Bethlehem

Time: The first century, just after the birth of Christ

Amahl, a disabled boy who can walk only with a crutch, has a problem with telling tall tales and, occasionally, lying. He is sitting outside playing his shepherd's pipe when his mother calls for him. After much persuasion, he enters the house but his mother does not believe him when he tells her there is an amazing star "as big as a window" outside over their roof.

Later that night, Amahl's mother weeps, praying that Amahl not become a beggar. After bedtime , there is a knock at the door and the mother tells Amahl to go see who it is. He is amazed when he sees three splendidly dressed kings (the Magi). They tell the mother and Amahl they are on a long journey to give gifts to a wondrous child and they would like to rest at their house, to which the mother agrees. The mother goes to fetch firewood, and Amahl seizes the opportunity to speak with the kings. King Balthazar answers Amahl's questions about his life as a king and asks what Amahl does. Amahl responds that he was once a shepherd, but his mother had to sell his sheep. Now, he and his mother will have to go begging. Amahl then talks with King Kaspar, who is childlike, eccentric, and a bit deaf. Kaspar shows Amahl his box of magic stones, beads, and licorice, and offers Amahl some of the candy.The mother returns. Amahl is told to go fetch the neighbors so the kings may be fed and entertained properly.
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After the neighbors have left and the kings are resting, the mother attempts to steal for her son some of the kings' gold that was meant for the Christ Child. She is thwarted by the kings' page. When Amahl wakes to find the page grabbing his mother, he attacks him. Seeing Amahl's weak defense of his mother and understanding the motives for the attempted theft, King Melchior says she may keep the gold as the Holy Child will not need earthly power or wealth to build his kingdom. The mother says she has waited all her life for such a king and asks the kings to take back the gold. She wishes to send a gift but has nothing to send. Amahl, too, has nothing to give the Child except his crutch. When he offers it to the kings, his leg is miraculously healed. With permission from his mother, he leaves with the kings to see the child and give his crutch in thanks for being healed.

(from Wikipedia)

Christmas Blessings!

Guide You Safely Through the Wild

2011-12-22T19:37:00.000-08:00

I'm missing my Mom so much this Christmas; more than I did last year when her death was so new. Funny how the deep longing for her presence is so much more acute this holiday season. My eyes well up quickly, the emotions just below the surface ready to bubble up at any moment.

Listening to Mom's Christmas choir tapes provides a sure-fire on switch for me to let loose the sadness inside me. The other night we listened to a recording of her choir and this piece in particular brought me back to my childhood Christmases. I've never paid attention to the words until now. This is the Shepherd's Farewell by French composer Hector Berlioz from the mid 19th century. I find it fascinating to learn more about things I took for granted in my young life. Decades later this piece haunts me but in a good way. The lyrics of this piece describe the prayer of the shepherds as they bid goodbye to the Holy family escaping into Egypt. (Matthew 2: 13)

This piece IS my mother set to music. She could have written these words, particularly the last two lines: "God go with you, God protect you....(and most of all) guide you safely through the wild". She was the consummate worrier and the one who prayed for our safety constantly. The wild, the perfect metaphor for all the dangers out there, represents all she ever feared in a single word. I know this. I am her daughter and much the same.

L'enfance du Christ

Thou must leave thy lowly dwelling,
The humble crib, the stable bare.
Babe, all mortal babes excelling,
Content our earthly lot to share.
Loving father, loving mother,
Shelter thee with tender care.

Blessed Jesus, we implore thee
With humble hearts and holy fear,
In that land that lies before thee,
Forget not us who linger here.
May the shepherd's lowly calling
Ever to thy heart be dear.

Blessed are ye beyond all measure,
Thou loving father, mother mild;
Guard thee well thy heavenly treasure,
The Prince of peace, the holy child.
God go with you, God protect you,
Guide you safely through the wild.

I miss you, Mom. Guide you safely through the wild.

Prince Delivers Purple Rain in Tacoma

2011-12-20T10:31:00.000-08:00

Two tickets for the Prince Concert scheduled on 12/19/11 at the Tacoma Dome topped my priority list when tickets went online before Thanksgiving. Years back when Prince performed in Seattle on his alleged "last tour", I regretted never having seen him in concert. Determined not to allow another opportunity to wash by me, I bought tickets quickly, without thinking.

The problem was I didn't consider the month of December; always a rugged proposition for me. I've learned not to over-commit this time of year; life jam-packs with other events (birthday, anniversary, holiday parties and.....all that decorating). Turns out the Christmas party at Dad's adult family home was the same evening and a voice in my head kept saying, "Go to the party; you should go to the party". As days marched by, those tickets became a burden more than a highlight. No nibbles came from my Craigslist posting and now I wonder if the reason was that I was meant to go to the concert and enjoy the hell out of it. When I told Dad that I wouldn't be at his party because of concert tickets, he was fine with it.

D was never very enthusiastic about going to see Prince, insisting that Purple Rain was the only hit song he cared for. I gave some thought to going alone but then....on a whim, asked my sister if she would be interested. She had a two word response: "I'm in!" This was 24 hours beforehand and she was at home, in Houston.

Pertinent digression: Back in the 80's, that one-of-a-kind decade, she introduced me to Prince. Although she's forgotten this, it was she who enticed me to his movie, Purple Rain. I've counted on her on more than a few occasions to turn me on to new experiences. I remember thinking the movie was weird but the music grabbed me and I bought the album in short order. Years later the cassette tape, worn down by repeated play was replaced by a CD.I still pull it out when I want to go back to the 80's.

Picture this scenario: My sister arrived at the airport on a flight from Houston at 5:30 PM. Granted her trip here was planned but still....The concert started at 8 PM in Tacoma. Perfect timing. We stashed her luggage in the back end of the car, drove down I5 to the Tacoma Dome, grabbed a bite to eat, slapped in those earplugs (did we really?), and settled in for an experience in sound and light.

The concert was great; the back-up vocalists and musicians amazing. Purple Rain was the crescendo moment and save for the last performance (he did come back out for a short encore after that but what can top PR?). No first act; it was all Prince. He hasn't changed; rather timeless. Slight, nimble, a first rate musician, a performer. He looked great in his long, black do-rag, tunic top over pants, wearing one white and one black shoe (heels of course). He's 53. Time, it would seem, has done little to his physical appearance.

Here he is in 1984. Where were you in 1984? Were you even on this earth? Many in the audience were souls aloft in 1984. Many of us in the audience were much younger in body but I daresay, sporting the same spirit.

"I only want to see you laughing in the purple rain....."

Good Bye to On Call Week

2011-12-19T09:11:00.000-08:00

Ahhhh, sweet Monday. She comes again but none too soon. The past week was rugged. My sign out to the good man taking over for me today started with two admonishments: OMG and LHM. What's LHM you ask? He didn't know either. "Lord have Mercy"; a good southern expression.

This is December 19; eeeeech! I've got so much to do and would much rather write blog posts, watch TV and read.The tree is up but bare. The house is a mess.

My on-call week, the last for the year 2011, logs into the memory bank; soon forgotten as part of the steady stream of sameness with a sprinkle of the unknown and the unique.

This was the week of opposing forces in medicine. By that, I refer to Kidneys vs Heart or Kidneys vs Liver; wicked battles where the requirements for optimal function of one organ stand in direct odds to the requirements of the other. These so called cardio-renal syndromes or hepato-renal syndromes invoke a cringe and dread because good treatments and outcomes are hard to achieve. The best we can hope for, in my opinion, is self-healing. I've never convinced myself that anything I do except "stand by" results in anything other than muddied waters. Sigh. The week was unusually laden with examples of organs at civil war.

Louisa Lung, Harold Heart, Katie Kidney and Larry Liver

"Why can't we all just get along?", I wonder. Something like this, maybe....??

What a Bust Butt Week

2011-12-17T20:21:00.000-08:00

I've been on call all week; there's always one week in December that sucks up 7 days of holiday enjoyment. I suppose I should be glad that I'm off call for Christmas and should look upon these days as the payment for time off around the 25th. I do, of course, but....when there is so much to do and so little energy for the task at hand, the Christmas season turns rugged.

The other night (when it wasn't dripping a cold rain) I told D; "It's time to go out to get a tree. Now. Right now." He willingly accompanied me to the tree lot we've used for the last half dozen years; less than a mile from our house with fresh cut trees from Olalla tree farm in Kitsap County. The lot was quiet, the guy in the trailer half asleep when we pulled up. This was two nights ago.

I told the guy, "Looks like you've got some Christmas trees here." He laughed and told me to take a look. I think I surprised him when I took a two second overview, put my hand on a tree in plain sight, and said, "we'll take this one.". No fuss. Tied to the top of the car, we headed home with the yuletide tree and labored it into the stand along with a bucket of water.

There she (?) stands, lovely and green, unadorned in our living room. A true beauty, this one; almost too pretty to decorate.

The Wreath; This is Progress

2011-12-12T19:03:00.000-08:00

We've a wreath on our front door; this is definitely progress. I'm not sure about the bow. The neighbor's wreath has the bow on the bottom; I sort of like that better. Oh, well. Too tired to change it.