HALLOWE'EN FUN

WHILE WE'RE STRONGLY in favor of tradition, it's kind of fun for each celebration to have a personality of its own. I've not kept a record, so I can't say 1984 was the year we did such-and-such. It would be interesting if we could. 

Am I going to be reading this year on October 31? I doubt it.

Will we be going out to choose pumpkins at our favorite produce stand? No.

Will we be shopping for costumes and decorations? Probably not.

 




Will we
be getting ready to go trick or treating? Not this year.

How about carving a jack-o'-lantern? Possibly. Possibly not.

Might we be horsing around with Hallowe'en tricks? Not likely.

Will we don costumes to greet neighborhood children? No.

Instead of the above,

we'll be doing

what you see below.

Surgery is scheduled

for 7:30 a.m. on

the morning

of 

Hallowe'en.

I've birthed three babies, always in a hospital; had two cataracts removed as an out-patient and the picture above was taken when I had a digestive system malfunction a few years ago. Now it's time to go to the hospital again, for a mastectomy. Not my idea of fun, but a sure way of remembering Hallowe'en, 2011. 

On Hallowe'en the thing you must do

Is pretend that nothing can  frighten you

And if somethin' scares you and you want to run

Just let on like it's Hallowe'en fun.                                                    ~Author Unknown

HOLDING MY BREATH

 MOST OF THE DAY was spent in anticipation. After 3 o'clock, I was to call the radiologist to find out the result of the biopsy that was taken yesterday. I tried practicing mind control, but my thoughts kept boomeranging back to what the outcome would be......a single or double mastectomy?


At 3:01 I punched the phone number into my cell phone only to be told that the woman who answered had nothing to report yet, but that she would check with the doctor and get back to me. Minutes ticked by and the only time the phone rang, no one was on the other end (do you get a lot of "ghost calls" like that? We do.)


Three quarters of an hour later, I dared to call again and was put on hold for what seemed a long time before a voice came on to tell me that the mass in the right breast was benign. YES!


Which leaves us with the left breast to donate to science or whatever they do and it's time to go forward and select a date for surgery. 


Meanwhile, Mr. Bob has been experiencing low blood pressure with a resulting further lack of energy. The other morning as he was dressing, I looked over and saw that he'd stopped to take a nap while putting on his trousers. 

When we get  
downstairs he's quite animated, acting like his former self as evidenced by this picture taken with Diana, one of the dining room hostesses.


        He's looking forward to Halloween. 
                         Are you?

THE SHIRT AND THE CELLO

I'VE BLOGGED for years now, but the bulk of the early entries were lost through corruption. I usually didn't bother to print out and my back-up technician, although much loved, wasn't always dependable (wink, wink). 

       A very few entries survived and I'm using one today. The stories actually date back to 1998 even though that was before I discovered the world of keeping a web log.

        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There I was, winding down my day. I had bought a new shirt that day. Periwinkle blue. Linen. On arriving home, I tried it on over what I was wearing and it was so comfortable that I just left it on. When it came time for bed, the shirt was the first article of clothing I removed. Typically female, I checked the care tag, just to see what lay in store and noticed a twin tag sewed in next to the one I was inspecting. The second tag had two lines of tiny print on it:

    I am abundance.

    I am supplied.

What do you think about that? I want all my clothes to have little tags like that sewn into them. It made me feel happy, and abundant and well supplied.

I was  reminded of something else. Last night our Alaskan, 13 year old grandson played in an all schools orchestra program. He has cerebral palsy and is developmentally delayed and is being mainstreamed. Last year his teacher was eager for him to take up an instrument. Somehow a cello was  chosen. But in the middle of the winter, the teacher moved, leaving no one in her place who  had the slightest idea of how to carry on with Justin's musical training. But at this point, Justin would not be talked into discontinuing the "playing" of the cello. 

Our daughter said that he kept perfect time with the bow; his ability to finger the cello strings was questionable, but she obviously felt a huge pride that he had been able to perform with high school, middle school and elementary students in a combined effort. We sent our congratulations to Justin who was tickled to hear how proud his Granny & Papa were, and he said to his mom, "Let's not tell them about the disability, okay?" Okay, Justin, dear heart.........may you always feel abundant, supplied and very happy.


             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"The unread story is not a story; it is little black marks on wood pulp. The reader, reading it, makes it live: a live thing, a story."
                                                                                          Ursula K. Le Guin

ONGOING SAGA

It's dark at 5:30 a.m. Add to that a bank of fog and a reluctance to get out of a warm bed to go to the hospital for a dreaded test and you won't find  a very willing player. But Tim had agreed to come get me and Bob wanted to ride along so I had to be a good sport.


I was sent to Huntington Hospital in nearby Pasadena because their equipment for breast diseases is the most advanced in the area. After they registered me, we sat in the waiting area longer than anyone expected because the officiating nurse was detained by the fog.

Tim has a new iPhone and we played with that as we waited to proceed. It does things by voice command, sometimes giving amusing answers. It helped to pass the time. 

When my turn came, I told all the medical people that if there was ever a time to bring forth their very best bedside manner, this was it. They complied nicely. The nurses and the doctor who was to do the MRI and biopsy were attentive, informative and gentle. Because we have some male readers I'm going to spare you some of the details, saying only that the position was uncomfortable and the MRI, itself, completely different than the previous one I had. This time I was squeezed so flat (lying face down, arms extended above my head) that I was pressed above and below firmly enough that I couldn't manage a deep breath. Once in the tube and abandoned by all living beings, panic threatened, but I managed not to call out, tempting as it was.

At long, long last I could hear voices as they came back to pull me out of the tube in the manner of taking a pizza from a brick oven and then the biopsy began. I kept saying to myself, "Don't look, don't even let yourself think, halt the imagination". It was a lot like saying "Don't think of a pink elephant". Nearly impossible.


Then back into the tight tube and everyone scattered out of the room to escape the deadly radiation and left me there. Several minutes later back they came saying it was over, but the worst lay ahead. As the bed was lowered from the MRI tube the most excruciating pain caused me to say, "Stop! Stop!" My fingers were being crushed between the two pieces of equipment. Looking back on it, it's kind of interesting to think that a doctor could be made to shout, "OMG! " and other adrenalized  noises, including, "That's like shutting her fingers in a car door" and "We'll need to take x-rays". "Oh, my gosh, they're smashed".


Sure enough the pain in my hand made me totally forget any discomfort in my other regions and they did take 3 x-rays and the tears rolled silently down my face and they said I was brave and patted me a lot and gave me a drink of juice.


I think it might have crossed my mind briefly that it was good blogging material. 


There's more to come in this ordeal. I'm used to getting through something like today's experience and being able to say, "There! I did it. That's done", but in this venture it's just one thing after another after another.

"At my age, the radiation will probably do me good".
                                                                        Norman Wisdom

GIFT CARD

WHO DOESN'T LIKE presents? (anyone besides Mr. Bob?) The gift wrapping usually presents a challenge, for we live with no flat space on which to work and the wrapping supplies aren't exactly all stored in the same place. I'm one of those recyclers who has been known to save ribbon and iron tissue paper........shades of the Great Depression. 

The Schultzes excel in gift wrapping.

 












I'm so full of ideas and so lacking in follow through that it's pathetic. In my ragged red book of quotations is a poem that I found in one of the women's magazines eons ago. I've always meant to print it up (even before computers came into our lives......how easy it would be to do now) to include in every present I give. But have I done it? No. It's a tad awkward because the author's name is "Jane Merchant" and with my name and retail background it would probably come across as a bit twee.

I  share it with you herewith.

GIFT CARD

Whatever gift I give to you is yours.

Give it away, or keep it, as you will.

The special books, the china miniatures,

The little birds carved with beguiling skill.....

I shall not peer about your house to see

If they are dusted well and duly shown

To visitors as treasured things may be.

I made a gift of them and not a loan.

I know that even gifts sincerely loved,

Both for themselves and for the giver's sake,

Have in life's many changes often proved

A burden; be relieved of the mistake

Of thinking you must keep a gift I give

(Except my love) as long as you shall live.

                     Jane Merchant

One Mother's Day weekend we, along with Tim,
went out of town.
In lieu of paper gift wrap, Tim presented me with gifts
wrapped in hotel hand towels. I loved it!

~~~~~~~~~~~
"You can give without loving,
but you can never love without giving."
        Author Unknown

TULIPS

I'VE KNOWN PEOPLE who say that cut flowers remind them of funerals. Maybe it all has to do with childhood and I can't even recall the first funeral I attended, but I don't associate flowers with it particularly. Thank goodness!




When we meet for lunch,  Susie usually brings me a bouquet from her bountiful garden. She has a knack, not only for gardening, but for putting form and color together in informal arrangements that please me no end. Thank you, dear Susie!

Once in a while I yearn for a clutch of tulips. I rely on Trader Joe's to supply me when the urge strikes. There's something about the way that tulips rearrange themselves, seemingly during the night, that fascinates me. And did you know that they continue to grow once in water? Therefore, the arrangement gets taller and when the flowers droop to one side, I'm in heaven.

Now about the other Tulip......the Bedlington Terrier that's in Tim's life. It's an interesting situation in that the dog is owned by a friend who lives in an apartment that doesn't allow animals, so Tulip lives with Tim at night, but is picked up by the friend on his way to work at his dog grooming establishment. When Tim walks Tulip, they are continuously stopped by people who ask about the breed, never before having seen a Bedlington which for all the world, does resemble a little sheep. 


Forty-nine years ago, while Tim was in utero, we bought a full-grown Bedlington. Buddy came from a family of adults and didn't much like sharing attention with our children. He lasted three weeks in our household until we were forced to admit that it wasn't a good match and returned him to his former owners. I don't think we even asked for a refund, in the shame of our failure.

In the years she's lived with Tim, Tulip has barked only once. She's a most unusual being (don't we all say or at least think that about our children?) For instance, at Christmastime, Tim puts antique toys under his tree. To the side is a basket with Tulip's toys in it. With no training whatsoever, Tulip helps herself to her playthings, but never touches the other treasures. We're not altogether sure whether it's brilliance or possibly the other end of the intelligence scale. No matter, we love Tulip for who she is.


The poignant part is that Tim's friend has just purchased a condo. It's a place that allows animals.

In other words, Tulip will be going away. It makes me sad to think about it.

“Lamott is an unstoppable storyteller, whether writing about church-going with a sullen adolescent or reconciling with her late mother. She rages against the Iraq war but takes comfort from her sage-like Presbyterian minister, who says faith is not about how we feel; it is about how we live. ... Rule 1: We are all family. Rule 2: You reap exactly what you sow, that is, you cannot grow tulips from zucchini seeds. Rule 3: Try to breathe every few minutes or so. Rule 4: It helps beyond words to plant bulbs in the dark of winter. Rule 5: It is immoral to hit first.”

Anne Lamott

BITTER MEDICINE

YOU COULDN'T HAVE ASKED for a more beautiful dawn. I'm glad no one's here to see me staggering around in my nightgown on mornings like that, raising the sun blind and fumbling with my camera, hurrying before the color changes. Just minutes later the sky had changed to this:

Let me set the domestic medical scene. A couple of months ago the oncologist prescribed potassium for Mr. Bob, to be taken twice a day. Some of you may know......we didn't.......that particular pill is huge. I think it could be termed a "horse pill". And the taking of it included a lot of complaining from Him Who Rarely Complains about it scraping his throat. 

On one of my outings to the pharmacy, I spotted a pill cutter and purchased it as a little surprise for him. But He Who Doesn't Like Gifts used it once and put it aside as useless and the complaining continued. 

The doctor suggested putting the pill in applesauce and gulping it down by that method. There was no grousing for a while which was a relief to both of us, but then it began again. We had to play a game of twenty questions before it came to light that he had run out of applesauce. He Who Doesn't Believe in Back Up Supplies had neglected to tell Her Who Is in Charge of Groceries that more applesauce should be on the next shopping list.


Last Thursday I asked the gerontologist who visits the Manor weekly if potassium could be taken in liquid form. The answer was affirmative, so yesterday we went to the Tea Room, where juice is on tap every day. We were armed with the bottle of Potassium Chloride, a tablespoon (Pray tell, what do oldsters without computers do to find out what 20 MCG (15 ML) is as a dosage?)


I recorded the proceeding which ended with a shudder.

“It should be the function of medicine to help people die young as late in life as possible”

Ernst Wynder