fabrics…

Well, dear friends, all the fabrics are now on their respective shelves in the studio.  Not surprisingly, there is a predominance of greens, reds and oranges.  The greens are still folded nicely…. obviously not shuffled through like the others.  Only about three pieces of actual yellow.  Interesting, would you say?  Especially since yellow is supposedly one of my favorite colors.  The dupioni silks are all askew, not organized by color right now; the brocades are in a similar state.  At least they are all in the same room!

 

During this reorganization, I have finally sorted the beads from the buttons, the embroidery thread from the scissors, the beads from the stones.  I like the order….. I like the flow from one color to another when looking at the fabrics.  I even sort the threads in rainbow order.  Is this a compulsion?  I even love the baskets that all the items are sitting in…. waiting to be used.  If I never bought another piece of fabric or another spool of thread or another bead, I would have enough to keep me busy for the next twenty or thirty years!

 

I have also been practicing the oboe lately.  Have a gig on Friday night, and only just noticed that one of the pieces that was written is dedicated to me.  Wow!  It is amazing just how good it is to play in preparation for gigs at B’nai Israel especially with the getting music before the same day as the rehearsal.  Of course it follows that the most taxing piece is followed immediately by the another of the same ilk.  I will ask for at least 10 to 15 seconds of time to breathe between pieces.  If the pianist starts, he’ll just have to vamp until I get ready.

 

The little chest of drawers from my childhood is in my possession and is in the studio with the thread holder atop it.  I am so fortunate.  I am trying to sort out just what brings all this emotion up inside me at what seems to be regular intervals.  The only memory I have of this feeling is from when I was away from the man I now know was the love of my life.  Will there ever be another?  Just curious.  No anxiety here, just a bunch of thoughts and a reality check.

 

I was just thinking that I feel quite comfortable right here, right now, even though my toes are cold; there are dishes in the sink, and a mound of old sheets, comforter and bedspread behind me on the floor, and a disheveled bed in the next room (into which I will bound soon).  

 

I’m afraid to stop writing.  I’ll be on my own then.  What will that bring?  Night all…..

 

Very thankful for friends right now.

 

Later………..

replacement activity…

Oh, goodness gracious heavenly days.  I’ve found a replacement for pms (or should that read the sex I am looking for).  Projecting projects.  You will understand if, and only if you find yourself having bought/buying items for projects you have had in your brain for some time now, and desperately need them so that you can start all of them this afternoon.  What bleary-eyed woman thought that one up?  

 

The last thing I need in this house is more crap.  Not only that, the silliest of all things is that I have a majority of these things somewhere in a storage room down the road about 2 miles.  Now, it has been waking me up these last few nights.  Last night it was between 2:30 and 4:30am.  What decisions did I come up with?  See below, please:

1.  Finish the work in the fabric room that was started over a week ago (did a majority of it yesterday and this morning starting at 2:30am);

2.  Bring the pottery materials and glazes in from the studio outside, and convert the studio into a storage place for now so that I can bring home the stuff home from that storage unit down the road.  It is costing me a bundle, and since I’m doing most of the pottery and other projects indoors right now (in the middle of the night!), I can safely convert the garage conversion into a very nice 10′ x 10′ storage unit right here, and have it included on my monthly rent!

3.  Make better use of a couple pieces of furniture still in storage…. bookshelves upon which I can foist my books, a writing desk (not appropriate for computer work), a dresser for the bedroom (eliminating those three little dumb chests I have purchased (lovely, but stupidly small), and Grandma’s art and sewing table for my art room.  

 

I can see this will be a work-in-progress for a while, but the main challenge is to bring into the house exactly what I need for the pottery, then regroup everything else in order to bring home stored stuff to reassess box by box.  Maybe by spring I’ll have it organized so that Galen and Sam can do the garage sale they have been looking forward to for over a year.  Well, it might be just Galen.  

 

I find it quite fascinating how I spent two years going through the accumulated crap of 30 years to find myself with stuff in storage.  Yick.  

 

Which brings me to another subject…. pottery.  I can’t seem to stop making the large pots.  Since the summer of 2008 in Tahlequah (haven’t thought of that place for ages!), the large pot is the thing, except for about 20 small seed pots I did in an effort to change the format of the pottery.  Just is not the same, but glazing takes nearly as long as I still have an obsession with dots and lines, and now squares!

 

I can now see why my brain has difficulty stopping during the relegated sleep time.  And now the man issue has raised its ugly head again.  I have a couple of people who are demanding reasons for my bowing out of their lives.  Let me deal with that later today so that I will be able to get on with life.  I am finding myself trying to be unattractive on all counts.  That’s not a good tactic in the best of times.  Doing the stealth… going to stores where I am sure I will see no one I know….. avoiding emails and phone calls.  Looking like a grunge bucket at all hours of the day and night is a regular practice between social engagements (hah!).

 

Ok, this is not going well.  And it all started with yesterday’s buying spree. Half the night, I was up trying to decide whether to humiliate myself today and return the dry goods I got for the little sale I’m doing with a couple of colleagues at work.  We did quite well last year.  This year, I’m doing something out of the ordinary… making dream catchers and scarves (did scarves last year – got the yarn for $1 a skein – quite successful).  So between the heaving and hoeing of the stuff to the new indoor studio, I’ll be taking my knitting needles with me… knitting at stop lights and in grocery store lines, while waiting for friends at MD appointments and for them while I wait to give them rides to places unknown to me.  

 

Wow.  I’m not going to re-read this.  It is a jumble.  I need to be alone, duckies.  Just finished a bit of tai chi practice — class again tomorrow at 9.  Then on to the mom writing project.  Today the small goal is to complete restructure of the fabric studio, spend an hour at the storage unit writing down exactly what’s still there, and maybe getting to the glazes and pottery materials outside.

 

Now….. to the batmobile, Robin.  Muck out the front room and return to semblance of order before noon!

 

I like it when I give myself an order.  Sounds silly.  Decided to keep all the stuff I got yesterday.  Doesn’t amount to much.  Geez, it’s Sunday already.  Well, I do have one more day off — never work on Mondays at pt job.  Then eye doc appointment on Tuesday morning.  Maybe I’ll never have to go back to work!

 

a bientot…

 

et bonjour a mon ami d’angleterre.

gratitude and Monet

I have just finished watching the BBC series on The Impressionists.  It is a glorious, sad rendition of the life and times of several Impressionists who all lived in Paris, by various manner of means in the late 1800s. Fascinating for one who knows close to nothing about the artists and art of the period.  I was drawn to Sarah Woods’ writing…. by omission in many cases, leaving one to deduce exactly what one wanted.  The unspoken, unwritten, what we all recognize as our own personal manifestations of the era.  Still, a decent representation…one approachable by me, the unknowing.  

 

It has spurred me on to move the computer to the back bedroom on to the new little desk I got for it.  Now I shall refer to it as the Mac in the corner.  It is placed so that I can stare out the back window into the garden without obliterating my view when I work on fabric, and also keeping the fabrics out of the direct sunlight.  I can be alone here.  The neighbors are silent, as are their 3 chihuahuas.  There is no view of the clay house out back, so I do not feel compelled to sink my hands into the mud.  Each of my pursuits is a lone pursuit now, like different strands of hair, or divergent offshoots of a large, river filled with boulders causing rapids of unknown proportion.  

 

I shall be the Cezanne of the films, creating for myself.  When I am in my favorite medium of the day, I have no “market” in mind.  I do stop regularly to delve into another medium, and another, and another.  By spring, this back garden will abound with color.  I am determined.  The question is shall I plant a tree in that space in mid-garden, or shall I install a piece of art… perhaps a gazing ball on a stand?  

 

The gratitude?

 

Yesterday, for the morning, I diddled for a while, then filled a basket with wines, cheeses, crackers, nuts, fruits and a small plant for the hosts of my afternoon repast and sharing time.  It was, indeed, the most memorable day I have ever experienced in my adult life.  Of course there are moments such as the birth of my son, and a couple of others…. but this stands out above all.  A smallish gathering, a friend, her husband and two children, another couple and their three children, the brother and sister-in-law of the host, the hostess’ uncle and me.  A more compatible group I have never experienced.  

 

I loved each and every one of them.  Such self-assured and beautiful children made me reflect on my own child who is now 23, nearly 24 years old.  The laughter that ensued throughout the day and into the evening was generous, all-inclusive, and filled me with joy and witty comments of my own.  I felt free to say what I wanted, when I wanted.  I felt free to be the me whom I have always wanted to be.  Is this a new deal, FDR?  What fingers have snapped and found me in an ecstatic state without mind-altering chemicals or plants?  Perhaps I have died and come back as a self-satisfied and grateful woman… a woman who no longer has to give as a means of happiness….. a woman who no longer needs a man for completion…. a woman still filled with emotion, and as grateful as she could possibly imagine.  No, I haven’t died.  This has always been here.  I have just been unable to be the woman I had hidden inside all those years.  I believe she existed pre-marriage, then allowed it to be beaten out of her psychologically.  At least organizations now include psychological abuse as a most severe form of abuse without the physical marks of damage.

 

I digress, as usual.

 

Ok.  So what I’m after is peaceful coexistence.  I still believe in it.  Even moreso after yesterday.  Met a lovely man at the dinner yesterday with whom I have had a written communication since March 2007.  He could not have fitted his writing more than he did, other than the fact that he was freakishly witty in an inclusive way, almost as if the writing for the duo of us had been written and rehearsed repeatedly.  Now that was amusing.  That has nothing to do with peaceful coexistence.

 

Eternal gratitude to my hosts for a magnificent day.  I am euphoric already.  

 

Must take Netfleas (plural of Netflix – one movie) to the post office before noon thirty.  Then off to buy wire for using on one of the clay pieces, and to the clay store for pink glaze.  PINK GLAZE?

Yes, that was me talking.  The pink room is taking shape.  I love it.  It is truly mine.

 

I’ll be back.

 

Later……………..

hysterectomy + 8 weeks and 1 day

Ok dearies, I went back to work today.  Got there just after 7:30am.  Clocked in just like at Micky Dee’s.  If someone is going to abuse the system, dear UC Regents, clocking in ain’t goin’ to stop ‘em.  Proceeded up to the second floor by elevator.  Saw the exec director at a distance.  He waved; I reciprocated.  It was as though I had been there all those eight weeks, and nary an eye had been blinked.  Kinda creepy, actually.

 

I thought I was fully recovered.  By 9am I was totally exhausted and ready for a break.  Had to keep getting up from my workspace to wake myself up.  Then realized that being under those fluorescent lights was really killer.  Only took about an hour before eyes were gritty and hurting.  Then I picked up the mouse by the computer.  Forgot I had taken my keyboard without keypad and my cordless mouse home with me at the end of September.  Within a few minutes, my whole arm ached.  What does this have to do with surgery?  A lot.  I had lots of questions asked of me, many from women who are looking forward to a similar surgery.  Several looked down at my flabbier than usual bit below the belly button that used to contain the offending fibroids and uterus.  A couple of doctors, one MD and one PhD greeted me with great aplomb.  The phud, a psychologist, told me that no one quite filled that space where I was sitting, and that I had been sorely missed.  The mud, a pediatrician, saw me in the little cafe and blithely asked how my trip to Tahiti trip had been.  What fun it is to ride…..

 

Having a few strained tweaking bits down below.  Is it my new laundry soap I used on my undies?  Is it that the laundromat had no hot water for the laundry on Monday?  I have no brain right now.  I am typing on autopilot.  I walk faster, I jump higher, my knees are beginning to move again.  I’ll get back to Kate’s exercises.  It could still be the bookshelf move from the other day, and the lifting of all those bags of fabric.  Plan is to complete the move tomorrow night after pottery…. or maybe before.

 

When I get the stuff moved back into the studio, I can resume living in the living room, rather than having an obstacle course of bookshelves and big black bags in there.  Last night in the dark, my right toes crashed into a ceramic cup filled with quarters.  The cup WAS on the floor, due to the craposity of the whole place.  

 

Someone asked me if I would ever finish it.  I laughed.  He also thought it was quite interesting that I had stuffed the extraneous stuff (stuffed the stuff?) into one room rather than having it all over the house.  My contention is that if stuff has a place, you don’t have to stuff it.  Moving right along.

 

My body feels different.  The mound of Venus has a different shape.  The littler mound inside the bigger mound feels different.  The Os are totally different.  My moans and groans are different.  Too much info for you?  Perhaps I should put these bits in a different color.  Unless it is going to hit me like a ton of bricks sooner or later, I feel no less a woman since my uterus and cervix are gone.  And now, I must not ignore the facts any longer, for sleep is overcoming me.  And yes, the libido is about where it was pre-surg.  I am so very sleepy.  I will write more later after I have re-read this, and taken a brief nap.  Feet up on bed in 15 seconds or less.

 

What would I have done differently?  

Would have gone outside and walked around or up and down the block sooner.

Would not have lifted so many things so soon.

Would have taken on a smaller project.

Would have told visitors to leave sooner.

 

I have found someone who makes me laugh like a fool.  But who’s the fool?  He makes my son laugh.  He is hilarity personified.  There are those who are miserly and are a misery and who disappreciate (made that one up) his wit and genuineness.  We have had some good words between us.  I believe that it is possible to peacefully coexist with a person with whom you have worked out crucial details.  He believes that he will never have a successful relationship, and will (unbeknownst to him) most likely sabotage a good ‘un when it comes along, since that’s what he’s done in the past.

 

Damn.  Laughter is good.

 

Geez, shiny object, shiny object, big dog in truck over there…… I’m still in the kitchen.  Loving life again At least he knows that I vacillate.  However, periods between vacillation are growing.

 

Rest.

Who wrote West Side Story?

I thought I would get this out of my craw by today…. was given a comp ticket to the River City Theater Company’s kid acted and sung production of West Side Story.  As the venue was 5 minutes from my house, I went on Friday night.  Nice production, some antiquated and hackneyed — but some very innovative choreography by Sacramento’s own Ron Cisneros.  The voices of the children (13-18) were good.  It was so pointedly obvious to me why each was picked for his/her part as singer/dancer/speaker.  I wish I could tell you specifics, but forgot to pick up my program from the seat next to me as I left at the end of the performance.  

 

Maria and Anton (Tony) were special.  I’m not sure about the microphones near the mouths of each singer. When you are not in charge of what comes out of your mouth, with every drop of sound being completely governed by the sound person………. subtleties are lost — with one exception.  You can whisper a melody, and still be heard by the masses.  Give me a natural voice, and let me hear the singer’s power and subtlety. With the technology, one can never tell if the singers are actually singing right then.  I mean, if a conductor can follow a piano soloist who is sitting behind him/her, why can’t a conductor follow/anticipate a recorded voice?

 

As to the singers/actors, one of my favorites was an excellent all-rounder, but who did not get the part (in my estimation) of Tony because he was too short.  Maria – whose top notes were mainly in tune – is a tall drink of water.  This young talented man would have come up to her shoulder.  That doesn’t do for stage. Thank goodness it doesn’t have to be that way in real life any more.  A former friend of mine actually became skweejawed… a granny word… whenever she walked next to her then husband.  Whichever side he was on became a severely lowered shoulder for her, since he was close to 3 or so inches shorter than she. I have known one man who is a bit shorter than I – or perhaps the same height.  It is different.  That is a moot point (or as my former boss used to say, “a mute point”) for we rarely spent any time standing or dancing next to each other.

 

I get so easily distracted.

 

Now back briefly to this production.  The ticket was given to me by a friend who is a smoker.  I never knew he was a smoker until one time he excused himself to go get something in the car.  Hmmm….. 

No smell of the dastardly leaf.  But on Friday night, when he and his new woman came downstairs from the balcony (she couldn’t see the faces of the actors) it became apparent that SHE was an offender.  It took about 10 minutes of them sitting in front of me for the stink to permeate my lungs so much that it was either the exit door for me, or arrival of the much anticipated applause after a slow, meaningful song. Luckily the applause came first, whereupon I coughed, snorted, wretched, and felt much better.  That being said, part of the point was that while an audience member, there are countless distractions, none less than watching them fondle each other as the show progressed.

 

Off that.  Now on to the question at the top of this page:  Who wrote this stuff?

 

We all know it was Lenny Bernstein and Stevie Sondheim.  No one in the audience knew.  How could they? There was no mention in the entire program that was filled with paid “good luck” pieces with photos attached.  Rather like a yearbook.  And flowers available in the front lobby for your best mate, or your son or daughter.  And the oh-so-subtle endings of many of Bernstein’s songs are lost in applause for the singers.  What about the orchestra?  Slogging away at this incredibly difficult score.  Not a by your leave, a gesture by the leading lady or man at the end of the piece so that the conductor can wave the magic baton in the air to receive acknowledgement.  

 

No, I’m not in a bad mood.  These are things that have been on the horizon for years.  Ok.  I like ritual…. not applauding between movements in a symphony, no announcements before a concert, play or musical. Many of you can say to me, “Well, you talk through your recitals!”  Yes, I do.  That’s my prerogative.  But those are not music for the masses.  Good lord, I even wore stockings and shoes the other night.  I had even pulled a dress out of my closet, but decided against it.  And yes, I am as casual as they come; rarely get more dressed up than stockings and shoes with my outfit.

 

Look where this has taken me.  Round and about, putting off the moment when I have to go in and clean up my former bedroom this morning so that the space will receive the fabric studio contents that are still in the living room.  Confused?  If answer is yes, I have achieved my goal.  If not, read another few entries in this blog and you will be.

 

Will we one day go into a concert hall and sit down to hear “The Fourth Piano Concerto,” or “Rodeo,” or “The Rite of Spring”?

 

I am off the subject yet again.  Means my mind has moved on.

 

Later……………….

to bed, to bed….

said sleepy head.  For years, I thought the real rhyme was:

To bed, To bed

said Sleepyhead,

Oh no, Oh no

said Peggy Jo.

 

My mother took her poetic license.  There are varying versions, but here is one:

“To bed, to bed,”

said Sleep Head.

“Tarry a while,’

said Slow.

“Put on the pan,”

said Greedy Nan,

“we’ll sup before we go.”

 

What’s that in aid of?  Who knows?  Perhaps another thing I can blame on my mom.  Nope.  Past that.  

 

Having some hot tea with milk right now.  Seemed to work last night. In bed by 10pm, slept for four hours! Next session was two hours or so, but up again at 5am ready to work.  Moved the bed into the new bedroom, so I WILL be sleeping in there tonight.  Already took a brief nap there this afternoon after getting home from a quick trip to the foothills east of here in Auburn.  Spent a few quiet minutes alone with the environment.  I’ll do that more often starting now.  

 

I had moved the fabric from the studio to the front room…. onto the couch.  Had to bag it up today, because I was afraid that the couch’s seat and back pillows would suffer if I left it much longer.  So, now there are 10 or so big black bags filled with fabric, and half of one shelf full – all in the living room. That stuff is mighty heavy.  The contents of those bags must now be sorted and put back on shelves in the “new” studio.

 

Time to get ready for bed, dearies.  I must say, that bed was heavy.  I know that tomorrow I’ll feel the effects of having done the move by myself.  In fact, I can feel it in the knees already.

 

By the way, I absolutely adore my new bedroom.  It fascinates me…. the colors, the arrangement, the sensuality of the colors.  It’s mine, all mine.  I did it for me!

 

later…………..

peace in the valley….

Why did that song come to mind as I sat down in front of the computer today?

There is a thick fog covering the Sacramento Valley today…. and I’m feeling at peace once again after a very long time.  In my usual search for a musical example, I found Elvis’ version.  Mind you, I am neither an Elvis fan nor am I in any way a true believer, but EP had me sitting down, and feeling it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RY_tX4N220I

Nearly finished bringing all the contents of the fabric studio into the living room.  Going to bed soon so that I will have time in the early morning (after 6am) to transfer the rest of the stuff and take the bed into what was the studio.  The rest is a piece of cake.  I will, of course, take some time to sort the fabrics that get so easily out of their color sortings, and also to remind my of exactly what’s there.  I will do that in the living room on one of the studio tables, then transfer them as and when I see fit.

 

The leader of the band that was interested in me doing some leads with them was supposed to call last night, then put it off ’til tonight.  It’s 9:43pm and still no phone call.  Not a good way to start off a business arrangement, what?  Yesterday, I decided that I would rather do a group with other like-minded singer/instrumentalists than be the upfront lead with three GUYS!

 

We’ll see.

 

Good news.  Sleeping better.  Of course I had a cup of English tea a bit ago which should either keep me awake all night or lull me right to sleep,  I’ll be in bed by 10 to test the waters.

 

I’m enjoying the thought of decorating with these lovely rose pink and tangerine colors.  Means I can put up my very favorite fabric piece, “Pink” in my bedroom, something I’ve always wanted to do.  I love the curtains I found, and even found some pink linen napkins given to me by someone quite a while ago.  I’ll use them for something!  I’ll put the red patchwork and sheers in the new studio in the morning.  

 

This all makes me smile more than a wee bit!

 

Only ten minutes to get all the lights turned off and get into bed for the Winken, Blinken and Nod story that will resonate in my brain tonight.  Also having visions of what may happen on Thursday next when I get to be a cog in the wheel of the Thanksgiving with friends of which I have always dreamed.

 

Planning to sleep in the new bedroom tomorrow night.  Got offered a ticket for West Side Story for Friday night, again with people I hardly know.  Looking forward to that, too.

 

Night all.

 

later……………..

hysterectomy + 7 weeks

Greetings once again my dears.  I am sitting comfortably having awakened again at an untimely hour.  There is good reason this time however.  I went to my bedroom to contemplate the move of the contents of that room to the front bedroom, thus making a major change from functional bedroom to receive all comers, to my own boudoir — a place for me…. for me to luxuriate — and sleep.  Leaned over on to the bed, and promptly fell asleep at 7pm.  Awoke at 9, turned over and returned to sleep, awaking again at 11:30 or so in time to go to the bathroom and turn off the lights.  Up again at 1:30am, lay in bed until 2:30, then came here to write this.  I am just at the beginning of how to process these odd awake times.

 

Tomorrow I will do a thorough cleansing of the house and gardens that include the clay studio. The fabric studio will take over the back bedroom space.  Much lighter and brighter, and looks out on to the back garden – my favorite spot on this tiny property.  Noticed today that the little maple is losing all its lovely little leaves in preparation for next year’s crop.  By cleansing, I mean using the cedar and sage I brought back from Taos summer 2007.  I’ll also move the computer and little television into the fabric studio. It will be a very good thing.

 

Oh yes, the surgery.  I do get distracted by shiny objects!  I sit here no longer full of dread regarding return to my part-time work.  As I mentioned before, I was told that the department is downsizing, and that my job is one slated for the boot.  Could come as soon as January…. or perhaps a change will be made within the department.  That will be left to my supervisor.  At any rate, the human resources department will be left to toy with me if and when I get the sack.  They have a wonderful return policy where they assist all who have been affected by layoffs by being rather like a job agent.  Of course, priority is given to the returnees.

 

And she’s off on yet another tangent………. Now, the surgery took place on September 29th for those of you who are new to these pages.  In what seemed a painless, effortless couple of hours, I gave up my uterus, my cervix, and a bevy of uterine fibroids that had been plaguing me for years.  The gyn/surgeon said that the largest was about the size of a softball.  Yikes!  You know what?  I do not miss any of those things that were “ectomied.”  The surgery was first thing in the morning on Monday after the gyn/surgeon returned from a week’s holiday on the east coast with his family.  He was as fresh as a daisy, and ready to get to work.  After chats with everyone from the nurse, surgeon, resident (assisting in surgery), anaesthesiologist, nurse in pre-op, and I’m sure several others, they wheeled me into the operating room. There, I heard the last words I would hear for a couple of hours.  The words?  The knock out doc said, “I’m going to give you a little………..”  That’s all I remember.

 

The incision (yes there was an incision) is about .75″ above the bikini line and goes right to left (or perhaps left to right) about 7″ or so.  Not a huge incision.  And as you’ll remember, they cut up the offending masses and took them out in pieces.  

 

Now if you’re worried about pain, I must admit there was a bit.  When the resident took off the packed dressing the day after the surgery, and pulled out some of the hairs surrounding as well as the skin above, I did a mini shriek so I wouldn’t alarm the neighboring two women.  Brought tears to my eyes.  Imagine my surprise when I realized that only tape was holding my guts in.  Well, that is actually a slight untruth.  There were layers of sutures below that tape on the surface…. all done with dissolving thread (is it called thread?). Doc said that the skin starts to grow back together in 24 hours, so tape was all that was needed on the surface.  I was so frightened that I actually followed directions and didn’t pull off the vertically placed tape, but left it to fall off over the first week or so after surgery.  Then came the fun part — getting rid of the little residual bits of adhesive from the tape.  

 

I was thankful that the directions also included the ok to take a shower as soon as I got home.  Oh yes, one more thing about pain.  The hospital bed was increasingly annoying, especially since it made noises like an airplane about to take off.  Found out on the second day that it was a sort of massaging deal so there are no bedsores of old.  I found the movement quite annoying especially on the day of surgery since I still had a catheter in, and was not allowed out of bed except to sit up and munch meals.  Of course, after the cath was removed (hurrah!) I had the run of the place, as long as someone knew where I was.  It is so interesting how the nurses push the computers around so that they can have up to the minute reports on just how you are faring, and be sure to give you scheduled meds.

 

That’s another thing.  Medications.  All of the hard stuff they tried to ply me with, including the stuff from the dripping bag (yet another electronically controlled device these days) made me quite nauseous.  When I left on the Wednesday morning following Monday surgery I had a prescription or something or other of which I took one and never another.  I think that was vicodin.  The next day, I had no one to go to the store to get me tylenol, so I took nothing, and felt much better.  No nausea.  No feeling that I was going to upchuck any minute.  When I finally got the tylenol, I never opened it.  It is sitting in a bag of meds I put away and never touched.  Sigh.

 

Now, another good thing with technology of today (and brains of some doctor – a woman, I’m sure) there is no more cutting through muscles.  There is merely a small incision, and below that, the muscles are prized apart so that after the surgery, all they have to do is go back to their old places.  Now that is a true boon to us who have to go through this ordeal.

 

There are times when I feel that with the space created by the removal of the uterus and fibroids, all of my internal organs below the diaphragm have resettled into their places a bit lower than they have been for many years.  I can sometimes hear them saying, “Oh dear, where am I?  I wasn’t down here yesterday.”  Too freaking bad, little ones.

 

Terms of enjoyment:

no desperate moments while walking down the hall or down the street, worrying that the gush I just felt was more blood oozing its way out;

going to the bathroom and not finding blood on a pad attached to my underwear or a glob of clotted red stuff in the toilet;

sleeping with NO underwear and pad;

wearing clothing other than black or dark brown or blue;

having energy that had disappeared;

being able to go places without worrying about where the bathrooms are.

 

Terms of distress:

NONE!!!!

 

I’m laughing more.

I’m crying more.

I love my friends more.

I’m enjoying my creative juices more.

I’m on my own again……. the online buddies, lovers, dates having been left behind in the dust.

I’m creating a life for me.

I’m getting back to music.

 

It’s a rejuvination of mind, body, and spirit.

Yes, I get tired in a different way.  Exhaustion from having DONE something productive.  Rest is, however, the most important factor.  If you do something, rest afterward.  If you don’t, you’ll continue to pay for it.

 

Got the clearance last week to go ahead and sign up for the water aerobics class.  By the way, I didn’t buy the treadmill.  Decided I could walk around the block or around the park not far from here and not spend $$.  

 

Going back to bed.  Perhaps I’ll add to this tomorrow…. at surgery + 7 weeks and one day.

 

Ta ta, dearies.

 

later………….

resolute

That’s the name of the road — Resolute Way — of the guy in Washington with whom I was going to visit recently.  I always thought that was an interesting name for a street.  I met several neighbors when I was up there last year.  All resolute.  Perfect name for the street where they live.  Now, my funnies, I have just listened to several versions of On the Street Where You Live……….. the first from the original movie with Rex Harrison and Audrey Hepburn and Jeremy Brett… remember him?  He is otherwise known as the beloved Sherlock Holmes on BBC England in later years, and in various incarnations prior to that series.

And here he is singing, lest I get off track as usual!

http://video.aol.com/video-detail/my-fair-lady-on-the-street-where-you-live/197530730

I have not included the versions of Dean Martin (or several other crooners) nor Placido Domingo (evidently he was hoping to be a broadway musical guy until he sang in this and was recruited for opera).  If you read the tag on the side of the vid, you’ll see that the voice was dubbed.  Boo hoo.

 

Ok, back to resolute.  It’s where I am today.  No, no.  Not in Washington!  However, it has been quite difficult the past few days, sticking to my resolve to be incommunicado with my most recent past.  I still get emails from some who are just a bit distressed and not understanding the resolve.  It is a grand test of my own that I have created on my behalf.  Yes, of course, there are a couple with whom I would welcome communication.  But I will not initiate it.  It is a very selfish project, however I am going to stick with it.

 

The train whistles are waking me up in the middle of the night. Irreparably damaging my sleep patterns.  I am really nowhere near the trains…. but you know how the night carries the sounds.  I have a friend who grew up a bit closer to the tracks than where I live today.  He still loves and misses those sounds.  Quite striking, actually, are those sounds.  

 

Feeling a little bloated.  I have indulged in sugar lately as well as wheat products and lactose.  I will once again later this morning go through the cupboards and fridge and discard all unnecessary crap that I have put back in my diet.  March through August were the best 6 months as far as food went.  Purging the men has caused me to purge the cupboards once again.  My concentration and resolve should improve, as it did from the first day I started on March 3, 2008.  Looking forward to that.  Andrew Weil, come back to me!

 

Off to beddy bye again, dear ones.  Or at least going to see how long I can stay in bed this time.  It was rather odd how I could sleep through the night when someone was by my side.  In the words of Arsenio Hall, once again……..”The things that make you go hmmmm……..”

later…………….

mini-tribute to the fallen…

My interest in men’s worn quite thin.

Each deserves a swift strike on the shin.

For the stories they told

Were ever so bold.

Now they share mor’n a mite of chagrin.

 

adieu mes chers hommes exclus.  

 

As to the rest of you…… I’ll be back this afternoon for an update on something quite interesting.