tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-303153502024-03-27T17:06:14.561-07:00Mrs Guy's ObservatoryBeing for the benefit of Mr GuyMrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.comBlogger1164125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-13786683122609297742024-03-27T17:05:00.000-07:002024-03-27T17:05:29.516-07:00Another Busy Week!<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Sorry about the time shift below, but this is what is happening.</span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Monday we went down to the hospital and did a swallowing test (no mechanical problem) and a pre-anesthesia test (cleared for takeoff).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But the nausea is real, people. He's been nauseated and not wanting to eat for weeks. We haven't been able to get a handle on it and he needs all of his energy for the treatment that's coming. Yesterday both doctors we saw told him to eat. I reached out to the nurse coordinator in our oncologist's office to say that the doctors are telling us that it's urgent that we get his nausea under control. The hospital doctors prescribed different drugs than our primary or our primary oncologist. And then one of the drugs, Ativan, did not make it into the Walgreens system. So I was calling our insurance agency, our primary oncologist and the pharmacy to try to get it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I also reached out to say "Hey, please just tell me what to do and we'll do it". This worked. The nurse on our team sent a list with times and drugs that we had on hand that we could take. And she also sent a second list of times and drugs for when we got the Ativan. As soon as we started giving him Compazine, his nausea started to settle down. And we alternate that with Zofran and Ativan now that it made it to Walgreens (three days after prescribed) every 2-3 hours until bedtime.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Yesterday (Tuesday) was a good day. We learned that mrguy will also be getting immunotherapy -- Keytruda and Herceptin. His overall chemo cocktail will be 5 medications. I am grateful that they will give it all at once, rather than staggering it every other week. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In addition, yesterday mrguy said that he was <i>not as nauseated</i>, and he asked for and ate half of a turkey sandwich and some soup, in addition to Boost and Gatorade. He seems to be liking the Gatorade, and hydration is doing him good. For whatever reason his blood sodium is almost normal (and we stopped taking the sodium pills, which were giving him the trots).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Today (Wednesday) we got up at 4:30 and went down to the hospital for his mediport procedure at 6:45am. Mrguy was so alert and a little talkative on the drive to the hospital, which was super helpful and cheery.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">On the way home he started talking about his next turkey sandwich. He ate half a sandwich like a champ, and a big chocolate chip cookie. You have no idea how amazing that is and how much it cheers me. He seems to be feeling so much better. F his primary (and us, kinda) for not taking the nausea more seriously.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Tomorrow is his first official chemo day, and then we have to return the Folfox pump (and mrguy on Saturday). </span><span style="font-family: arial;">As I said to mrguy yesterday, this is the last week for a while where we're doing things for the first time. After that we're doing some of those things for the second time and that will reduce the anxiety, or mine at least.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXgC_fTM9Ynvqps0EJbq6GLARERnP7KJz72A0gh9a3Wqpyt_xPcCT56p8LZSBzFa4ebRoxsksOTflZ88eH4L-uwPPR4jLsku5tM_Ikm2aVOAwx08RZEMaoJUar5hZu_PMBeO8PEHAnMaSQP-CEM3OnU4EShEh8Vnw6TrU7IFSgXvdFcv7E7_ZH6w/s4032/IMG_5899.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXgC_fTM9Ynvqps0EJbq6GLARERnP7KJz72A0gh9a3Wqpyt_xPcCT56p8LZSBzFa4ebRoxsksOTflZ88eH4L-uwPPR4jLsku5tM_Ikm2aVOAwx08RZEMaoJUar5hZu_PMBeO8PEHAnMaSQP-CEM3OnU4EShEh8Vnw6TrU7IFSgXvdFcv7E7_ZH6w/s320/IMG_5899.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><p></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-15719244651389822932024-03-23T22:38:00.000-07:002024-03-23T22:38:21.032-07:00What A Week<p><span style="font-family: arial;">We had a second opinion last Friday. The second doctor agreed with the first doctor and said that time is of the essence. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">On Monday we regrouped with our first oncologist. I<span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> mentioned some symptoms mrguy was having and the doctor said “How do you feel about going to the ER?” and we said “We’re not into that idea” and he said “I’m thinking out loud here, but if I admitted you tomorrow you’d have a guaranteed bed, no ER, we could check to see if you have any infections and maybe you could start chemo as early as Wednesday”. That sounded awesome, so that’s what happened (except it was Thursday that the chemo started). We just got home from the hospital, and mrguy has had his first chemo, which lasted 48 hours. No lie.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Backing up to Monday, this was all predicated on our getting labs on Monday. We were having this conversation at 4:16 and the lab was 20 minutes away and closed at 5. We made it with 10 minutes to spare. Then we got to the hospital the next day and they didn't seem to have any of the information about mrguy, and that was super frustrating. Plus the guy in the next bed was kinda gang-y, a bit loud, and partially undressed cause he was about to use the shower, where he listened to the radio really loudly. The Stroke, by Billy Squier was playing "Stroke me, stroke me!!" Ohmahgawrd.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">But since they thought mrguy was possibly contagious, they moved him to a single. They offered to make me a bed, but until they knew otherwise, if I was going to stay over I'd have to sleep in PPE. No thank you. So I stayed home, worked from here, and held down the fort.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">A sweet friend sent us yellow tulips. I'm looking at them right now and they are beautiful. Another friend came to give me a walk. Clam came over and we didn't watch sumo but gabbed for two hours, which is not like us and was super great. Our "helicopter relative" checked in from Kona. I can't do what I'm doing without the support of these amazing friends.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">In the meantime, nothing seemed to be happening. I couldn't figure out whether the doctors in the hospital had all of the information that they needed to treat him. The clinic and the hospital have two different user interfaces under one roof, so to speak. And I could communicate with the clinic and our oncologist but they weren't in charge once mrguy was in the hospital. Our nurse navigator on the clinical team was out on Weds. Her colleague told me to talk to the doctor in the hospital but didn't tell me how to do that. Thanks, Lady.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">As I left the hospital on Tuesday I asked the nurse at the nurse's station for the direct number. She wrote it on a post-it. And that was the key. In the hospital you call the nurse's station like it's ER on NBC in the 1990s, and they call the doctor for you. Who knew? I thought I would lose my mind, and it was the first time that mrguy said he felt depressed. Why had we admitted him? But by the end of the day we had an appt for chemo in the hospital and the schedule for all of his future medical appointments appeared in the calendar.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">A banner day. So on Thursday he started his chemo, which took a whopping 48 hours, which I thought was a typo when I read it...but was not. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Yesterday I started pestering the clinic again. Were his biomarker tests in? Without good biomarkers that say that there are additional drugs that can targed the cancer, we are S.O.L. The report came back, and I gave it to our oncology nurse at the insurance agency and she said it looks like we have options. These are things that we would use on top of the chemo. The official word is whatever the doctor says, so we are keeping our fingers crossed. Or at least I am. Mrguy's just trying to get through the day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Today was cleanup day in preparation for mrguy's homecoming. Did a big shop at the supermarket, during which time I had a panic attack. Came home and moved the cat box out of the bedroom and into the laundry room so it can be farther from our patient. Then I vacuumed the first floor of the house and catproofed the laundry room.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">On the ride to the hospital (1.5 hours each way) I started to have a panic attack. So I called some friends and had a long chat during our drive, which was super helpful. I don't think I would have made it if they hadn't picked up when I rang.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Eventually, I got to the hospital and Tiger Brown and I picked him up. He later said that he wished his eyes were cameras because I was so cute with my leopard print umbrella, standing outside the car waiting for him. Sweet man.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJ4CLJD0HSS69gtGXVxQ5TZK9eIma_f33vfyUZwSDWI0d0U8H1CXnd-gPvaE7cWxDGFz_UHcHqYAN8HqH50btgNFxfDfnsix7Xcm9YlOce_hzjrsxsfKEqkSJF3NsM1_aFmsjcW47LT6s2-moDLwnld61uUomRwDyAqCjD5cEnrmDRFFgwdplLg/s4032/IMG_5877.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJ4CLJD0HSS69gtGXVxQ5TZK9eIma_f33vfyUZwSDWI0d0U8H1CXnd-gPvaE7cWxDGFz_UHcHqYAN8HqH50btgNFxfDfnsix7Xcm9YlOce_hzjrsxsfKEqkSJF3NsM1_aFmsjcW47LT6s2-moDLwnld61uUomRwDyAqCjD5cEnrmDRFFgwdplLg/s320/IMG_5877.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27j-LftrvAl8Z0jaQc_J92tI2TBDOATxMBFxqJlDjR8C1esKaDx5os0QQznBRKsOOQI0DAYXv0PAO32P8Gu3e-8gALEAgOsLe_0_KRGoPHhnQ07BmC4HWfBipGdJ6CNBcnDJtG8X-pVKvJ8dSDcy5XXASpMNPfpmlOrERsC_MdIlRnop8Nhenjg/s4032/IMG_5881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27j-LftrvAl8Z0jaQc_J92tI2TBDOATxMBFxqJlDjR8C1esKaDx5os0QQznBRKsOOQI0DAYXv0PAO32P8Gu3e-8gALEAgOsLe_0_KRGoPHhnQ07BmC4HWfBipGdJ6CNBcnDJtG8X-pVKvJ8dSDcy5XXASpMNPfpmlOrERsC_MdIlRnop8Nhenjg/s320/IMG_5881.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">He was doing everything he could to not barf on the way home but things being what they are, we had to stop by the side of the road near the airport so he could get it out of his system. Luckily I had some soft t-shirts in the back seat so he could wipe his face and some water in the front for him to drink. It was "our" exit, since the first time he and I visited my parents alone we had to stop in the same spot for *me* to puke, which is a story for another day.</span></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-72801573926908671582024-03-16T12:46:00.000-07:002024-03-16T12:46:58.389-07:00Waiting<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Mrguy has Stage IV esophageal cancer. Not curable, not operable, but hopefully treatable with chemo and maybe targeted therapy and maybe immunotherapy. We do testing on the 25th and 27th and have the port put in on the 27th. In the meantime he sleeps a lot and is weak and nauseated. More testing is hopefully being done to determine his biomarkers for the immunotherapy. This is all complicated by the fact that we were at one hospital in a specific hospital system when the testing will be done, and are now in a second and different one.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I am a mess.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-79797828654779355112024-03-10T10:35:00.000-07:002024-03-10T12:43:41.159-07:00Onco Tomorrow<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Tomorrow is our first oncology appt. Not sure what to expect -- it's by video.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I found someone on a cancer group who is being seen by the same doctor, from another state, by video. I am trying to connect with her. I found another person who is being treated at the other research hospital we are trying to get hooked into. I will call her today.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">There are good stories and bad stories in the group. A lot of encouragement. A lot of new caregivers to the group, like me, who need encouragement. I cope through community, so my writing group, my Alzheimer's caregiver group and friends are holding me right now. I am so touched by it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In the meantime, I have a new therapist. The first one listened but didn't quite know how to handle me. This one, who came about because of an insurance change, has a different approach. She disarms me with her big, soulful eyes and insightful words. Is it the right time or the wrong time to be this fragile?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Since January of 2015 I have been strong. So effing strong. Finding joy and even a lot of humor in walking mom's path with her. Normalizing it with friends and co-workers by talking about it. Going to one and even two caregiver support groups a month, while the sibling in charge refused to say Alzheimer's or learn about it so she could understand our mom. Being in a three-legged race, of sorts, with siblings who can't deal with the reality of the situation, the enormity of the task, the level of her compromise. The pressure from mom and those siblings relating to how much and the quality of what I do for my mom. While working full time. Through the pandemic, when I was being told that I had to move mom out of the 55+ community and into an Airbnb that my sister found. The fear of my sibling's reaction when she learned it wasn't optimum. The horror of being told that I owed her an explanation for why I wouldn't let my mom in the house during her pandemic visits (cause I didn't want us to give Covid to each other and die, maybe?). And I will say that all of this was for a mom that I didn't really gel with. On behalf of those living far away who did.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">That's only up to 2020, when I thankfully got a therapist. And in the past few years I've been able to put up a wall with my mom and my sister and get closer to living my life. Over the last six months, mrguy has been begging me to stop seeing my mom because of the visits' effect on me, and after some of the last stuff she doled out (how many times can you hear her talk about sex or wanting to disinherit me if she's not getting what she wants, or pinching my fat tummy?) I have almost stopped seeing her entirely. Which was a win. Extricating myself just in time for this! And just in time for my new therapist who is trying to crack open my shell and reveal the dainty un-strong nut meat within.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So now I cry. Any bit of tenderness pries me open and I weep. I am so vulnerable. Unfortunately mrguy sees me weep. I miss my shell. I'm guessing that it will re-form around me once I know a direction we're going in. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">fuck cancer, People!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-61423185807493230752024-03-09T09:26:00.000-08:002024-03-09T09:26:41.296-08:00And in Sumo News<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Things are really heating up on the way to the March basho, which starts this evening.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Most significantly since Hatsu basho, one makuuchi rikishi was forced to step down for super disgusting and cruel behavior. Not quite Yabu in the novel (and 2 mini series) Shogun, but he admitted to enjoying the pain he was inflicting on the younger members of his heya. I am guessing that the NHK broadcasters on the English side of the program, at least, will have a lot to say about this.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Also, the head of his stable, Miyagino Oyakata (formerly Hakuho, the winningest yokozuna in the history of sumo) is getting sent down, so to speak. He will not be allowed to run his stable, and it is unclear what his role will be. His punishment is for allowing the behavior that got the other guy canned. It's really serious.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">There's a thing that happens when you retire from sumo but stay in the Association as an elder. The first thing you notice is that the rikishi is posted as sort of a guard in the tunnel that leads from backstage to the auditorium. He sits on a folding chair and wears a blue windbreaker. It's the first rung out of the world of the fighter on the way to other roles. Some folks work for the Association. Some take roles as commentators or broadcasters on NHK, and some become trainers in a stable. A rare few are able to buy sumo stock that allows them to take over a stable until the mandatory retirement at the age of 65.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Darn, I only have 3.5 years to join sumo, get good, retire from the ring and get elder stock so I can run a stable...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyhoo -- <a href="https://www.japantimes.co.jp/sports/2024/02/23/sumo/hakuho-demoted-jsa-sumo/">Hakuho got knocked down to the bottom</a>. During this basho he will be wearing the blue windbreaker and sitting in the hanamichi, facing the dohyo. I wonder if anyone will refuse to bow to him when returning from the ring. </span></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-742474185544962032024-03-09T07:11:00.000-08:002024-03-09T08:36:00.972-08:00Another Week<span style="font-family: arial;">Two days until our first oncology consultation on Monday. Mrguy is having trouble eating or wanting to eat. We did watch an episode of Suits last night, which was a joy. I've joined two esophageal cancer fb groups. Community is how I cope.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I've been working this week. My colleagues are incredibly supportive.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Mornings seem to be good-ish for mrguy. He can eat a little something, take a shower and then rest.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">And that's what I've got. I am freaked out, worried about running the house and paying bills and taxes and when mrguy doesn't want to eat I feel devastated (but push down the feelings).</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">All of this is moving so fucking slowly. I need treatment to hurry up and happen.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Update -- Sitting here with mrguy in the kitchenden, and when I'm with him it all seems fine somehow. He's on his green chair with Gordon on his lap, reading the news on his phone. He mentioned the other day that the Giants have a player who is super handsome and so popular that his dog has an Instagram account. So I went and looked at Insta. I just lurk and never post.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Never did find the dog's account, but I did reconnect with whathavewedunoon. I started following this account about a year into Claire and Cal's restoration story, but it is super gripping.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">https://www.instagram.com/whathavewedunoon/</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I looked at it and thought -- what if mrguy's journey is like them? What if he's a work in progress that can be fixed somehow? Lots of challenges but a resolution. I'll hold onto that today.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">For now...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-78414738563193341522024-03-02T12:09:00.000-08:002024-03-02T16:37:13.896-08:002024 Car Colors<span style="font-family: arial;">For the past few years I've been noticing different kinds of car colors. During the pandemic, it was bright red metal flake and royal blue metal flake, just like Horus, mrguy's car. But as that began to fade, so did the palette. I found myself noticing and being attracted to some murky colors coming off the production line. Dull greys. Powdery greens, and colors that look fresh from the watercolor paintbrush wash jar (photo credit: Jane Jones, Illustrator).</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjsZvV45RKV4GxgDgcCweCXQ9Vl4GGivnDQ6D9x8wNv9AETQZMrKsgMHcIRCOgFXs6diMn5P7YPtxFvVZiYyfCGmq9HndnBvlD6qGmzsIqZtBly0HD4BBCqA-P4r98d23NHBc_eyq0upacr0P0fF5yvnz7lFJGGT9d4AP72UCazmYGaNEfy3IEfQ/s1160/Screen%20Shot%202024-03-02%20at%2011.48.17%20AM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="866" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjsZvV45RKV4GxgDgcCweCXQ9Vl4GGivnDQ6D9x8wNv9AETQZMrKsgMHcIRCOgFXs6diMn5P7YPtxFvVZiYyfCGmq9HndnBvlD6qGmzsIqZtBly0HD4BBCqA-P4r98d23NHBc_eyq0upacr0P0fF5yvnz7lFJGGT9d4AP72UCazmYGaNEfy3IEfQ/s320/Screen%20Shot%202024-03-02%20at%2011.48.17%20AM.png" width="239" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">A nice green-grey spotted on the street the other day:<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOa11pluzjwr5VstluOV8QbY7vK-BXzOZyyKTzuIOAfs6Y4iXirc3PVBoC61nB7leGycxYb5TA3PZJB1YdapqVZy9kQKZeDmvkeRny2L4NIPRgHLoTJbwTADDbvFoXsVDRyyHv3gJ-f522wjH0axncz51t1AyeM2OOfB4Wdp_sliqEN2xTcvndvw/s2710/IMG_5619.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1841" data-original-width="2710" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOa11pluzjwr5VstluOV8QbY7vK-BXzOZyyKTzuIOAfs6Y4iXirc3PVBoC61nB7leGycxYb5TA3PZJB1YdapqVZy9kQKZeDmvkeRny2L4NIPRgHLoTJbwTADDbvFoXsVDRyyHv3gJ-f522wjH0axncz51t1AyeM2OOfB4Wdp_sliqEN2xTcvndvw/s320/IMG_5619.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Saw *this* interesting color yesterday, on the way to visit mrguy at the hospital. In the 2010s, this would have been sparkly, but the word of the day seems to be matte.<br /></span><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjL9PAJ_qMQ5DtRW7eg2JvvS8cx9QNwAgkNIS4Z7PdC3VQpG85zyIv63-U8MKADGsN_rg0nkYXPeuogAgon78AAyiG3Ek_ALq-gu6v2qKTMMiAoKFpyO5PYlmc3BjPBU0lff8YAPeiqgM1Mrj-FPjiP1Ego9kHXW7gWHKk2Z9k1jznGhoh-DBuoIw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1832" data-original-width="2738" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjL9PAJ_qMQ5DtRW7eg2JvvS8cx9QNwAgkNIS4Z7PdC3VQpG85zyIv63-U8MKADGsN_rg0nkYXPeuogAgon78AAyiG3Ek_ALq-gu6v2qKTMMiAoKFpyO5PYlmc3BjPBU0lff8YAPeiqgM1Mrj-FPjiP1Ego9kHXW7gWHKk2Z9k1jznGhoh-DBuoIw" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">And this was highly satisfying. Tiger Brown is blue, and now every car company seems to have a powder blue of some sort. Spotted in the wild yesterday (at my mom's facility):</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht0mz6CTli59bJui1kPeVilKS__NGiNBYUek7aM5BndFYXmoerBJzslOfnUVUTBHKci61_zYBAQZ8s6-S6K0F26xiC8bBcLUwsKRu7eCaLXY5u5cm_Aq1USeUhVWkNyXfhGE00aFzS43-wnF3li7vY47Unjdb4ZR5TOf1-g-68pdtpPdLxw26xBA/s3024/IMG_5667.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2391" data-original-width="3024" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht0mz6CTli59bJui1kPeVilKS__NGiNBYUek7aM5BndFYXmoerBJzslOfnUVUTBHKci61_zYBAQZ8s6-S6K0F26xiC8bBcLUwsKRu7eCaLXY5u5cm_Aq1USeUhVWkNyXfhGE00aFzS43-wnF3li7vY47Unjdb4ZR5TOf1-g-68pdtpPdLxw26xBA/s320/IMG_5667.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;">This first car is actually a Rav4, like TB, but has a silver bumper. Tiger Brown's is black. I think it must belong to one of the nurses because a) it's always in the lot and b) it has a US flag and Tibet sticker. Many of the nurses are from Tibet.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">And finally, same parking lot, even Ford Broncos come in a Tiger Brown sort of blue. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26Gy_IGKU02ChMpIdmxk5XiZyFS3iIOsyrRaa5oK4AG1uC94xJyPvLH3CWSoQLLCv8gWvBuungLnehsBOQ-zgzYiyvZ2IivPJSYgkcNVQApsoNQTynNTtI1liuSRxAICP76MijdLrFKa5ebK9odzXmBg_N4lOdf0BvQpq7U7LbtMlcbowNbx4AA/s3024/IMG_5666.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2349" data-original-width="3024" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26Gy_IGKU02ChMpIdmxk5XiZyFS3iIOsyrRaa5oK4AG1uC94xJyPvLH3CWSoQLLCv8gWvBuungLnehsBOQ-zgzYiyvZ2IivPJSYgkcNVQApsoNQTynNTtI1liuSRxAICP76MijdLrFKa5ebK9odzXmBg_N4lOdf0BvQpq7U7LbtMlcbowNbx4AA/s320/IMG_5666.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I kinda suspected when I got this color car that I would not be alone for long. Ivar was a 1996 or 7 Toyota Corolla in the year that every car was teal. Chin Ho was silver in the generation of silver cars.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">And I look around me and wonder if I have a blue obsession. We painted the accent wall blue in the archives' conference room. We installed blue counters in our kitchenette. I have a blue bathroom. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Yeah, maybe : )</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">++++ Update</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">On the way to pick up mrguy from the hospital I saw Subaru's version of Tiger Brown Blue. And also a different Ford Mustang blue. No picture, people, cause I was picking up my precious cargo, mrguy, who is officially in the house taking a nap, having bathed the hospital off of him. He is encrusted with cats and has a migraine but is doing pretty well.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLxLoXWGxkHUgngNxEDqZ0A2zIAtpTRTo4KaFkv5-tWx0y1rJegjCpX1cRprpOlqMk8wDEZBrWep087IxutTjI9X45Au6WgH9wNwHzGnudL-HYumkp4saDtj3rtHK-mn0OJiszzRXL029ytygMv5Xy7bVXpWQ2lLaDXFwqYnbzT_mDBkN2R6eBmQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLxLoXWGxkHUgngNxEDqZ0A2zIAtpTRTo4KaFkv5-tWx0y1rJegjCpX1cRprpOlqMk8wDEZBrWep087IxutTjI9X45Au6WgH9wNwHzGnudL-HYumkp4saDtj3rtHK-mn0OJiszzRXL029ytygMv5Xy7bVXpWQ2lLaDXFwqYnbzT_mDBkN2R6eBmQ" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span></div>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-27143395126879917562024-02-29T12:34:00.000-08:002024-02-29T12:34:54.485-08:00Ernst Gottlob Arrived<p><span style="font-family: arial;">It seems like ages ago that I bought the pastel. It arrived yesterday, in several separately wrapped pieces. It feels weird to acquire something so celebratory in the midst of life that feels dire. Is it ok to be happy? It felt calming to work on putting this artwork back together while listening to one of my many hours of the Barbra Streisand audiobook.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It is either a pastel or an aquatint. I don't know how to tell the difference. It was described as being on vellum.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The coolest thing is the hanger, forged out of iron. It makes it seem as if this was once hung in an important place. The subject was unidentified, but may have been a government official of some sort.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFMx38gf2T9DvNTuBzO_XydscIOHX8MJ9d-02ZGb9ZjtSUiS19sNK7fqkZKbkx2OjTXNMfc14Vf4xlF6YMTTyCgp-O7KjVkxFdxBQuHO8e-8_AUE092Br8GSn1pX6dflQXV3uCk1wgFs9pkfJuq-qOspkJOZwvCSGKzQT66U9VfeQTwZcsgp_Sug/s4032/IMG_5630.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFMx38gf2T9DvNTuBzO_XydscIOHX8MJ9d-02ZGb9ZjtSUiS19sNK7fqkZKbkx2OjTXNMfc14Vf4xlF6YMTTyCgp-O7KjVkxFdxBQuHO8e-8_AUE092Br8GSn1pX6dflQXV3uCk1wgFs9pkfJuq-qOspkJOZwvCSGKzQT66U9VfeQTwZcsgp_Sug/s320/IMG_5630.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The paper covering the back of the work must have been pretty cool. There are still remnants of it on the framing.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUdPxFCVs4ikyRIRg5Re3ff0FMBDJ4P-5sIM095n7HUTUVeoSYICWqmzP8z7ERniekNOym4u6WEmmRSNljmvS_3do8XPTJUoHW64jKYx11vQwEVIMWfdT95UFtH2Jq7akPc0byTZeCOF249sookTS3GuS66l_gdhtVvcTq3pefgUhUZuSP2omZCQ/s4032/IMG_5631.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUdPxFCVs4ikyRIRg5Re3ff0FMBDJ4P-5sIM095n7HUTUVeoSYICWqmzP8z7ERniekNOym4u6WEmmRSNljmvS_3do8XPTJUoHW64jKYx11vQwEVIMWfdT95UFtH2Jq7akPc0byTZeCOF249sookTS3GuS66l_gdhtVvcTq3pefgUhUZuSP2omZCQ/s320/IMG_5631.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Here is the pastel itself, unframed. It's pretty beat up, but cool. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAUL_M95L79Thl8A0LJLH9pZqz2ZO_wzwD1VUb_SbF1MGDsuYNVAhNjjwMrQtyUKBMTWhH9ahcy_QpMWqa3ypPHEQqmK1itwjjbfwKwSP6ZV-Vt6CXsHkUBKiFRPHxsjCdKaQX2taixKMvxi73UNNy0zWN6drWnxYtMuX5UN3xTKnJyyQ0OceKQ/s4032/IMG_5633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAUL_M95L79Thl8A0LJLH9pZqz2ZO_wzwD1VUb_SbF1MGDsuYNVAhNjjwMrQtyUKBMTWhH9ahcy_QpMWqa3ypPHEQqmK1itwjjbfwKwSP6ZV-Vt6CXsHkUBKiFRPHxsjCdKaQX2taixKMvxi73UNNy0zWN6drWnxYtMuX5UN3xTKnJyyQ0OceKQ/s320/IMG_5633.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">When I held it up to the light it looked super freaky. You can tell more about how it was drawn by seeing it this way.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMklftsWsVee_NzHEk8aKdAwPG60D5DEj2OmhzEyhgBugcefZfnBmJ1HbqzEgikdQq8HyEzqIWWUuL33fa6FPqAt_9ubB8QwjOZCqJNqk3sWrNnoVafjNIbBbrKC0BsAjdDPfSrCOYXkfSqycSl-SD9yNW9jkU2Mb22z3EL4dymDtCwEYUbopEg/s4032/IMG_5634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMklftsWsVee_NzHEk8aKdAwPG60D5DEj2OmhzEyhgBugcefZfnBmJ1HbqzEgikdQq8HyEzqIWWUuL33fa6FPqAt_9ubB8QwjOZCqJNqk3sWrNnoVafjNIbBbrKC0BsAjdDPfSrCOYXkfSqycSl-SD9yNW9jkU2Mb22z3EL4dymDtCwEYUbopEg/s320/IMG_5634.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I am guessing that this is his handwriting, which is crazy. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7OU1x8nEgZmALN456ZcHoasmWclr9mR-M4MPFCmVXZOXIeLacnhsx8kRpYOFPOSqFW5LLp_cb_Jymf96OTrz89zoq69r13c265R75DCbjlASgWLK5OxEA8Nhki0Re1zYpr-aNANZoDMc4_cmJ52znUSKehz6C7HOrfTE2ZXLFL7xhdfSiye_SgA/s4032/IMG_5635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7OU1x8nEgZmALN456ZcHoasmWclr9mR-M4MPFCmVXZOXIeLacnhsx8kRpYOFPOSqFW5LLp_cb_Jymf96OTrz89zoq69r13c265R75DCbjlASgWLK5OxEA8Nhki0Re1zYpr-aNANZoDMc4_cmJ52znUSKehz6C7HOrfTE2ZXLFL7xhdfSiye_SgA/s320/IMG_5635.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I realized that the original spacer that belongs between the glazing and the pastel was in usable condition, so I just went for it and repackaged the piece.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcozOWd97oi7sIV4NxlX-7dfNe9tiIBTeKklUE8cGd9Y9pjeRtWZKkhOpDe5luAs5pcf-_9OAOKKuSc7Bq6Va_F4Ak5C5Qg23KVg9bR6_Q8zL8nhTqqzaUXszWZYeJNMvRaO-vfn76BIa6AbuEXfSsUvuxFWCryOfBymkpbF7r1ZpK4JWXtXsJ4g/s4032/IMG_5636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcozOWd97oi7sIV4NxlX-7dfNe9tiIBTeKklUE8cGd9Y9pjeRtWZKkhOpDe5luAs5pcf-_9OAOKKuSc7Bq6Va_F4Ak5C5Qg23KVg9bR6_Q8zL8nhTqqzaUXszWZYeJNMvRaO-vfn76BIa6AbuEXfSsUvuxFWCryOfBymkpbF7r1ZpK4JWXtXsJ4g/s320/IMG_5636.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I washed the glass. It has a big wave in one area, which is super cool, and also includes little tiny elongated bubbles. It seems like it would be original to the piece.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And here he is put together again, sitting in our non-fancy kitchen. I'm not quite sure where to hang him. I'd wanted to put him in the bathroom with the reproduction of the painting from art.com, but I really want to see him. Not sure. For now he lives in the laundry room.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-JYc7oOSBWcR3AQ1sR2xbuSW0or5XrA5UMs8-S_m1G-J6F0u2U335hiypn0Yq_601Z3ZTSERze3slECDC3zJjy-ZKDz4N_b0i50G4fqvGze_E_xf5DK3pKPsjH28rsYqvalC_GaUirl9WX_dF8ft1O6LyX7omMHhD28cCgL7o8UpGDOUk8FWng/s4032/IMG_5641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-JYc7oOSBWcR3AQ1sR2xbuSW0or5XrA5UMs8-S_m1G-J6F0u2U335hiypn0Yq_601Z3ZTSERze3slECDC3zJjy-ZKDz4N_b0i50G4fqvGze_E_xf5DK3pKPsjH28rsYqvalC_GaUirl9WX_dF8ft1O6LyX7omMHhD28cCgL7o8UpGDOUk8FWng/s320/IMG_5641.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-11984336823951689592024-02-29T10:18:00.000-08:002024-02-29T10:18:28.406-08:00Another Health Update<p><span style="font-family: arial;">And this is where mrsguy will turn into a cancer blog at times. Mrguy was in the hospital from the 17th through the 25th and was diagnosed with esophageal cancer. He's home now, while we wait for next steps. There's shock, fear, sadness, more fear. I have used all of my connections and information systems to try to bring myself up to speed, and try to move the process faster. This is my precious person!! My approach is stressing out the patient, and I don't know how to do it a different way, and I feel like I have my own needs. There is so much to know: about treatment, about expectations, about doing the myriad things that he does if his treatment makes him too sick to do them for a while. Surgery or chemo are no joke! People often are hospitalized from the affects of the chemo (fevers, infections).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">A separate diagnosis from the cancer is normal pressure hydrocephaly. That has to be treated separately, and urgently. That may be partly behind the migraines. He will have an in-person appointment on the 12th. Oddly, his headaches had stopped for a while right before and during the first part of his hospitalization. Our primary says that this might be due to a lower salt diet. Makes so much sense.</span></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-25441989934506095252024-02-18T07:36:00.000-08:002024-02-18T07:36:37.869-08:00A Health Update<p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Shortly after I wrote about his malady, mrguy and I were directed by an after hours nurse to head to the nearest emergency room. I have just finished a bowl of soup, at 2:20am, and mrguy is being officially admitted to the hospital.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Calibri; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">In addition to his scores of migraines, he's had a cough for about 6 weeks. It's hard to notice a thing like that when you're sidelined with other kinds of crippling pain. And he insisted that he was getting better, but he also had a low grade fever that would come and go...</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Calibri; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Anyhoo, this morning mrguy thought about going to Urgent Care. He said that he couldn't sleep last night because he felt like he was being choked. His throat felt like it was closing. I could hear from his speaking voice that his soft palate on the right seemed swollen. And toward the evening he started talking about how his carotid artery was swollen. And it was.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Calibri; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After we fed the cats, we called the advice nurse and went to the local Kaiser ER. They were super nice. His white blood count was only slightly elevated out of normal. They gave him fluids and antibiotics and a steriod injection and a neck CT and lung xrays. At the moment they think he has Lemierre syndrome, which is serious. He has a clot in his carotid caused by some sort of infection. They'll take more views tomorrow to see if there is a second infection in his lung.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Calibri; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">He's going to be in the ER for another few hours before they can find him a bed. Our own system doesn't have one, so he'll stay within Kaiser. When he's lucky enough to go home, he's going to get a pic line and give himself antibiotics for 3 to 6 weeks.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Calibri; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Holy smokes, people. Hug your loved ones.</p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-28353583866205220362024-02-17T18:37:00.000-08:002024-02-17T18:37:23.233-08:00My Other Funny Valentine<p><span style="font-family: arial;">On Monday I dropped a few things off at my mom's place. Depends, q-tips and another color of nail polish. It's that last request, on behalf of her caregiver, that made a trip to Walgreens take 20 minutes rather than 5. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The yucky comments. The disagreeable expression -- what color will she not make me feel shitty for buying? In the end she said thank you and liked them all. But experience has taught me fear. Here's what I chose:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Pinky-white, just in case that was something she'd like. Pink, in case she'd go for something "loud". And her current go-to -- something that would look appropriate on a white person's artificial limb. Check out what was already her fingernails. And look at the bottle of polish on the right. Do I know my mom, or what?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Thank you, Sally Hansen, for making that quick-dry polish. Mom has a habit of touching her fingernails while they're being painted, and with the quick dry formula our caregiver has half a chance. The next time I saw mom, on Valentine's Day, she was wearing the pink that I never thought she'd go for. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRueCnKtd6aN9x7-csGtkDZ8muDWXcUn9ciGEwQaFGlNxHcvMLOtqRu7wP3vgbPq5kJYBIT8Ql_e9V0hoHFYz_xU3SkdRSGvcTs81KJ9we_L8_cNmn2IZvrC3hr9wVsXHlyJbXBCuW6EF-jsJ-9_S-22UuOszouXFX9P9nIw_xXShA0EEknB59g/s4032/IMG_5477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRueCnKtd6aN9x7-csGtkDZ8muDWXcUn9ciGEwQaFGlNxHcvMLOtqRu7wP3vgbPq5kJYBIT8Ql_e9V0hoHFYz_xU3SkdRSGvcTs81KJ9we_L8_cNmn2IZvrC3hr9wVsXHlyJbXBCuW6EF-jsJ-9_S-22UuOszouXFX9P9nIw_xXShA0EEknB59g/w320-h240/IMG_5477.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Valentine's Day was a very special day. It was the final day of Operation Fix Mom's Bed! The visit was scheduled for between 10-2. I got a call the night before changing that to 8am. He called around 8:20 to let me know he'd be there soon. And I got there before he did. Yay!! Despite a few blips (ex: new remote had no batteries but we had a stash on hand) the bed controller and remote both work now. Our caregiver was remaking the bed as I left, and I could see that she was using my favorite bottom sheet, the one where mom had written HELP in black marker. I love that sheet.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTtBj9CtGmb0r4fgTumtn-kaML8doxgvC1XJel2ygq8teTBRlGhIzqldESVM5S06dKjYHCK6NtdrXakPi4AU6KmOVGSqSZc0i9DD7HzY2mrw8EjG6euq-NbbuftW5fddWLagn2eZnPVgUBiZYYcHOcAeaSN-Klr1ZCW77uXxgVC82wLQLKDUhpOg/s4032/IMG_5484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTtBj9CtGmb0r4fgTumtn-kaML8doxgvC1XJel2ygq8teTBRlGhIzqldESVM5S06dKjYHCK6NtdrXakPi4AU6KmOVGSqSZc0i9DD7HzY2mrw8EjG6euq-NbbuftW5fddWLagn2eZnPVgUBiZYYcHOcAeaSN-Klr1ZCW77uXxgVC82wLQLKDUhpOg/s320/IMG_5484.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">On the way out of memory care I could see that Big David had left his baby on the table outside mom's room. I hope he and baby had a good Valentine's Day afterward. He's got a wife, but baby is now his main squeeze, and she's got his room number written on the bottom of her foot. Everybody was wearing red and pink and things were looking pretty festive in memory care.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">So ends Valentine's Day.</span></div></div>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-51050739164904316112024-02-17T17:47:00.000-08:002024-02-17T18:55:41.913-08:00My Funny Valentine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I love him so.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">His little girl cat loves him so.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">He's had about 30 migraines in the last 2 months and he is exhausted. MRI shows no head full of tumors, which is great. The migraines have stopped for a few days. But he has no appetite and it seems as if every bug that comes our way attacks him. I wish I could help him feel better.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg131P3FjQ-4GSTljkyGDW47ovKMe0ks3S5QRLNl6oWsHFQdR-fE1PsuoBqsiEf8YOjGRjFMSZ8BiyRANGIgXfympqCh4b4WS8MIoW4sWV20KQZd89KgZABjpmoKmUFzN5U9lxuqEetGHt9C_foOW3cOmcLcjtTEvsrYC2j6wKTCqsCREBI2OknBg/s4032/IMG_5462.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg131P3FjQ-4GSTljkyGDW47ovKMe0ks3S5QRLNl6oWsHFQdR-fE1PsuoBqsiEf8YOjGRjFMSZ8BiyRANGIgXfympqCh4b4WS8MIoW4sWV20KQZd89KgZABjpmoKmUFzN5U9lxuqEetGHt9C_foOW3cOmcLcjtTEvsrYC2j6wKTCqsCREBI2OknBg/s320/IMG_5462.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-6599978623517080312024-02-17T17:39:00.000-08:002024-02-17T17:39:59.876-08:00Bon Ton Roulez<span style="font-family: arial;">Had a Mardi Gras dinner with a friend on Tuesday. I had the usual: blackened catfish with grits.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">It was delish. She had a bananas Foster milkshake to go. And she became my first friend to ride in Tiger Brown.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">We are going to continue our Gulf Coast of the Bay tour by going to the museum restaurant one of these days soon.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Yum.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Good graffiti on a gate near my parking spot.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg30OE6zZwargtCYV4tSlzt91M4eR3s6WGX4P07MPg9_cSWdoiiZNIM6duG9Wjj8qSNqxAzCSxarEpGQSrjem1s1m-rkK7FFYQIFx32wa2QzDis4-VsTV7E5YhxA1QpJSnVgXSMrRYOkwGdboTjaLUP4WjuovdePlXmhbGfcu76p6N6odtbhV2Diw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg30OE6zZwargtCYV4tSlzt91M4eR3s6WGX4P07MPg9_cSWdoiiZNIM6duG9Wjj8qSNqxAzCSxarEpGQSrjem1s1m-rkK7FFYQIFx32wa2QzDis4-VsTV7E5YhxA1QpJSnVgXSMrRYOkwGdboTjaLUP4WjuovdePlXmhbGfcu76p6N6odtbhV2Diw=w240-h320" width="240" /></span></a></div></div>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-28492428121242732242024-02-10T18:15:00.000-08:002024-02-10T18:15:07.741-08:00Things I Bought: Ernst Gottlob<p><span style="font-family: arial;">The other week I was looking at Liveauctioneers, as I often do. I decided to look for items from Leipzig. This is where my people lived for a few generations, and it's a town that mrguy and I have visited and like. So I ran a search and found a rather unattractive pastel portrait by my 5th great grandfather, Ernst Gottlob. His name was misspelled "Ernest", and that's why my saved search for his name in Liveauctioneers did not notify me. I bid on it and won. It was dead cheap. I'm sure it will be much more expensive with the auction house fee, tax, shipping from Berlin and custom packaging, but the base price is $216.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Sweet!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It will go in the lady bathroom, next to the copy on canvas of a portrait by him. My sister the painter was right, when she predicted that some day I would probably own a work by him. I'm psyched. I will be able to own something that he actually created <span style="color: #211614;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space-collapse: preserve;">one year before my 4th great grandmother was born.</span></span> Super cool.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9l05gqeXCyH5pg7Ut6ufHFEG7L74Q6L42Tpe3bxvmWtljHq4NUYtH8w29wlzSuRK-QHYU_QMBvWk3bP6dRtzrz5dW7AsSGujxxlqbaBL0BPSlGUirnl72f2jXanfIIUg29bAgLhqloj1Oqg5jPh4-0p8hZgHq3ovf1KddpEry3jrzo4arGt_NdA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1272" data-original-width="1001" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9l05gqeXCyH5pg7Ut6ufHFEG7L74Q6L42Tpe3bxvmWtljHq4NUYtH8w29wlzSuRK-QHYU_QMBvWk3bP6dRtzrz5dW7AsSGujxxlqbaBL0BPSlGUirnl72f2jXanfIIUg29bAgLhqloj1Oqg5jPh4-0p8hZgHq3ovf1KddpEry3jrzo4arGt_NdA=w315-h400" width="315" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><br /><p></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-68043591586874970352024-01-28T12:31:00.000-08:002024-01-28T12:31:51.470-08:00Her Name Is Tiger Brown<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Conversation with mrguy:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Him: How did your online writing group meeting go?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: Pretty well. But the three prompts this time seemed too close to home (unsaid was the following)</span></p><p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">1) Write about the search for beauty (I do this for most of every day)<br />2) Make a reading list for someone, with an explanation of why you chose what you chose (this prompt was basically what I also do, here, with mrsguy)<br />3) What is your relationship to struggle? (Uhhh, too soon! I am still feeling the effects of last weekend's meltdown, including a sprained knee from a disagreement with a bag of brussels sprouts that I, in my mania, had thrown to the ground and stomped repeatedly until pulverized)</span></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: So I mostly read vintage boxing magazines while everybody wrote. The nicknames are so cool! I found the name for my new car: Tiger Brown.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Him: But your car isn't brown.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: Don't <i>wound</i> me with your <i>reason!!</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Him: So it is written. So it shall be known.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Him: Is your car male or female?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: I think it's a girl. Her name is Tiger Brown.</span></p><p></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-23306494360035413272024-01-27T09:37:00.000-08:002024-01-27T09:37:49.895-08:00A Day Off<p><span style="font-family: arial;">I had decided to take a weekday off work, yesterday, and it was lovely.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The bad news is that I sprained my knee last week while taking out my frustrations by stomping on a bag of brussels sprouts. But it should be fine. So I had *modified* Pilates with my friend and trainer.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Then I had a lot to say to my new therapist. Then I went down the hill to a chiropractor appointment. The first one. She was super nice, and she unlocked my upper back / neck and that was exactly the thing I was hoping for. Her office is on a street that I never casually walk down, but want to. I stopped in at the pretzel store that I had heard about, and there was no line. OMG!! Pretzel rolls! Suddenly I am magically transported to Lufthansa business class, where I had my first pretzel roll and Yogi Tea's Bright Mood blend. So delish!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I also went into one of the two Nepali clothing stores on that street. Then to the rice triangle restaurant, where I picked up our dinner (two salmon and rice plates). I was home by 11:53. I iced my knee, and took a nap with the boy kitten in the afternoon.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">At dinner time we fed the kitties, ate our bowls, and went outside to the upper deck, where the air was cool and delicious and so clear that we could see every bit of Oz, and the lights of the city on the bay.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLT6nKgtQHHBiANL17YdA2EFMFnXoj80UblhBFqyMZXecNK4hYZTii-haP67_S9WWuL00wEETRwt1tVoCQbGGmwOZMLPYCpYSsyzmXLv1ZnlbVmOT7EQePmCnxS1qu1PD5q61H1c2gKJBviDk0_AbDU1vbbaxCtvNBjDG2-ritcJMjQ8cVjnqKNQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLT6nKgtQHHBiANL17YdA2EFMFnXoj80UblhBFqyMZXecNK4hYZTii-haP67_S9WWuL00wEETRwt1tVoCQbGGmwOZMLPYCpYSsyzmXLv1ZnlbVmOT7EQePmCnxS1qu1PD5q61H1c2gKJBviDk0_AbDU1vbbaxCtvNBjDG2-ritcJMjQ8cVjnqKNQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Then we watched the two saddest episodes of Mythic Quest and a It's Always Sunny. I failed to notice for the last 17 years that this show existed. It was only when we started watching Wrexham that I leaned who Rob McElhenny even was. It's Always Sunny is pretty horrible -- or at least the characters are. And the situations and...yikes.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But it was a lovely day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Mrguy woke up with a migraine :(</span></p><p><br /></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-41944415572099934232024-01-22T19:00:00.000-08:002024-01-22T19:00:44.752-08:00White Elephant, Continued<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It is tradition in our department at work to have our holiday celebration in January.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Less competition for resources. One less thing to do prior to winter break. More stuff on the free table to add to our white elephant gifts. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So many advantages.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I was a bit worried, because I wanted really good things to be in my white elephant gift, or at least to get rid of items that are hanging about the home, and DEFINITELY to bring home as little as possible.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The problem with all of this is that I had been holding on to some choice items from my mom's apartment and mrguy and I had used them during our white elephant with the 'ohana in December. I did have some items that I had acquired in said white elephant, but they didn't offer merriment. The cupboard was kinda bare.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I *did* find some Heinz ketchup-flavored lip balm on the free table but when I went to wrap my gifts, I couldn't find it. Argh. Where is it?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The week of white elephant I picked up a big obnoxious red bow from the free table. And I had a long box that Wayfair used to ship some flat-pack furniture, so I decided to individually pack the items, put them in the big cardboard box and put the ribbon on it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Meanwhile, I cut up advertisements from a 1971 issue of Ring Magazine (boxing) and used them as part of the wrapping. There was a science kit with a Charles Atlas ad. I put a set of coasters in a wine bag with an ad for something that will make you "be taller". Not *look* taller or anything wishy washy. <i>BE</i> taller.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The blue rectangle has a Charles Atlas cartoon on it. The item itself is kinda funny. It's what I think of as the world's most beautiful $16 soap, which I have bought several times from a company called <a href="https://shop.a24films.com/products/a24-x-wary-meyers-test-card-soap" target="_blank">A24</a>. I love the soap but find it a bit drying, so I'm divesting. It took me years to realize that A24 is a film company. They made Everything, Everywhere All At Once, the series Beef, Past Lives, and they also make beach towels (I own two). How did I not know? The soap was a hit, inspiring a steal. There was some horsetrading for one other item.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVtP_8-Qn6rmhc0vqH_V_XBSZFzVwcL-MxcKlXzqrUyNcJVzdKG-WN_qotPdZP45gJFkQ0B0NH7rndpF5g8l1Uv7wdTKHOVLlEcXESTifb_LsXQC4IzkYOa34N5LSFwbWcgqwzAftgukwiUpXsYtkCpmXCFSTaRZ3wfZsRsuVU1LebzsFrsSxWzg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVtP_8-Qn6rmhc0vqH_V_XBSZFzVwcL-MxcKlXzqrUyNcJVzdKG-WN_qotPdZP45gJFkQ0B0NH7rndpF5g8l1Uv7wdTKHOVLlEcXESTifb_LsXQC4IzkYOa34N5LSFwbWcgqwzAftgukwiUpXsYtkCpmXCFSTaRZ3wfZsRsuVU1LebzsFrsSxWzg=w300-h400" width="300" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/WoodWick-Large-Pumpkin-Butter-Candle/dp/B00PUZT43Y?th=1" target="_blank">The big ass pumpkin butter-scented candle with a wooden wick (a $30-$50 item)</a>, also from the 'ohana, was a hit at its final destination. It went from me to my workmate, and from her to a friend who was holding the final white elephant of the season. There, they ate deviled eggs served up on her deviled egg platter (received in our work exchange) by the the light of the crackling wood wick candle.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So ends the holidays. Officially, since it's past my mom's birthday, as well.</span></div>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-86673179261529561462024-01-22T10:07:00.000-08:002024-01-22T10:07:00.579-08:00The Bed<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Mom has a fancy bed. We got a fancy warrantee, and we're using it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Didn't I already describe this? In December I learned that the bed remote wasn't working. I went over to diagnose the problem. Sure enough. Not working. So I crawled under my mom's bed, which is one of the filthiest places known to man, and shimmied on my back over dust bunnies and dried spills to see what the parts looked like. Is there a reset button? No, but there were the dangling contacts of two 9-volt batteries hanging lifeless. Maybe that was the problem.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I went over to the Walgreens nearby to buy batteries. If you want to see random behavior, go to any drug store these days. Guy in line picking a fight with an unhoused person who is dripping? That's Walgreens. Every Walgreens. Also CVS.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">9-volt batteries did not do the trick. I found the warrantee (thank you, middle sister, for saving that!) and called the number. They wanted a bunch of codes that were on various parts of the bed, cord, remote. None of our numbers (many texts with the caregivers for this) gave the folks on the phone the information they needed. After a few calls they allowed a service call.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Service call required me to be up and at 'em on last Monday's holiday (window: 8-noon). I get to mom's and wait. At 9:30 the guy calls to say that he's gotten halfway to my mom's but is sick and needs to go home. I explain to the scheduler that my mom is 96 and is in pain because of the bed situation. We reschedule for today, Monday from 10-2.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The weekend, as I have explained, was pretty awful. And mrguy got another migraine yesterday. Is that his 13th in two months and his third this week? Not sure. This morning we were able to have some coffee together and then the phone rings. It's repairman. It's 8:20. He says he'll be there in 20 minutes. I text the caregiver, who is expecting him between 10-2. She doesn't get the text and is surprised, but whatever.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;">I jumped in my clothes and went over to mom's, finding the repair guy kneeling by the side of the bed and mom gently kicking at him from under the blankets, telling him to go away.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" /><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;">He says that the control box needs to be replaced. He’ll send it to Mom’s address and when we have it we can make an appointment for the install.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" /><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;">He left, and the woman who was moments ago slapping the repairman’s bald head (according to our caregiver) smiles at me and says “How are you, my sweetness?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" /><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;">Uh…</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" /><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;">I asked her how she was doing and she said “Perfect”</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" /><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;">I told her I was just passing by on my way to work. And then I left.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" /><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;">The end.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;" />It is 10am.</span></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-85372885784391281902024-01-21T14:04:00.000-08:002024-01-21T14:04:33.290-08:00Losing My Shit<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Friday was a wash. I feel guilty that my family stuff took up so much of the day when I wished I were working. Admittedly, I started the day with my first session with a new therapist. I really liked her. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Then a few hours of work.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Then a lunch with my mom in her community's dining room. My sister is here to celebrate mom's birthday. Mom is now 96. Fucker. She wouldn't make eye contact with me. No speaking. Just my sister telling me that she is seeing behaviors in mom that she hasn't in the past. She wants to talk about it in advance of my upcoming appointment with my mom's doctor on Monday. I really don't care. I don't want to micromanage mom's wakefulness when what we all want is for her to be peacefully drowsy all day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Back to work. I have spent time leading up to Friday's lunch worrying about bringing dessert and candles and taking time off during the work day, and before that -- SO much time negotiating with my sister about when she's coming to visit, etc. The dining room staff dims the lights because they are closing the dining room. That pisses mom off because she is more wakeful now and doesn't like to be rushed. I realize that dessert will have to be consumed in mom's apartment so I am off like a shot, resisting the lure of more time with mom. My sister says she's sorry for mom's behavior. This is why I no longer do things for her. I can't get that time back, and my mom is awful. I try not to let it get to me but it does.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I get in the car and my phone is ringing -- the doctor's office reminding me of our remote appointment on Monday.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I get home and there is another message saying that the company that does admin for the doctor doesn't have the doctor listed as my mom's primary in their database. To be clear, none of these entities seem to be connected:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">1. Doctor</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">2. Admin group</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">3. Medical network</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">4. Medicare provider</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">1 knows about 2-4</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">3 and 4 know about 1</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">According to the front desk at 1, 2 routinely botches things on January 1st and "randomly reassigns" primary caregivers to patients for no reason. Without notifying 2 about 1 and back-dating the information in 2's database to prior to our Monday appointment, the appointment can't happen.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Mom has been seeing 1 since 2021 when, in the middle of the pandemic, mom's primary's secretary called to say that he was retiring in a month and was offering no referrals. Our current 1 is fantastic, and that whole situation was a complicated blessing in disguise.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">OK! It is now 4:14pm on a Friday and the appointment is scheduled for Monday afternoon. I gotta holoholo. So I call 2, and continue working while I'm on hold. Then I give them mom's details and explain the situation and they tell me that I am not listed as POA for Healthcare in their system. Because of the tight deadline they will do me a favor and give me a HIPAA form by email and I need to send it to the Privacy Officer at 2.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">We run around the house and look for the POA. I eventually find what I think it is, but it is for Legal and Financial. Luckily I am at home, because the digital docs I need are on my home computer but the email from 2 is on my work computer, and I can't turn the HIPAA form into a form I can fill in on the version of Acrobat I have on my home computer but can do that on my work computer. I spend time on that, and then I find the other POA. I'm trying to beat the clock here, and slightly after 5 I get the email sent to the lady at 2. I know that it said to send it to the Privacy Officer, but I'm hoping the lady will do me a solid and forward it on. There isn't a place on the form where I can say things like "I don't know what address you want because we don't send mail to mom's. She wants to see every piece of mail and is enraged if it is kept from her. And she keeps the caregivers so busy that they forget to tell us when important documents somehow arrive at mom's". So we used one of our addresses but none of my sisters know which one.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Because I know that this problem is not going to be solved prior to Monday's scheduled meeting, I call 1 and leave a message canceling the appointment.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The next day, yesterday, I spent an hour and a half on the phone with the Vortex Of Power (my sisters) to discuss my visiting sister's thoughts about what we should advocate for during the doctor visit (whenever it gets rescheduled). After long discussion we decide to make no changes and let it ride. Same with the caregiver situation.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Are you still reading? I'm so sorry. This is long and annoying, I'm certain.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">During the VOP call, my middle sister reiterates that she spends a lot of time worrying about the effects of all of this (caregiving, etc.) on me, and how I somehow seem not to worry about stuff. While my inner self was saying "You stupid fuck -- the time for you to have worried about me is long before now, when you were shaming me for my approach to this situation and making decisions that worked for *you" my external self said "I appreciate that you are worrying for me, and that's very nice, but what good is it doing you? Because it doesn't help me." She stuttered, and I believe she was astonished. I mean really. If I worry about you but don't do anything to help, who's it for? This is the person who GUILTED me because I didn't want to buy a house for mom that she could live in with caregivers. Yes, sports fans, she wanted me to run an entire second domicile and thought I was mean for scoffing at the idea. So back to yesterday. Her response? "Thanks, that actually helps me." Whatever.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Oh my gosh. This is going to take many more words and I am sorry.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">After the phone call I take a hard copy of the documents to FedEx (along with a cover letter to explains the discrepancies). It costs twenty dollars (highway robbery!) and the fax takes ten minutes to send. At work this would have been free and immediate, but I'm in a bind. And I guess I'm getting worked up as this is happening.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Back at home, a box of food arrives. It's the food box from some healthy food company I signed up for and then realized was awful. I couldn't cancel my subscription fully because I had until the next day at 7 to do it and today was Sunday and the next day was a holiday. So all of this bizarre food arrived in terrible packaging and just shouted MISTAKE! YOU MADE AN EFFING MISTAKE! all over it. Mrguy was in a bad state at the instant I was decanting this box of crap, and watching me but also (I did not know) that he was having a full-blown panic attack, and here I was trying to make the most of a bad situation, telling him that I made a mistake but starting to meal plan and natter on. He snapped at me and collapsed into a chair. After he sat down, I realized what was happening, but the effect of the reprimand couldn't be undone.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I also snapped (inside). He slithered off to take a nap, and I started slamming shit around and spiraling into self loathing. I took all of the stuff that had been in that box and stomped it, punched it, obliterated it, put it in the trash and, when I returned home from an errand an hour later, I scooped up that big pile of dog shit I've been meaning to get rid of, and I put that on top of the mess in the trash.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I will not even verbalize the dark place I was in, because it scares me. Was it guy snapping? Was it me telling the VOP earlier "Mom has stolen my life"? It's everything, and I am 100% ok until I'm not.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Please please please let me outlive my mom. By a very long stretch of quality time. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Oy. The end.</span></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-36515662173629992222024-01-14T09:26:00.000-08:002024-01-14T09:26:51.249-08:00Things I Did Not Buy: Wax Jack<p><span style="font-family: arial;">This week I've been eying a thing at a local auction. The drag of the rope of wax is so beautiful and, of course, the color. In my imagination, this item is about 10" high and sitting in the middle of my dining room table. So I keep going back to the auction to see it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Then I looked at its dimensions. So small and ineffectual. I suffered a sudden de-acceleration of desire, if you follow me. I backed up.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">What exactly is a <a href="https://regencyredingote.wordpress.com/2013/01/18/of-wax-jacks-and-bougie-boxes/">wax jack</a>, anyway? It's for sealing wax, not illumination. This item would sit on a desk and melt your sealing wax so you could drip it on your letter to close it and mark it with your crest (or whatever). This was in the days before minty / moldy-tasting pre-glued envelopes (or email).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Not for illumination. Not for looking pretty on your dining table as an object of interest.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Not sexy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Wax jack.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVuwGutXAr5GTRjGhNokiZOziIT0hmJEjdSJ-Np-0G6PSQO2MVCrhyphenhyphenJt1ww1ysW8_hraBzMvkaNYiIgXmUFawX8fJzLOgL8LTsX8wbq_MSf-0xY-CvdBkDijnLa-S511NVS0z8KWxkIDZHuut_xhaE-SYdmafkGvQEeqUeZoecJLHWEez7-c2KJw/s1600/169020847_1_x.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVuwGutXAr5GTRjGhNokiZOziIT0hmJEjdSJ-Np-0G6PSQO2MVCrhyphenhyphenJt1ww1ysW8_hraBzMvkaNYiIgXmUFawX8fJzLOgL8LTsX8wbq_MSf-0xY-CvdBkDijnLa-S511NVS0z8KWxkIDZHuut_xhaE-SYdmafkGvQEeqUeZoecJLHWEez7-c2KJw/s320/169020847_1_x.webp" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p><br /></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-79681202013713359862024-01-13T15:35:00.000-08:002024-01-13T15:35:05.216-08:00Last Sunday<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Weekends are a challenge for my mom, and therefore us. We have a Saturday caregiver who can tolerate her. And we've lucked out with our current agency caregiver who works on Sundays, but even <i>she</i> has a hard time with mom, who is horrible to her. And unfortunately we need to replace the Saturday cg, who is a pain in the ass. We will replace her with an agency caregiver, and so far the agency caregivers have mainly not worked out. With that in mind, none of what happened last Sunday bodes well.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Saturday night: Sunday's caregiver calls in sick. I hear this from the agency, which is on the lookout for a substitute. This means that I go to bed knowing I have to go deal with mom and caregivers in the morning because I will either BE the caregiver for the day or have to train someone.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I report to mom's before 8. A substitute will arrive at 9. Yay!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I hang out with mom and mom's helper from memory care brings breakfast. It's not the usual, incredibly capable and nice person. Mom and I have "cozy bacon time" in which she eats breakfast and feeds me bacon.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg20Hiv75NIO6b-D1Anitceo5AtN2GkVKhudVWEOflw9VH9pjjtyDma6sTDRaX20tb-indjbXWiJs6hFeJ2VZA0ND2JpITos_1WWKpgB2GVkDwSlfkF6RGlr5xTe3M2SEvgo-4RlIJRMqg1PuMM-3MF_feF143TTzXZR-yGh_SpJ_5xG6iSSY_qLg/s4032/IMG_5178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg20Hiv75NIO6b-D1Anitceo5AtN2GkVKhudVWEOflw9VH9pjjtyDma6sTDRaX20tb-indjbXWiJs6hFeJ2VZA0ND2JpITos_1WWKpgB2GVkDwSlfkF6RGlr5xTe3M2SEvgo-4RlIJRMqg1PuMM-3MF_feF143TTzXZR-yGh_SpJ_5xG6iSSY_qLg/s320/IMG_5178.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">There's a knock at the door and the substitute caregiver arrives. Mom immediately starts to act out, yelling and interrupting and throwing things as I try to explain what the cg needs to know.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Mom makes squinty eyes and buck teeth faces at the caregiver. Flips the bird and makes some other gestures that could mean something, or not. "No no no. I don't know her. Go away!"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The caregiver goes to see when my mom is going to get her medication that makes her slightly less of an asshole. While she's out of the room mom repeats the unpleasant mantra about the person she's with "I don't know her!! I don't want her!!" She starts spilling her water on the floor on purpose. I clean it up while she continues to say unpleasant things. I never do this, but I've had it with my mom. Like forEVER, so I say "Fuck you, Mom!! You are a TERRible person" </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It doesn't make me feel one way or the other, I tell my current therapist in our last session ever.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I leave. Since the day is already made poopy by my mom I compound the whole thing by having a long-scheduled discussion on the phone with my sister about replacing our flaky Saturday caregiver. This means that I will have to train and retrain caregivers until we find one who my mom doesn't hate. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">By the time I get home I have the song <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxz1DuVaRr8">Evil Woman</a>, by ELO, stuck in my head. I take a three hour nap with boy kitten. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I wake up. One of our beloved regular caregivers texts me to say that she needs a right-now loan of $2,000. I got you, beloved caregiver.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Sunday suuuuucks.</span></p><p><br /></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-16432997511884996602024-01-13T15:16:00.000-08:002024-01-13T15:16:15.531-08:00Where Are The "Three Dot" Journalists When You Need Them?<p><span style="font-family: arial;">In other news my almost 90-year-old brother-in-law is considering asking for back child support from the descendants of his biological father...</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioIPz0L4xELMvLzKx8AWgBf0tiAUwyenC6MGsNsnH5e5-Roe951NOCp4udwXrgueiHLqGJzPlHlsnprbT5wvoQZRVPHyZ4p3hBF78T8TlDV2kZdzcAFy63xRHVKdVStvbDyQ4DbAd2Ol7tZlEUgbQ_dMsE8t0n0ThtZJK8K0nqEUO3szZFAhYrCA/s4032/IMG_5150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioIPz0L4xELMvLzKx8AWgBf0tiAUwyenC6MGsNsnH5e5-Roe951NOCp4udwXrgueiHLqGJzPlHlsnprbT5wvoQZRVPHyZ4p3hBF78T8TlDV2kZdzcAFy63xRHVKdVStvbDyQ4DbAd2Ol7tZlEUgbQ_dMsE8t0n0ThtZJK8K0nqEUO3szZFAhYrCA/s320/IMG_5150.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></span><p></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-14384875832126407062024-01-07T13:07:00.000-08:002024-01-07T13:07:16.822-08:00Holidays 2023<p><span style="font-family: arial;">The holidays felt brief, but good. It was the first time that I had a Christmas without my mom ever. And after last year I was going to keep it that way! Mom had caregivers that day, but unfortunately mrguy got a migraine, and then another one. And one yesterday. So it was kinda solitary. But I'll take it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">During December I went on a walk with a friend:</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7te7tWP2JR63FqHLtz3oT6jFYYRAX6lBTE5Vb6s27rD9acaPkry_8VTZidDA-0GQv9mehhsl4mYAEm0UI_hnhKDRjbtH6LRbN7vKqQ6tHGA_-YlcaGf4EBkIa_hHWSe25eoxL0_UjJ0RnmX-M3cs7ME7Q4s7kReP-7WfIyY5p5qXvW-HZhrK_6w/s4032/IMG_5066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7te7tWP2JR63FqHLtz3oT6jFYYRAX6lBTE5Vb6s27rD9acaPkry_8VTZidDA-0GQv9mehhsl4mYAEm0UI_hnhKDRjbtH6LRbN7vKqQ6tHGA_-YlcaGf4EBkIa_hHWSe25eoxL0_UjJ0RnmX-M3cs7ME7Q4s7kReP-7WfIyY5p5qXvW-HZhrK_6w/s320/IMG_5066.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And I saw X for the first time, with a different friend (and did not get Covid). Upside: seeing a friend from the forklift factory who I haven't seen IRL in years. Downside: the rest of the show was a recreation of the Talking Heads' Remain In Light, and it was apparently a singalong. This may be payback for that time in the 1980s when I saw Donovan at a small club. I'm sure everybody hated me. I remember thinking that it was ok because my voice was so pretty and everybody would enjoy it. For real.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvVqAPgq9iQdRv_oHlJ6GmHc6HxSSZtfc-vFibZIkdsFnfOrjQOOGKc5O4jRI36JuAJEmRktRM9fWnPVWDemaUDeU3j5D63lPVCoLSQu5evxHkIv5k4X4Cn9HCVoXznnf75DxWE-COdk5d8Ag762Oyc5rMAR2Btp83yz9jKt4U5tpMo6r3Z648g/s4032/IMG_5140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvVqAPgq9iQdRv_oHlJ6GmHc6HxSSZtfc-vFibZIkdsFnfOrjQOOGKc5O4jRI36JuAJEmRktRM9fWnPVWDemaUDeU3j5D63lPVCoLSQu5evxHkIv5k4X4Cn9HCVoXznnf75DxWE-COdk5d8Ag762Oyc5rMAR2Btp83yz9jKt4U5tpMo6r3Z648g/s320/IMG_5140.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Fact? We do these things because we are selfish assholes. Now we know.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyhoo, X was great. RIL was well done, but not Talking Heads as I saw them perform it at the Greek.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Also great? Nice talk with my brother, who is going through some problems with his extremities. Or as he put it "If my body lets me live any longer, I don't think my toes will be along for the ride". And he sent me this beautiful mid-70s Kamaka 8-string. Wow.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtMSYLnzKgGNOF3V3iddmh49pYrrfJZ4Pk_o00eZN2CFZ6i0MVfeLQ8eFpDYVce3g-ZIeiBe-wQKepTwkyhE-T6WoIfvCYdhJdI9NbM6Y3unTDCdH60AEtwhI_OafywluiAn8fQKhcSyOrWff-uRafdf5bPbVKNMxXQX2d6lHqyHiRc-8UJOwqA/s4032/IMG_5129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtMSYLnzKgGNOF3V3iddmh49pYrrfJZ4Pk_o00eZN2CFZ6i0MVfeLQ8eFpDYVce3g-ZIeiBe-wQKepTwkyhE-T6WoIfvCYdhJdI9NbM6Y3unTDCdH60AEtwhI_OafywluiAn8fQKhcSyOrWff-uRafdf5bPbVKNMxXQX2d6lHqyHiRc-8UJOwqA/s320/IMG_5129.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Somewhere along there we had a white elephant exchange with the 'ohana. All of us together! I had a great gift stashed away -- a horrible plastic rock with cute plastic bluejays and cardinals on it. Touch the rock and piercing electronic bird calls issue forth. The friend who received it gave it to his mom, who really loved it and took it back home with her on the plane. Another friend, who I'd given a history of the Coco Palms hotel to, gave that to *his* mom. I'd bought it from one of the aunties when we were in the big ukulele band and I never read it and our friend is from Kauai. Well his mom LOVED it, and that made me so happy. And she went on Amazon to buy a copy for a friend and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Story-Coco-Palms-Hotel-Guslander/dp/0967414792/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3KWTQ0FZX1KLM&keywords=the+story+of+the+coco+palms+hotel&qid=1704660832&sprefix=coco+palms+hotel%2Caps%2C227&sr=8-1" target="_blank">it sells for $450!!</a> Wowza. I found it for her in some local libraries on Kauai, but I can't do better than that.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I also saw Cack and Blick, who were in town visiting family. Mrguy was down with one of the migraines, so we went out to dinner and froze to death indoors. But it was great to see them, as always.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And before the migraines, mrguy and I went to a party. We don't think we've done that since 2019. It consisted of a bunch of retired punk rockers comparing notes about their parents with dementia. One of my friends and I were talking about how awful my mom is, and she told me a story about her grandmother. She was visiting her gran, who started saying disparaging things about a local newscaster on tv (Asian). She turned to her and said "Hey, Grandma. I didn't know that you were Hitler's girlfriend." Grandma started to sputter and then just got quiet and said "Well shit."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Love it. Will use it. Probably won't work.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Finally, on New Year's or such, we opened our Christmas presents. Mrguy bought me divorce cheese. I was extremely impressed that it had been in the fridge so long that it was beyond its "best by" date. Mrguy's comment? "Well that's why they call it 'divorce cheese' and not 'trial separation cheese'"</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Attaboy. So delish.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And then I went to see Godzilla with Hitler's girlfriend's granddaughter and grandson-in-law.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">That's probably more than I did in all of 2022, in terms of socializing.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">What was I thinking?</span></div></div><p></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-62139697252127120432024-01-01T09:50:00.000-08:002024-01-01T09:50:47.734-08:00Nothing Changes on January 1!<p><span style="font-family: arial;">One of the joys of the season is that as we were leaving for our holiday break nobody said "Thank goodness 2023 is over." I think people have largely gotten over the idea that we are promised a new start just because the pages fly off the calendar. It made me happy, because January 1st is basically December 32nd. Feel free to choose a new start but one is not arriving today.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In keeping with that theme, my mom is strong and passionate. I had a great New Year's Eve, but her caregivers (and my sister) did not. In the words of my sister:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">"The caregiver asked me to call because Mom was crying and screaming. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When I called, Mom took pains to tell me how she was proud that she could scream so well, and for so long!!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">We had a 15-min convo and Mom started out by telling me how mean her "maid" was. She was also fixated on how much she owned: everything inside her room, and the building, AND the whole block... Oh! and the birds outside her window. That was a new one."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Contrast this with the sadness of my co-worker's mom's passing, in her 70s. So devoted to her kids, but deeply into her own thing (running and Iron Man). Ranked at the top of her age group and usually outrunning the age group below her, also. Struck down by the lung cancer that sneaks up on non-smokers. I wish I could have given some of my mom's years to her. It's so unfair.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But I guess my mom is deeply into her own athletic event (screaming) and proud to outpace everyone else competing.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">She is in a class of her own, to be certain.</span></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30315350.post-48566670141598158712023-12-30T10:20:00.000-08:002023-12-30T10:20:09.756-08:00Fred Provides<p><span style="font-family: arial;">We finally got Fred to a Coinstar location. Rather than go somewhere around here, in a supermarket where you sometimes have to check your rotisserie chicken for the right number of extremities, we went across the water to a super fancy market where the air smelled like...scallops. Truly. It was so much fun!!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Some Fred facts:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Weight prior to Coinstar: 13.8 lbs</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Dollar amount before fees: $108.22</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Dollar amount after fees: $94.19</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Here is Fred in his native habitat, stopping the door in my home office.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2HMZpmYbYObjWVy4H49Ul5KILzF5J4WsCQXMvchljcQIGNc4wDCBvYKTyZE3jU8CWq6zgv--3M-85R2V7-YqlYSHxBSTDgwF7L-vlqtrFcaJA3bMsqIl9moAoseR4ODRlx8Uyxe4H0QjTpyY6bPYqLNVxdW_heHayLe2B24AgT6Q4oRvVSFxaZA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2HMZpmYbYObjWVy4H49Ul5KILzF5J4WsCQXMvchljcQIGNc4wDCBvYKTyZE3jU8CWq6zgv--3M-85R2V7-YqlYSHxBSTDgwF7L-vlqtrFcaJA3bMsqIl9moAoseR4ODRlx8Uyxe4H0QjTpyY6bPYqLNVxdW_heHayLe2B24AgT6Q4oRvVSFxaZA" width="180" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">We shared a seatbelt during the ride:</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2sb3TAbHm7DqrVYzt8tJrhs8cht_LSHDw4_Pcrmu83BIJMktcaZM073RWvwyBP6vQexx4EmSefI54ml25Qn5r6a50t00qVyN8ZEeH3s2rYWuGLIv7EeVeSmjmJ6imxlWtVK7l6CYPN2kR8AZHgiswUoIh7PVW2RCg8GLFKNhaqU9AocK3niR20g" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1852" data-original-width="1884" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2sb3TAbHm7DqrVYzt8tJrhs8cht_LSHDw4_Pcrmu83BIJMktcaZM073RWvwyBP6vQexx4EmSefI54ml25Qn5r6a50t00qVyN8ZEeH3s2rYWuGLIv7EeVeSmjmJ6imxlWtVK7l6CYPN2kR8AZHgiswUoIh7PVW2RCg8GLFKNhaqU9AocK3niR20g" width="244" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">So much rain:<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPxJnDj7pi5l8hqkJT9Sc8mTQ2SCjnlpEE08JXT64eRvh88SRvK-4iv3wxvxI0sGZOx9CCwgriWl5neGo-sS1VnpnXUdX1p7-WMtjYl7q_gZV1HqEZX17-KPi5O8m_O9iJw0aTUl9PrH5vuHXfile_mYkq5T6pn4lPCAG1ovqEuQAoEypCwjzhZQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPxJnDj7pi5l8hqkJT9Sc8mTQ2SCjnlpEE08JXT64eRvh88SRvK-4iv3wxvxI0sGZOx9CCwgriWl5neGo-sS1VnpnXUdX1p7-WMtjYl7q_gZV1HqEZX17-KPi5O8m_O9iJw0aTUl9PrH5vuHXfile_mYkq5T6pn4lPCAG1ovqEuQAoEypCwjzhZQ" width="320" /></span></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Coinstar rejected a handful of nickels, a Sacajawea dollar coin, a random quarter and some Lira.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSlbea74HlrJ9IOfzEfTmIR-eH_-QlHttxarOgPkz9TNtqrRK3YkYxz3o1m8KboY1a4wr7zRH6_Jo17k38PMtkYIkEPs6Fp_RaWMgMLiUntFATXwgDURwv-KSjJcU6jD7xJW8iuikrtJXVoyaEZ-rETPlGGIUVh1p4dAKvoL8lFeqziW_yTzEY-A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSlbea74HlrJ9IOfzEfTmIR-eH_-QlHttxarOgPkz9TNtqrRK3YkYxz3o1m8KboY1a4wr7zRH6_Jo17k38PMtkYIkEPs6Fp_RaWMgMLiUntFATXwgDURwv-KSjJcU6jD7xJW8iuikrtJXVoyaEZ-rETPlGGIUVh1p4dAKvoL8lFeqziW_yTzEY-A" width="180" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Nobody batted an eye that I was carrying around an 18" high Fred Flintstone bank at FancyMart. They just kindly gave us our cash and we drove home in the rain. Mrguy gave me my cut while I made us our dinner of stuffed potatoes, green beans and salmon. It's a partial Christmas, Observed. Still haven't opened presents, but we're catching up :)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Mrs Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13383485538845295652noreply@blogger.com0