DOES IT ALL HAVE TO BE LIKE WAL MART?

This time each year the Bohemian Grove is in full swing and the Sonoma County Fair opens with the Champagne Preview of the Flower Show.  My mother calls her children to gather around her...one would think to take in the amazing display of delicate floral beauty that abounds ... but mostly it is a mother's desire to have her children near.

My brother brings his girlfriend Terry and I invite Stephanie, as McYummy is in Ashland Oregon and I share a common spirit with this friend:  we both have mothers who are Gemini.  Forgive me KB, but it's true...

In sweltering heat that touched 110 and felt like the surface of the sun, we drank champagne and dripped sweat.  The humidity filled the showroom floor and the flowers stood at attention.  I am thinking the contestants should have filled their landscape entries with flowers of a tropical nature, because I wonder how the flower show exhibit will last the length of the fair.

Sonoma County is rapidly changing.  It is readily apparent in this local fair.  It used to be the Flower Show Preview was hosted by the Welfare League.  The Welfare League was a local volunteer organization - a virtual who's who of old Santa Rosa money.  It was a honor to be a volunteer associated with this charity group.  We used to joke that you had to have a foundation in your honor just to be a member.  Each year the Flower Show preview was their grand ball of events.

Local caterers prepared the hor d'eovers in some secret back room.  The Welfare League volunteers served the paying patrons in full-length black tuxedos and ball gowns.  Diamonds dripped like the tulips that bare their namesake.  The Flower Show Preview sold out every year and you were lucky if you made it into this grand event.  And, of course, my mother invited me back then too.  I think she loved seeing what kind of gown I was going to wear and hoped I'd marry a doctor's son.  Unfortunately for her I always liked the guys that got their hands dirty for a living.

The Flower Show Preview was one of those events where you couldn't walk three feet without seeing someone you knew, in the packed crowd of 1400 and it could take 30 minutes to move 25 feet.  It was wicked fun.  Sometime back in the early 90s the Fair Director changed and a fight broke out between this Director and the Welfare League.  The Welfare League stopped hosting the event, and since then it has never been the same.

The flowers are always beautiful of course.  But, the original designer of this Hall of Flowers died some years back.  His designs were breathtaking.  He like to suspend art from the ceiling and make it the backdrop to the floral gardens.  One year, he built a replica of the Golden Gate bridge that hung across the ceiling from one end of the building to the other.  His water falls were legendary.  You'd swear you were entering Niagara Falls when your feet touched the ground at the enterence to the Hall of Flowers.

Now patrons wear shorts and jeans, there are lines for the food and no one walks around in a tux filling your glass with champagne over the roar of laughter, chatting and the famous water fall.  The exhibits are pretty, but don't take your breath away, or force a gasp and "wow!" from your mouth.

The back room off the floral showroom floor used to be filled with ammetuer entries from local gardens.  Now, it only carries a small assortment of succulents.  The room was once filled with roses of all varieties.  I guess there are no more women (or men) raising roses for competition at the fair.   Is this now a lost art?  The caterer use this room as an overflow, so the presentation of having a treat served to you from a plate from somewhere unseen is now gone.  People stand in line like cattle waiting for a feeding.  Now, I usually eat dinner before I attend, as I have no desire to stand in line for food.

The local wineries know what they are doing and step away from their serving tables to pour you a glass as you stand admiring a local landscape entry.  I don't know many people.  I am now among a few hundred strangers.  It is fun to be with family and friends among the smell of flowers.  But, I miss the endless stream of old Santa Rosans stopping to say hello, introducing you to someone new.  Sonoma County was a tight knit community.  Everyone helped each other, everyone liked each other. It was a forgiving place.

My family was always one of the last to leave every year...walking along with employees from Rosenburgs.  Mr. McNeany's voice bellowing somewhere in the distance. It is just the ghost of memories past that remind me of the days we were all friends in this community.  There was a sense of grace, trust and the feeling of being a part of a town that embraced and supported you - through all the stupid things we do growing up.

Like the Vegas of old, with it's dress codes and style the Preview of the Flower show has changed its grandeur to appeal to the masses.  Funny, it has never once sold out since they changed it...

Until next time-

C 

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SALAGA-DOOLA, MENCHIKA-BOOLA, BIBBIDI-BOBBIDI-BOOB

Only in my world, is humor mixed within tragedy...

Saturday, Dale stops by my home to drop off some financials and commercial development deals for me to work through while he is up North dealing with his father's death.

Now mind you, I didn't know he was coming, so there I was in house cleaning mode. Cleaning mode is no shower, hair up in a high bent pigtail, ugly sweats, barefoot, no make up and some god awful holy t-shirt.  Oh yes, and my worst bra.

You see ... I am one of those old-fashioned cleaning types, who scrubs everything on their hands and knees.  The very last thing I do is take a shower. I clean the tub just before I bathe.  I end the cleaning day all clean myself, and sit down to a nice glass of Pinot.

However, Dale arrives at 11:00 am, just after I scrubbed the kitchen floor and am in the bathroom cleaning the toilet.  This is definitely not clean, Pinot Catherine. Visualize bright green rubber gloves with your lovely picture of my cleaning self and you can imagine what I look like as I round the corner to the sound of his "Hello" coming through the screen door.

There he is all 6 foot, god-of-something feet tall, dark Amazon man in shorts, a pressed t-shirt - sporting a tan.  I'd smile big to distract him, but I haven't brushed my teeth.  I don't want to turn him to stone.

In he comes right into my mid-morning cleaning.  I notice Brian has dirty underwear at the entrance to his bedroom.  I am hoping Dale won't look that way, as I wonder how they missed the laundry I just completed.

Dale sits right down at my dining room table piled high with folded laundry.  He opens his leather bag and begins pulling out documents.  We make small talk, as I try to smell myself when he's not looking.  I am sure I smell something of laundry soap, boys old socks, pinesol and dirty water.

Then my heart stops.

His left arm is resting on the pile of my folded underwear. 

To the left of his hand, my folded bra - looking like some white boob laying face up on the table. 

"Please God strike me with lightning at this moment and remove me from this place - NOW!"

God rarely listens to me these days.

Luckily Dale doesn't seem to notice, or he is ignoring the pile.  I, however cease to hear another word he says, because my eyes are mortifiably fixated on my folded panties and white lace boob sitting on the table.  Good God I am in hell.

After what seems like three years, Dale finally has to leave.  He gets up and says goodbye.  To my relief my underwear isn't clinging to his arm hair. Brian begins to come out of his room and steps on his dirty underwear while saying bye to Dale.  Of course, Dale glances down at Brian's feet.  He grins.  Well... Dale does have 5 children - 4 boys and 1 girl.  He says nothing but a "Bye" to Brian. 

Is there is big hole for me to jump into yet?

As he walks away I check out his backside to make sure none of my laundry is sticking to him.  I am sure Cinderella had it better.  At least no mice ran across Dale's path as he walked out the door...

Until next time-

C

PS.  Now ... what in the hell am I suppose to do with his stack of papers?    

 

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GONE IN A FLASH

Man killed in collision with semi on U.S. 93

Thursday, July 13, 2006 5:38 PM PDT

ELKO — A California man was killed Wednesday after his vehicle hit a tractor-trailer rig on U.S. 93 about 15 miles south of Jackpot.

Eugene Edmund Palsson, 74, of Myers Flat, Calif., died at the scene, according to a Nevada Highway Patrol report.

Palsson had been driving south at 12:30 p.m. when he allowed his pickup to drift into the northbound lane and into the path of a semi.

The semi driver, Darryl Troy Wendlund, 37, of Calgary, Alberta, attempted to avoid a collision by steering to the right but the pickup’s left front struck the left front of the tractor trailer, according to the report.

Upon impact the pickup rotated violently counterclockwise and came to a stop on its wheels. The tractor-trailer stopped on the east shoulder.

Wendlund and Palsson’s passenger, Dustin Brown, 23, of Sacramento, both were injured and transported to Magic Valley Regional Medical Center in Twin Falls.

A SUMMER CAROL

We've all seen them, those contemptibly narrow in outlook people with 'petty little comments or deeds' who disgust us with their small-minded pettiness.  Those passive aggressive fits they have over relatively nothing... the obsessing over crap that just doesn't matter.  The girl that uses her keys to mark cars she thinks are parking in the spot she wants.  The the guy who pees on another's gym bag because he got the starting shot.  The the woman who must email other women they believe their boyfriend might have an affair with, even though the other women live 5 million miles away.  The the person who slows down when you are in a hurry.  The co-worker who tries to sabotage your work.  Sometimes it shows itself in people who get upset over nothing of great importance.  They take their anger to a level few understand, twisting and turning over and over in their heads the deed that gave them their self righteous indignation over something trivial.  Leaving the rest of us to scratch our heads in a "Huh?" as we slowly back away and try to distance ourselves.

I don't know if it is the full moon this week, but I noticed this petty mindedness and pondered what makes people like this.  You'd think they'd understand life is just too damn short.  My theory is people like this are so miserably unhappy in their life with no goals, plans, or real thoughts for their life (and taking the necessary steps to implement their dreams) so they stand around and stare out at the world through a very pessimistic and jealous view.  Some have a grandiose view of their importance in this world and have no clue that we don't give a shit.

I notice that my friend Stephanie, who is very fit and very beautiful, deals with women who immediately don't like her because of what she looks like.  I have seen it happen to her first hand and it blows me away.  I think beautiful, wonderful women are great.  So are men of the same type for that matter.  I guess there is prejudice of varying degrees no matter who or what you are. I prefer to admire a person's soul, not what they look like or what they drive, wear, etc.  It is the inner person you end up hanging out with - the other fades with time. When Stephanie notices the looks and comments from other women I am at a loss for words to comfort her and want to apologize for the small minded women everywhere.

This week I was also thinking about the loss of my dad, and how terribly short life is.  Maybe when you get sick and have to take tiny little pills the rest of your life you begin to really value your whole entire life - even the itty bitty details.  Every day I thank the heavens above for Brian and every aspect of my life.  It only takes a day for everything to change.  Do I want more from life?  Sure, but every day that I take a breath and walk this earth is a piece of heaven spent - no matter how difficult or laborious.

Maybe I was feeling signs of things to come as Stephanie calls to inform me that a friend's sister was in a car accident and the sister's boyfriend died.  The sister is in the hospital.  They were in a car accident leaving the party Saturday night.  I said my prayers for the family and then thanked God for my life as it is thank you very much.

Today Dale, my boss, friend and hero calls me.  "I need your help with some things" he says beginning the call.  I reply in humor "I'm BUSY!! Leave me alone!" as we both laugh.  He stops, "Cath, my father died last night."  A pin drops.  "What?" respond, as I go into shock, "He wasn't sick was he?" I ask.  "No, he was driving back from Utah and fell asleep at the wheel and hit a semi head on.  He died instantly."  Tears begin to fall down my face as I say, "I am so sorry, oh my dear God, I am so sorry."  We talk for a while about his dad, my dad and the loss of those we love.  He lost his mother at the beginning of this year.  Years like this knock you to the floor.  I still remember all to well the year my father died.  We swam in the mud swamps of hell.  The sticky mud of pain clinging like glue.  One bad experience after another, slapping us back down into the mud.  You begin to think you will never laugh again, or be free.  The mud seems to cling to you forever.  Until one day you remember how precious life is, and suddenly you hear the sound of your own laughter.  The magic that is life returns.

So there it was with Dale, the moment that makes us remember what really matters in life.  The story that makes us remember the mud and how everything can change in just one instant.  The love I feel for Brian, my mother, brother, family and friends is all that matters.  The things we do that make people remember our love for a lifetime is the most important gift.  Nothing else.  Not the who-is-parked-where-I-want-to-park so called problems, or who-did-what-to-whom prejudices, or the pouting-for-what-we-think-we-want behavior.  It's about trying to experience love every free breathing day we have.  There is an end to everyone's life.  The story does finish.  It doesn't matter if you are the President or the homeless man on the corner - it will end the same for both.  I make sure every time I say goodbye to someone I care for, I include those precious three words, "I love you."   

How do you want to remember life or be remembered?

I want to remember how much love I gave away and how lucky I was to be loved by the people who love me - past and present.  I don't need some Christmas Ghost of past or present rattling his chains on Christmas Eve to remind me the value of this life, and how unimportant so many things are.

My dear Dale, how my heart goes out to him and his family.  "God bless us, everyone."

C

PS.  I love you too.

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I INTEND TO LIVE FOREVER...SO FAR SO GOOD...

I once was told birthday celebrations came to be in ancient Ireland where evil spirits were thought to be more attracted to people on their birthdays. In order to keep away the evil spirits, big celebrations full of joy and well wishes were thrown for the birthday person.  I think the Irish side of my family believe the Irish created everything...

Oh, and there is also this silly Irish tradition of holding a child by their feet and bouncing their head on the ground the number of times equal to the child's age.  I am guessing this is why Irish men love Rugby.  Luckily Brian was born the weight and thickness of a football player, so no head bouncing in his world...yet.

But maybe the head bouncing thing does explain a great deal about MY personality...

Speaking of rugby, Brian begins summer school and football camp next week.  Frank Scalercio, an old high school friend will be coaching him at camp.  I swear we are not this old.

Luckily Frank is Korean - not Irish.

My fourth of July birthday always seems to stretch over a week or two like some pagan celebration. Rarely is it celebrated only on the fourth itself.  This year, it began with the Pennegrove Parade on July 2nd, a funky little home town parade in the city of Pennegrove.  It lasts one city block - well Pennegrove is really one city block.  All the bars are open (there are three on this farm town block) serving cocktails at half price in plastic cups.  I think they start serving at 8 that morning.

If we are in town (not away on vacation), my entire family, along with a group of cousins, meet there and treat me like the parade Marshall.  I am given this posh seat with a table and a front row view of the parade. This year Brian brought a friend and they caught so much candy it appeared as if they had gone trick-or-treating.  I was cool because basically I was allowing them candy for breakfast.

Once the parade is over, everyone in town walks down the street to the Pennegrove Park where a traditional fourth of July celebration begins.  There is a chicken, steak, hot dog, hamburger, and oyster bar-b-que.  There is a margarita bar, beer and wine.  A country western band serenades the crowd to dance.  Cotton candy abounds and the local FFA kids provide homemade desserts.  There are more cowboy hats than sandals.  Families pack the large checkered picnic tables, relaxing and enjoying the day.  The kids run wild among the buried large tractor tires, swings and vast blond fields of un-cut hay.  It is a child's paradise and I love watching how dirty Brian gets by the end of the day.

While seated on our circle of camping chairs, enjoying our drinks and telling family stories, I am approached by the photographer and journalist for the Village Voice.  The Village Voice is the Pennegrove newspaper, which is smaller than most high school newspapers.  He has heard the fourth is also my birthday and wants to know what represents a traditional fourth of July to me.  I tell him that besides the fireworks, it is corn on the cob, bar-b-que and sunshine.  I ask him if they need a free lance writer.  Hey - I never stop pursuing this dream.  He was a nice kid.  When I get a copy of the article I will try and scan it here and give everyone a good laugh.

The day ends at my mother's place where she serves her traditional cheese cake and gives me a gift.  This year it was a shirt that looks like something she would wear and a new make up mirror.  I swear I am not this old.  Brian is so dirty he looks like he is black.  These wonderful years with him are going by too fast.

For my birthday itself, Brian insists I take him to the beach.  Funny how our birthdays also become about the kids.  I finally agree, only if he is willing to wake up early and go at breakfast time.  Me and my big mouth... on my birthday morning he awakes me with a shake at 6:30am.  My bad, I guess I need to clarify breakfast time on a holiday.

I fix breakfast through sleepy, half open eyes and pack a picnic lunch.  Brian gathers Boonie the dog, blankets, pillows and anything he can get his hands on that qualifies as a digging tool - including my garden shovel.  We are out the door at 8am heading west through fog to the Pacific Ocean and a wonderful state park beach: Doran Beach.  By the time we reach the state park entrance, the fog has lifted exposing a beautiful sunny blue day.  Happy birthday to me. 

We have our choice of parking spots and unload our beach gear.  We hike over the soft sand dunes on to a wide white sand beach.  We are almost alone except for the local runners and hikers that exercise by the waters shore everyday.  What a life they lead.  Brian runs about finding just the "right" spot and we set up camp.  Before running down to the waters edge with the dog, he pulls a small bag from his things and hands me a birthday gift.  "Here mom, I love you" he says as he darts off in a dead run to the water.  I don't even have time to say a "Thank you".  I open the card.  He has written about a hundred "I love you's" inside.  I start to cry.  He is such a great kid.  I am so lucky.

Inside the bag is a digital camera.  He comes running back up from the water and dives on his knees to the blanket, sending sand everywhere.  "Isn't that cool?  Now you can take pictures for your blog like you want to", he smiles at me as he grabs the package ready to explain what a digital camera is.  Yes folks we are approaching the age where he thinks he knows more than me.  I let him explain until the dog is barking at him to return to the water.  Up he jumps with shovel in hand heading back to the softly cresting waves. "COME ON MOM" he yells back at me. 

I arise and look at this perfect morning at the beach.  Brian is truly brilliant sometimes at knowing exactly what my soul requires.  This ideal setting is precisely what I need.  I run down to the shore.  I chase Boonie and collect shells to remember the day.  Handsome men hike by remarking at the site of mother, dog and boy.  They see it is a classic Norman Rockwell morning for us ... and likely remembering their lost boy days of years past.

We wrap it up at about two o'clock as the beach becomes crowded for the fourth.  I am having my mother over for dinner and a group of us are walking up the street to watch the fireworks from the side of the hill.  Brian plans on making me a cake and helping me cook the dinner.  We need time for this project.  I thank him for a perfect birthday,  He grins and looks away from me.

Later that night as I am fretting over the fact that he is growing up, due to his ability to cook, chose presents and think of others ... he walks over at the beginning of the fireworks and sits on my lap.  He is almost the size of me now, but in this moment he is my little boy again.  I love the fact that cities all over set off fireworks just for me.  I remember last year we were with my cousin Mitch on the reservation setting off illegal fireworks.  No wonder Brian loves me.

I roll into my office on Wednesday to presents all over my desk.  Andrea has left me a bushel of hand picked lavender.  Barbara sends me a bouquet of flowers with a card saying she is making my x husband buy all of us lunch.  Stephanie stops by with a bag full of shoe desk accessories.  It is mostly a day of laughter.  Too bad work isn't like this everyday...

Thursday evening Stephanie takes me out for cocktails at the restaurant up the street and Friday is "Girls Night With Johnny".  Saturday I am invited with Stephanie to a private party up in the hills of Santa Rosa.  Jaysus, I need a vacation from my birthday.

I am another year older and so the fight continues...

C

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COMPUTER FLU

Ok, either it is my computer, AOL, or both, but I am having one hell of a time updating this journal.  I am working on my computer issues, but the AOHELL thing is out of my control.  I know it is time to move this journal to my own web site, but my x husband's business is booming (thanks to my marketing savvy and business knowledge).  Then add in Brian, family, friends and working out.  It is difficult to find the time to create and manage my own web site.  Plus, I want to go back to night school.  I used to always take college courses every year - just for fun.  Since Brian was born I have not been able.  He is now old enough, and my relationship is good enough with my x to start back taking fun college classes again.  I am feeling healthy enough to handle it all.

So bear with me as I try to update this journal without canceling AOL or throwing the CPU across the room-

C

PITSTOP

I know...I know.

I am not writing.  It isn't that I don't have ramblings to type - good lord you should hear my head.  My mind is a constant scrabble game of words.  It's just that I have been busy. 

And...I have developed this new thing where my legs are so exhausted at night they keep me awake.  It's like I must get up and dance, but really I recognize it as exhaustion without the ability to relax.  I cannot relax.  What the hell is up with that?  My legs require movement and they drive me nuts.

Then I find out this is called "Restless Leg Syndrome".  Oh fuck me for yet feeling just one more thing with my body.  What in the hell did I ever do to my body to piss it off in such a way that it makes every day living like a hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon with a 50 pound pack on my back and four inch heels?

So once again I am not sleeping through the night.  If I was married I could drive my husband nuts through the night, but alas I only have the TV remote to torture. 

I have received some emails from a few people wondering if I am ok.  I guess if one doesn't go back into the old archives, they wouldn't know that I have been dealing with Hashimotos disease for three years now.  Each day is a fight for me, I just don't always show it or talk about it.  People don't want to hear about someone's illness.  It makes them uncomfortable.  Sometimes when I am at work, without makeup, hair in a pig tail and gym clothes, I wonder if anyone realizes the effort it took just to be there.

No, instead it is as if everyone wait for me to arrive to get things moving.  I am followed about like a dog being chased by fleas.  Perfectly healthy people needing me as their touchstone to their day, including my x husband. 

Does anyone notice when I go off to a couch and lay down "just to rest a bit" ... or cut an evening short to go home to bed?  Or that I often have to sit down to take in a conversation?  No, I don't believe they do,because I am always laughing and making fun.  I love to laugh.  It's wonderful if I can get people to laugh at my craziness.

Maybe they need to think I will always be fine... that I am not sick... or note that I am in a fight for my life - especially the quality of my life.  Maybe it scares them, so to pretend not to see my suffering makes them believe it will go away.  Catherine the great always triumphs at everything - she won't let us down.

Now... my mother on the other hand just looks at me and always says "When was your last bowel movement?"  I would rather she pretend I am fine, but no, she looks me over and grills me with medical questions.  "Are those bruises on the back of your legs above those shoes?  Are you going to wear those shoes?"

Or, "I see a lot of cleavage there , do you have a safety pin?"  "No mom, we are not safety pinning my top" ...

It is the week of my birthday.  Happy fourth of July to me.   Yes, I was born at 5:30pm on the fourth of July many years ago.  I was to go out of town this weekend, but I am not feeling up to it.  Instead, I will surround myself with family and friends and look forward to a new birth year.  Maybe we will cure this disease yet ...

I am thinking of college in the Fall....

C 

MORE HASHIMOTOS STORIES

Towards the end of my thyroid hell, when Doctors were still attempting to figure out what was wrong with me, I dated this guy, Bill who was sure my illness was all in my head.  I dropped him like a burning frying pan handle to the floor.  I knew it wasn't in my head.

Mary Shoman, a crusader for people suffering from Thyroid disease manages a web site to raise awareness about this particular type of auto-immune disease.  I often go out to her web site for support, understanding and the knowledge that there are others out there who suffer just as I have.  It is wonderful to know one is not alone in this disease.

In Mary's push to get Oprah to pay attention to this disease (still unsuccessfully), she posted stories from women who suffer from this disease.  I found a partner in symptoms from this article posted at:

http://thyroid.about.com/cs/publicawareness/l/bloprahletters.htm:  (<<--click here)

"I am a highly intelligent woman who spent my youth coasting through school, taking all the top honors classes but never having to study to make my straight A+ grades. I graduated at the top of my class with twice as many honors credits as any of my peers. I had participated in so many extracurricular activities that I earned four separate letter jackets! My bedroom was filled with my trophies and awards.

On a full academic scholarship, I headed off to college where I majored in math. It was just as easy as high school; I rarely had to study to earn top grades even though I also worked part time. I graduated Magna Cum Laude and was active in numerous clubs and social service groups throughout my college years. I married an Air Force officer and happily moved across the country with him.I worked part time and served on the board of our Officers' Wives Club; as a matter of fact, I held THREE board positions and wrote 2 different articles (on 2 different topics) for our monthly magazine (as well as being the asst editor). My life was rich and full and I never felt too busy or overwhelmed. It was easy..."

Please click on the link and read her full story.  It frightens me how much our stories are alike.  My closest friends will recognize me there.  The years of suffering, thinking I was going mad.  I think the problem was there for years, as working out made me tired and I worked out every day.  I chose night work outs because the exertion would exhaust me and help me to sleep.  Patrick thought I was crazy, able to work out an hour and a half every night before bed.  We should have guessed my metabolism was nuts.  I should have weighed 100 pounds. 

Please learn about Hashimotos and thyroid disease.  You may be able to help a woman you love, be it your wife, mother, daughter, sister, girlfriend... who is suffering needlessly not understanding what is happening to them.  My dearest friends know how I fought with the doctors to find out what was wrong and make it right.  Disease to me means that our bodies are out of sorts and without the knowledge of what is wrong we cannot support our bodies in a way that promotes healing.

I take liquid high dose vitamins everyday and make sure I rest.  I take my thyroid meds at the same time every morning and I track what is happening with my body and then give my notes to my doctors.  They either think I am the best or worst patient they have ever had.

So I am on a mission to let people see how a single mother deals with life while fighting a disease, raising a boy and living life through this blog. I never want anyone to go through what I have gone through - ever.  Maybe my blog will help just one person out there...

C

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TAMPONS WILL NOW MAKE GOOD CHRISTMAS TREE...

This online journal is like a long winding river which flows from a mountain peak, finding the path of least resistance as it travels back to its source, often running high and wild, other times still and almost dry.  It has been a week since I have done significant writing of any type.  For shame.  This would be known as the "river is dry" period...

I was a good girl this week and rested, restoring my energy.  I am getting better at managing my Hashimotos.  However...

I am in menopause.  TA DA. There, I said it.  Actually I am glad, as I understand that often menopause allows the thyroid to return to normal function, so maybe I will get lucky...?  This menopause thing is a new development.  Will I be sad not to have more children?  No, I love Brian and he fills my soul.  Besides, obviously my thyroid problem made getting pregnant difficult these past 25 years. 

Alas, FINALLY I am warm - let's throw a party.  We can make tampon angels and burn them...

Felicita's memorial service was Saturday.  We said our formal goodbyes to the end of an era.  My niece leaves for Boulder Colorado August 15th.  I wonder how much I will see these kids in the next 20 years....

La nostra pietra di paragone italiana e anddata.

C

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SETBACKS

{Sigh} I have gone and done it to myself. 

This crash started about on Thursday when the heat wave began.  It was a stressful week.  The old aching from my toes to my head crept back with a vengence.  I ignored it, and ran out of my thyroid meds on Thursday.  I skipped Friday's dose and told myself I'd get around to refilling the prescription at the pharmacy up the street.  I mean, come on, I have been doing so well...

I suffer from my own pride of still not fully admitting that I must take extreme good care of myself.  I am not able to treat my life, and my body like I once did.  It has a mind of its own and brings me to my knees when I disobey.

When the nights are miserable and I am in severe pain caused by exhaustion and no recovery, depression settles in as I realize I am still fighting this dreaded thyroid condition.

I went to the pharmacy after my third nap today, and took the pills right at the counter.  My throat hurts terribly where my thyroid is located and it is difficult to swallow.  Now I must rest and try to recover, with lots of water, vitamins and soup.

Sunday I am suppose to help McYummy start his own blog and we were going to discuss the next step in my book...a whole day of artistic creating.  Now, all I feel like doing is sleeping.  It is times like this I wish I had an older relative on a ranch that could invite me out to stay a piece.  I'd rest, walk among the fields, write and be taken care of.

But alas, I do not.  Ebet usually does this for me, but I have not been able to make the trip to Folsom.  There is no way I could handle driving myself the three hours to get to her now.  She is also dealing with her own troubles at this time, and I would be in the way.

These are the times I do miss living with a man, one who could run things so I could take a break.  Although many of my friends complain that their men never take care of them when they are sick and the house just falls apart.  I think often men do more than we realize, they just don't do it "our way" so we don't give them their proper due.

I did manage a birthday dinner for my mother Friday evening.  SHe told me it looked like I had one shoulder lower than the other.  HUH?  Why do mothers do this to their daughters?  Why not just tell me my ass is sagging?  She did point out the bruises on my legs.  I think she forgets I am raising a boy, and I tackle a large garden.  My thoughts were "I AM EXHAUSTED - CAN"T YOU SEE??" but I didn't express them.  I just continued preparing the trout with my hump shoulder, sagging ass and bruises...

Thank god for the men who tell me I am pretty - including my son.  Yes people, I have asked my mother many times to stop, but she does not.  I can't be perfect, so I stopped trying a long time ago.  My mother forgets I gave up that quest.

I have taken three Alleve, a Sominex and a large glass of water ... hopefully I can now retire and get some sleep in the hopes I can recover enough to see McYummy and take another step forward to my dreams.

I'll try counting hump shouldered sheep...

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

LEAD FEATHERS

Well, knock me over with a feather.  My niece sent me a thank you for coming to her graduation and for the gifts.  I bought her a small white gold bracelet strung with hearts.  I also bought her a book.  I told her to take the bracelet away to college and whenever she is homesick to put it on and look at the hearts and remember that she is loved by many.  The book was letters from famous women to their young selves and I wrote a quote on the inside dedicated just for her. 

I do love her very much, and I think she is finally beginning to see that my mother, brother and myself have always steadfastly been there for her.  We don't show it with money - we show it with our deeds.  I think she was clouded by the divorce and is beginning to see that it takes two to make or break a relationship. 

I realized upon opening her thank you that it was the first written note I have ever received from her.  The thank you was heartfelt as she discussed the bracelet and what it meant and had started reading the book with fascination.

I am looking forward to writing her at college.  She asked me for care packages.  I thought it would be fun to write her about my life with Brian and Boonie and enclose fun goofy stuff from Brian, along with tampons, shampoo and hair products.  You know, the things we always run out of in college that are a bitch to pay for. 

She is going off to Colorado to study Nutrition to become a Nutritionist.  She is wicked enough smart to be a Scientist or an Engineer.  When i point this out to my mother, she raises one brow and says "Yes, she is a lot like you."  Ok, I get it.  I was a bitch and when everyone thought I would become this journalist I went off and studied marketing and moved in with Rich into our new home.  No one could tell me a thing.  So it is in the DNA then...?...

... I hear some faint yeses echoing in the distance...

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

DEAR DIARY

It's funny the emails and comments I get about this blog.  People forget it is my diary online.  Paper diaries don't follow a particular line, often are written in different inks and penmanship varies from day to day.  It is the same online.  Some days are boring, some funny, and others are sad.  Each entry strings together to create a mental photo in time of a persons thoughts on any given day.

Some days are too busy to write.  I am working out everyday and back to meditating.  Brian's summer has begun and managing his days is another part time job in itself.  An x boss and good friend has come to work at the office.  There is laughter in my days.

McYummy ran a marathon in LA this past weekend.  We are both making strides with our dreams.  I fear his book may get published first and this could really piss me off (laugh).  KIDDING.

Dale, my other x boss and our broker came up for a visit. A group of us went to lunch.  Steph met him and whispered "Wow he'd be perfect for you".  Ha ha.  I do agree, except he is a happily married man who is very committed to his family.  He is like Monopoly money to me.  He does take good care of me, and sometimes it is better to have great men as friends so we don't fu** it up and loose them.  Savvy?

It's interesting how I now find myself surrounded by quality men and my x husband even stepped up to the plate.  Maybe I had to get sick to be vulnerable enough to allow in a different type of man (or MEN) to my life.  Even my girlfriends are a wonderful, brilliant selective few.  I don't want to go back to what was around before.

My x husband observes, "The men you have dated (that I have seen) all seem like angry men with a chip on their shoulder and a couple of your female friends did too".  Well, I suppose it would take one to know one, but I'd have to agree.  He has commented that it is good to see that I have improved my standards.  Well...one could only go up (laugh).  But really I just stopped caring and got on with getting well, pursuing a dream and focusing on Brian.  Everything else just seemed to fall into place.

Ok, unless it falls apart.

HA!

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

MENTAL LETTER TO SELF

Life is not a fairy tale, but I think the possibility exists for boys as they escape the confines of the classroom and run gleefully into long summer days.

Summer is the magical fairy tale for boys.  They can spend hours killing ants, swimming to explore Atlantis, invade countries from the backyard and win the world series with a handful of neighborhood kids and rocks for bases.

This fairy tale started for Brian at exactly 2:30pm on Friday with the sound of a school bell.  School is out for the summer.

His father drove him to a party and sleep over in Napa as I attended my nieces graduation from high school ... and probably the beginning of her fairy tale ...life away from high school.  We think we are set free when we graduate from high school - HA.

I am not one for regrets, because it wastes precious time in the present.  I gave my niece this book where women wrote letters to their younger selves.  If I were to write my younger, just-out-of-high-school self what would I say?  I think I'd say:

Dear Catherine,

Study the Arts.  You are talented and creative and after 19 years of ballet you know staging, props, stage make-up, and projection.  You have a beautiful singing voice.  You should - you have been voice trained for six years and sang in one of the top high school choirs.  Take some acting classes.  Try out for the theatre group.  Study the writing of stage plays.  Write one about redheads. Be less afraid.  Care less about boys.  Don't take college courses that please your mother.  You can't make her happy again after your father's death and you will hate your college courses.  She will be happy again on her own and marry Santa Claus.  You will be happy again too - so will your brother.  Embrace your creative side. 

Guess what?  You are so damn skinny a good wind could blow you away.  That isn't fat you see - it's in your head. But you don't see the thin do you?  Wear your beautiful red hair like a badge of courage.  Stay away from the party crowd - keep that freckled head in your books.  Keep Rich as a friend or you will spend seven years going in a circle.  Try and work for ACT in San Francisco.  You have beautiful breasts and pretty feet.

Save your money for a trip to Europe before you get married.  You will cancel the trip before college, so go later.  Don't keep putting it off.  I cannot tell you not to marry Terry, because you will want to, because of your future son Brian (who you will love more than you ever thought possible).  You will be a great mom and love being one.  Have separate bank accounts and credit though.  Make sure you have good job for all of your married life. Expect to be the one that does it all and either accept it, or get out early.

You will be great at computers - who knew?  Buy Nike, Dell and Microsoft stock.  Don't date the US Treasury Agent.  Choose the Engineer at Morrison Knudsen over Rich.  Once divorced, don't waste your time with Patrick.  Don't date married men or any man who is just out of a relationship.  You will learn this late in life if you don't.

Skip working in corporate America.  They will suck the life out of you.  Creativity doesn't fit in their square box.  Besides, people will work 65 hours a week and invest in pensions only to have a food company buy and sell them off.  Go elsewhere for employment.  Rats looking for cheese have abetter life than a cubicle corporate executive.

You have a wicked sense of humor and are great fun.  Be fussy as to who you share this with.  A girl KB may come along and change your life, along with Elisabet and Stephanie.  You will treasure Laura forever.  Have more girlfriend parties....make June come.

I don't have to tell you to love and honor your mother, Catherine - you always have.  She will always be there for you.  She loves you more than you know.  You are not responsible for her.  Ignore your brother's sharp tongue early.  He will never really get over your Father's death.  It will be hardest on him - give him a wide berth.  If you can introduce him to Lily's friend Teresa before he gets married or Teresa gets married, then they are a match for each other.  Otherwise, drive him to the airport to stop Diana from leaving.  If he won't go, take your mother and the two of you go to the airport.  She will forever be "the one that got away".

You will always miss your Father.  There is nothing you can do about that, but once Brian is born, you learn to open up and let your heart be vulnerable again.  Santa Claus will walk you down the isle - how can that be bad?

Love,

Your older Catherine

PS.  OHH!! Have your thyroid checked for the antibodies that cause Hashimotos.  This could save you volumes with your health.

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

OK...SO CAN I RANT?

Maybe I am pmsing...who knows.

Or this is just redheaded attitude.

But, for many years now, I thank God regularly that I am not raising a girl.  I have a niece ... the only niece I will ever have ... and she sometimes pisses me off.

She is graduating from high school Friday night.

I know girls go through this "I know everything.  I am wonderful.  Bow down you mere foolish people and honor me" stage, but my issue with my niece has to do with her treatment of those I love dearly.  Sometimes I just want to ask her if she really knows how much my broher, mother and myself have loved her over the years.

Her treatment of my mother can be disrespectful.  Out of respect for my mother I haven't yanked her out in the backyard at a family function and told her what I think of her attitude towards my mom.  But then she is just at this age where she doesn't see it.

However, my mother saw her own father die at age three, survived the great depression, put herself through college, became an RN, lost my little sister, buried my father, buried her mother, buried her step father, buried her second husband and put both me and my brother through college.  She witnessed our house cat of 15 years get run over by a car and saw her flopping body stuck to the pavement.  She ran and got a shovel and put our cat out of her misery, then sat down on the curb and cried.  She is a saint in my book and I want to ring my nieces neck when she dismisses her.

The latest has to do with graduation invitations.  My niece never sent one to my mother ... or to me for that matter.  My mother is really hurt.  We are talking a straight A student here.  I was a straight A student and I made sure that my family was invited to my graduation.  I personally took the time to write little handwritten notes in each invitation and told them how they helped me through the years growing up.  I am hoping when she is away at college she begins to see her family in a different light.  We are not the enemy.

Meanwhile, my own son finishes 5th grade tomorrow and is invited (along with me) to a party in Napa that I would rather attend with people who love us more than my niece.  My brother called tonight asking that I come to his daughter's graduation - trying to mend the holes she has shot through his family's importance.  So, for my brother I will go.  I would go to hell for him - and if you have sat through any long graduation ceremonies lately you might think you have been the fiery dungeon.  Besides, this is only a teenage phase with my niece and there is much to admire about her.  I would feel bad if I hurt her over not being at her graduation - it's just the way I am.

***

Before I even finish the rant I have a comment from V.  I did the nice Aunt thing, forgave her past digressions and went.  Yes ... I did buy gifts ... and no, one wasn't a manners book.  I do understand this age with girls.  My niece graduated in the top 10% in the state of California.  Brains she has got.  What she will do with them will be interesting to see.

Hopefully she will grow up and come back around to be a wonderful human being again.  Soon, she is off to Colorado to college.

Oh... to be starting out in life.

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

 

HEREEEEEEEEEEEEE'SSSSSS JOHNNY

http://www.evite.com/pages/invite/viewInvite.jsp?inviteId=PEMRAVKPCOEKRAXDYANH&li=iq&src=email&trk=aei6 (<<--click here)

Ah...now he could eat crackers in my bed any day... SAVVY?

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

TO HEALTH AND WARMTH

The past couple of days a heat spell hovers like a warm blanket.  Heat is sensual to me.  I toss and turn upon my silk sheets, thinking all kinds of redheaded thoughts.  I could drive a man wild in this weather.  Warm weather is my turn on - my sexual aphrodisiac.  Of course, I have to love the guy - otherwise the fantasies in my head are better.  So guys ...leave me alone on this one.

It's funny, because Hashimoto's symptoms are a low body temperature and most of the time I am freezing cold.  The warm weather comes and it washes over me like a warm bath and suddenly I feel alive.  I do wonder if it is all somehow interconnected and the doctors haven't figured it out yet.

When I have one of my extreme cold spells (where even a hot shower will not warm me) I pull a thick blanket over me and cover the heat vent.  The hot air fills the blanket like a hot air balloon with me in the middle.  The coldness depresses and exhausts me and I fall asleep over the heater.  About an hour later I wake up, warm and feeling better.  It is the oddest thing.  Like a diabetic needing insulin, I need to raise my body temperature.  Both are auto-immune diseases.

I love the feel of sweat on my brow and the urge to strip to the minimum.  I walk barefoot through everything and play my favorite music.  I catch myself singing and dancing.

C

http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/

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FRIDAY NIGHT

Champagne...
Dinner, with laughter
Sensuality
Fun
Walking sweetly
Bumping into
Old friends
Beer...
Talk, with laughter
Innocence
Fun
Walking sweetly
Falling into
New sheets

NIGHT TIME GIRL TALK

Look at me... lately ... I am just not writing...

I suppose this happens to writers some times.  Believe it or not I am a fairly private person so there are chunks of my life I don't write here.  Some of it is about protecting my son other times I just don't want to write about it all.

Plus, oddly enough ... I have been busy.  Be proud.  I painted the bathroom.  I restored my gardens to indisputable beauty.  I work out everyday - yes everyday.  Brian and I finished his last school project. The loan business is booming.  Where is my time to write?

So, the meds are working.  TA DA.  T3 is the secret panacea of thyroid restoration in my book.  I wonder how many untold others become as sick as I was and never receive proper medical attention.  It was my anger, study, persistence and refusal to stay with treatments that slowly pulled me up from the hell I was sliding into.

I am not quite back, but I am better.  The brain fog is gone, the endless need to sleep, the painful fatigue and joint ache and weight gain are all becoming a distant memory.

[Hang on - have to take a break - girlfriend J instant Messeges me]

 J:  You there?
Me:  Yes, just writing to Sex and The City
J:  oh, wow, don't let me stop you!

Me:  ...what's up?
J:  someone sent me something, and one line is bothering me, just wondering if it should...it's been in my mind for days... lemme get it
Me:  ok...I am all yours
J:  dang, having trouble opening it
J:  lemme see, there must be a way
J:  it was one of them chain thingies, I don't send them along, never know what they have attached to them these days, but I did glance at this one...and one line just stuck in my brain, I want to get it right...
Me:  what...if you don't send it a redhead will die by Sunday? (some are hoping)
J:  I found the line.  it's about knowing that your love for each other should never be confused by your need of each other.  I'm seriously confused I think.  Something about your love for each other should never be eclipsed by your need for each other, or confused by your need for each other, well I can tell you, I'm a bit confused in general
Me:  and...this is unusual how...?
J:  i have never needed someone to help me as much as I have these last several weeks with my leg casted,a nd being unable to do the most basic things for myself, such as carry my purse or drive. and I'm so happy to have him here to do that for me. I feel angry that I need someone so much, but then I'm happy to have someone there, blessed I guess, but then I think, has my need for him eclipsed by love for him, strange huh?
Me:  so you were thinking..."Is this my sign?"...of the chain gang email...
Me:  feckin chain letters...burn them I say ... you will note men never forward that crap
J:  hahahaha well, it was pages of stuff, and this one jumped out at me, much of it was good stuff, or rather - all of it is, but this one stuck in my head, and I have thought about it often
Me:  oh I am hopeless at all this ... I don't believe in love at first sight ... and I am pretty sure 75% of the world doesn't get what real love is ....and the 25% who do are all women ...so he needs ya or he loves ya...the big question is...is he good in bed
J:  I think you have that on target, I bet you are part of the 25% ;)
Me:  so its pretty much who does a man need, since they don't get the whole love thing ... with them it is "Sex at first sight" - they pretend it is love at first sight and then are shocked when it all crashes and burns.
Me:  lol ... yeah well with my fusiness it could be my next life that I meet my soulmate...he'll prolly be a tree and I'll be a skunk...
J:  you could belike me,settle....and still have to wait until your next life to meet your soulmate! haha!
Me:  lol...I married the "settle" one and look where that got me...
J:  Trust me, I can't call him my soul mate, ya know why, because I don't know what that means.  that's how I know he isn't.  I love him, but that'sa given, soul mate, I don't think I can toss that around this time.I'm not unhappy about it, not searching for it, but have resolved that this is how it is
Me:  I think a soulmate is your best friend in a guy with a bit of passion thrown on top ... its my guess anyway
J:  yes, he's my best friend now, but I can flake that around, passion?  I don't think that's it, [CENSORED FOR J] so there ya go. I don't complain, I have acompanion, but I was thinking that's the status you give each other in your 70's, not this soon! hahaha
Me:  well ... he does carry your purse
J:  HAAAAAAAA when he buys me a box of tampons, then we have arrived, I've just never had to wait this long for that arrival.  I'm off to bed.  I am sorry about Felicita.
Me:  thank you - you got to experience her over the years...remember my wedding shower?
J:  Not as well as I wish I did.

Me:  You brought the cake ...
J:  wow, I hope it was good
Me:  lol...you were late and Felicita told you so ...I think we hid in the corner and drank champagne ...I should have took it as my sign to run.
J:  I don't recall the reprimand, which if I heard it, would stick longer than the icing to my body! hahaha
Me My sister in law hid in her bedroom...It was a classic italian affair
J:  I really do have recall problems.
Me:  so you forget all the men at the bank when we worked there too?
J:  some
Me:  well then see...my shower didn't have any men - that explains it...no worries
J:  some things I recall, like the time the manager told me to get a bra on, and then when Sharon told me my brother looked suspicious
Me:  well come over sometime - I'll fill you in and invent some new stuff that makes me look like the better Teller
J:  sounds good:)
Me:  You've been under amountain of stress for quite a few years now
J:  Mom always said, don't learn to type, you will end up a secretary, maybe it's best you weren't the top Teller then you'd end up like some of those ladies, Teller's until retirement! hahaha
Me:  no - I would have married one of the businessmen that came into bank...even if I had to flash a breast
J:  hahahahah
J:  Nite friend :)

See...we women can laugh at ourselves...

Until next time-

C