#248 Quick Saturday

Just a quick entry to get one in for Saturday.  Caught a rerun of Taxi this evening.  Danny DeVito's legs are proportionately longer than mine.  How sad is that!

~~Silk

#247 I Have Entered a New Phase of Development!

Daughter has sent the photos from our trip to the falls, but it will be a few days before I can take the time to post them.

I have mentioned before that up until probably my mid-50s I was in my "Dolly Parton" phase.  (I was embarrassed when I overheard movers once arguing over who was going to carry Dolly Parton - my dress form - from the sewing room to the truck.  Nowadays, I'd be pleased.)

Then I moved into my "Mae West" phase.  Larger, but proudly stately.

Well, some of the falls photos show me from the back.  I am distressed to find that I am now in a "Danny DeVito in drag" phase.   When did my body get so rectangular, and my legs so short? 

Time to get up and do something about it!

~~Silk

#246 Snow in June

There's a snowdrift in the circle at the end of the street! 

The circle (for the school bus to turn around) is surrounded by high banks on one side, and trees and brush on the other, so anything light that lands there is trapped, and swirls round and around with the slightest breeze. 

There's a huge old tree on the edge of the circle that I can't identify.  It has smooth grayish bark cut by deep vertical fissures, large heart-shaped leaves, with flattened stems like an aspen, and right now it has clusters of seeds the size and shape of footballs.  The seeds are tiny beige ovals surrounded by the lightest fairy fuzz.  They are released on the breeze, and swirl around in the circle,  forming drifts a foot deep.  It really looks like snow.

My tree books show some trees that might fit the description, but they all have catkin flower heads.  Maybe there are spent catkins inside those fluffy footballs?

Something odd - every year this tree releases "snow" on the first hot days of the early summer.  The past few days have been unusually hot, so here's our snow.  The tree has a sense of humor.

The photo at the top is a leaf from the tree, 6 inches long by 4.5 inches wide, and some seeds.  (The real leaf is green - something went screwy with the scanner.)

~~Silk

#245 Weekend Assignment #63

Weekend Assignment #63: Amusing Amusement Park Moment, from John Scalzi: Recount a notable amusement park experience. No, it doesn't have to be about getting sick on that rollercoaster... although (heh) those usually are pretty good. It can be any sort of memorable moment: cute, scary, funny, nice, whatever.

Extra Credit: What's the scariest amusement park ride you've ever been on?

In maybe 1963, a college friend and I went to the state fair.  They had a new ride there, one we'd never seen before, called the "Salt 'n' Pepper Shaker".  (They were new then, but common now, under another name.)  It was a tower with a long vertical arm that had egg-shaped compartments at either end.  The arm spun around vertically, and then the eggs spun, too. 

We got in, and off we went.  Nobody warned us about our bags, and we were too excited to think ahead.  As soon as the fool thing started spinning, the entire contents of my purse and her tote bag fell out, and began to bounce around in the compartment with us. 

Now, I don't know why she had them, whether she had won them, or "borrowed" them, or was simply too prissy to eat fair food with her fingers, but my friend had at least four sets of silverware - spoons, knives, and forks - in her tote.   There were sharp metal missiles flying at us from every direction. 

Every time we swooped past the bottom, we screamed at the operator to "Stop!  Stop!  Let us out!", but either he didn't hear us, or was amused that we were properly frightened.  I suspect the latter, because we got a much longer ride than usual.

We got only a few minor scratches from flying forks (knives tend to fall handle first, thank goodness) from our trip through the food processor.  But I think this qualifies for the "extra credit", too.

~~Silk

#244 Good Writing

I don't write in my journal to "write".  I don't consider myself a writer.  I think my writing is very dull, dry.  Like I'm filling in a report or something.  I'm also too wordy.  About the only thing I've got going for me is the technical stuff.  I'd probably get an "A" in grammar and spelling. 

I read other people's journals, and I marvel at the humor, the way they can turn a phrase, how they can paint a detailed picture with so few words, how they can threaten their children with dire punishments that leave me giggling off and on for hours.   For an example of what I mean, see http://journals.aol.com/angieabk/Livingjustoffthestrip/entries/1219.  There's something very Erma Bombeck about her.

I can't do that.  And yet, most of the emailed comments I get in response to my entries start with "I love the way you write!" (the same sentence, almost as if it's the same person commenting over and over with different screen names). 

What is there to love?  Are these the same people who would love police reports?

I'm not fishing for compliments.  I'm also not rejecting your compliments.  I'll accept and appreciate what I can get (and I figure you must think like me, and that's why it resonates).   I just want folks to know that there IS some good writing out there - and this journal ain't it.

~~Silk

#243 Good Dreams and Night Terrors

I went into the bedroom to lie down and read a magazine at about 7:30 pm, and woke up at 12:30 am. If I had been aware I was tired, I wouldn't have lain down. Usually I'm aware when I'm falling asleep, but this time it was like someone threw the off switch.

I had an interesting dream.  There was a rolling grass sward dotted with trees, very pretty, with scattered one-story buildings.  I was to choose one of the buildings to live in.  I'd get one large (house-sized) room.  The room I chose was huge and L-shaped.  (For ease, lets call the parts of the room the leg, the ankle, heel, and toe.) The door was in the top of the leg, and then the whole width of the bottom of the heel and toe was floor to ceiling glass, looking out on one of the most beautiful views of sweeping grass, trees, a small pond in the distance, and no other buildings.

I wanted to put the bed in the top of the leg, the dining area in the ankle, and the living area in the heel and toe, in front of the glass.  To shield the bed, I wanted to hang curtains from the ceiling across about the top of the ankle, and then leave the window wall uncurtained.  There was someone with me - unidentified, but I think they were somehow associated with the facility - who insisted that that wouldn't do at all, because the entrance would be right next to the bed.  He said I had to put the bed in the toe, where it wouldn't be visible from the door, and the living area in the leg. To shield the bed, I'd have to put curtains all the way across the windows.  Yeah, that would look nicer as you enter the room, but that's not what I wanted.  I wanted to make the living area part of the outside.  I was very conflicted.  Then I woke up.

I'm sure there's some meaning there, but I haven't figured it out yet.

==========================

Miss Thunderfoot seems to be feeling a bit better.  She is now up and around, and has eaten some canned cat food.  I'm a little concerned because she has been rejecting water.  She asks for skim milk, but when I pour some for her she acts like that's not what she was expecting. 

==========================

Although the TV is  on almost all the time, I'm rarely watching it.  It's just there to mark time passing.  But last night House came on, and I watched it intently (first time I'd ever seen it) because the case seemed so much like Jay's early problems. 

The patient was a teenager with severe night terrors, and occasional acute delusional states, and some other stuff.... 

Before Jay and I were married, I had noticed he had sleep apnea, and I packed him off to a sleep study lab.  They determined that he had an average of more than 80 episodes per hour, and next to no REM.  They didn't see how he could possibly be sane.  He got a CPAP (constant positive airway pressure) machine, and for the first time since childhood he was able to sleep. 

Then, after we were married in 1994, I found that he had night terrors.  Every so often, he would wake me in the middle of the night by wrapping his arms around me, and holding me tight while rocking back and forth and shouting. In his mind, we were in a boat that was shooting down steep, fast, violent rapids, and he was holding me to keep me from falling out of the boat.  Or he'd leap out of the bed shouting and fighting off something attacking him.  Hooked up to the CPAP machine, he'd sometimes pull it right off the nightstand.

He also had acute delusional episodes.  It was sort of like sleepwalking, since it would happen during the night, but he was more aware than with sleepwalking.  I'd find him in the kitchen or living room looking around confused.  He didn't recognize the house, didn't know where he was.  He'd know who he was, and who I was, but the house was strange to him.  When he described what it should look like, it sounded like his fraternity house from college, or his childhood home. Or else he did know where he was, and he'd be packing a suitcase for the trip we were taking the next day (there's no trip!). 

He could carry on a perfectly reasonable conversation, except for the delusion.  I'd just persuade him to come back to bed for a bit, and he'd fall asleep, and the next day he'd wonder why the suitcase was out and half packed, or why all the books were off the shelf and on the floor, or whatever else he had  done during the night.

If it had happened more often than it did, and if he hadn't said people told him he sleepwalked when he was in college, and if I hadn't had night terrors myself in my late teens and 20s, and if his terrors and delusions hadn't tapered off and finally stopped in the second year of our marriage, I would probably have dragged him to a doctor, although I doubt that we could have found anyone that could figure it out.

So anyway, this kid on House was having a severe condensed case of Jay.  So I was interested in what tests they ran and what they determined was causing it.

The kid was adopted, and the natural mother had apparently never been vaccinated for measles, and ... at this point I must have missed something because it doesn't make sense to me ... but anyway something about measles virus ... hidden ... lurking ... result encephalitis.

Hmmmm.

Probably not Jay's problem.  And given the rate at which his brain tumor grew, it's highly unlikely that the tumor existed before late 1998.  But it is possible that there was some kind of lesion, that changed character between 1995 and 1998.  I confess that when the long-standing night terrors and confusion went away after we'd been married a little while, I thought it was because I was so good for him (pride goeth before a fall).  Since then I've wondered if my pushing him into the sleep study and getting the CPAP machine may have caused the tumor, like that the brain getting more oxygen caused the cells at the (assumed) lesion site to become more active, to attempt to repair, resulting in cancerous mutation.  

We'll never know, and that's frustrating.

~~Silk

#242 Four Questions

(The questons are rhetorical.  That means, like, you know, they don't require a response.  Thanks anyway.)

How Many Lightbulbs Do I Need?

The original question was how many lightbulbs, and how many are on now.  I think a more interesting question is how many of my 103 are burned out.  Of the three in the den, two are burned out.  Of the four in the hall, two are dead.  Of the four in the foyer, three are dead, and so on all over the house.  I guess having more light fixtures than any reasonable person could need allows one to ... not need most of them. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mensans Are Smart!" or "Mensans Are Smart?"  You Decide.

There's a guy named Joe who is the auctioneer at the Mensa annual gatherings' auctions to raise money for the education and research foundation.  Mostly he auctions little things like stuffed animals and souvenirs. 

At a few points during the auction, he will ask a bidder to donate a dollar, or a five dollar bill, which he then proceeds to auction off !  The record so far is over $1100 bid and paid for a five dollar bill.

Smart? or Smart!  You tell me.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Unquestionably Stupid!  But Her?  Or Me?

In the early ''70s I was the editor of a monthly newsletter for a women's group in Saint Louis.  The newsletter had a household hints column, and every month, in an attempt at humor, I included some perfectly obviously ridiculous hint.

One spring month, the bogus hint was how to differentiate between the desirable seedlings in your garden, and the weeds.  It went something like this:  "Grasp the stem of the questionable plant firmly at the base between your forefinger and thumb, and give it a sharp tug.  The good plant will pop right up out of the ground.  The weed will resist and remain firmly planted."

It's true, incidentally.  It does work that way.

At the next luncheon, a woman stormed up to me and demanded an apology.  She said she had followed the directions and it had completely devastated her garden.  She used some very  nasty words.  She  threatened to sue.  I thought she was joking, and laughed.  She wasn't.

I was glad I hadn't included the hint about removing wine stains from linens with hydrochloric acid.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Depression or Inertia?

The classic definition of depression involves not enjoying things you used to enjoy.  I'm not sure whether I'm depressed or not.  When I actually get up off my duff and go somewhere or do something, I enjoy it thoroughly.  The problem is in getting up and doing.  It all just seems like too much trouble.  It's easier to put it off.

There's a friend in central NJ whom I haven't seen in 40 years.  I'd like to bop down there and drop in at her office, see if she recognizes me.  2.5 day trip.  Easy.

I'd like to explore Saratoga.  One day trip.

I'd like to visit Ausable Chasm, and take the raft ride through it.  A day trip.

I've never been to high mountain New England.  Maybe a four day trip.  A little more complicated because of the cat, but easily doable.

Jay's father owes me a trip to the Rochester zoo.  I know we'd both enjoy the day. A 2.5 day trip.  If I wait even a few weeks or months longer, there is a possibility he might not be able to handle it.

And so on.

On a larger level, I'd like to rent or buy a small RV (camper) and just drive, northern route to the west coast, then a southern route home.  Visit the sights along the way.  Maybe a month or two.  Or more.  Miss Thunderfoot can go along.

I've been putting all this off for three years.  If I keep putting it off, it will all drift away.

There's also the problem of figuring out what I really want.

Like I "want" to get more exercise.  But do I really?  Or do I just know that I should want to. 

Like I "want" to beat the house into submission.  But do I really?  Or do I just know that I can't have company until I do, so I have to.  But do I really want company?  Am I using the mess as an excuse not to have company?

Like I "want" to go on those trips.  But do I really, or do I just think that I ought to?

I don't know what I want.

Is that depression?  If not, is there a better word than inertia?  Lazy?

Sigh.

Even this entry exists to avoid actually doing anything.

~~Silk