This body of mine is a pile of organized goo. Every bit is dedicated to some purpose. Like clockwork, my circadian rhythms tend to the keeping me on a functional track.
The past couple weeks, those rhythms have had very little home. I feel off kilter. This week and a half seem like a month and I'm tired. This trip home is supposed to feel like a mini vacation.
We stopped by the Capitol building in Olympia this morning. It's marble halls and Tiffany glass, every detail in brass, such a beautiful place!
Tonight we had Tia's plum pork. She braised pork in broth and white wine, adds plums, onions, and a bunch of herbs. Nice, with nice bread and minty, cheesy beets. Yum
Tomorrow, the Redwood Forest
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Journeying
We woke early, sleep was elusive. Put on our running shoes and took off up the hill. It felt so good to be out in the cold morning air. It was so cold, JE kept us running. He cooled down too fast otherwise. It's nice to have this very female second layer of fat, sometimes.
The route that I ran last week had been closed to traffic. This morning it was wide open and full of big trucks with big dogs. It had been such a blessing to me that it had been closed. Nice.
Lisa came to say goodbye, and we dropped by dad's to take the left over food from the week. Knowing he is on his way down in a week is a huge consolation. I don't know that I could have left him there otherwise.
JE and I drove a little further to get to Roslyn, the town where the TV show, Northern Exposure was filmed in the early-mid 90's. It was fun to see some of the places we grew up. Roslyn has a huge history beyond the show. We really enjoyed the museum. They let me investigate some old historical garments- hands-on! Crazy! One of the bonnets was literally falling apart in my hands.
At this moment, we are on a ferry, crossing Puget Sound to get to Bremerton where we will stay with JE's aunt and uncle. They live on one of the little lakes in the area,a sweet peaceful home.
I finally have time to feel the gravity...
The route that I ran last week had been closed to traffic. This morning it was wide open and full of big trucks with big dogs. It had been such a blessing to me that it had been closed. Nice.
Lisa came to say goodbye, and we dropped by dad's to take the left over food from the week. Knowing he is on his way down in a week is a huge consolation. I don't know that I could have left him there otherwise.
JE and I drove a little further to get to Roslyn, the town where the TV show, Northern Exposure was filmed in the early-mid 90's. It was fun to see some of the places we grew up. Roslyn has a huge history beyond the show. We really enjoyed the museum. They let me investigate some old historical garments- hands-on! Crazy! One of the bonnets was literally falling apart in my hands.
At this moment, we are on a ferry, crossing Puget Sound to get to Bremerton where we will stay with JE's aunt and uncle. They live on one of the little lakes in the area,a sweet peaceful home.
I finally have time to feel the gravity...
New adventures
If you ever find yourself in this neck 'o the woods, go check out Stan's Merry Mart. Awesome. Just awesome. It's cowboy/rancher/mechanic all rolled into one. It's a heckuva lot of fun. I'll be dreaming of snap-front western-style shirts.
There Have been so many loose ends that have needed attention. The number one being: what do we do with dad? It's up to him, but he needs some care. JE and I bought a one way ticket for him to our house. The condition is that there is always a roundtrip in the future. He is excited to bring down his snorkel and mask for the sea, his swimsuit for the pool, his appetite for my cooking and himself for the new adventure. it's a temporary arrangement, but a good one for now. I'm just relieved he is willing to fly down rather than drive his old jalopy.
Still aching for a run, and feeling like a pudding. I need some routine.
There Have been so many loose ends that have needed attention. The number one being: what do we do with dad? It's up to him, but he needs some care. JE and I bought a one way ticket for him to our house. The condition is that there is always a roundtrip in the future. He is excited to bring down his snorkel and mask for the sea, his swimsuit for the pool, his appetite for my cooking and himself for the new adventure. it's a temporary arrangement, but a good one for now. I'm just relieved he is willing to fly down rather than drive his old jalopy.
Still aching for a run, and feeling like a pudding. I need some routine.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Eulogy
Rochelle Dawn was born to Cecil and Iris in Australia, on September #, 19##. She is the second of three daughters. Her older sister is Margaret. Her younger sister is Noelene. She is survived by both sisters and many cousins. She had the good fortune of knowing her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Mom was often ill as a child and spent time on her grandparents farm in the country and with her extended family.
At age fifteen, a friend invited Rowie to start attending activities for youth at the LDS church. Rochelle loved the social scene, the activities and the Gospel. She invited a lot of friends to come to activities, who later were baptized. After she graduated high school and moved to Sydney, she worked as a data entry specialist, feeding large manilla punch cards into a computer. She continued to attend church at the local ward.
Rochelle loved to tell her stories. When mom was 21, she was an important part of her church community. She was the ward organist, sang in the choir and taught primary. One day the stake president asked Rochelle's bishop who the young lady was playing the organ. When the bishop explained that Rochelle was not yet a member of the church, the stake president told the bishop, that if mom wanted to keep her callings, she needed to be baptized. Mom was baptized two weeks later.
One night mom was walking on a cobble street in Sydney, on her way to choir practice. She clicked down the street wearing a flared pencil skirt, a cashmere twinset, pearls and stiletto heels. She was tall and elegant, with a cute pixie cut and sassy attitude. An American sailor, on R&R at Sydney harbor, stopped and asked her if she knew where the LDS church was. Rochelle told him to follow her, that she was going there herself. Dad's little joke is that he has been following her ever since.
Dad wasted no time in his attempt at courtship during the three days he was stationed in Sydney, but good Australian girls had nothing to do with American sailors. Dad finally succeeded in taking mom on a date to the Sydney Zoo, but with mixed results. He asked her to marry him, which she refused, but he did get a kiss, which he recalls as akin to kissing a clam.
They communicated by mail for the next year, but dad seemed to disappear. He recounts being a very active dater and was engaged or nearly engaged to three girls at the same time.
Dad was in the navy, stationed in southern California, when mom jumped on a boat with her friends. Mom docked in Los Angeles, and though she looked everywhere, could not locate the Statue of Liberty in the Port of Los Angeles. Rochelle and Andy were soon dating. Rochelle worked for the Australian Government Trade Commission in Pasadena, California.
Andy was soon deployed to the Vietnam war, where he served for nearly a year. Rochelle moved to British Columbia, closer to her friends. I am told that there were a lot of steamy letters exchanged.
The day Andy was honorably discharged, he jumped on a plane and went up to Vancouver where he took a taxi to Rochelle's flop house and gave her a ring. She accepted. They were married civily on November 3, 1967, and sealed in the Los Angeles temple a year later.
As newlyweds, Dad worked in Seattle. Mom got her green card and worked for Dairy Gold in data processing. Two years after they were married, they were blessed with their first child, Lisa Rachel. Two years later their second daughter, Amanda Iris. And two years after that Anna Tia Marie. Everybody came home to a sweet little house in Ballard.
Briefly, the family lived on Queen Ann Hill near Seattle. Then bought a little house in Falls City. These were a lot of happy times, when we went camping in the Cascade Mountains with the ward. Mom loved to get in her car and drive, taking her kids with her, as far east as Idaho, north to Vancouver, and south to Oregon. She was quick to point out beautiful views, mountains, trees, flowers, animals and buildings. She loved the quaint and lovely and the delicious.
Before church was changed to a three hour block, we met in the morning for Sunday school and later in the afternoon we would have sacrament meeting. Between the meetings, Rochelle would find a quiet place by a stream and feed her family with a picnic lunch she had brought. Sometimes, she would pick up French fries to make "chippy sandwiches." She loved sweets, particularly black licorice, and Cadbury chocolate. Anything that reminded her of Australia.
A couple times a year, she would phone home. She missed her family and often lamented that she lived so far away. When her husband was away, working in Alaska, Rochelle often felt entirely alone in her life.
As Rochelle's health began to decline, she moved her family eastward, trying to escape the cold wet of Seattle. Cle Elum had been a sweet place to camp, so we stayed there for a bit, but soon moved on to Ellensburg where Rochelle opened a candy store. She loved the interaction with people, but the shop was not open long. We soon moved on to the Wenatchee Valley.
Wenatchee seemed to hold a lot of answers for mom. She had a family of friends she could trust and rely on, there were good schools for her children, there was bread on the table. I think coming here afforded the first real sense of security she had felt in years.
Rochelle worked as a nanny and a receptionist when we first arrived in Wenatchee. Andy continued working in refrigeration and air conditioning. There are a lot of great memories from this period of time. Missionary dinners, parties with friends, camping trips and dances. Rochelle was a busy mother, chauffeuring her three teenaged daughters around the town. She was always supportive of our interests, allowing us time for our theatrical pursuits, friends, church activities, karate lessons, gymnasts and dance. She joined the ranks of the mothers who never miss an activity in which her children were involved.
One of my favorite memories of my mother is when I was just learning to drive. We were on our way up the steep hill on Kentucky road. As we approached a stop sign, she told me not to stop and became a bit frantic as I pulled to a stop in our old stick shift Fiat. But I was stubbornly a follower of the law and knew that I was a better driver than my mother thought. Try as I might, I couldn't get that car to go forward. Mom was laughing herself silly in the passenger seat, begging me to stop and let her drive. My pride wouldn't let me and in the end, the car rolled backward past two orchards down the hill before I could get it going forward. This time, as i approached the sign, I slowed down and kept on going, laughing hysterically beside my mom.
Rochelle began making her Mylar halos to sell at street fairs and festivals in 1987. Rochelle got a lot of happiness putting her halos on her customers heads, she loved that. She sold her products along parade routes all over Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Utah, and even at the Rose parade in Pasadena, California. She had an insatiable travel bug which took her far and kept her going, even when business wasn't very good. It was really about being able meet new people, and see new places.
People loved Rochelle. And she loved people. She was quick to recognize a kindness and say a heartfelt thank you. She had a great sense of fun.
Mom could be unexpectedly kind and empathetic. Many of you have some memory of something mom did for you, which was wholly selfless. This was who she wanted to be. And who she was in her heart.
As she grew older, she became more and more ill. Sometimes her illness prevented her from a lot of the things she wanted to do. She spent time in a nursing home. In January last year, she was hospitalized after she had respiratory failure. After a week in the intensive care unit on life support, her family and friends gathered around her to bid her farewell. We watched sadly as we expected her next breath to be her last. She motioned Lisa over to whisper a dying wish in her ear. Mom's raspy voice rattled the words "on the bottom shelf, in the freeze at Fred Meyer. Popsicles, Mango orange. Go get them." Mom recovered quickly and was moved home within the week.
During this past year, mom mellowed. She had learned to communicate her feeling without so much fire. She appreciated the things she loved a little more and longed to be with her family. She traveled to Portland Oregon many times to visit my sisters. She went to Portland for her birthday three weeks ago, and had dinner with her family at a Chinese restaurant. She had a great time.
The night before mom passed, she was surrounded by her family. We chatted with her for a while, and while she wasn't able to speak or open her eyes, she communicated with us by blinking her closed eyelids. Her sweet loving spirit was so strong and she let us know over and over again how much she loved us and was glad we were there.
The next day, mom passed quickly. She was surrounded by her husband of nearly 44 years and her daughters. We will always remember mom with love.
At age fifteen, a friend invited Rowie to start attending activities for youth at the LDS church. Rochelle loved the social scene, the activities and the Gospel. She invited a lot of friends to come to activities, who later were baptized. After she graduated high school and moved to Sydney, she worked as a data entry specialist, feeding large manilla punch cards into a computer. She continued to attend church at the local ward.
Rochelle loved to tell her stories. When mom was 21, she was an important part of her church community. She was the ward organist, sang in the choir and taught primary. One day the stake president asked Rochelle's bishop who the young lady was playing the organ. When the bishop explained that Rochelle was not yet a member of the church, the stake president told the bishop, that if mom wanted to keep her callings, she needed to be baptized. Mom was baptized two weeks later.
One night mom was walking on a cobble street in Sydney, on her way to choir practice. She clicked down the street wearing a flared pencil skirt, a cashmere twinset, pearls and stiletto heels. She was tall and elegant, with a cute pixie cut and sassy attitude. An American sailor, on R&R at Sydney harbor, stopped and asked her if she knew where the LDS church was. Rochelle told him to follow her, that she was going there herself. Dad's little joke is that he has been following her ever since.
Dad wasted no time in his attempt at courtship during the three days he was stationed in Sydney, but good Australian girls had nothing to do with American sailors. Dad finally succeeded in taking mom on a date to the Sydney Zoo, but with mixed results. He asked her to marry him, which she refused, but he did get a kiss, which he recalls as akin to kissing a clam.
They communicated by mail for the next year, but dad seemed to disappear. He recounts being a very active dater and was engaged or nearly engaged to three girls at the same time.
Dad was in the navy, stationed in southern California, when mom jumped on a boat with her friends. Mom docked in Los Angeles, and though she looked everywhere, could not locate the Statue of Liberty in the Port of Los Angeles. Rochelle and Andy were soon dating. Rochelle worked for the Australian Government Trade Commission in Pasadena, California.
Andy was soon deployed to the Vietnam war, where he served for nearly a year. Rochelle moved to British Columbia, closer to her friends. I am told that there were a lot of steamy letters exchanged.
The day Andy was honorably discharged, he jumped on a plane and went up to Vancouver where he took a taxi to Rochelle's flop house and gave her a ring. She accepted. They were married civily on November 3, 1967, and sealed in the Los Angeles temple a year later.
As newlyweds, Dad worked in Seattle. Mom got her green card and worked for Dairy Gold in data processing. Two years after they were married, they were blessed with their first child, Lisa Rachel. Two years later their second daughter, Amanda Iris. And two years after that Anna Tia Marie. Everybody came home to a sweet little house in Ballard.
Briefly, the family lived on Queen Ann Hill near Seattle. Then bought a little house in Falls City. These were a lot of happy times, when we went camping in the Cascade Mountains with the ward. Mom loved to get in her car and drive, taking her kids with her, as far east as Idaho, north to Vancouver, and south to Oregon. She was quick to point out beautiful views, mountains, trees, flowers, animals and buildings. She loved the quaint and lovely and the delicious.
Before church was changed to a three hour block, we met in the morning for Sunday school and later in the afternoon we would have sacrament meeting. Between the meetings, Rochelle would find a quiet place by a stream and feed her family with a picnic lunch she had brought. Sometimes, she would pick up French fries to make "chippy sandwiches." She loved sweets, particularly black licorice, and Cadbury chocolate. Anything that reminded her of Australia.
A couple times a year, she would phone home. She missed her family and often lamented that she lived so far away. When her husband was away, working in Alaska, Rochelle often felt entirely alone in her life.
As Rochelle's health began to decline, she moved her family eastward, trying to escape the cold wet of Seattle. Cle Elum had been a sweet place to camp, so we stayed there for a bit, but soon moved on to Ellensburg where Rochelle opened a candy store. She loved the interaction with people, but the shop was not open long. We soon moved on to the Wenatchee Valley.
Wenatchee seemed to hold a lot of answers for mom. She had a family of friends she could trust and rely on, there were good schools for her children, there was bread on the table. I think coming here afforded the first real sense of security she had felt in years.
Rochelle worked as a nanny and a receptionist when we first arrived in Wenatchee. Andy continued working in refrigeration and air conditioning. There are a lot of great memories from this period of time. Missionary dinners, parties with friends, camping trips and dances. Rochelle was a busy mother, chauffeuring her three teenaged daughters around the town. She was always supportive of our interests, allowing us time for our theatrical pursuits, friends, church activities, karate lessons, gymnasts and dance. She joined the ranks of the mothers who never miss an activity in which her children were involved.
One of my favorite memories of my mother is when I was just learning to drive. We were on our way up the steep hill on Kentucky road. As we approached a stop sign, she told me not to stop and became a bit frantic as I pulled to a stop in our old stick shift Fiat. But I was stubbornly a follower of the law and knew that I was a better driver than my mother thought. Try as I might, I couldn't get that car to go forward. Mom was laughing herself silly in the passenger seat, begging me to stop and let her drive. My pride wouldn't let me and in the end, the car rolled backward past two orchards down the hill before I could get it going forward. This time, as i approached the sign, I slowed down and kept on going, laughing hysterically beside my mom.
Rochelle began making her Mylar halos to sell at street fairs and festivals in 1987. Rochelle got a lot of happiness putting her halos on her customers heads, she loved that. She sold her products along parade routes all over Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Utah, and even at the Rose parade in Pasadena, California. She had an insatiable travel bug which took her far and kept her going, even when business wasn't very good. It was really about being able meet new people, and see new places.
People loved Rochelle. And she loved people. She was quick to recognize a kindness and say a heartfelt thank you. She had a great sense of fun.
Mom could be unexpectedly kind and empathetic. Many of you have some memory of something mom did for you, which was wholly selfless. This was who she wanted to be. And who she was in her heart.
As she grew older, she became more and more ill. Sometimes her illness prevented her from a lot of the things she wanted to do. She spent time in a nursing home. In January last year, she was hospitalized after she had respiratory failure. After a week in the intensive care unit on life support, her family and friends gathered around her to bid her farewell. We watched sadly as we expected her next breath to be her last. She motioned Lisa over to whisper a dying wish in her ear. Mom's raspy voice rattled the words "on the bottom shelf, in the freeze at Fred Meyer. Popsicles, Mango orange. Go get them." Mom recovered quickly and was moved home within the week.
During this past year, mom mellowed. She had learned to communicate her feeling without so much fire. She appreciated the things she loved a little more and longed to be with her family. She traveled to Portland Oregon many times to visit my sisters. She went to Portland for her birthday three weeks ago, and had dinner with her family at a Chinese restaurant. She had a great time.
The night before mom passed, she was surrounded by her family. We chatted with her for a while, and while she wasn't able to speak or open her eyes, she communicated with us by blinking her closed eyelids. Her sweet loving spirit was so strong and she let us know over and over again how much she loved us and was glad we were there.
The next day, mom passed quickly. She was surrounded by her husband of nearly 44 years and her daughters. We will always remember mom with love.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Wake
I love the pace of these days, just hanging out with my family, remembering the good times and sometimes the bad. Forgiveness is key to joy.
JE and Tia's Matt arrived just after we settled into the house. It is good to have my JE here. He is my strength and support.
This evening, I finished moms eulogy, just as dinner was finishing. Renting this home is the vest thing we have done since being here. We were able to gather together and fix a healthy dinner and sit at our leisure to eat. We watched the sun go down over the mountains.
I'm aching for a run, or a bike ride, or a swim. Or a massage. I may need to collapse a for a bit after the funeral. It has been a long week.
Tomorrow...
JE and Tia's Matt arrived just after we settled into the house. It is good to have my JE here. He is my strength and support.
This evening, I finished moms eulogy, just as dinner was finishing. Renting this home is the vest thing we have done since being here. We were able to gather together and fix a healthy dinner and sit at our leisure to eat. We watched the sun go down over the mountains.
I'm aching for a run, or a bike ride, or a swim. Or a massage. I may need to collapse a for a bit after the funeral. It has been a long week.
Tomorrow...
If you are squeamish, skip this entry
I slept poorly, having been cajoled and strangely warned by my sisters that dressing mom would potentially destroy me. I prayed hard last night for a bit of guidance and woke in the night thinking: oh, that's all it is? No big deal, I can do that. But when I awoke in ernest, the fear flooded me again. When do I let fear stop me?
As I pulled into the mortuary, I was greeted by a couple women who were mom's friends. They hugged me and smiled. We sat in the lobby and they listened as I talked about mom's passing. We cried together and communed. It was precious time. I thought seeing mom would be difficult, but she looked so peaceful and rested, untormented and the sadness was gone from her face. As I was about to touch her, I braced myself, reminding myself that her flesh would be cold, and then laid my hand on the soft skin of her shoulder. My mother. Her hair had been cleaned and brushed, her face was clean and smooth. No makeup, no embalming, just her. She looked beautiful.
My thoughts on why I wanted to do this: it was the final personal act of service I could do for her physical body.
The four of us dressed her, with Russ the funeral director assisting when he was needed. We had just finished dressing her and I had situated her arms to look a little more peaceful, when dad walked in. He saw mom completely dressed and lying in state. Such a tender mercy that he hadn't walked in while we were dressing her. Yes, it was sweet, but also a bit intense and I'd have hated for him to have seen all of that. On Thursday, it was a tender mercy that dad walked into moms room the very moment she relaxed into death, and missed the difficulties she had had just before that final moment.
She visits my imagination, free and dancing. A woman blasted out of bondage and liberated from so much suffering. I'm so happy for her. Those last and final moments of her life seemed like they hurt really bad.
Tonight dad, Lisa and I, went out for Thai food. It was so nice to have a meal together in a quiet place. I am in charge of writing and reading the eulogy, so I needed to spend some time with dad, asking timelines for things in our lives. It was fun to hear him talk like that. It surprised me how many addresses he could spit out from 45 plus years ago. Lisa retrieved a book I made for mom and dad's 25th wedding anniversary. It was a family history class project at college. I transcribed mom and dad giving their life histories (it took me about 200 hours to transcribe 8 hours worth of tape. Essentially, that was how I learned to type!). There are old photos laced around the book, some very old photos of both mom and dad. It is interesting reading back over this. I can hear mom's voice as I read, because they are her words.
I've got a lot of work to do on her eulogy. There are so many things I want to share, but really want it to all go together in a positive and uplifting light. Mom had a great sense of humor, I want this to be fun, and do her justice. I think some of her early years will shock those who knew her in her later years. Your prayers please!
As I pulled into the mortuary, I was greeted by a couple women who were mom's friends. They hugged me and smiled. We sat in the lobby and they listened as I talked about mom's passing. We cried together and communed. It was precious time. I thought seeing mom would be difficult, but she looked so peaceful and rested, untormented and the sadness was gone from her face. As I was about to touch her, I braced myself, reminding myself that her flesh would be cold, and then laid my hand on the soft skin of her shoulder. My mother. Her hair had been cleaned and brushed, her face was clean and smooth. No makeup, no embalming, just her. She looked beautiful.
My thoughts on why I wanted to do this: it was the final personal act of service I could do for her physical body.
The four of us dressed her, with Russ the funeral director assisting when he was needed. We had just finished dressing her and I had situated her arms to look a little more peaceful, when dad walked in. He saw mom completely dressed and lying in state. Such a tender mercy that he hadn't walked in while we were dressing her. Yes, it was sweet, but also a bit intense and I'd have hated for him to have seen all of that. On Thursday, it was a tender mercy that dad walked into moms room the very moment she relaxed into death, and missed the difficulties she had had just before that final moment.
She visits my imagination, free and dancing. A woman blasted out of bondage and liberated from so much suffering. I'm so happy for her. Those last and final moments of her life seemed like they hurt really bad.
Tonight dad, Lisa and I, went out for Thai food. It was so nice to have a meal together in a quiet place. I am in charge of writing and reading the eulogy, so I needed to spend some time with dad, asking timelines for things in our lives. It was fun to hear him talk like that. It surprised me how many addresses he could spit out from 45 plus years ago. Lisa retrieved a book I made for mom and dad's 25th wedding anniversary. It was a family history class project at college. I transcribed mom and dad giving their life histories (it took me about 200 hours to transcribe 8 hours worth of tape. Essentially, that was how I learned to type!). There are old photos laced around the book, some very old photos of both mom and dad. It is interesting reading back over this. I can hear mom's voice as I read, because they are her words.
I've got a lot of work to do on her eulogy. There are so many things I want to share, but really want it to all go together in a positive and uplifting light. Mom had a great sense of humor, I want this to be fun, and do her justice. I think some of her early years will shock those who knew her in her later years. Your prayers please!
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Longest day
It seems impossible that I've only been here a couple days. Time is a strange thing.
I ran this morning, half heartedly, and mostly just to get to a place to be able to make a few phone calls. It was beautiful and hot by the time I got back.
Most of my day, I spent with my sisters, visiting a funeral home and cemetery. Mom's friend has given my parents a plot. Mom will be buried there, in a pine box under a shade tree overlooking the peaceful valley. She would be very happy. There is a local coffin maker who makes beautiful pine coffins.
Russ, at Telford mortuary, was really a helpful and even conceded to laugh at my family's often inappropriate humor. Lisa asked if mom wakes up, can we get a refund? Is there a reshelving fee?
I've been very busy. Aside from fundal arrangements, We are trying to convince dad that he needs to come stay with us in California "for a little while." He needs a psycho analysis, and to establish a routine for himself. He needs care, a home and some proper nutrition and a hand to get exercising. His weight will come off if he comes swimming with me often, and controls his food addiction and diabetes.
We rented a house for Sunday, through Tuesday nights. It will be really good go have a place where we can hang together as a family, and also a place to receive visitors. The problem with hoarding is how badly it alienates family and others from lives.
There is just so much to think about and do. My sisters are trying to convince me to not go dress my mother tomorrow morning. It was difficult in life to touch her because of her lack of self care. Tomorrow will be difficult with a possibility of amazing. I hope my conviction that we should tend our own dead, holds true in the face of it.
Despite the Difficult and Distressing circumstances that surround death, today was a sweet day. Mom's spirit was with us often, and there were times of sadness, but most of the day was spent rejoicing in just being able to be together as a family.
I ran this morning, half heartedly, and mostly just to get to a place to be able to make a few phone calls. It was beautiful and hot by the time I got back.
Most of my day, I spent with my sisters, visiting a funeral home and cemetery. Mom's friend has given my parents a plot. Mom will be buried there, in a pine box under a shade tree overlooking the peaceful valley. She would be very happy. There is a local coffin maker who makes beautiful pine coffins.
Russ, at Telford mortuary, was really a helpful and even conceded to laugh at my family's often inappropriate humor. Lisa asked if mom wakes up, can we get a refund? Is there a reshelving fee?
I've been very busy. Aside from fundal arrangements, We are trying to convince dad that he needs to come stay with us in California "for a little while." He needs a psycho analysis, and to establish a routine for himself. He needs care, a home and some proper nutrition and a hand to get exercising. His weight will come off if he comes swimming with me often, and controls his food addiction and diabetes.
We rented a house for Sunday, through Tuesday nights. It will be really good go have a place where we can hang together as a family, and also a place to receive visitors. The problem with hoarding is how badly it alienates family and others from lives.
There is just so much to think about and do. My sisters are trying to convince me to not go dress my mother tomorrow morning. It was difficult in life to touch her because of her lack of self care. Tomorrow will be difficult with a possibility of amazing. I hope my conviction that we should tend our own dead, holds true in the face of it.
Despite the Difficult and Distressing circumstances that surround death, today was a sweet day. Mom's spirit was with us often, and there were times of sadness, but most of the day was spent rejoicing in just being able to be together as a family.
Friday, September 23, 2011
BitterSweet Goodbye
AM:
There are some things in life which require big boots. Today is one of those days, when I wish I had a giant pair of broken in, uber comfortable, soft and supple, protective, stabilizing boots. Instead, I have a ballet flat, which is soft and comfortable on most days, just not comforting.
But this morning, I slipped on my running shoes, and ran. The world shrinks when running. These vast stretches of road I saw as a kid were suddenly shrunk into laudable distance on which to run. The view was of the great Columbia river and the confluence of the Wenatchee river. Clouds rolled in as I ran, but the hills surrounding the town shone gold in the early light. I ran for about an hour and some, pausing to admire the view, rest and talk to God. This enormous feeling of needful gratitude hung about my heart, and I needed to thank Him for my family and our trials, all the things that have made us close together and bonded. When I told him that this is too hard, he questioned the 'too,' reminding me of all he puts up with from us down here. I corrected myself, admitting that this is hard, just right hard--as hard as it should be. A tender mercy happened then, JE sent me a text letting me know that he was safe and sound at work, and that he loves me. Loosing him right now, would be too hard.
I love that I have running. When all the world feels like it's crashing and colliding, I have this gift, this one amazing way to relieve the stress, tame the crazy, and get the good feelings flowing. It lasts so much longer than stress eating. Running has become a very useful tool. Today will be hard
PM:
At the hospital, we all gathered and prepared to go in to see mom. She felt different than last night, so much life was gone from her. Her heart rate was really low, she was so pale and almost yellow.
On the final day of summer, At 1:43 pm, mom passed away. She was 68 years, 15 days.
One of the worst parts of this is not having somewhere in which to gather together as a surviving family, without all the bustle of everyday life. We are all staying with different friends who all have lives and loved ones. Where do we go? And so with strong emotions brewing, we sat at a table and tried to act acceptable to the environment of a restaurant.
As we were leaving the restaurant, my moms cousin, who is visiting the US from Australia, called. She may be coming up for the funeral, bringing some photos of moms younger years with her. Priceless. I'd love to see and know my mother before she was so gripped by mental illness.
My words are failing me. I am exhausted. And sad.
There are some things in life which require big boots. Today is one of those days, when I wish I had a giant pair of broken in, uber comfortable, soft and supple, protective, stabilizing boots. Instead, I have a ballet flat, which is soft and comfortable on most days, just not comforting.
But this morning, I slipped on my running shoes, and ran. The world shrinks when running. These vast stretches of road I saw as a kid were suddenly shrunk into laudable distance on which to run. The view was of the great Columbia river and the confluence of the Wenatchee river. Clouds rolled in as I ran, but the hills surrounding the town shone gold in the early light. I ran for about an hour and some, pausing to admire the view, rest and talk to God. This enormous feeling of needful gratitude hung about my heart, and I needed to thank Him for my family and our trials, all the things that have made us close together and bonded. When I told him that this is too hard, he questioned the 'too,' reminding me of all he puts up with from us down here. I corrected myself, admitting that this is hard, just right hard--as hard as it should be. A tender mercy happened then, JE sent me a text letting me know that he was safe and sound at work, and that he loves me. Loosing him right now, would be too hard.
I love that I have running. When all the world feels like it's crashing and colliding, I have this gift, this one amazing way to relieve the stress, tame the crazy, and get the good feelings flowing. It lasts so much longer than stress eating. Running has become a very useful tool. Today will be hard
PM:
At the hospital, we all gathered and prepared to go in to see mom. She felt different than last night, so much life was gone from her. Her heart rate was really low, she was so pale and almost yellow.
On the final day of summer, At 1:43 pm, mom passed away. She was 68 years, 15 days.
One of the worst parts of this is not having somewhere in which to gather together as a surviving family, without all the bustle of everyday life. We are all staying with different friends who all have lives and loved ones. Where do we go? And so with strong emotions brewing, we sat at a table and tried to act acceptable to the environment of a restaurant.
As we were leaving the restaurant, my moms cousin, who is visiting the US from Australia, called. She may be coming up for the funeral, bringing some photos of moms younger years with her. Priceless. I'd love to see and know my mother before she was so gripped by mental illness.
My words are failing me. I am exhausted. And sad.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Travel
After four hours of sleep, I woke up. Knowing there would be no returning to sleep, unless it was detrimentally late, I got ready for my day and was on the road before seven. Miles went by quickly, as I watched exits heading to various beach cities. As I drove north, I was amazed at how quickly I had been able to travel by car. What took me a month by bicycle, took me less than 17 hours.
When I got into Portland, I drove immediately to Tia's work. There was a wine luncheon: a host of wine representatives bring various bottles to the restaurant. All the staff and owners of the restaurant were there. There were several pasta dishes, an eggplant dish (really amazing, honest to goodness, eggplant parmesan), and a few salads. Considering that the only food in had eaten in the past thirty hours was prepackages and/or very gringo (the kind of food that politely goes about minding it's business of being wholly uninterestingly edible), this was an amazing treat. Actually, even if I had been eating this stuff for days, it would still have been awesome.
Tia drove the long way from Portland to Wenatchee. Our route follows the broad Columbia River, a massive river, flecked with dams. The golden hills of the Columbia Plateau drop dramatically off into the river, and waterfalls dot the arid landscape. This is God's country.
We played madlibs and told stories, wondered what we would find when we got to the hospital, complained that we don't want to do this, marveled at the unfairness of having to remove life-support from a parent not just once, but twice.
Lisa called, in a dither about when we were going to be there. When I asked what was wrong she said, "I'm exhausted and cranky and I don't want to be here, and she isn't even dead yet!"
When we arrived in Wenatchee, we went to see dad. Mom and dad's apartment had been as full of junk as their old home. Mom has been lying to us for months about cleaning checks, visits by friends, home health care, etc... As Lisa showed us a few of the find from this new place, I recognize that each object was a replacement for something which she had lost from the old place. Such as: piles of paintings in frames, old broken jewelry, brass plates, various silver plate objects. All thing she had deemed of great value and had lost forever during our 'Big Dig.'
Lisa and I sat on the bed, chatting. Causally, I asked what she though was going to be our Christmas presents this year. She replied that she thought she had actually discovered them and produced a plastic bag filled with three jewelry boxes. On box had a smoky quarts pendant, another an adventuring pendant, and the last box, Lisa claimed for herself: a piece of petrified pooh. Mom knows us well.
Lisa tried hard to prepare us for our hospital visit, letting us know that mom wasn't able to move much, talk much, or communicate at all. And that mom was in sorry shape. But after we roped and gloved up, we walked in to discover a mom who looked like she was very peacefully sleeping. We talked to her a bit with no response whatsoever. My intuition told me that she knew we were talking to her, and when I mentioned Popsicles she started sucking her breathing tubes. Her heart rate had increased, and we, began noticing that her eyelids would blink if we asked her questions. We asked if we could have a bit of her her hair, and she started to cry. She calmed when I told her she wasn't going anywhere, but that we just wanted a piece of hair. Her mind is still present, but her body is failing miserably. She can't breath on her own any more.
Tomorrow, we are meeting over at the hospital to unplug her breathing tube. I'm not sure this is the best option. It hurts that her mind is still so sharp. She knew I was there, and it probably is killing her that she couldn't open her eyes to see me. Makes me really sad.
When I got into Portland, I drove immediately to Tia's work. There was a wine luncheon: a host of wine representatives bring various bottles to the restaurant. All the staff and owners of the restaurant were there. There were several pasta dishes, an eggplant dish (really amazing, honest to goodness, eggplant parmesan), and a few salads. Considering that the only food in had eaten in the past thirty hours was prepackages and/or very gringo (the kind of food that politely goes about minding it's business of being wholly uninterestingly edible), this was an amazing treat. Actually, even if I had been eating this stuff for days, it would still have been awesome.
Tia drove the long way from Portland to Wenatchee. Our route follows the broad Columbia River, a massive river, flecked with dams. The golden hills of the Columbia Plateau drop dramatically off into the river, and waterfalls dot the arid landscape. This is God's country.
We played madlibs and told stories, wondered what we would find when we got to the hospital, complained that we don't want to do this, marveled at the unfairness of having to remove life-support from a parent not just once, but twice.
Lisa called, in a dither about when we were going to be there. When I asked what was wrong she said, "I'm exhausted and cranky and I don't want to be here, and she isn't even dead yet!"
When we arrived in Wenatchee, we went to see dad. Mom and dad's apartment had been as full of junk as their old home. Mom has been lying to us for months about cleaning checks, visits by friends, home health care, etc... As Lisa showed us a few of the find from this new place, I recognize that each object was a replacement for something which she had lost from the old place. Such as: piles of paintings in frames, old broken jewelry, brass plates, various silver plate objects. All thing she had deemed of great value and had lost forever during our 'Big Dig.'
Lisa and I sat on the bed, chatting. Causally, I asked what she though was going to be our Christmas presents this year. She replied that she thought she had actually discovered them and produced a plastic bag filled with three jewelry boxes. On box had a smoky quarts pendant, another an adventuring pendant, and the last box, Lisa claimed for herself: a piece of petrified pooh. Mom knows us well.
Lisa tried hard to prepare us for our hospital visit, letting us know that mom wasn't able to move much, talk much, or communicate at all. And that mom was in sorry shape. But after we roped and gloved up, we walked in to discover a mom who looked like she was very peacefully sleeping. We talked to her a bit with no response whatsoever. My intuition told me that she knew we were talking to her, and when I mentioned Popsicles she started sucking her breathing tubes. Her heart rate had increased, and we, began noticing that her eyelids would blink if we asked her questions. We asked if we could have a bit of her her hair, and she started to cry. She calmed when I told her she wasn't going anywhere, but that we just wanted a piece of hair. Her mind is still present, but her body is failing miserably. She can't breath on her own any more.
Tomorrow, we are meeting over at the hospital to unplug her breathing tube. I'm not sure this is the best option. It hurts that her mind is still so sharp. She knew I was there, and it probably is killing her that she couldn't open her eyes to see me. Makes me really sad.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
First leg: Medford Oregon
As I was driving today, I continually wrote. The trouble was, that was driving...
Last year, as mom lay dying, I lost my voice. It began as a runny nose, and stopped there except that my voice ran away with my nose. I have been feeling like I have lost my voice again, with this next phase of mom.
Mom is on life support, and touts an untreatable and contagious infection in her kidneys. Unlike the previous experience, mom is not fighting the restraints kept inlace to keep her from pulling out her feeding and breathing tubes. My sister Lisa, who opted to go be with mom rather than come down and has been up there since Friday, says that mom's eyelids are dark, she is sinking.
Tia, flew from Long Beach, Monday night and I felt I should fly with her. I didn't follow that intuition and stayed home. Last night, I knew I needed to get there, so this morning I got in the car and started driving.
Around four pm, my phone rang. It was my sister calling from the hospital. It was time for a conference call with the same social worker who walked us through the turning off the machines the first time. She asked really hard questions, things that for most people might be easy to answer about a parent.
For my family, mom has been such a challenge. Of all the ailments and diseases she has been treated for in the past years, she never sought help for her mind. My hope is that when she passes, and her mind is clean of her body's ailments, she can open her mind and feel the amazing love that was there being offered and is being offered. It's tough to walk on eggshells because there is no knowing if the rational mom or the irrational tyrant will answer.
The drive was beautiful. It was dusky for a long time, something I miss about living in the north. Russian sunsets in the spring, last for hours. Before I left orange county, I grabbed baggies of veg, something to snack on when I get sleepy. I crossed the Siskiyou pass in the dark, chased by fear of deer and bear crossing the freeway. Tonight, I'll sleep well, the sound of road noise still blaring in my head, and the jitters of a very large Coke finally wearing off.
Last year, as mom lay dying, I lost my voice. It began as a runny nose, and stopped there except that my voice ran away with my nose. I have been feeling like I have lost my voice again, with this next phase of mom.
Mom is on life support, and touts an untreatable and contagious infection in her kidneys. Unlike the previous experience, mom is not fighting the restraints kept inlace to keep her from pulling out her feeding and breathing tubes. My sister Lisa, who opted to go be with mom rather than come down and has been up there since Friday, says that mom's eyelids are dark, she is sinking.
Tia, flew from Long Beach, Monday night and I felt I should fly with her. I didn't follow that intuition and stayed home. Last night, I knew I needed to get there, so this morning I got in the car and started driving.
Around four pm, my phone rang. It was my sister calling from the hospital. It was time for a conference call with the same social worker who walked us through the turning off the machines the first time. She asked really hard questions, things that for most people might be easy to answer about a parent.
For my family, mom has been such a challenge. Of all the ailments and diseases she has been treated for in the past years, she never sought help for her mind. My hope is that when she passes, and her mind is clean of her body's ailments, she can open her mind and feel the amazing love that was there being offered and is being offered. It's tough to walk on eggshells because there is no knowing if the rational mom or the irrational tyrant will answer.
The drive was beautiful. It was dusky for a long time, something I miss about living in the north. Russian sunsets in the spring, last for hours. Before I left orange county, I grabbed baggies of veg, something to snack on when I get sleepy. I crossed the Siskiyou pass in the dark, chased by fear of deer and bear crossing the freeway. Tonight, I'll sleep well, the sound of road noise still blaring in my head, and the jitters of a very large Coke finally wearing off.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
The abyss
My mother and my grandmother (my father's mother) hate each other. There has been a schism between them since I can remember. As a child, my grandmother was known to me only by rumors and poorly placed bad names, like: old broad, battle-ax, grump and dump (gram and gramp), and in moments when I wasn't supposed to hear The Bitch.
When talking about this schism, my grandmother refers to a period of time when my mother demanded that she buy my family a house. One house wasn't enough for my mother, she wanted another and if she did not get it, my grandparents were never going to see their grandchildren again. I was 16 when my sister began demanding to see her grandparents. Until that point, we had been hidden away in Washington State.
My mothers version of the story says that my great grandparents had willed money to my parents who used it to buy a home. The home was foreclosed, so my parents went to my grandparents for help. My grandmother refused, but my mother insisted that she had bought both her other children homes and was not treating my father fairly.
To be fair, my grandmother isn't fair to my father. There is no love lost in that relationship. But moms reactive way of dealing with things often creates hard feelings that are not easily overcome. If dad had chosen someone else to be so very loyal to, things between he and his mother may have been different.
Thus a schism, a rift, an abyss.
In 2003, I moved to southern California, within 50 miles from my gram and gramp. At least once a month since then, my husband and I have been visiting them on the weekends, usually for Sunday brunch. Most Sundays, I talk to my mother on the phone and generally she asks if I have been down to see my grandmother that day. There is a bit of a jealous edge to her voice when she asks, but I try to dispel it as best I can. Both my gram and my mom vie for my affection. I do my best to play Switzerland, but mom often hurls mud, claiming my heart to be disloyal.
Time and time again, I hear of people living to the next major milestone in their lives and then kick-off soon afterward. My gramp passed away five days after my grandparent's 65th wedding anniversary. Gram turns 92 on Saturday. She has been planning a party for months, but has also been getting more and more feeble. Though, in a conversation today, she sounded perky, alert, and hoped that my sisters and I make it to her party. But just last week I was concerned that she may not make it, herself
Meanwhile, in a hospital bed in Washington State, my mother is in the intensive care unit. She is heavily sedated and on life-support. Both sisters in portland, Oregon, are wondering if they should get on the plane to come here or fly to Washington.
But we have done this before. An year and a half ago, under similar circumstances, my whole family gathered around my mothers deathbed as we pulled the plug on her life support. As my sister bent in to hear my mothers final request, mom demanded that someone bring her popsicles. At Popsicle number 13, the nursing staff pulled the plug on the inflow of popsicles, took moms blood sugar and Told her no more Popsicles for the day. Mom was out of ICU within 24 hours.
My sisters and I are all reluctant to go back to the hospital. It was really traumatic the first time, and to have to live through that again seems unbearable. I know it sounds terribly selfish, but I don't want to go there and relive that. My parents were just in portland for moms birthday, so their memories are fresh of an upright and living mom. A year ago in the ICU, mom looked nearly dead. It is difficult to see someone you love like that. And to smell her like that. I didn't know it at the time, but I was about a month pregnant when all of that went down, and my sense of smell was magnified.
Mom cried when I told her, but I didn't know until I was two months along. "A new life!" she said. She was so excited. I told her because I was so afraid that she would die without knowing. My due date was her birthdate. I miscarried after 11 weeks and thought I was going to die, as well. We had been trying to have a baby for ten years, at that point.
After I miscarried, I couldn't talk to my mom for months. I blamed her, her filthy house which I had spent days and days cleaning up so that they could have somewhere safe and clean to move back into. My parents are hoarders to the highest degree. I cleaned a cat box that had been dumped on their carpet a decade previously, as well as mouse poop everywhere. After waiting for so long for something to happen and being so disappointed to loose it, I blamed every possible cause.
Mom and dad never did move back into their house. They got into an apartment paid for by the city. They still live there.Well, as of this minute, they are both living.
Moms heart is failing to pump the liquid out of her lungs. Heart failure. Moms lungs are failing to absorb oxygen. Lung failure. Moms kidneys are not filtering her blood. Kidney failure. Her doctor says that he has some hope for her, and that my family should come and enjoy my grams birthday party. And I think that's what we will do. Enjoy it knowing that there is a bitter pill waiting.
When talking about this schism, my grandmother refers to a period of time when my mother demanded that she buy my family a house. One house wasn't enough for my mother, she wanted another and if she did not get it, my grandparents were never going to see their grandchildren again. I was 16 when my sister began demanding to see her grandparents. Until that point, we had been hidden away in Washington State.
My mothers version of the story says that my great grandparents had willed money to my parents who used it to buy a home. The home was foreclosed, so my parents went to my grandparents for help. My grandmother refused, but my mother insisted that she had bought both her other children homes and was not treating my father fairly.
To be fair, my grandmother isn't fair to my father. There is no love lost in that relationship. But moms reactive way of dealing with things often creates hard feelings that are not easily overcome. If dad had chosen someone else to be so very loyal to, things between he and his mother may have been different.
Thus a schism, a rift, an abyss.
In 2003, I moved to southern California, within 50 miles from my gram and gramp. At least once a month since then, my husband and I have been visiting them on the weekends, usually for Sunday brunch. Most Sundays, I talk to my mother on the phone and generally she asks if I have been down to see my grandmother that day. There is a bit of a jealous edge to her voice when she asks, but I try to dispel it as best I can. Both my gram and my mom vie for my affection. I do my best to play Switzerland, but mom often hurls mud, claiming my heart to be disloyal.
Time and time again, I hear of people living to the next major milestone in their lives and then kick-off soon afterward. My gramp passed away five days after my grandparent's 65th wedding anniversary. Gram turns 92 on Saturday. She has been planning a party for months, but has also been getting more and more feeble. Though, in a conversation today, she sounded perky, alert, and hoped that my sisters and I make it to her party. But just last week I was concerned that she may not make it, herself
Meanwhile, in a hospital bed in Washington State, my mother is in the intensive care unit. She is heavily sedated and on life-support. Both sisters in portland, Oregon, are wondering if they should get on the plane to come here or fly to Washington.
But we have done this before. An year and a half ago, under similar circumstances, my whole family gathered around my mothers deathbed as we pulled the plug on her life support. As my sister bent in to hear my mothers final request, mom demanded that someone bring her popsicles. At Popsicle number 13, the nursing staff pulled the plug on the inflow of popsicles, took moms blood sugar and Told her no more Popsicles for the day. Mom was out of ICU within 24 hours.
My sisters and I are all reluctant to go back to the hospital. It was really traumatic the first time, and to have to live through that again seems unbearable. I know it sounds terribly selfish, but I don't want to go there and relive that. My parents were just in portland for moms birthday, so their memories are fresh of an upright and living mom. A year ago in the ICU, mom looked nearly dead. It is difficult to see someone you love like that. And to smell her like that. I didn't know it at the time, but I was about a month pregnant when all of that went down, and my sense of smell was magnified.
Mom cried when I told her, but I didn't know until I was two months along. "A new life!" she said. She was so excited. I told her because I was so afraid that she would die without knowing. My due date was her birthdate. I miscarried after 11 weeks and thought I was going to die, as well. We had been trying to have a baby for ten years, at that point.
After I miscarried, I couldn't talk to my mom for months. I blamed her, her filthy house which I had spent days and days cleaning up so that they could have somewhere safe and clean to move back into. My parents are hoarders to the highest degree. I cleaned a cat box that had been dumped on their carpet a decade previously, as well as mouse poop everywhere. After waiting for so long for something to happen and being so disappointed to loose it, I blamed every possible cause.
Mom and dad never did move back into their house. They got into an apartment paid for by the city. They still live there.Well, as of this minute, they are both living.
Moms heart is failing to pump the liquid out of her lungs. Heart failure. Moms lungs are failing to absorb oxygen. Lung failure. Moms kidneys are not filtering her blood. Kidney failure. Her doctor says that he has some hope for her, and that my family should come and enjoy my grams birthday party. And I think that's what we will do. Enjoy it knowing that there is a bitter pill waiting.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Day 344: rest day
Spent the last few days feeling guilty about doing anything online that did not pertain to my talk in church.
Friday I picked JE up from work and picked up a pizza. We spent the night in the beanbag, watching movies and bad tv streaming on Netflix. Saturday, we woke to thunder and nothing could keep me from running. Five and a half miles in the rain, with thunder and lightning sparking off in the distance. Such a fun run, JE couldn't keep up with me.
Tonight we went to the tall ship festival at Dana Point harbor. We arrived just in time to watch the ships set off, round the jetty and set their sails. There were seven ships in all, but the sea was full of sailing vessels. Tall ships are so majestic and beautiful in their petticoats. I just keep thinking I need to learn to sail, I should just do it. Nothing is stopping me, but me.
My goal for the week:
Work out everyday, no matter what. Prethink and make allowances for it. Eat at home every night, and make plans for a busy Tuesday. My last day of work is Tuesday!
My todo list is a bit crazy still. Saturday I finally got fabric for my class project, a beautiful deep green tweed. Definitely not cheap, but I think well worth what I paid. I need to get it prepped (steamed and rolled) and then lay it out to cut, mark and sew it in preparation for my first fitting. I also got some great fabric for a couple new shirts for JE.. He chose one of them, a really fun retro fifties print covered in people at a cocktail party. The other is a toile with skeletons for day of the dead, super cool and extremely subtle.
Oh, my to do list:
Make buy steal centerpieces for Gram's party, also a photo op station
(so glad her gift is done!)
Finish altering my pattern for class
Make sample for class
Prep dam cut fabric, stitch body of garment
Get the house ready for sisters
Play catchup on some financial issues
Wax & pedicure at home, hair appointment in Dana point, eyebrow threading in irvine
Practice "happy birthday" on my ukulele
Get easy to party
Loose my mind
Ok plan for the week:
Monday: swim a mile
Dinner: salad with beets and goat cheese (this is subject to change if JE is still working overtime. I really hope for his sake that he isn't working overtime. Four straight weeks is enough.
Tuesday: Nike and a brief run
Dinner: pack a sandwich.
Wednesday will figure this out later. Right now I need to sleep.
Friday I picked JE up from work and picked up a pizza. We spent the night in the beanbag, watching movies and bad tv streaming on Netflix. Saturday, we woke to thunder and nothing could keep me from running. Five and a half miles in the rain, with thunder and lightning sparking off in the distance. Such a fun run, JE couldn't keep up with me.
Tonight we went to the tall ship festival at Dana Point harbor. We arrived just in time to watch the ships set off, round the jetty and set their sails. There were seven ships in all, but the sea was full of sailing vessels. Tall ships are so majestic and beautiful in their petticoats. I just keep thinking I need to learn to sail, I should just do it. Nothing is stopping me, but me.
My goal for the week:
Work out everyday, no matter what. Prethink and make allowances for it. Eat at home every night, and make plans for a busy Tuesday. My last day of work is Tuesday!
My todo list is a bit crazy still. Saturday I finally got fabric for my class project, a beautiful deep green tweed. Definitely not cheap, but I think well worth what I paid. I need to get it prepped (steamed and rolled) and then lay it out to cut, mark and sew it in preparation for my first fitting. I also got some great fabric for a couple new shirts for JE.. He chose one of them, a really fun retro fifties print covered in people at a cocktail party. The other is a toile with skeletons for day of the dead, super cool and extremely subtle.
Oh, my to do list:
Make buy steal centerpieces for Gram's party, also a photo op station
(so glad her gift is done!)
Finish altering my pattern for class
Make sample for class
Prep dam cut fabric, stitch body of garment
Get the house ready for sisters
Play catchup on some financial issues
Wax & pedicure at home, hair appointment in Dana point, eyebrow threading in irvine
Practice "happy birthday" on my ukulele
Get easy to party
Loose my mind
Ok plan for the week:
Monday: swim a mile
Dinner: salad with beets and goat cheese (this is subject to change if JE is still working overtime. I really hope for his sake that he isn't working overtime. Four straight weeks is enough.
Tuesday: Nike and a brief run
Dinner: pack a sandwich.
Wednesday will figure this out later. Right now I need to sleep.
My talk for church today. Topic: Integrity
This is my talk that I have been working on all week (on a side note, a lot of this was paraphrased. Another side note, in the program someone had typed my name as "Ines"--last time I spoke in church I was "Irish" and the time before that they used my first name--same church/ward...):
My name is iris Marshall. About 13 years ago, I went to the clerks office at the Oak Hills 8th ward chapel in Provo Utah, to say hi to a guy I really liked. He wasn't there. Instead, I met that man sitting over there. His name is John Marshall.
John grew up in Provo, and served a mission in Argentina, Salta mission. I was raised in Washington state, and served a mission in Australia.
John went to BYU and I worked to support us, doing various costume jobs in and around Provo.
We moved to our current locale in laguna hills in 2003, when john was offered a job at such&such motor company as a digital modeler in the design department. I am a freelance tailor and cutter for theatrical costumes.
People are often curious about what I do. My specialty is men's period costumes. Essentially, a designer gives me an illustration and talks about the details. I take that design and the measurements of the actor and make a pattern. With that pattern I make a mock up out of an inexpensive fabric called muslin. The actor is called back for a fitting and the designer and I check the fit of the mockup, along with the design details and any special finishes he has in mind. The movements the actor makes are also taken into consideration. After the fitting, I take the new information and alter my pattern to fit what the actor and the designer need. Its very important that I am accurate in my pattern making,A quarter inch difference on paper can equate to an inch on fabric. It is also important that I have good communication with the designer.
The designer then gives me a length of fabric, buttons, notions, and interfacings. After my pattern is finished, I lay out my real fabric and cut it according to the pattern. The costume is sewn together to prep it for the next fitting. All the design lines are transferred by hand basting in long even stitches to the garment. Again the actor and the designer and I converge to see the new garment. We talk about hem lengths, collar heights and widths, button placement, finishing stitches, pocket placement, and of course, fit.
Getting a garment to the first fitting is the easy part. After that first fittings, I deconstruct most of the garment, remark the changes that need to happen, and begin the minute and systematic process if making welt pockets, pad stitch lapels and collars, make and secure the understructure of suit fronts, and line the garment. At the intersection of the sleeve and shoulder seam, there are no less than 16 layers of fabric, each painstakingly stitched into place. There are hundreds of stitches in a suit that no one ever sees, and yet without any one of them, the suit would be of lesser quality, look pulled or contorted and may not even hold together as a garment for a dry cleaning or the run of the show. Each stitch, no matter if it's a basting stitch used to mark where a button will be placed, or a tiny stitch used to secure the fly, is of utmost important in the construction of a garment.
Some of you are wondering when exactly I'm going to stop droning on about what I do for a living, and get on with my talk.
But what am I really talking about?
How does this apply to the gospel?
I am fortunate to work with some wonderful women whose insights and opinions are varied, freely given, respectful and often very inspiring. While preparing my talk, I was chatting with a few of my coworkers about my topic and one of them asked the question "what exactly is integrity?" Through a lunch hour discussion, we came up with integrity meaning much more than moral uprightness. The sum of our discussion is that integrity is woven into our character, it is who we are when no one else is watching.
In October 2010, Richard Scott said: The bedrock of character is integrity. Worthy character will strengthen your capacity to recognize the direction of the Spirit and to be obedient to it. Your consistent exercise of faith builds strong character. A secure foundation for your growing character is laid by making Jesus Christ and His teachings the center of your life.
Like my work in tailoring, integrity is built in one decision at a time. If God is the master designer, and my life is the garment I am creating, each decision I make, whether or not I follow the well laid plan illustrated in the scriptures, determines the strength of my character.
Elder Scott: I have personally verified that concepts like faith, prayer, love, and humility hold no great significance and produce no miracles until they become a living part of us through our own experience, aided by the sweet prompting of the Holy Spirit. In early life I found that I could learn gospel teachings intellectually and, through the power of reason and analysis, recognize that they were of significant value. But their enormous power and ability to stretch me beyond the limits of my imagination and capacity did not become reality until patient, consistent practice allowed the Holy Spirit to distill and expand their meaning in my heart. I found that while I was sincerely serving others, God forged my personal character. He engendered a growing capacity to recognize the direction of the Spirit. The genius of the gospel plan is that by doing those things the Lord counsels us to do, we are given every understanding and every capacity necessary to provide peace and rich fulfillment in this life. Likewise, we gain the preparation necessary for eternal happiness in the presence of the Lord.
One of the odd jobs I had in Utah was for a motion picture. It was a reenactment of the hauling of the John Caird, the famous lifeboat of the Ernest Shackleton exhibition. Six men needed to pull a 22.5 foot boat across an ice field. My job was to sew together six harnesses that would be used to actually pull a heavy replica boat over ice. I was given very concise instructions about how to go about putting them together. Each stitch was planned to give the maximum strength to the harness. The last seam would be to joint the front and back of the harness, turning all the seam allowance to one side and stitch it place--kind of like the seams of jeans, the allowances would add strength to the fabric. However, I had not written the instructions down. Rather than turning all the fabric to one side, I opened the seam. By opening the seam, I exposed the bare threads, there was no real strength in the thread. The harnesses were compromised. The results could have been disastrous.
Elder Scott said: Material things do not of themselves produce happiness and satisfaction and the joy of attainment on earth. Nor do they lead us to exaltation. It is nobility of character, that fabric of inner strength and conviction woven from countless righteous decisions, that gives life its direction. A consistent, righteous life produces an inner power and strength that can be permanently resistant to the eroding influence of sin and transgression. Your faith in Jesus Christ and obedience to His commandments will strengthen your character. Your character is a measure of what you are becoming. It is the evidence of how well you are using your time on earth in this period of mortal probation.
So, what are the things that enable us to build our integrity and righteous character?
Communicate with the Designer, frequently. Even if it's just casually.
Keep track of the inspiration given to make those minute changes that need to be made.
Be obedient and when you make mistakes, don't hesitate to repent. A change of heart can begin so subtly, but can allow Heaven to direct and guide you to be a powerful force for good in your world, and the world definitely could use more good.
Do the things you know you need to do in the order you need to do them. If you are supposed to go on a mission, go. That counts for older couples as well.
And stand tall and valiant in your faith. If you don't feel valiant, fake it. Fake it and eventually you will be.
Remember the people who love you. Sometimes, in the face of temptation it is remembering that we are loved by our friends and families that can make a difference. Your faith will be an example to those around you.
My name is iris Marshall. About 13 years ago, I went to the clerks office at the Oak Hills 8th ward chapel in Provo Utah, to say hi to a guy I really liked. He wasn't there. Instead, I met that man sitting over there. His name is John Marshall.
John grew up in Provo, and served a mission in Argentina, Salta mission. I was raised in Washington state, and served a mission in Australia.
John went to BYU and I worked to support us, doing various costume jobs in and around Provo.
We moved to our current locale in laguna hills in 2003, when john was offered a job at such&such motor company as a digital modeler in the design department. I am a freelance tailor and cutter for theatrical costumes.
People are often curious about what I do. My specialty is men's period costumes. Essentially, a designer gives me an illustration and talks about the details. I take that design and the measurements of the actor and make a pattern. With that pattern I make a mock up out of an inexpensive fabric called muslin. The actor is called back for a fitting and the designer and I check the fit of the mockup, along with the design details and any special finishes he has in mind. The movements the actor makes are also taken into consideration. After the fitting, I take the new information and alter my pattern to fit what the actor and the designer need. Its very important that I am accurate in my pattern making,A quarter inch difference on paper can equate to an inch on fabric. It is also important that I have good communication with the designer.
The designer then gives me a length of fabric, buttons, notions, and interfacings. After my pattern is finished, I lay out my real fabric and cut it according to the pattern. The costume is sewn together to prep it for the next fitting. All the design lines are transferred by hand basting in long even stitches to the garment. Again the actor and the designer and I converge to see the new garment. We talk about hem lengths, collar heights and widths, button placement, finishing stitches, pocket placement, and of course, fit.
Getting a garment to the first fitting is the easy part. After that first fittings, I deconstruct most of the garment, remark the changes that need to happen, and begin the minute and systematic process if making welt pockets, pad stitch lapels and collars, make and secure the understructure of suit fronts, and line the garment. At the intersection of the sleeve and shoulder seam, there are no less than 16 layers of fabric, each painstakingly stitched into place. There are hundreds of stitches in a suit that no one ever sees, and yet without any one of them, the suit would be of lesser quality, look pulled or contorted and may not even hold together as a garment for a dry cleaning or the run of the show. Each stitch, no matter if it's a basting stitch used to mark where a button will be placed, or a tiny stitch used to secure the fly, is of utmost important in the construction of a garment.
Some of you are wondering when exactly I'm going to stop droning on about what I do for a living, and get on with my talk.
But what am I really talking about?
How does this apply to the gospel?
I am fortunate to work with some wonderful women whose insights and opinions are varied, freely given, respectful and often very inspiring. While preparing my talk, I was chatting with a few of my coworkers about my topic and one of them asked the question "what exactly is integrity?" Through a lunch hour discussion, we came up with integrity meaning much more than moral uprightness. The sum of our discussion is that integrity is woven into our character, it is who we are when no one else is watching.
In October 2010, Richard Scott said: The bedrock of character is integrity. Worthy character will strengthen your capacity to recognize the direction of the Spirit and to be obedient to it. Your consistent exercise of faith builds strong character. A secure foundation for your growing character is laid by making Jesus Christ and His teachings the center of your life.
Like my work in tailoring, integrity is built in one decision at a time. If God is the master designer, and my life is the garment I am creating, each decision I make, whether or not I follow the well laid plan illustrated in the scriptures, determines the strength of my character.
Elder Scott: I have personally verified that concepts like faith, prayer, love, and humility hold no great significance and produce no miracles until they become a living part of us through our own experience, aided by the sweet prompting of the Holy Spirit. In early life I found that I could learn gospel teachings intellectually and, through the power of reason and analysis, recognize that they were of significant value. But their enormous power and ability to stretch me beyond the limits of my imagination and capacity did not become reality until patient, consistent practice allowed the Holy Spirit to distill and expand their meaning in my heart. I found that while I was sincerely serving others, God forged my personal character. He engendered a growing capacity to recognize the direction of the Spirit. The genius of the gospel plan is that by doing those things the Lord counsels us to do, we are given every understanding and every capacity necessary to provide peace and rich fulfillment in this life. Likewise, we gain the preparation necessary for eternal happiness in the presence of the Lord.
One of the odd jobs I had in Utah was for a motion picture. It was a reenactment of the hauling of the John Caird, the famous lifeboat of the Ernest Shackleton exhibition. Six men needed to pull a 22.5 foot boat across an ice field. My job was to sew together six harnesses that would be used to actually pull a heavy replica boat over ice. I was given very concise instructions about how to go about putting them together. Each stitch was planned to give the maximum strength to the harness. The last seam would be to joint the front and back of the harness, turning all the seam allowance to one side and stitch it place--kind of like the seams of jeans, the allowances would add strength to the fabric. However, I had not written the instructions down. Rather than turning all the fabric to one side, I opened the seam. By opening the seam, I exposed the bare threads, there was no real strength in the thread. The harnesses were compromised. The results could have been disastrous.
Elder Scott said: Material things do not of themselves produce happiness and satisfaction and the joy of attainment on earth. Nor do they lead us to exaltation. It is nobility of character, that fabric of inner strength and conviction woven from countless righteous decisions, that gives life its direction. A consistent, righteous life produces an inner power and strength that can be permanently resistant to the eroding influence of sin and transgression. Your faith in Jesus Christ and obedience to His commandments will strengthen your character. Your character is a measure of what you are becoming. It is the evidence of how well you are using your time on earth in this period of mortal probation.
So, what are the things that enable us to build our integrity and righteous character?
Communicate with the Designer, frequently. Even if it's just casually.
Keep track of the inspiration given to make those minute changes that need to be made.
Be obedient and when you make mistakes, don't hesitate to repent. A change of heart can begin so subtly, but can allow Heaven to direct and guide you to be a powerful force for good in your world, and the world definitely could use more good.
Do the things you know you need to do in the order you need to do them. If you are supposed to go on a mission, go. That counts for older couples as well.
And stand tall and valiant in your faith. If you don't feel valiant, fake it. Fake it and eventually you will be.
Remember the people who love you. Sometimes, in the face of temptation it is remembering that we are loved by our friends and families that can make a difference. Your faith will be an example to those around you.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Day 341: They're Great
I really want to sleep, to get to bed early and wake up swimming. I had great plans for my evening: get home and swim while it was still somewhat light outside, eat a little something and go to bed. But JE needed some moral support, which translated into dinner. I stopped by whole foods market and picked up a bit of soup for him and some Mac and cheese for myself. We sat at the picnic table in the golden light of the sunset and chatted about anything but work.
I pulled into the garage around 8:30 with plans to get dressed and go out for my swim. It never happened. So many excused. I finally decided I'd prepare my talk for church Sunday, and sat down to study a bit. No inspiration, so I went to the kitchen for an inspiring bowl of frosted flakes. While fluffing the pillows behind me, I tipped the bowl just right and spilled milky flakes all over me and onto the bed (note: I don't normally eat in bed which lack of practice may have invited the chaos which followed my attempt--but I really wanted to relax). I have a horrible feeling about how I took care of the problem. Do clothes washers have anything like my dishwasher? My dishwaser has a magical device called a garbage disposal; what ever food is left on plates, disappears down the drain. If I shoved my bedding into my non-disposing clothes washer, what happens to the cornflakes?
I may have to wait awhile until they are out of the washer.
Those cornflakes were really acting siren to me and I had a thought to go get a second bowl, which I did. On my way back to the bedroom I passed the linen closet, so I grabbed the only other sheet to fit my bed. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but suddenly the entire bowl was upside-down all over the sheet, the pillows, and the rug on the floor. again with the garbage disposal need in washing machines! But can you imagine what that could do to a sock?
Should have just gone swimming.
In the course of writing this, my laundry finished. Good news! No frosted flakes were left in the washing machine! It almost makes me want to attempt a third bowl, but this time I'll stay at the dining table.
I pulled into the garage around 8:30 with plans to get dressed and go out for my swim. It never happened. So many excused. I finally decided I'd prepare my talk for church Sunday, and sat down to study a bit. No inspiration, so I went to the kitchen for an inspiring bowl of frosted flakes. While fluffing the pillows behind me, I tipped the bowl just right and spilled milky flakes all over me and onto the bed (note: I don't normally eat in bed which lack of practice may have invited the chaos which followed my attempt--but I really wanted to relax). I have a horrible feeling about how I took care of the problem. Do clothes washers have anything like my dishwasher? My dishwaser has a magical device called a garbage disposal; what ever food is left on plates, disappears down the drain. If I shoved my bedding into my non-disposing clothes washer, what happens to the cornflakes?
I may have to wait awhile until they are out of the washer.
Those cornflakes were really acting siren to me and I had a thought to go get a second bowl, which I did. On my way back to the bedroom I passed the linen closet, so I grabbed the only other sheet to fit my bed. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but suddenly the entire bowl was upside-down all over the sheet, the pillows, and the rug on the floor. again with the garbage disposal need in washing machines! But can you imagine what that could do to a sock?
Should have just gone swimming.
In the course of writing this, my laundry finished. Good news! No frosted flakes were left in the washing machine! It almost makes me want to attempt a third bowl, but this time I'll stay at the dining table.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Day 340: Mr. Darcy delivers
It's a sweet miracle how few notes I had this morning from the dress/tech the night before. Things are looking great. There are just a few pieces that didn't quite make it for the audience preview tonight. It is quite a pretty show.
As I was sitting, working on girl clothes (!), Corey, our Mister Darcy came into the costume shop with a little jar of honey from his city rooftop bees and set it downin front of me. Ther was quite a buzz in the shop about it.Swan had done his cutting and fittings, but I got the honey. They don't know about the pie deal...
The honey is medium amber colored, with a sagey caramel taste: the essence of Los Angeles according to bees. Beautiful.
It's funny how some days it is so much easier to do activities that on otherndays I struggle with. Tonight my run came easy and clean, with few rests/walks or stretching required during my run. JE took a little time to run with me, it was nice to just be with him. Four easy, lovely miles.
Currently baking mini peach pies in butter crust. Dinner was 2 ears of far over cooked corn on the cob and 2 poached eggs, between crust and poaching peaches.
It has been a good, long day.
Happy birthday, Mom!
Today was my due date, a year ago.
As I was sitting, working on girl clothes (!), Corey, our Mister Darcy came into the costume shop with a little jar of honey from his city rooftop bees and set it downin front of me. Ther was quite a buzz in the shop about it.Swan had done his cutting and fittings, but I got the honey. They don't know about the pie deal...
The honey is medium amber colored, with a sagey caramel taste: the essence of Los Angeles according to bees. Beautiful.
It's funny how some days it is so much easier to do activities that on otherndays I struggle with. Tonight my run came easy and clean, with few rests/walks or stretching required during my run. JE took a little time to run with me, it was nice to just be with him. Four easy, lovely miles.
Currently baking mini peach pies in butter crust. Dinner was 2 ears of far over cooked corn on the cob and 2 poached eggs, between crust and poaching peaches.
It has been a good, long day.
Happy birthday, Mom!
Today was my due date, a year ago.
Day 339:
All of my notes were finished before lunch which allowed for time to work on coworker notes. It's a great feeling to put a coat on an actor and have him comment about how great it feels. It is an even better feeling to then be told by your boss that the man who is wearing (and loving) the coat I had just finished is one of the pickiest about his costumes. Yah, I nailed it...
Last night I woke to a crazy nightmarish sort of dream. JE and I were taking pictures together. Sassathorne kept showing up in the photos, life size an animate. It's fun to pretend that my aliens have personalities, but it is another thing altogether to have them animate.
No miles or times for workouts today, just trying to keep it together for the week. I left for work and didn't get home until after eleven. Long days.
Last night I woke to a crazy nightmarish sort of dream. JE and I were taking pictures together. Sassathorne kept showing up in the photos, life size an animate. It's fun to pretend that my aliens have personalities, but it is another thing altogether to have them animate.
No miles or times for workouts today, just trying to keep it together for the week. I left for work and didn't get home until after eleven. Long days.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Day 338: ther was an old lady...
Flying down the trail, into a brilliant sunset, I inadvertently collected a flying bug in my throat. Coughing and spitting for the next half mile, the bug eventually died but stayed tucked safely somewhere between my windpipe and my piehole. But it was great to be back in the saddle,a again. 24 miles including my commute on vacant roads, gotta love Labor Day!
Mister Bingly's vest and frock coat are finished, as is Mister Bennet's waistcoat. Tomorrow will see me finishing his house coat and any alterations left undone at this point. Tomorrow the costumes are taken upstairs to be distributed among various dressing rooms. Actors will wear them during the long days of technical rehearsal--where sound and light queues are set, while the designer may have far too much time to fret over minute details. Let's just hope we all pass that test well. Especially the actor's shoes--shoes that have been worn for weeks in rehearsal can suddenly become incredibly uncomfortable when an actor has to stand in them for 8 hours while queues are recorded, it can be a podological nightmare.
Swimming tomorrow morning, not bike commuting. I forgot I have to actually get to class! I'm really excited that it is after labor day. The kids will be back go school zoom if not already there, which means the pools will start to be less crowded, hurray!
Mister Bingly's vest and frock coat are finished, as is Mister Bennet's waistcoat. Tomorrow will see me finishing his house coat and any alterations left undone at this point. Tomorrow the costumes are taken upstairs to be distributed among various dressing rooms. Actors will wear them during the long days of technical rehearsal--where sound and light queues are set, while the designer may have far too much time to fret over minute details. Let's just hope we all pass that test well. Especially the actor's shoes--shoes that have been worn for weeks in rehearsal can suddenly become incredibly uncomfortable when an actor has to stand in them for 8 hours while queues are recorded, it can be a podological nightmare.
Swimming tomorrow morning, not bike commuting. I forgot I have to actually get to class! I'm really excited that it is after labor day. The kids will be back go school zoom if not already there, which means the pools will start to be less crowded, hurray!
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Day 337: Rest Day
Over the past few weeks, I have heard my Gram's voice getting weaker and more gravely. When we got to her door this morning, I hesitated before knocking, unsure of what state my Gram would be in when we got there. As we entered, she stood up from her couch to greet us. She had done her hair and makeup, and put on her some of her best New England attire. She invariably rises to any occasion.
She has been ill, and has been unable to attend her figure drawing classes. However, that could never stop her from wanting to contribute to the upcoming art show at her retirement community. She reported to us, that yesterday, she spent the day in lessons with Erte and that she has never erased so much in her life. She will have something to put up at the art show, if it is the last thing she does. She turns 92 in a couple weeks, but lives each day to the fullest she can muster. Several doctors have told her she needs to slow down a little. She finally found someone to take over the hospitality committee, so she no longer organizes the welcome table at dinner, but she does attend whenever she is feeling up to it. Her version of slowing down...
After our visit, JE and I went to the beach, or what beach was left during this season on incredibly high tide and tourism. The surf is quite big right now, not North Shore big, but big for SoCal. Reading for leisure, so completely and utterly lovely on the beach with big surf jangling the rocks together. I loved today.
Tonight, we watched a friend sing in her band at Streamline Lounge in Orange. It was really fun; a neat venue.
This may be my last week of work on this show, depending how dress rehearsals go. If things are finished, I may have long periods between acts that I wait for my next big thing to fix/remake/alter comes screeching downstairs like water in hot oil, and need to be completed just as quickly. This is week could be entirely nerve-wracking or completely benign, depending on how well the designer designed and I followed that design. And there could be unforeseen surprises as well, both good and bad. JE is in the same boat, on a different sea. I may need to take a cot to work for him and I am almost not kidding. This will be a last big push for him, as well.
My goals last week were a bit off. There has to be forgiveness for myself for missing because of illness/injury. So, let's try again, shall we? I need to limit my running a little, I injured my foot somehow.
Monday: Bike commute
PM: Swim
Dinner: Zucchini, roasted chicken and potatoes
Tuesday: Bike commute
PM: Class
Beet Salad with goat cheese and candied walnuts
Wednesday: Bike commute
PM: Run
Dinner: Caprese with good bread
Thursday: Bike commute
PM: Swim
Dinner: Thai Curry
Friday: Drive to work to retrieve stuff
Possible Jump day, if we both get done in time.
Dinner out to celebrate!
Saturday: LA for fabric for class
She has been ill, and has been unable to attend her figure drawing classes. However, that could never stop her from wanting to contribute to the upcoming art show at her retirement community. She reported to us, that yesterday, she spent the day in lessons with Erte and that she has never erased so much in her life. She will have something to put up at the art show, if it is the last thing she does. She turns 92 in a couple weeks, but lives each day to the fullest she can muster. Several doctors have told her she needs to slow down a little. She finally found someone to take over the hospitality committee, so she no longer organizes the welcome table at dinner, but she does attend whenever she is feeling up to it. Her version of slowing down...
After our visit, JE and I went to the beach, or what beach was left during this season on incredibly high tide and tourism. The surf is quite big right now, not North Shore big, but big for SoCal. Reading for leisure, so completely and utterly lovely on the beach with big surf jangling the rocks together. I loved today.
Tonight, we watched a friend sing in her band at Streamline Lounge in Orange. It was really fun; a neat venue.
This may be my last week of work on this show, depending how dress rehearsals go. If things are finished, I may have long periods between acts that I wait for my next big thing to fix/remake/alter comes screeching downstairs like water in hot oil, and need to be completed just as quickly. This is week could be entirely nerve-wracking or completely benign, depending on how well the designer designed and I followed that design. And there could be unforeseen surprises as well, both good and bad. JE is in the same boat, on a different sea. I may need to take a cot to work for him and I am almost not kidding. This will be a last big push for him, as well.
My goals last week were a bit off. There has to be forgiveness for myself for missing because of illness/injury. So, let's try again, shall we? I need to limit my running a little, I injured my foot somehow.
Monday: Bike commute
PM: Swim
Dinner: Zucchini, roasted chicken and potatoes
Tuesday: Bike commute
PM: Class
Beet Salad with goat cheese and candied walnuts
Wednesday: Bike commute
PM: Run
Dinner: Caprese with good bread
Thursday: Bike commute
PM: Swim
Dinner: Thai Curry
Friday: Drive to work to retrieve stuff
Possible Jump day, if we both get done in time.
Dinner out to celebrate!
Saturday: LA for fabric for class
Day 336: Tandem
When we were living in Detroit, JE and I were part of a three legged race. Our ankles were tied together before the race began. As we began the race, our pace was a little jagged by this new situation. We were slow at first, but began to match our strides. With his 34 inch inseam and my 36 inch inseam, we were soon running together down the field. We quickly outpaced our opponents. To be fair, the bulk of our opponents were little girls and their fathers, but still...
Last night, while we were running with Pete, JE and I kept pace together. My slow pace to his slowed pace. When JE runs with Pete, he can run 8 minute miles. It frustrates me that JE slows so much for me, and stops when I stop, and tells me it's ok.. I want to be challenged, I need it. But at the same time, I'm grateful for a sweet man who supports me in my hair brained ideas like, 'I think I'll train for a triathlon, are you in?'
Tonight, we ran at Crystal Cove. It was a beautiful evening. We synced our pace and ran 4 miles.
Last night, while we were running with Pete, JE and I kept pace together. My slow pace to his slowed pace. When JE runs with Pete, he can run 8 minute miles. It frustrates me that JE slows so much for me, and stops when I stop, and tells me it's ok.. I want to be challenged, I need it. But at the same time, I'm grateful for a sweet man who supports me in my hair brained ideas like, 'I think I'll train for a triathlon, are you in?'
Tonight, we ran at Crystal Cove. It was a beautiful evening. We synced our pace and ran 4 miles.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Day 335:
There are just not enough hours in my day right now.
Ran four miles tonight with JE and PB. I was dying with fatigue, but PB was running circles around me. Geesh.
4 miles.
Ran four miles tonight with JE and PB. I was dying with fatigue, but PB was running circles around me. Geesh.
4 miles.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Day 333:
OK, how does it get to be so late? No wonder I'm sick! Geesh...
But I had a really productive day. Got my Gram's birthday pressie done.
Now to bed, before I have to be up again...
But I had a really productive day. Got my Gram's birthday pressie done.
Now to bed, before I have to be up again...
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