August 23, 2008. Me and Teddy.

Mapping out a Feeling

We spent a few hours this past Saturday in the company of a new couple.  New to us.  I had been in contact with the woman a few years back when I was attempting to get a support group going in S.F.  She lived an hour south, but was too ill to attend then.

More recently, I had given her a call to ask her to help come up with a new logo for PHC.  She returned my call and we both wondered why we had never met face-to-face.  I suggested an outting here to the new DeYoung museum and we made the date.

The traffic coming here was awful thanks to the Xmas shopping crowd so we went to plan B, a meal nearby.

Diary, I really loved these people.  Was it the weather, my breathing, the alignment of the planets?  No, I think it was them.  I felt so comfortable and the age differenece - which is vast - did not come up.  We could easily be their parents, but they did not make us feel like antiquities at all.

I could go into details, but it would not help explain what was happening.  It was just so easy.  It really felt good.

We will see them again in January.  Hopefully, we will make it to the museum on our next outting.

What a wonderful experience this was.  I just love these surprises.  I really love them.

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Same Old Song and Dance

I have been eeking out a life here, doing less and less in a given day.  It does not bother me all that much until I really want to feel differently and I cannot.  Then it eats at me.

It's an old sad song and I hate to sing it again this year, but the fireplace smoke does me in.  When I see someone buying Dura Flame logs at the store, I want to scream at them "NO"!  It has bothered me for years, but it really knocks me out now. 

Very soon I will just have to say no to evenings out.  It is not worth it to me.

Allen's mother has pneumonia and at 92-years, it's a deadly situation for her.  She sounds like she is drowning and she is doing just that.  She seemed perfectly well on Sunday, but now she's falling apart.

Boy can I relate to that!

I spent this day in trivial pursuits.  I did not do one chore.  Not one.  I played Scrabble with my American friend living in Australia and I watched a movie not worth watching.  I niggled in some back exercises, Webster cuddling and yacking on the phone.

Life in the slow lane here.

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Food and Longevity

I sent for the Williams Sonoma chocolate croissants Oprah featured on a recent Favorite Things show.  I had a box delivered to us and one to Allen's sister in Chatek.  None of us needs fifteen, 300 calorie, butter-filled, flaky croissants you bake fresh, but I did it anyway. 

They came on the day after we received a Christmas Stollen (cake) in the mail from a dear friend.  We'll have to space these treats out or we're going to be in trouble.

Sadie and Webster are in for a treat too.  I told the good vet by email I wanted to try Webster on an all natural diet and he thought that was a good idea.  I will take all kibbles and canned food away - both contain preservatives Webster may not be able to tolerate -and prepare dinners for him with a sprinkling of essential vitamins, minerals and enzymes we bought in powder form today.  The gal at the pet store - who seemed very knowledgeable and willing to read all the labels in order to find the right formula, suggested we leave the chicken raw.  I know there is a big trend now in feeding raw meat to cats and dogs and it does make sense.  Chicken and rice and magic powder it is!

My Christmas Santa is out of the closet, the pointsettia is on the table as are the two Xmas tree candles I bought last year on sale in the days following Christmas.  I will write my cards this week - the few I will send - and finish up last minute odds and ends. 

I am satisfied with our level of Xmas showiness.  There is a wreath on the door and a large vase of beautiful fall leaves in the center of the large window facing the street.

Soon it will be 2006 and I'm still kicking around.  Eating croissants no less!  Funny, eh?

P.S.  As I type this, I've draped Mr. Webster around my neck.  He is my fur for this season.  A new trend.  Live furs?  Why not.  Dead animals had their day!

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Muttering and Puttering Around

I have been puttering around here for the last few days.  I've written a few cards - sent to only the people I don't normally "speak" to - wrapped a few presents and made a trip to the post office, the store, the bank.  It's been cool and gray, but no rain.  Not yet.  Late this year.

Mr. Webster is getting in the groove with his new diet of raw chicken, rice and magic powder.  He snubbed it, but only for half a day.  Then, he talked himself into it.  There were no choices.  Eat it or starve.

This morning I had no fresh chicken so made him a scrambled egg.  He had no idea what to do with it.  He kept putting his paw on it, picking up a tidbit then licking it off.  At the end of this exercise, I had bits of egg all over the floor.  He took the egg a little more seriously as the morning wore on and nothing more was added. 

Mr. Webster is a very practical pussycat!

My darling Webster may be the perfect housecat.  He loves to be cuddled, seems contented to live indoors, looks forward to a good meal and seems to be capable of falling asleep anywhere.  The other night as he was relaxing on my desk, he zoned out on his back with his feet in the air!  No kidding.

Allen is checking the litterbox for specimens in order to ascertain the effectiveness of this diet change thing we're trying.  Not much going on as opposed to "oh my God, get me another baggie!"

An interesting experiment.  You are what you eat.  Remember that?

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Opposites Detract

We had a visitor late yesterday afternoon. Our friend brought his dog, Moose. I have wanted a photo of moose for the last couple of years. Allen would not believe how big I said this dog was. It was a fish tale, he thought.

Moose is no fish tale. He's 170 pounds of solid muscle. His head is bigger than Sadie's entire body. When she saw him today, she shuddered and whimpered.

Sadie has seen Moose twice before. During both visits, she's prefered to look away from the big, dark dog. She shook in my arms. One sad little doggie.

Today, we placed her on our kitchen desk where she usually feels safe, but it was clear today that Moose's head could clear that desk and every other countertop in my kitchen. There was nowhere to run and no place to hide. "Auuuuuuu!"

Moose is a gentle soul, but he has his limits. Our friend said that a Chihuahua bit his leg one day and Moose put the entire dog in his mouth, rolled it around and then spit the poor thing out. The Chihuahua was not injured but he was a spittled up mess. He learned the meaning of "might makes right" on that fateful day.

When Moose's gaze fell on Sadie on her pedistal today, I spoke to Moose directly. "Moose, Sadie is NOT a Chihuahua in drag!"

If Moose were standing, you would see how much more of him there is. He is one of the biggest dogs I have ever seen and when he comes into this house, it feels really odd. It's like having an elephant in the drawing room. The dog / room ratio is off kilter.

Earlier today, we finally walked around our new world-class museum., the DeYoung. It is a stunner. We finally have a fine art museum or two here to satisfy the artsy fartsy crowd. :-)  We loved it and look forward to taking friends there soon.

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Moose and Me

For more info on this, refer to the previous entry.

I cannot seem to place two photos in one diary entry? 

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Explaining Life Here

What people don't realize about "big city" living is that it is not so different from life anywhere else.  Most cities have distinctive neighborhoods that mirror life in small towns.  People get to know each other on the street, greet shopkeepers by name and keep an eye on the new shop or enterprise.  San Francisco, which is not large at all in terms of geography, has a fair number of these little hamlets and a fair amount of low-density housing.    It's easy to live comfortably here without a car and if you decide to venture outside your neighborhood boundaries, there is much to take in.

When I enter my house and shut the front door behind me, I am warmed by the rich redwood paneling.  If I look out the front windows, I can watch the occasional passer-by under the leafy canopy of my two street trees and if I look out my back windows, I see the leafy canopy of the tree that dominates my tiny yard..  I might as well be in a forest for that is how I feel when I am here.  I do not have a San Francisco scene, but it is peaceful and green.

When I step out my door, I am instantly on the street, but it's relatively quiet.  This is not the San Francisco you see in the guidebooks.   There is no hussle-bussle.  Mostly I see young women with strollers, single people carrying groceries or laundry or groups going out to eat.   There is plenty of light and air - most buildings are two to three stories tall max - and I can see the dense follage of Golden Gate Park at the end of the next block.

I am writing this because I think our lives across this country are not so different.  You learn how to deal with the space you inherit.  This is the city I inherited from my parents and I've learned how to live here.  You get used to a certain level of electricity...buzz...livliness...and that's what you choose or think you need.

We are all the product of our environment and I am the product of this small town here along the coast.

And so it goes.

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Inklings

Nearly everyone I know has been sick recently.  For some it has been the flu, for others a common but obstinate cold.  I have chosen to be a hermit with phone visits only.  I'd like to make it through the year "healthy".

Today I decided to clear off my desk and really do it right.  Before year end, I need a clean and tidy work space.  There was shredding and sorting and tossing, but in the early afternoon, I lost it. 

I have not needed a nap in weeks, but today there was no choosing.  When the wave hit me, I headed for the bed, turned on the o2 and the bipap and hunkered down.

An hour or so later, I got up but I had not recovered at all.  The extreme fatigue was still with me.

Where does this come from and what do you do with it, about it?

When I talk to Allen's mother, she exudes this feeling.  She sounds so tired, so spent, so drained.  She won her battle with pneumonia, but she has not won the war.  She is a pitiful thing right now.  The family is taking turns "gramcracker" sitting.  She cannot be alone.  She is fearful of being on her own.  Something has to give.

I've been making calls to agencies to find some outside support and maybe even some assisted living arrangement.  The folks there have jobs and will need some backup.  I am gathering up the info to relay to them.  They will ultimately decide what has got to be.

I can relate to her lack of vim and vigor, but I'm not trying to say we are equal.  I do know that her lack of energy is not a feeling ordinary, healthy folks feel.  It is extreme.

I have an inkling.

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Webster's Basic Training

So far Webster is content to be held prisoner all night.  We throw him in his own room around ten or eleven and close the door.  He is not let out for about ten or eleven hours.

When I turn on my clock radio or make the slightest sound upon moving at approx. eight-thirty in the morning, he begins calling to be let out.  On the rare occasion when I am up before he is aware of my stirring, I can see his shadow under the door.  He is waiting patiently.

This afternoon I let him try a nap with me.  It's only the second time I have allowed this because he takes a long time to settle down.  I was tempted to toss him in his own room, but I stuck it out.  He wants to nuzzle and lay across my neck.  With the bipap mask on, he does not interfere with my breathing so I let him lay there nibbling and licking my neck while I relaxed.  It's sweet, but tedious.  Eventually he gave it up and lay across the bed beside me.  What a relief!

The new diet is definitaly helping with the gas but the jury is still out on the quality of his "output".  Since the vet wrote his concerns about an all raw chicken diet, Webster has been getting cooked chicken, cooked or raw chicken livers, wheat germ, rice and "Call of the Wild" vit. / min. powder.  He is one very happy cat and I hope he learns nap etiquette over time.

There will be no neck licking or ear lobe biting at nap time.  Do you understand Mr. Webster?  Well, do you?

Diary, at this point I am nearly cooking as much for these animals as I am for Allen and I.

P.S.  Sadie voted two fetlocks up for cooked chicken livers this afternoon.  Go livers!

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The Night Before the Night Before

I pittered away most of the day as is usual for me.  But today was a little different.  I was being picked up at three in the afternoon by a couple of friends.  We were having tea at the Ritz Carlton downtown.

La de da.

I used to have some lovely things to wear, but almost nothing looks good on me right now.  In the end, I had to settle for the sporty duds that covered my middle parts.  I chose a soft yellow turtle neck and a deep red and black plaid pull over tunic, black pants and black shoes.  My millineum socks were well hidden, but as we approach a new year-end, they seemed a solid choice.

We sipped our Earl Gray and discussed many things over cucumber and smoked salmon tea sandwiches with harp music playing in the background.  We toasted a few times to Christmas and a recent court decision in Pennsylvania.  It was an agreeable group of four.

I had asked Elen to take a drive with us this evening to find some Christmas lights, but the champagne and sweets that followed the tea sandwiches had taken their toll.  I felt nauseated and overfed even though I left most of the sweets on the little tiered tray.  I think it more accurate to say I was oversugared.  Definitely oversugared.

Tomorrow I have to get with the program and sort a few things out.  I offered to bring a green salad tomorrow night to Karen & Barry's house and on Sunday, I am on board for appetizers.  I only have vague ideas about what to provide for either affair.

All of my packages are wrapped and ready to go.  What a letdown Monday will be when this season is winding down and all the wrapping paper has been crumpled and discarded.

Diary, if you are listening to the radio all Christmas day and six o'clock rolls around, guess what happens?  Radio stations seem to think Christmas has a curfew and it is 6 p.m. on December 25.  It's an abrupt and jarring change.   A terrible ending.

Shouldn't we ease out of the season just like we ease into it?

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Stuck

I forced myself out of this house yesterday, but I should have stayed home.  It was cool and drizzley.  I went anyway.  The forecast said the next day was to be stormy.  I knew I'd be hunkered down for that.

I had to walk and bus it, then walk some more.  And in the mall - my destination - there was a lot more walking required.

Diary, I'm only good for a couple of hours these days.  When you factor in the getting there and getting home, that about does it. 

I decided to take a taxi home and called the one that offers service to the western part of town where there are few taxis roaming the streets.  Well, I waited and waited in the cool drizzle and then I waited some more.  I stood there for about an hour before the cab finally showed up.

By then, I had been on the phone many times with the dispatcher and had even turned up a ride in a competitor's cab early on.  I was getting angry and panicky.  Stuck.

When the cab finally came, there were two of us wanting it.  Presumably both of us had called.  The driver wanted us to share the cab even though we were headed in opposite directions.  I was not nice at this point.  Thinking it was my cab, I had crawled into the back seat and I told the driver, I was not willing to go south for ten miles when my home lay to the north.  The driver who wanted to snag two fares, tried to make me feel like a worm, but I did not mind losing his passenger popularity contest.   I was not up for a joy ride.

Today I'm waiting for a call from Allen's sister or her husband.  We set up an appointment with a senior service agency to see if we can get some services for Allen's mother.  She is weak and unable to take care of herself since pneumonia knocked her around a couple of weeks ago.  They have had to rally the family to be with her 24/7 or nearly so.  They cannot do this indefinitely.  We're all afraid mom will lash out in anger again if she thinks we're trying to take over her life, but the family back there is having trouble coping.  They are stuck too.

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Not Much to Brag About

I am starting this year flat.  Today with heavy rains predicted and dark skies overhead, we stayed put, ate what we had in the fridge, played Scrabble and watched the lousy local football team win their last game of the season.

Yesterday our plans were stalled by a flat tire, but luckily we were at home and the local dealership had time to replace the two front tires.  That took much of the day.

Later we walked next door to wish our neighbors a happy new year, but it was all wrong.  Allen had been invited earlier in the day to stop by, but we stopped by too soon and it was so awkward.  Horrid.  We were in the way and so took our leave in short order, but not before being insulted - this is my story and I felt insulted - by a loose-lipped friend who was there cutting up French bread. 

And that is how 2005 ended here.

Perhaps tomorrow I will walk up a few blocks to check out the after-Christmas sale of holiday cards and we may even venture out to the DeYoung for the second time.  It's a holiday and I hope folks trying to decide between the museum and the movie theater decide on the movie theater.  I do not want to fight crowds.

Even Sadie had the blahs today.  She curled up in her kitchen bed and hardly moved.  For a short time, we thought she might be sick so I tested her.  In an attempt to arouse her, I asked her if she would like to go see Elen.  Well, diary, you'd think I had pushed her on/off button.  She jumped up, started barking and raced for the front door.  Elen will love to hear that.  And it's absolutely the gospel.

I hope the rest of you had a better beginning to 2006.  There really isn't much to brag about here.

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Josh

There's a relatively new, local show here on our pbs television channel.  It's a talk show / interview style half hour spot with a guest who lives in the S.F. Bay area.  So far, the guests have consisted of authors, actors and political types.  Oh, and then there was Craig of craigslist.org. The host  of this unassuming little production is Josh Kornbluth, a bespeckled, Jewish, balding, middle-aged guy who has a background in stanup comedy, penetrating little eyes and a lot of energy.

I wrote Josh a fan email and got a personal reply yesterday.  It gave me a little thrill.  Anything personal and kind is right up my alley these days. 

A poll today on the news stated the bleeding obvious as usual.  It said, "Men and women use the internet in different ways.  Men look for information and women look for relationships."  Wow.  Who paid for that study?  And why the hell didn't they ask me?  I knew this!!!

My little email "relationship" is no big deal, but it is nice to know you can still reach out and be counted.

Off to a slow start here, but you know that already.

Too much old news here.  Way too much.

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Sleep, movies and good meals

Sleep has been problematic in this past week.  I turned up the o2.  Then I turned up the bipap settings from blow me outta bed to blow me across the street.  Tonight I'm trying a new mask.  When I begin to dream that I'm having trouble breathing and wake up sputtering, I'm having trouble breathing.

It's really quite starightforward, right?

I met a friend yesterday at a nearby movie house to see Memoirs of a Geisha.  Another friend had recommended it and I'm so glad she did.  It was a riveting and glorious spectacle.  First rate.  I had read the book on tape some years back when it was a best seller and it was a good read, but the film is spectacular.  I hope it wins for cinematography, editing and so on.  Loved it.

Afterward we walked across the street to have Mexican food in a tiny restaurant we both know well.  It is a mom-and-pop restaurant with lots of character and so-so food, but fun.  We launched into a discussion of all things.  She is a parent still dealing with young adults headed for trouble.  I am burdened only by my medical condtion, but a burden is a burden. 

Today I stayed in the house, took a nap with the new mask and made a good meal.  I pounded out some boneless, skinless chicken breasts, then rolled them with prosciutto and cheese before sauteing them in extra virgin.  We had fresh spinach on the side.  Diary, it's the best meal I've made for human consumption for a week or so.  Most of my efforts now go into fixing meals for Webster and Sadie.  How crazy is that?

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We've Gone To the Cats Here

We're eating a lot of cat food around here.  Let me explain.

Because Webster is doing so much better now that he is not eating anything from a can or a bag, I've gotten into fixing him meals he can eat for most of the week.  Today I did some research on the web and came across a very good site on the subject of cat and dog nutrition.  It included some easy recipes that I have printed off and will follow.

One night, when I was too tired to cook a meal for the humans here, we had some of the cooked chicken and white rice that would have been part of a future cat meal.  I made fried rice and added some of the cooked chicken and voila!

When Allen asked what we were having, I said "cat food".  And it was, technically.

Today we had cat food for lunch.  Webster's slop consisted of cooked chicken, rice, a little canned tuna, a chopped hard boiled egg, a crushed up Pet Tab vitamin and some tuna water.  He was in seventh heaven over this one.  Allen and I had tuna and egg salad sandwiches.

I've gone off the deep end with this cat diet thing, but I don't know what else to do.  So far, he does not handle commercial food very well and it makes me think that is why the first family that adopted him, turned him back in.  Poor guy.  It won't be so bad when I get into a routine and make up a batch of food twice a week.

I'd do the same for Sadie, but I doubt she will give up her chicken for glop in a bowl.  She's a mighty picky little Pom.  Webster is happy to have whatever I give him.  He's a very practical cat.

Hey, Webster isn't doing too badly is he?  He has his own personal chef.  How many cats can say that?

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If You Live Long Enough

Last night I recorded two seperate dramas about Henry the Eighth, one on a HD (high def) channel and the other on PBS.  I still remember the very good Masterpiece Theater Production in the 80's, sort of.

Younger people may wonder why more mature folks have limited interest in popular media.  If you live long enough, everything comes around again.  There are so few originals.  How many remakes of "Father of the Bride" are enough?  How about "Miracle on 34th Street"? The second version is quite good, but did we need it?   The third "King Kong" was just released.  Wild horses could not drag me to that.  But I don't think anyone will touch "It's a Wonderful Life".  It's just too darned good.

It's not always so straightforward.  More likely a new movie contains characters that are kind of like this person or that person in another movie and the plot is a little like this or that other movie.

Diary, I still have a very good memory.  I may forget where I put my keys, but I do remember the movies I've seen, the plots and the characters.  We got our first television when I was barely able to speak and I watched everything I could.

Tonight I received an email from a local cabaret here in S.F.  Miss Kitty Carlisle - known to many of us as a permanent panelist on a very old television game show "To Tell The Truth" - is making the circuits.  She is 95 years old and will sing and dance for someone but not for us.

I cannot think of a sadder way to spend an evening.

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The Cat's Meow

We finally put the AA bateries in our Xmas cat clock yesterday.  Off and on throughout the night I would hear the "meow meow meow" on the hour.  No matter what day or night, the clock lets out a three meow song.  Meow!

I wrote a long and emotional political diatribe last night in this diary box, but then cut it out and saved it elsewhere.  It's not appropriate for this venue, I think.  I may bore you with it later on, but not tonight.

I've been lame in writing anything medical recently.  It isn't that there is no story to tell, it's just that it feels like more of a whine than anything useful.  But that may not be fair.  If you have PAH, you still need to live and go and do and there will always be the back story.  This is the back story.

As most of you well know, the goal is to keep blood oxygenated at anything at or above 90 percent.  Your heart is relatively happy and unburdened at ninety percent or above.  Well, I've been testing my sats when I ramble around here without my o2 and I'm falling to the low 80's now.  Five years ago when I first stumbled into the UCSF clinic, I could amble around and stay in the low 90's.  No more.  Doyle said we all lose lung function as we age and I've lost some precious lung function in the past five.  No mystery.  That's how it works folks.

But it is a bitter pill.

If I had not embraced the supplemental oxygen?  If I had not embraced the BiPap?  If I was not a realist? 

I'm not shocked but I'm not thrilled either.   I have less stamina now so am not as willing to run around and when I need a nap, I really need a nap!

There is nothing at all to fret about tomorrow.  We'll read the Sunday paper, drink our strong black coffee and dawdle the day away.  Perfect.

Meow meow meow.  good night.

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Milestone

My large liquid o2 tank is depleted.  There's nothing much in there except vapors.  Instead of one or two fills a day there are days now when I fill up three times. 

I could of course, leash myself to the concentrator, but I never do this.  Being tied to that machine makes me feel like a cripple; I've not been on the 50 foot leash for years preferring instead to carry this little monkey on my back every waking hour.  It would not really help all that much anyway.  Even if you don't use the o2 for a fill, the unit loses its precious contents over time.  The stuff escapes.

I often fill a tank just before retiring so that I have a partially filled tank handy when I stumble out of bed.  I can make it to the reservoir without any supplemental and manage a fill, but I feel a little wacky and I know it's not a smart thing to do.

I've only needed refill service twice a month until now, but today I called to request a weekly fill.  Another milestone.

On my way to the market on Sunday, I ren into some neighbors who do not know me well.  The husband - a big fellow with a booming voice - wanted me to know how good I was looking which as you all know, is the not much of a compliment for a PAH'er.  I did not explain the irony of this to him.  I let it slide as I stammered something out about my need for the precious gas I had strapped to my back.

And so it goes.  Marlin will get a crisp apple weekly now and I'll be home-bound every Tuesday until he arrives.

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All Things Being Equal

A friend of mine - an African American woman living here - told me something a few years ago that stuck with me.  She had been wandering around a bookstore when she caught the eye of the clerk behind the counter.  He was watching her closely.  She got the feeling he thought she was going to steal something.  I don't remember all the details of what quite took place, but I know she was shocked.  She was not accustomed to being treated like a thief.

Allen's sister, who has done more for her mother than anyone, got read the riot act a couple of days ago by her dear mother.  Behind the scenes, her brother, me and our bro-in-law had been doing everything we could to establish a routine for mom so that she could remain independent in her own apartment.  At 92 years of age, this is not such an easy thing.  We've been filing applications, contacting agencies and so on.

As dear as mom is, she is not a sophisticated person and would not understand all the ins and outs of such goings on and so we have not bored her with the details.  We did set up a meeting with a paid "helper" who would come by during the day to visit and see that she has taken her pills and had a bite to eat and it was this information that set her off.  She wanted no strangers in her house.

Poor Sandy took the heat.  Mom wanted Allen to call her and explain this move although Sandy had explained it over and over.  Only information coming from her son, Allen would be trusted.

When things like this happen, I want to explode.  Sandy felt so demeaned and I did too.  I wanted to slap both Allen and his mother.  His sister, Sandy is a bank manager for God's sake!  She's no dope; a year or so ago she thought Sandy could not even balance a checkbook and fought with her over that.

This hits a nerve with me.  Boy children should not be propped up because of their gender.  I saw this in my first marriage too.  My then husband could do no wrong while his sister was ridiculed, joked about over dinner.  She was suppose to laugh it off.  Ha!

Allen liked being the authority and Sandy has tried to laugh it off, but I know she is not laughing at all.  She does ninety-nine percent of the work and gets about one percent of the credit.

If I had been the parent of boy children, I probably would have ruined them somehow.  I would have demoted them to equals which would have been very confusing because if they were caucasion and male, much of society would have given them extra credit just for being.

For some things there really are no excuses.  I mean really!

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Little Tidbits

Just like new parents who find the first good poop in a diaper, we are delighted to report Mr. Webster's new domed litter box is looking more like that of a normal cat.  It's all about the grub.  When I got lazy the other day and let things slide, he fell apart. 

Commercial foods seem to race right through him.  He's hungry all day, every day.  He pesters and pesters to be fed even though he's eaten plenty. And we're not talking the cheap stuff either.  He has been given quite a variety of kibbles and canned, but none of them seems any better than another.  Looks like I'm going to be getting a lot of experience as Pet Chef.

I am really having a time of it because my food processor broke last week.  The part I need has been shipped, but in the meantime, I'm having to stand and cut the chicken meat into tiny tiny bits to mix with the other gunk.  I'm trying to let my mind wander as I'm doing it so that it is pleasurable and relaxing.  It would work out well except that after awhile, my back begins to hurt and there is nothing relaxing about lower back pain.

Some people knit.  I cut up chicken thighs into teensy pieces.  A new hobby?

Elen, who finally allowed me to visit for tea today now that she is nearly over her deep cough, considers my cat work more than a little crazy.  She's right of course.  But as long as I can do it, I will.  Maybe he will grow out of his "allergies"?  I will test him periodically.

Life in this crazy house.

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Lunatics A Plenty

The weather was so warm and inviting yesterday, I actually initiated a walk to the park.  Today was another stunner.  Instead of dropping my two envelopes into the box across the street, I took Sadie and walked three blocks to the post office.  On my way back, I met the lunatic.

When he said hello, I turned to look at him and that's when I figured I was talking to a bit of a nut case.  He looked long and hard through my sunglasses before asking the next question, 

"What is your dog's name?"

After that he commented on the bleeding obvious.  "And I see you're breathing oxygen."

My reply?  "yes, so are you."

Well, at this the lunatic had to laugh.  I just love a lunatic with a sense of humor, don't you?

By this time, I was nearing the corner and I began to move away.

"Okay," the lunatic said next, "I'll step away now."  and off he went.

Whew!

But it was not a clean getaway.  Bernadette, the neighborhood chatterbox with disordered thinking moved in to tell me something about something.  None of it made sense.

Still and all, it was a lovely day and I enjoyed my little walk with Sadie.  We stopped to hug and lick Sunnya's face and I had contacts with many email and phone friends throughout the day.

No bragging and no whining from me today. 

Schlepping along here.

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BMI's Oh My!

My 88-yr.-old neighbor Elen, her daughter and I went out for lunch today.  It was my turn to treat.  We drove a short distance - maybe 4 miles - across town to a little restaurant that made the top 100 places to eat last year and the year before.  It's situated in a store-front with only 10 or so tables, hardwood floors; it's a very small and low-key space.  It was quiet and relaxing.   I had been wanting to check it out and since this restaurant is open for lunch - unlike many of the top spots - it was an appropriate destination for today's get-together.

Elen's daughter, Gina is so easy.  We shared a lovely caesar salad and a main of sea bass with potatoes and fresh spinach.  Elen had trouble choosing and I thought her choice of soup alone was lame but it turned out to be very good.  The bread was home baked, the butter was of the sweetest cream and Elen seemed very happy with all of it  There were no complaints.

I calculated my body max index yesterday.  It used to be 19 and now it's 25.  Twenty-five is right on the border of overweight.  I am on the cusp.  And I feel every ounce of it.

And here I am writing about my yummy lunch.  Easy to see why I've gained so many BMI points.

We will have a three-day weekend here and I want to drop off some clothing to the Goodwill and do some other running-around things in the next few days with the help of Allen, the driver here.

Rain tonight, sun tomorrow.  I can live with that.

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Saturday Night Sunday Gravy

We drove to a nearby butcher shop yesterday.  I wanted to pick up the cuts required for the Sunday Gravy recipe I had chosen out of the Sopreno's Family Recipes book.  Allen's sister had sent us this book a year ago Christmas and I just recently rediscovered it on my shelf.

I did not spend much time thinking about the list of ingredients, but when I put my order in for this and that, it seemed so excessive.  It felt like a joke today too when I put the thing together.  Talk about a meaty sauce!!!!!

Veal and pork was cooked into the red sauce and fennel sausage too.  And meatballs were added after the brew simmered for hours.  The meatballs really pushed it over the top.  Way way over the top.

With penne pasta it was delicious, but still it has to be a joke.  Nobody would put all of that into a red sauce.  It was expensive for one thing and for another thing, it just seemed goofy.  Very Sopranos.

I will go back to the simple, elegant sauce that my aunt Millie taught me to make years ago.  No more meaty meat sauce.

I worked much of this day on cooking and cleaning up after myself in the kitchen.  It was a drippy, gray day here and there was noghing to draw me out.

Allen worked in his basement junkroom all day, painting and organizing.  Did I say organizing?  There is no organization down there, but maybe some day.  Maybe.

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Mutterings About Nothing or Was That a Nap?

I tried unsuccessfully today to take a nap.  The bipap was sending me air, but it was not enough.  It was not enough or the invervals were too long between breaths.  Whatever it was, I could not lose myself in simple relaxation.

I am filling up the Helios three times in any given day now.  I am using more.  Tonight at the desk, I just linked up to my concentrator.  I am back on the leash tonight.  But the concentrator is getting puny just when I need more air.  Figures.

It's going down and so am I.

Marlin checked it a few weeks ago.  He said it was giving 94 percent, but I wonder about that.  It might be time for me to squak.  Time for a replacement.  The boost is adequate but just barely so.

Here at the desk I hunted in vain for a segment of a radio show I heard Saturday while I was preparing my meaty Soprano's red sauce.  I am so certain everything is available on the Internet now, I barely pay attention anymore.  "Oh," I think, "I will find it and listen again later on."

Well, I tried to find a very funny and thought-provoking segment I had heard in order to pass it along, but I didn't find it.  I still feel I must not have looked hard enough.  Those Google guys are putting everything that exists on the Internet, aren't they?

Perhaps I am getting to be one of those sad souls that thinks everything exists in cyberspace and it's up to us to find it?

I may just call the radio station tomorrow and press the issue.  It should be there.  It really should.

Mutterings about nothing on a Monday night.

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Coca Cola and Annie

The ficus that has occupied a spot near the kitchen door that opens to the deck, has made the perfect Vee to set off my grandmother's framed Coca Cola ad.  The branches of this five-foot tall plant either lean to the left to catch the light from around the corner or to the right where the light from the glass door is abundant.  It looks nearly planned but the truth is, I've never once snipped at those green stems.  Not once.

My grandmother was poor; she lived out in the woods in rural Washington State.  The top of a Coca Cola calendar which she snipped and framed, was probably a lovely addition to otherwise bleak surroundings.  It depicts a gay young woman in early 1900's dress leaning forward holding a classic glass of Coke in her outstretched hand.

I think I know why my mother retrieved this from the last house my grandmother occupied in Salinas.  This little framed period piece must have tickled her fancy or perhaps it reminded her of something.  But most likely, it was all there was to take.

I looked it up in a Coca Cola collectible book a number of years back and imagined myself as one of those fools on the Antiques Road Show.  It was a give-away calendar from 1913 (I think) and when I opened up the frame, I can see it is real, cut.

"Well, if this had not been cut..." they would say as they patted my shoulder.

But tonight I'm just filling in with words about this trinket.  I am worried about Annie.  I am worried about how she is doing.  The news about Tim can not be good and honestly, I am not worried about Tim.  I am worried about Annie.

Biding time here.

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