From a few not-so-subtle comments from fellow Harborites you'd think that the Hogaclan being a no-Santa house is about as nasty as me punching, say, a small woodland animal directly in the face.

I'm sure we've all heard lots of complaints over the "over-commercialization" of Christmas - perhaps you're someone who's made this complaint yourself. But see, we here have Christmas just like we want it. We think about food, and giving gifts, and maybe giving eachother some. We think about who we're going to help out and in what way.* We decorate with greenery and, now that my children are older, construction paper. We listen to different music. We enjoy - I mean I really enjoy - the lights around town. I feel not one iota of shopper's stress because I make, not buy, the vast majority of presents we give and for those we don't give gifts to, we make an exhaustive list to send them homemade cards. I am so practiced at not thinking about extravagant gifts that I don't even pine for them. At all.

When I was a child Christmas was exciting for the things I've listed above. I remember, even when I was little detecting a schmaltzy tone to the "Santa" line even as I blithely participated . Even my parents' verify - it was about the "goodies", the presents, the food - not the actual man in the red suit.

Even so, I'm not militantly anti-Santa. Just because we don't buy in doesn't mean it's a problem that so many, many others do. In fact our family is going to a Santa event tomorrow - because it's fun. Just like perhaps you non-Christians might enjoy songs that mention the baby JC and you non-pagans enjoy the tree.

And lastly - my kid isn't going to ruin your kid's Christmas. First off, Sophie and Nels know that when someone talks about what they believe, it's important to listen, not to barge in with what we in the family believe (P.S. this goes for different food choices, different faith traditions or lack thereof. It's called teaching your child manners, and I do take it seriously).

As December descends I encourage one and all to have a meaningful Christmas whatever beliefs, traditions, religions or militant lack thereof, fairy tales, legends, or silliness fits your family!

* I think I've found a local family this year; perhaps in part helped by my SN&F proceeds such as they are.

Labels: holidays

I'm working up a new recipe.* Listening to Dean Martin's "Forever Cool". You know, he has me at Track 01 ("Ain't That A Kick In The Head"). Damn, that man packed some sex appeal in his crooning.

Tonight Cyn sends me a link. I kind of laughed, then I started looking around. And it turns out this is the loneliest, and I mean the loneliest thing I have ever seen. More lonely than the geekiest D&D nerds with their 12-sided die, drinking Mountain Dew all night. More lonely than that dog turd half-squished on the lawn. More lonely than the stale half-donut in the bottom of the box after the Insurance Benefit Primer Workshop at a Community College.

* ETA: we had it for dinner; 'twas amazing!

Labels: food, friends, geekery, inter-tron, music

My father recently was published in our local paper regarding a conflict on the east side with one of our local industries. In addition to sending that letter, he sent a personal one to the paper's editor, Mr. John Hughes. Here is his letter in its entirety:

Dear John,

I have been meaning to write a letter to you personally for a long time. This is not really a letter for publication in your paper, but you are free to do so if you choose.

I have been troubled by a couple of trends that I have noticed in your paper. First, I feel that your paper is losing its focus on just what is news and what is not. I fear you are becoming a “tattler “type magazine, what with your articles about celebrities in rehab or some such. The check stands at the market are full of articles about the deeds (or misdeeds) of the rich and famous. Personally I do not think that finding out some social lions are, after all, just like everyone else with faults or feet of clay is really newsworthy. I think these kind of stories just contribute to feelings of everyone is bad and things are going all to hell in general. Does the story of Paris Hilton getting a DUI really help your readers to discern what things they need to be concerned about? I doubt it very much. I think you should leave these kinds of stories for others to bandy about.

The second and more important issue to me at least concerns your paper’s stance on issues that are more relevant to those whom your paper reaches. I find it shocking that your paper takes no stance toward the situation in Iraq. Personally I feel it is one of the most immoral things ever but I am willing to hear other viewpoints. I have never seen your paper or you come out specifically with a view on the war. Why is that, John? Do you think the newspaper should not express a personal opinion about it? Pity. I think the newspaper has a social responsibility to the public to present articles which are germane to the community well being. I also think our situation in Iraq is very important to the well being of our community. An even more disturbing aspect of your silence about social issues and responsibilities lies in the field of politics, both national and local. I have yet to see any meaningful discussions on your part concerning the upcoming national election. Your paper seems to sit on the sidelines and wait for some candidate to make a gaffe, which then you report with chortles of glee as if you have reached the heart of the issue, be it health care or defense or whatever. This does the community no service. Pointing out the faults and missteps of the candidates does not make an informed electorate. This is even more disturbing when you do this on a local level. I am a strong believer in the theory of “think globally-act locally”. In this latest election you really dropped the ball. Rather than present an in-depth series on the issues of the candidates, you took a more superficial approach. Nowhere was this more evident than in the Hoquiam Mayor’s race. Right off, let me say that I voted for Jen Anderson but I do not have any deep seated hatred toward Jack Durney. Like many people in Hoquiam, I have a different view of what our priorities should be as far as directions the city should pursue. There is a classism at work here and your paper fails to see it. Why is it the paper has never taken a position concerning Ocean Protein and whether the east side citizens have a valid complaint when they say it is a nuisance? You should interview people like Tom Coyle. You would find him fair minded and informative and, most of all, concerned about quality of life issues in his city. You know that citizen involvement in civic affairs is at a dismal level. Voter turnouts are a major source of shame for a country that allows all people a right to speak out about their government. Yet when the election was over, your on-line paper showed a smiling Jack Durney, surrounded by supporters and gave the impression that all was well and those upstarts who had the temerity to challenge the status quo were put in their proper place. Don’t you find it at all significant that so many people voted against the incumbent? Not just in Hoquiam but other communities as well. Was it not only about 25% of the population that elected the victorious? Hardly a landslide. Jack should spend some time meeting with those who opposed him and really listen to their concerns. I think your paper should do the same. This Ocean Protein conflict is not over by any means. You would do well to go out into the public domain and talk with average citizens rather than sit sequestered in your Daily World offices and sharing your opinions among yourselves.

One final thing. This letter is not meant to bust your ass so much as to express my feelings about the value of a free press. I do enjoy many articles in your paper. I like your Q and A articles where you nutshell someone who has impact on the community and also I like some of your Perspectives articles. Also, John, for the most part I like it when you write an article on the opinion page. I see you as a thinking person and not a knee-jerk reactionary who spouts off wild and crazy ideas. I think the press has a social responsibility that is a few rungs higher up the ladder than a lot of businesses. Your job is to inform the public about the world around them so they can make good decisions about our country's direction. This is not something that is the responsibility of a company like Wal-Mart say. I am merely asking you to concentrate harder on your civic duty. I would like it if we end up having more conversations about you, me and Grays Harbor. My e-mail address is: deafman01@comcast.net. My home phone is 532-7150. I would enjoy hearing from you anytime. Thank you for putting up with my simple desultory philippic.

David Fisher
Hoquiam

After publishing my father's first letter, Mr. Hughes personally called my father to invite him on the Reader Advisory Board, a term that starts at the beginning of next year.

I can't believe my dad wrote that many words without one of them being profane. Oh wait, he did say "hell" and "ass". Good job.

Labels: the Ghost of Christmas Bastard, writing

Today I found myself at 11:15 leaving my daughter's school (where I do volunteer work every Monday) and on my way to pick up Nels when: problem? I forgot bus fare. Luckily it was only very, very, freezing-nuts-off cold as opposed to the torrential rain that descended at 2:45 that day when - again, on foot - I needed to go pick up my daughter. At 11:15, realizing my error, I tied my hat earflaps down and walked super-fast to my parents' house to ask for their van or 50 cents and the use of the phone. As I walked I thought about what it is like for families who really DON'T have a car or people who RELY on public transportation regularly. There is simply no room for, "Oh whoops, I forgot such-and-such," or "Oops, running a little late!" when you're catching a bus in order to get somewhere.

As of two yesterday our van battery is dead. Luckily nothing phases me when it comes to getting around; it's a good life skill if you ask me. Today at 3:22 as I pulled the kids along to our bus stop (uncovered and right by a crosswalk; people slow down and glare at me, waiting for me to cross. I point and point to the sign we're next to but no one registers it is indeed a bus stop. It's weird.) my children asked me why we have to walk so fast in the pouring rain. I said, "OK. Let me tell you a story about what's happening. When our car breaks down, we don't have money to fix it right away. So we take the bus. You know some people don't have cars at all. Some people have money to fix their cars right away," and a bunch of other things. It was a good conversation. They really listened as we slogged through the wet. My three year old son valiantly hiked his coat up and kept a jog for four blocks. Yes, we made the bus. They are pros at it. Nels rang the bell when we got to the Y.

Despite being on foot, on bus, and bumming the use of my parents' van once I still managed to arrange school for the kids, take homebaked cookies to Suse's school, deliver a hat to a friend, and get the kids to the Y for my workout (very sluggish today) and the kids' first night of Short Sports (tonight's workshop: basketball skills). Arriving home at 7:30 and my body doesn't yet know it's time to rest (in fact, the dirty dishes and piles of laundry encourage my body to keep going). But it really is time to rest. And give the family the SNUGGLING OF THEIR LIFE! Does that sound threatening? Because it's meant to.

Labels: bus, Nels, on foot, rain, YMCA

Here are a few reasons my kids are great. About an hour ago Nels fell asleep like a kitten. He fell asleep like a flower at the end of the day. He fell asleep like babies in movies do - you hold them close and lay down with them and they curl into you and breathe deep and they are gone to Slumbertown, USA. IRL babies don't do that often or at least not when you want them to.

Sophie took a bath with me tonight. Her little body is going through what we call a "chubby phase" which for her means: there is enough bum you can actually get some between your thumb and index finger when you give her a tweak. She put some towels over the heater so they'd get warm. When we got out of the tub she kissed me. She said she wanted to wear Superman pajamas and when I looked puzzled she said, "Just wait a minute, Mama" (she pronounces it "maw-maw"), and a few minutes later came back in wearing pajamas, panties over her pajamas, and a towel for a cape. She tells me I smell very good. She and Ralph set up a mini-Christmas tree in her room, complete with little plastic dinosaurs. She calls my mom on the phone and arranges Christmas tree decoration plans with authority.

I love to get out but it's great to stay in, too.

Labels: Nels, Sophie

Today dawned another beautiful, clear, and cold day. My father and I walked our family's favorite 3 mile route. While I walked with him I remembered how he used to run - used to run miles and miles, near every day. His ability to run was taken from him because of the medicine he's on. I wondered how many more walks I'd have with him. I actually pray: I hope so many more years. He is precious to me. He has so many ideas now and is working to see some of them brought to fruition. He asks me if I want to be involved in a neighborhood canvassing he's going to do. Yesterday, he helps me print my zine. We talk about all sorts of things, bit and small; when I listen to him now I listen for wisdom, because this is him offering it. Sometimes what he has to offer is silly or human or wrong-headed. I see him in a new light and appreciate all he has to offer.

Today I thought about how once my parents got back from their trip to the Lake we all joined back up as a family. My mom, despite a lack of sleep, asked the children over to help her install Christmas boughs in her living room (she's using holiday decorating to liven her mood). We work and flow as a family and even if toes get stepped on now and then, we respect one another and show affection in ways that we did not do years ago. I am glad I moved close to my family. It feels draining not because my parents exhaust me, but because the weight of my father's illness sullies my every evening in my home. However, the days and minutes I spend with them are a joy and I am daily grateful for them.

I wish I had more to write, more of my trademark foul-mouthed anecdotes that helped me get some readership started years ago. Or something wise and smart to say. I feel tapped out and sad today, even though it was a lovely day really. I feel sad because a few hours ago I learned of a misunderstanding and ugliness on the Thanksgiving holiday, the holiday I worked so hard for (I love how my brother told me - in jest I think - that no excuses, the kitchen is my domain and if something fails, it's my responsibility). I feel sad because my father is sick and I will never escape feeling sad about this for such a long time. I feel sad because I can't stop feeling sad at night.

I feel grateful for my children and my husband. I spoke with Ralph this morning about resentment. I told him I didn't want him to resent my time with my family. I told him, and I tell him daily, how preoccupied I feel. That does not however exonerate me from the responsibilities in my marriage; to have and to hold. I do have him and I do hold him. Beard and all, heh heh.

Labels: family life, Ralph, Sophie, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Thanksgiving is come and gone. There was a lot of food. There were visits from family and friends. Yesterday I worked for ten hours straight and didn't even take a bathroom break. It was surreal. It was a nice day.

This morning we woke up with Nels in the bed (in between Ralph and I - how did that happen again?), and a curious kitty visiting each member of the family one by one with his snow paws until we all gradually had our eyes open and we all had our arms around one another. What's nice is we get two more mornings like this in the weekend, mornings without Ralph having to rush off to work and me having to get the kids to school.

It seems there were a few people out for walks today as the weather was brilliant and clear. Our foursome walked a little under three miles and it was such a nice time talking with the family - well, especially Ralph who's looking so especially handsome these days for some unknown reason - and viewing Skanky the Seal in the Hoquiam River. I finished Sophie's two skirts but lost energy before I could start sewing the dresses.

My parents arrived back home today after their Thanksgiving at the family's Mason Lake cabin. It was so nice to see them again tonight although being around them fills me with inner sadness I dare not show them. My father is having trouble swallowing because (we think) of the tumor growing just behind his stomach. He kept putting his hands to his face because his new medicine irritates the lining of his throat and mouth. I think it's like having one's entire mouth be a canker sore. The steroids are making him sleep poorly. He talked about waking up at 3 AM and being wide awake. I hated the thought of him being alone and wish I was in the house to sit with him. Despite all his suffering he was gentle and sweet tonight, chasing my children and hugging them. We talked about a recent ridiculous letter to the editor and laughed and laughed.

My mom was also bad off. We talked about some of the things bothering her for a while and she was, uncharacteristically, not able to feel better by the time I left. It isn't just my father and his illness, but also some of her experiences with her own father and two of her siblings this weekend. I think my mom's world is slowly crumbling in more than one way. I obviously know a lot more about her situation but there is no point to writing more about it here. These days I'm out and about I really will experience what people call "a chill around my heart". When this coldness creeps into me it stays with me for hours at a time, even if I look like a loving mother or caring wife or a happy friend - I still feel it there.

My children are a saving grace. They give me focus, direction, and ground me in reality. Life goes on and my children are evidence. They are irrepressible, at turns incredibly wise and ridiculously irreverent, made of sturdier stuff than the rest of us. Give them a nap, tell them a story, feed them, wash their hands or play a game of 20 Questions and they are as good as new, able to handle a hike or bad news or a visit to the hospital or help with chores. They give us lessons in survival and unconditional love. I'm not sure what I'd do without them. I'm glad I have them.

Labels: family life, Grazdma, holidays, illness, sorrows, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Today besides the normal drill of fixing breakfast and lunch and getting the kids read for school I cooked a mini-Thanksgiving "feast" of roast turkey, mashed potatoes w/butter, and carrot sticks for Sophie's kindergarten class - fresh out of the shower at 12:40 throwing potatoes in boiling water for a lunch date at 1 PM (yes, I made it and on time too), deep-cleaned the bathroom, entertained my father during a surprise coffee visit (our conversation actually took many turns for the personal depths, much to my surprise), took the kids to the Sweet Shoppe and picked up some catered bread pudding while there (the only item on the T-day menu I'm not making), took the kids to the Y and worked out, and cut out two dresses and two skirts to sew for Sophie. At my parents' tonight I realized I couldn't sew at home; my children / the kitten - someone - had got ahold of my bobbin helmet, a part I truly do need in order to sew. On hearing this my husband offered to haul my Singer 201 down the narrow stairs, put it in the van and drive it to our house to set up; the machine itself weighs 25 lbs. and is in a giant cabinet that isn't easy to carry even over level ground. I opted instead to come home and tear the house apart for the missing piece to my 15-91. *

Here's another reason I like being married to Ralph; tonight at 9 PM when I said, "Oh, you should go rent Roadhouse since the video stores won't be open tomorrow," and he said "Fuckin' A'!", grabbed our son, and left to go do it. So. There are so many, many people who would not have had that response.

Through a misplaced Tweet I found Devil's Night Radio and I'm loving it. Tonight I heard Nick Cave's "Stagger Lee" which I haven't listened to in nine years on account of how much it offended Ralph when I played it in my car.

Oh, and I found out that after working out and not drinking alchool for a little over a week I have dropped six pounds. People, just so you know, this is officially the first time in my life I've ever done anything approximating "dieting". I'm glad to have lost weight but I'm even more amazed at how good I feel.

So yeah. Things are going great around these parts.

* ETA - that was fast. I published my post, walked into the living room, moved one couch and immediately found the little metal part. Good times.

Labels: film, food, holidays, music, Ralph, school, sewing, swayze, the bod

I wish I'd had a camera this morning. It was pretty blissful to hang out with two four year olds to do all our Thanksgiving shopping. Well, technically Nels and my friend's child E. are 3 1/2 and 4 1/2, resp. but you get the idea. While Sophie was in school the two younguns and I avoided Wednesday crowds and got our action on.

So my Thanksgiving menu is as follows:

Turkey
Dressing
Carrots w/butter
Green beans
Mashed potatoes
Gravy?? If I can figure out how to make it!
Candied yams w/homemade marshmallows
Waldorf salad
Cranberry sauce (I made last night)
2 dozen yeast rolls (awesome recipe featured in November's zine)
Deviled eggs w/pretzels, pickles and olives (half-assed appetizer I suppose)
Pumpkin pie (made up and froze the other day)
Bread pudding
Apple pie

Today this involved the following groceries:
Bread for stuffing
1 gallon organic milk
Canola oil
2 dozen brown organic eggs
One huge-ass free-range turkey
2 lbs. butter
Chicken bullion (sp?)
Karo corn syrup (OMG... this list is looking so evil!)
Can pumpkin
Can black olives
Whipping cream
2 quarts organic chicken broth
Total = $73

Then we hit Jay's where I bought the produce:
5 lbs. apples (macintosh for the waldorf salad, granny for the apple pie)
4 lbs. carrots
10 lbs. potatoes
3 lemons
1 head celery
1 large bunch seedless grapes
1 lb. tofu
Total = $17

And finally, a few bakery items from The Marketplace:
3 lbs. light rye flour
1 lb. semisweet miniature chocolate chips
25 lbs. bread flour
Total = $18

So - $108 for the whole shebang (9 people to be fed). This doesn't include the ingredients I asked my guests to bring: 1 cup dried cherries, 2 cups whole pecans, 1 lb. coffee, 2 lbs. butter (yes - two more pounds than what I bought), 1/2 and 1/2, 3 lbs. yams, pretzel sticks, 5 bottles sparkling cider, and beer (volunteered by a guest). My sister donated $50 to the effort which I took out in Portland Aveda trade (um, I think I'm as excited to see Aveda as I am to have company over!). So - it's a feast, and thanks to help from the guests, it's easier on my budget.

Also on my list:
Shampoo the carpet (Ralph)
Clean the bathroom even though it's always clean
Wash bedding at two houses
Steal from mom's house: roasting pan and rack (make sure turkey fits), muffin tins, stoneware baking pan
Finish holiday mix tapes

And that's about it, really! Plus I'm making T-day lunch for Sophie's kindergarten class tomorrow. And stapling and distributing the zine. And working out at the Y daily.

Today at 11 AM while I waited outside for the library to open - Nels in a monkey hoodie and E. borrowing the pink kitty hat - the kids climbed all over the railing in front of the entrance doors. Those two absolutely love one another, being kindred spirits of mischievousness. As I watched them a man next to me, scruffy and anonymous (there were three such men waiting with me) said, "I don't know if I should feel bad." I asked what he meant and he told me he'd been feeling the dogs at the pound (a kennel outdoors by the police station and next to the local grocery store) and a rott puppy had squeezed out of his slot and was running "free" in with the other dogs. I told him not to feel bad. I asked him what he'd been feeding them. "Cookies," he replied. (!)

The things I like about holidays: the food, the people.

Labels: food geekery, goodness, grocery opus, holidays

One way I've been getting some time to my own thoughts is hitting the YMCA right at 4 PM - before the evening rush, but just as the childcare opens. I can listen to music really loud and work out a few aggressions / sorrows. I also can look straight ahead and see high school boys on the swim team, diving off the diving board. Today one was wearing a speedo with a pirate flag smack over the bum.

While on the treadmill this evening the man next to me (OK he's running, I'm walking, but he's doing a SLOW run and I was on longer) kept looking over. Trying to catch my eye. He looked familiar to me. But he had his headphones in and so did I, so I didn't ask if I knew him. At one point I looked over and he was using the headphones to watch sports statistics on the treadmill TV (yes, there is a television in the treadmill!). I on the other hand was listening to Panic! At the Disco, The Kinks (simply cannot get enough), and Radiohead - while occasionally looking up at the CC set to watch Tom Hanks on Oprah (this all worked very well for me). After a while the man started to smell, or rather his smell wafted to me. It was part man-funk and part stale doggy. I have a very sensitive nose so, just because I can smell you doesn't mean you should worry you particularly smell bad. By way of illustration: one summer day (pregnant was I) my husband and his friend Bart came inside my parents' house and I, from fifteen feet away, said, "You smell like bark. Were you climbing trees?" to their very shocked expressions because of course, they did and they had been.

OMG OMG OMG!!! I like, completely finished the first issue of my zine... ohgeez. So yeah. Download here at the - oh yes, did I mention? I (well, RALPH and I) finished the website, too. You can go to "Current Issue" and download the PDF - it's a rather large file so give it a few minutes.

Labels: SNF, the bod, YMCA

My latest foodie obsession - a subset of my quest to to become a competent bread-baker - is mastering sourdough. Talk about weird. Yesterday on target I had a rye starter mix is bubbling and frothing away. I'd moved it kind of everywhere in the house to find a good spot (who has a 80 degree place in their house 24 hours a day?). Problem is, the starter was giving off quite an odor right away, one curiously reminiscent of some of the more filthy underbelly aspects of a wood pulping operation (memories of 2 AM shift walks... [ shudder! ]). Had my starter gone bad? How could I tell if it did? What next? Why am I trusting the internet for all this information?

So very early on in my sourdough-making experiment the process turned from exact recipe following (my preferred method) to a half-assed scientist's experiment. Using a combination of this know-it-all's elaborate recipe, the sourdough starter available to me at the local health food store, salt, yeast, and flours (three in total) I made a loaf. The whole family kept tabs on it all day - the kids checking each rise and the baking thereof - and we waited until Ralph got home to try it.

Success! It was a tasty bread. The loaf, once cooled (it was quite pretty) was promptly divided and ravaged in a total of four different households (a tiny heel remains in my breadbox). As for me, although I had a piece, the smell of the starter lingered in my olfactory memory and it was basically a mental taint.

Also baked: chocolate rye coffee cake, pumpernickel rolls. Today: homemade marshmallows.

Labels: food geekery

Today I was blessed with many things. Not just time with my most loved ones, ever - and also fresh air and exercise and good coffee. Most of all: walking home after picking up Sophie it was streaming sun and the sky was laden with puffy, white clouds accompanied by a few glowering dark ones. And predictably out of this rose a rainbow; a brilliant, vibrant presence that inspired its own shallow doppelganger just above it. I listened to my children's delighted descriptions and a block later we were met by Harris the Fierce Not-So-Kitten; he follows us most of the way to school these days then disappears a block a or so from the final destination. Then on our return he prounces up to us out of whatever yard he took to exploring that day, running ahead and behind and inspiring liquid giggles from the kids.

It must have been a special day because only a few blocks later cross-traffic commenced with the Coleman Mortuary's hearse (a new one, it looks like) passing by up the hill to the cemetery. A caravan of twenty more cars followed, fresh from rain and transitioning from the service to the burial. The faces in the cars, some are sad, some are happy, some preoccupied, some are tear-stained and devastated. I watched them all as we waited the cars out and I answered the questions the children asked. Harris hid in the tree behind us and then, when we crossed, darted after us on hunter's paws to skid ahead of us into our front yard.

Labels: Harris, rain, walking

(I've been getting a few emails lately in response to recent posts. I've had a lot of positive feedback and a lot of support. I want to take this opportunity to thank all who've written or said kind words. I will get back to you personally via email but it takes me a few days to catch up.)

This morning finds me walking with Nels in the jogging stroller. First we drop his sister off at school along with her AR reading book and the small collection of supplemental bread-making activities for this week (read=I am a big nerd. Breadmaking Hoga-book download: [here]). Walking, walking, walking. Nels was quiet and happy so I put my earbuds in and had some musical bliss.

We were headed to meet my parents at the hospital for my father's PICC insertion. This will be the third time in seven years my father has had a long catheter inserted into his veins to deliver poison. I am not afraid of medical procedures and I don't want my children to be, either; hence at any opportunity we accompany him if he's willing (so far, he always has been). I have to admit it is a little alarming to watch a nurse pull a three-foot long wire out of my father's body. It is a little sad to see him in that old-man-skinny look where he can cross his legs like a stork and waits patiently on the bed for whatever horror or annoyance they have for him today (in researching more about his new type of PICC I happen to think the flash screen on the PowerPICC site is actually kind of frightening rather than reassuring). His white socks are stained with smudges of blood from a rash his body is covered with, a skin irritation that lives on even though it's been a couple weeks since his last type of medicine. He gets dosed again with something less pleasant tomorrow so he is no longer having time to heal and recover before he gets more help/poison.
Still, having Nels and I (and of course, my mother) attending seems to fortify him. Talking to him about the process and involving ourselves pulls him out of a depressive funk and makes him feel, if not fully alive and well, valued and loved and still interesting as a person. Staying away from the reality of medical intervention and treatment would keep it "not normal" which can feel scary. I don't want him to be scared; I don't want to be scared. And while talking to him and the attending nurse an inspiration struck: I will knit an armband for the PICC site to keep the area secure and warm. I give a little thank you prayer for what seems to me a good idea.

Nels for his part loves the hospital. Today he is doted on by nurses who give him a coloring book and crayons, fruit snacks and a special little table for drawing. It would have been nice to have Sophie there as the attending nurse tells me she would allow my child to view the procedure. Sophie is a scientist; a frame of mind and state of being that keeps even the most obscure or disturbing medical facts anchored in a rational, curious, and strong mind.

Tonight the family splits forces: Ralph and Nels to a website meeting for the preschool, Sophie and I to swim lessons and then a Knit Night at my LYS. I have a sweater to repair, socks for Suse to finish, and an arm-band to start.

Labels: books, illness, knitting, Nels, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Insomnia. Again. No external culprits: no late-night caffeine, no alcohol. Exercise earlier in the day. No illness. Just nerves. Alone, abandoned, sad. Listening to my family sleeping. At least the cats are outside cold (yes, I'm about to let them in). At night I tell myself that in the morning I'll feel better. It doesn't help much but, of course, eventually I do sleep. If I was prone to ulcers I'd have developed one.

My days are good. I have been so busy lately - in a good way. I've been working really hard at helping my daughter's class in their learning and enjoyment of school. Her teacher is awesome in that she will help me integrate a food or food activity into the lessons they do during the week. Ever since we started dong this stuff my little bird-brain gears spin away, bordering on the way-too-involved. Today was pumpkin pie day, pumpkin pie being the food the kids voted on earlier in the week (I'm sad they didn't vote for the soup, which would have been more fun to make!). Two-dozen individual pies and one large one for the teachers. The kids sat and unfolded a napkin and we listened to a song about manners while they all ate. It was a nice scene.

Next week I'm even worse. I am currently cooking recipes and planning a little school unit on bread-baking which includes book holds at the library, a Sesame Street video podcast, and a book the kids and I worked on today.

I have been putting together my zine (website pending) which I must finish before I allow myself to sew again (post-Halloween resolution). I am on the preschool board and run little errands for that which aren't rocket science but nevertheless take up a bit of time. Ralph and I have had two meetings each this week (I missed one), being more active in the film / theatre community here. And just trying to keep on top of housework and stay happy with the children and take Sophie to her swim lessons and enjoy peaceful evenings at home. We're hitting it dead-on this week, for a change. No strain, just fun.

Here's the thing: anytime someone tells you they're busy it's easy to not care, to tune out what they're doing. But the point is I decided these things were important. I decided I cared about them, I committed to doing them. It's different than a paid job where someone gives you a formal accolade or a formal paycheck and says, "Yes, that's what you should be doing." It's a good groove though; I'll admit. Today after baking pumpernickel bread my children opted out of playing together to come back in the kitchen and help me make two-dozen rolls (homemade burgers tonight for my dad's dinner). One nice thing about having an at-home parent is your children learn so very much from you. It is truly an honor and inspiration to have them as pupils, too.

The hour grows only later and my body does not feel ready for sleep. Nevertheless I shall try.

Labels: books, food geekery, homesteading, nerves, sahm, school

Today I went to my parents' house as soon as I was done dropping off kids and fetching groceries. They were just back from the oncologist's. They'd heard a number. The number represents the amount of time this doctor thinks my father would have if they "did nothing" in terms of medication or treatment. It wasn't a very big number.

My parents and I sat at the kitchen table and talked about our options, our choices, the time we have left, all the medicine and treatments and our future plans. It was a good conversation; there was a lot of laughing, actually (my father's insistence on a coffee-can ash receptacle inspiring recitations of scenes from The Big Lebowski). I felt a lot of hope. It's also sad, and it just stays sad. It doesn't suddenly one day get poetic or easy or anything.

In the afternoon after Sophie's first-ever school conference (high marks, natch!) we went back to my parents' where the children played and snacked while my mom and I baked up a huge amount of pumpkin pies - 24 miniature ones, and one large one - for Sophie's school tomorrow. As soon as the pies were done we went to a house my mom is interested in buying (a downgrade from the large family house they are currently in). The house itself was a 1916 little cottage in a ghetto / river / industrial corner of town. The yard was amazing and even more so was the owner who'd built the garden - a jack-of-all-trades, an entrepreneur with glass-blue eyes and painter jeans, gesturing excitedly with his cigarette while talking to my father about solar power. He and his partner had formed the most amazing, beautiful garden I'd seen - orchards of cherry, fig, kiwi, pear, apple - bushes of beans and peas and carrots, potatoes, fennel, tomatillos, garlic - I mean literally almost anything you could think to grow. It was a really interesting part of our day. It was really lovely.

Labels: food, gratitude, illness, newness, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

I'm nervous about tomorrow morning. My parents are meeting with my father's oncologist to discuss his recent PET scan. I have been sad about something but haven't yet said anything: we have some not-good news as of a couple weeks ago. My father's CEA count (which is basically, a cancer indicator - read some medical jargon here if you really want to) jumped 20 points at the last test (hence the diagnostic PET). One thing this probably means is he will be off his "nice" chemo soon and back to a nasty one that makes him sick most of the week. Really sick. And full of rashes and nausea and all sorts of un-fun things.

I am dumb and superstitious about that CEA number. If it jumps, I think, He's going to die. It feels like as hard a blow as it did seven years ago when he was first diagnosed. I am just as upset, and I have just as much of a denial reaction, I am angry at anyone who doesn't understand what this feels like (which is a lot of people).

Yet I also feel like I'm supposed to have some sort of perfect balance of support, optimism, faith, and gritty realism. Somehow I'm required to have this perfect attitude that will tip the balance towards: longer survival. If I don't stay vigilant (doing what?) then he will get sick and die. Then there are the days I know that no one is assured any number of days, the moments I am at peace with the inevitability of death, they days I am just glad to have another day. These are the days I walk with the kids in the sunlight and am filled with joy. But then the "can do" attitude admonishes me - not to give up, not to get complacent. Be a winner! - somehow... or... he'll die. I will be partly to blame. It's exhausting.

It's also a helpless experience, because as much as I follow his health and ask how he's doing and try to be there for him, I can't help him. Not really. First off, he doesn't ask for help in any clear way (very few people do). Secondly, I can't take away the sickness and the poison in his veins no matter what I did (I just add other nourishing things like homemade meatballs and fresh lemon meringue pie).

We moved here in large part to be with family while family was sick and struggling. I am daily glad of this choice although it meant leaving things we loved. If I hadn't moved here I'd get to avoid experiencing these troubling and exhilarating times. That would probably feel more comfortable than it feels right now. But I'm not really a person who seeks comfort above all else.

Labels: illness, nerves, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Most everyone I know bitches about expenses or claims they "can't afford" this or that - often baldly and in the face of evidence otherwise. Some I know look at other people's seemingly more extravagent choices and vociferously point out just how easy said others must have it because, you know, they themselves are just struggling to make it. Recently a friend with a family transport easily twice as expensive as mine readily pointed out that others in her peer group have vehicles newer, better, more status-y. And I feel confident those she speaks of with the high-dollar brand new SUVs can wave their arms at "proof" they themselves don't have it as easy as so-and-so, or that their car is their only extravagance on an otherwise "tight budget" (actually, I know a few of those moms myself). All of which leaves me and my assy Astrovan that's half paid off and feeling a bit threadbare wondering if there's anyone I can relate to at all besides my own husband.

Twice every month when it gets toward the end of the pay period our finances get tight. For me this means a lot of creative thinking about groceries. It means time at home baking bread and going for walks with the children instead of taking the kids to errands where I send something off in the mail, or go buy lightbulbs for the house. It means not going to the HDA function my mother bought me a ticket for tonight, as I'd originally planned to - because I don't have something appropriate to wear. I mean I have one evening dress that almost fits, but no shoes, no hose, no nice coat, and not even a bra that doesn't show and show with popped elastic in the band at that (my mom gifted the auction a heretofore unknown Elton Bennett painting, given to my grandparents on their marriage. The painting is kind of a big deal and she anticipates being interviewed so she has been buying up makeup and getting her hair done and dry cleaning her dress and in short gussying up for the event - I call her preparations "going to Whore Island"). This morning I tried to make it happen. I walked into an apparel boutique and saw lots of beautiful things. Then I thought, "I can't get any of these and know where my food budget is going to come from for the next week." I left; I wrote my mom a (not-covered) check for the ticket price and asked her to take my father if he'd go (he won't)*.

Twice a month things get tight. It means when I'm supposed to run off 50 copies of a letter for my child's preschool (I'm the board secretary) I find myself not able to buy the envelopes, do the printing and postage, and get reimbursed later, whenever. Oh, I guess I could do that - except my larder has no cooking oil, we are out of milk, behind on preschool tuition, late on at least one car payment, can barely make rent, haven't even touched the debt we owe my parents for their rescue of our family car, and Ralph has needed a haircut for months (yes, I've offered him a DIMY). I hope that last sentence at least can illuminate why I'd walk into a clothes shop and just know I couldn't do it.

I'm not complaining. I'm just explaining what my reality is. I don't think of the Hogaclan as "poor" because we still have freedom in our lives. We have made deliberate choices and they are hard ones. I read a phrase the other day in the paper: "kid poor". The author of the letter meant that all the money in the family went to the kids - their care and feeding, mostly. When I read that I knew it was true for Ralph and I. For instance, and largest in our way of thinking, we have an entire lack of a second income. This is not because I don't want to work or couldn't find work. This is because of what we want in our family life. We spend our money on the children. We put our kids in a co-op preschool because we wanted a good experience for them and believe in these programs for the betterment of our community. Ralph and I may be out of clothes (he has two pair of boxers and yes, they are washed carefully and regularly) but our children always have coats and raincoats and good shoes because we make it a priority. Food. Food is a huge issue for us. We may have $10 to last through the weekend but $4.39 will be spent on a gallon of organic milk. Every night our table is laden with good food and we sit down together. My children have known nothing but the best, warmest, most loving family life (with a little yelling and whacking from their mom when times get too stressful for her). They thrive and their strength and joy proves the righteousness of our lives even when I sometimes wonder why I'm the only person I know without a credit card or a down payment for a house.

Our family life is rich in so many ways. It's just money isn't one of those ways and doesn't look to be any time soon.

* ETA - he did!

Labels: family life, food, gratitude, grocery opus, Nels, Ralph, Sophie

When I ride or walk around my hometown a forgotten house, a sight of a neighborhood tree or the feel of the air, some small synapse gets triggered and I am suddenly reminded of someone I knew or something that happened I had completely forgot about until the moment it hits me. Today it was a surfaced memory of my brother and I. I think I was in ninth grade and going to go to a dance. I found this electric blue, fitted (but not whorish)* lace-overlayed dress. It was perfect for the semi-formal I was attending and my mom bought it for me from - what was the name of the shop? Jay Jacobs? It was just a bunch of shitily-made clothes for teens and young women but exciting to browse in the preoccupation of liberating oneself from kid-hood into female-ness.

So at home I put this dress on and was looking at myself in the mirror, my under-average-height 130-lb body and new perfect boobs and feeling very pretty and different. And my brother came into the room and I said, "What do you think?" and he said, "Oh..." and I said, "I feel kind of self-conscious because, you know," and I gestured to what must have been the world's least-significant slight potbelly (a "flaw" I sensed, rather than felt, would be a detriment). And my brother, Hades fuck him, said, "Well, yeah."

I didn't wear the dress; I returned it. Whatever burgeoning confidence I felt evaporated - maybe not because of what my brother says, who knows - and I remember what it felt like to hate my uncooperative and vaguely displeasing body. I of course excuse my brother who was as much a victim and participant in the gauntlet formed against young females as I was. What mostly I think is, I will kick my son's ass if he ever says anything less than worshipful for his sister's beautiful body (no worries so far; he loves her fully and completely). And of course, I remember how much I loved the blue of the frock, which I have never seen anywhere else (thank you, Taiwanese textile factory!).

Today I discovered my father is super-excited about Popular Science's DIY messenger-bag-cum-solar-cell-phone-charger. I don't even know where he got the idea (it's too bad the link doesn't show a picture; it is kind of cute). Not only does he want to make one (with my husband's help in choosing electronics), he thinks we should make them and sell them (WTF? I think maybe he was smoking some of his medicine). However despite the fact it is semi-strange for him to be soooo excited, Ralph and are actually so happy he has a project that involves us. I said, "You can show it to Ralph when he comes over tonight," and he snorted, "What, time to borrow the lawnmower again?" (actually a software install for mi madre).

* Here's another nice tidbit from dinner at my FOO's the other night: totally unrelated to this story of the dress my mom, telling my husband how much she was glad I didn't dress provocatively as a young woman. "I know, I know," she crowed, "You'd think by her personality she'd be ... you know ... [a slut!] but she was actually very modest." O-kay.

Labels: billy, FOO, Grazdma, HQX, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Labels: halloween, Harris, holidays, illness, Nels