I finally saw the pain specialist about my arthritis today. The news was not particularly good. He thinks I'm having some back problems (knew that) and that the pain in my hip might be mostly due to that. I don't agree with that, because my back is not particularly bad now, but my hip is EVIL and worse when it rains--explain to me how muscle pain gets worse when it rains?
Anyway...
He agreed with me that my PCM is a bit of a dolt (not in so many words) in that she didn't know that a negative rheumatology panel doesn't really rule out related problems. When one is in flare, the tests are positive, but when one is not in flare, you can do a zillion tests, but they won't be positive. A rheumatologist--to which my PCM refused to refer me--would have known that. So that was one of the points he left me with... that I may indeed have something RH related (or Lupus, which also hides when not in flare).
But, he went on to say the f-word. No, not that one.
Fibromyalgia.
Just what I always wanted. Something painful, progressive and incurable! Ye ha! Yeah, yeah, I know, it's treatable. You can cope with it. I don't really want to, truth be told. I am still very disgruntled about being in chronic pain. I'm not frightened, rather, I am pissed. Damn it, I want to be healthy again! I am tired of being sick and fat and achy.
The doc didn't say it WAS fibro, but he tested the pain points and they DO hurt. I think the idea is to treat it with fibro medicines and see if it responds. He gave me a scrip for a Fibro med which I forget the name of. We'll check back in 6 weeks to see if it's working. I have to take the darned stuff 3x/day. Which is going to be a trick since I can't remember to EAT 3x/day. He told me to keep taking the Celebrex, but he was able to set my mind at rest about some of the safety issues I was concerned about.
I wish I was happier about this, but I'm not. It sucks.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Smooth figure skating
It's about time for an "ob skating" post. For those of you not on SkateFans, that's an obligatory mention of figure skating in an otherwise totally off topic post. And this blog has not much been about skating lately. My bad, I've been so busy that I watched Nationals in reruns and only parts of worlds.
One thing I did catch though was the fluffy Latin on Ice. At least, I saw part of it. When Rob Thomas and Santana first did Smooth, I imagined it as an ice dance. I was livid when Kristy Y. mangled it that first season. I just wanted to shake her by her skinny little shoulders--and I LIKE Kristy's skating most of the time.
It needed someone who really understood and internalized latins. Someone who could breathe Latin. I never saw Peter Tchernyshev in the main role (though he is 101 reasons to think pervy things), mainly because I felt that he never really got Latins. Smooth is a cha-cha, a very latiny latin. Porny Peter has the great, sweeping swooshes of smooths (waltz, foxtrot, quickstep etc) down cold. His technique makes my toes curl. He also had a certain eastern European rock-and-roll sensibility about him that is far more Metallica than it is Elvis. More speed metal than rockabilly. So I never saw him doing justice to Smooth. He just doesn't get Latins. But this is actually pretty good.
Okay, who am I fooling, the main highlight of this program is that Peter does it almost shirtless. And oh, BABY, is he cut. You don't even notice that he has no Latin hip motion to speak of (something that is, granted, very hard to do on ice). When you can look away from Porny Peter, you notice that Naomi actually gets the cha at least a little bit.
Anyway, this is for a reader who never saw this particular piece of on ice fluff.
One thing I did catch though was the fluffy Latin on Ice. At least, I saw part of it. When Rob Thomas and Santana first did Smooth, I imagined it as an ice dance. I was livid when Kristy Y. mangled it that first season. I just wanted to shake her by her skinny little shoulders--and I LIKE Kristy's skating most of the time.
It needed someone who really understood and internalized latins. Someone who could breathe Latin. I never saw Peter Tchernyshev in the main role (though he is 101 reasons to think pervy things), mainly because I felt that he never really got Latins. Smooth is a cha-cha, a very latiny latin. Porny Peter has the great, sweeping swooshes of smooths (waltz, foxtrot, quickstep etc) down cold. His technique makes my toes curl. He also had a certain eastern European rock-and-roll sensibility about him that is far more Metallica than it is Elvis. More speed metal than rockabilly. So I never saw him doing justice to Smooth. He just doesn't get Latins. But this is actually pretty good.
Okay, who am I fooling, the main highlight of this program is that Peter does it almost shirtless. And oh, BABY, is he cut. You don't even notice that he has no Latin hip motion to speak of (something that is, granted, very hard to do on ice). When you can look away from Porny Peter, you notice that Naomi actually gets the cha at least a little bit.
Anyway, this is for a reader who never saw this particular piece of on ice fluff.
Friday, April 20, 2007
What a bad week...
This has been a crazy, stressful week (on top of about 8 crazy stressful weeks just passed). My anxiety disorder is in high gear, meaning that I'm constantly on edge and restless and worried. We've put a contract on a house that could well be overwhelming, but is what we can closest afford (or COULD have afforded). I'm deep navy blue over the shootings at Va Tech. And yesterday, to top it all off, I got a call from my most major client, the one which has, for the last few months provided 25% of our income (and the only REGULAR income I, personally, have, and about 75% of my revenue), and was laid off due to plummeting profits.
I just kind of stood there, listening to my supervisor (this was an actual part time job rather than a contract) nodding and going "uh huh" at appropriate times, trying not to freak out and cry in front of him. It seems the SEC has changed rules about how the kind of research we do has to be expensed. So instead of being paid out of commissions from the trading desk, it has to be paid for up front in "hard dollars." Real money. As a result, revenues plummeted, and people were being let go. My Red Hat project, for which I was supposed to be lead, wasn't picked up. And as a relatively new hire, I was laid off. I imagine a reporter with more seniority will take my place on my existing project.
I'm still freaking out, really. It's not that I can't replace the revenue. It's that it's damned hard to replace regular, dependable revenue that requires as little energy and brain power as this job did. Yes, I can replace the income, but at the cost of 3x the work... which I really don't have the oomph to do.
And to have it happen NOW. We're buying a more expensive house. I expect costs for our internet service to double (twice as much money for far less bandwidth, sheesh!). Our mortgage will rise by 50%. It couldn't really be much worse--I shouldn't say that, it can ALWAYS be worse. Just when things begin to go well, the sky falls. We never get ahead because through absolutely no fault of my own, bad things happen. Pardon me for whinging, but WHY, OH, WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME?!
I don't need to be depressed and de-energized this week. I have a book project that is still behind. I still have one last project for this job which I will have lost as of April 30. I have a moving to orchestrate and the last bits of paperwork for the mortgage to do. I have kids to get from one thing to another. I have laundry--that never ends.
This sucks. It just sucks.
I just kind of stood there, listening to my supervisor (this was an actual part time job rather than a contract) nodding and going "uh huh" at appropriate times, trying not to freak out and cry in front of him. It seems the SEC has changed rules about how the kind of research we do has to be expensed. So instead of being paid out of commissions from the trading desk, it has to be paid for up front in "hard dollars." Real money. As a result, revenues plummeted, and people were being let go. My Red Hat project, for which I was supposed to be lead, wasn't picked up. And as a relatively new hire, I was laid off. I imagine a reporter with more seniority will take my place on my existing project.
I'm still freaking out, really. It's not that I can't replace the revenue. It's that it's damned hard to replace regular, dependable revenue that requires as little energy and brain power as this job did. Yes, I can replace the income, but at the cost of 3x the work... which I really don't have the oomph to do.
And to have it happen NOW. We're buying a more expensive house. I expect costs for our internet service to double (twice as much money for far less bandwidth, sheesh!). Our mortgage will rise by 50%. It couldn't really be much worse--I shouldn't say that, it can ALWAYS be worse. Just when things begin to go well, the sky falls. We never get ahead because through absolutely no fault of my own, bad things happen. Pardon me for whinging, but WHY, OH, WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME?!
I don't need to be depressed and de-energized this week. I have a book project that is still behind. I still have one last project for this job which I will have lost as of April 30. I have a moving to orchestrate and the last bits of paperwork for the mortgage to do. I have kids to get from one thing to another. I have laundry--that never ends.
This sucks. It just sucks.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Close to Home...
The slaying of 32 people at Virginia Tech has been all over the news the last couple of days. I was shut up in a community center in Hampton Roads, VA (the south-east corner of the state) most of the day Monday doing taxes for the AARP's TaxAide program and did not hear anything until nearly 2 PM. My response was the same as everyone else: incomprehension at the senselessness of the violence, parallels to the Texas clock tower shootings of so long ago, a sense that somewhere in Iraq LOTS of people whose names we will never know were dying in senseless violence too. That didn't change the horror that some disturbed soul could walk calmly into a university building and start shooting.
One of the victims was Lauren McCain, age 20, of Hampton, VA. Lauren worked at a pool frequented by more than a few kids from my children's school. Lauren's father works with my husband. I never knew Lauren. We never will.
Please send your prayers and good thoughts for the comfort of Lauren's family and the repose of her soul. This one hit too close to home.
45% Certifiably Crazy
So, it's been an insane spring time. My arthritis is still bad, but I finally have a medication which controls the pain (Celebrex, ie yi yi, regarding the associated risks!). I wrote a novel and a quarter. I visited San Francisco (on business) for the first time in 8 years. I am hip deep in writing the second edition of Google Analytics (officially Google Analytics 2.0).
About 2 months ago, due to several factors, we decided to move to a nearby rural area. The location of and appalling road traffic near our present house, crime and poor services in our town, an unpleasant incident at my children's private school where the principal did something very unjust to me, and a general desire to get OUT of the city and go back to being country people--it was just too much. It took me 18 years to get OUT of the country and another 18 to get back IN! So, we've been house hunting.
We are trying to move to a MUCH more expensive area, with great public schools. Our house has doubled in value in the last 4 years to about $200K, but out there, houses of this size on the kind of land we want are $300K-$350K when they are available at all. Comparably priced houses tend to be 25% smaller than the one we currently own--which is already smaller than we need. It's been tough to find houses we can afford that have at least a little land around them. We wanted 5-10 acres, but it looked like 3-5 was more do-able. So we've downscaled some.
We found one house that needed a fair amount of work, but wasn't too old. But they took another, better offer, even though we offered full price. Then we found a second house, one locally known as "The Triangle House" because it was that all-roof chalet style. It was a charming house, on about 2.6 acres of almost virgin timber (that was was one of the things I loved) and it had a garden tub with a whirlpool which was a distinct attraction for my aching joints. But it had some problems, namely the 13 deadfall or falling trees that needed removing, and the weird set up where my office would be upstairs on the second floor and my kids would congregate downstairs in the basement with a concrete slab and 2 flights of stairs (one with a very low, slanted ceiling) between us. It just didn't seem practical. Plus, there were water infiltration problems (PUDDLES! UGH!) in the basement and no idea how hard that was going to be to fix... if it could EVER be fixed so that it really never leaked.
It was not easy telling this to my husband that since he was deeply in love with the place. I tend to spoil him, letting him have what he wants. I figured i could live with it. When the seller backed out of the contract, DH was devastated. He didn't have any of my reservations about the place. He was enthusiastic about felling and splitting all those trees (and the new toys he would get to buy to do it with). He doesn't really spend a lot of time in the house, whereas I am there quite a bit of the time there. Anyway, finally, I just blurted it out, the reasons why the house made me so uneasy. It wasn't until then that he finally seemed able to let it go. It took TWO WEEKS of stress and raging for him to let go of this house that we never really had.
To his credit, I guess, I have to remind myself that over the years, while we've bought 3 houses, he's been overseas, or otherwise occupied for every single house. I've done all the hunting, all the "oh my gosh we can't afford ANYTHING," all the moping because I've looked at everything there is and there's still nothing. He hasn't really had to cope with the heartbreak of not getting the house he really loves before, while I've learned the hard way that in house-hunting you cannot afford to fall in love. You HAVE to be able to walk away from any deal. You don't "have" a house until you sign the closing papers. It's not yours. You cannot lose something that is not yours.
Anyway, we've been looking and looking, even at houses further up in the price range, up to $350. I know this seems pathetically cheap to some of you, but that is FAR more than we can afford to support. I have been house-poor and don't want to repeat the experience. But we still weren't finding anything. We found two houses on 6 acres for $350K, thinking we could get my brother to move into the small one. But the bigger house was just TOO small. Then, we found two manufactured houses--TRAILERS--on 7 acres for $300K. But trailers... we have to sell this place in 5-6 years when DH retires from the Navy and we move on. Some people (like us) are very uneasy about buying trailers, no matter how nice. We were beginning to get really bummed out about our prospects of finding a house we could afford on "some land" in the right school district.
During the course of our travels out in the county, we came upon a likely looking house. It was for sale. It was WELL within our price range. It was big enough for us. But it was under contract pending a home inspection. So we went home, feeling blue, kept looking, kept not finding anything. And Monday, we followed up with our agent about that likely looking house. Turns out, the home inspection had come through and the buyer had backed out of the deal.
We got a copy of the home inspection and found some interesting bits. The house has only one bathroom. The plumbing is part galvanized and part copper (a BIG no-no)... and part, as the inspection report says, "There are at least three repairs made to the water supply lines of the bathroom sink and toilet area, which are made with rubber hose and automotive clamps." When DH and I stopped laughing like hyenas we read the rest of the report. The house needs pretty serious work-though some has been done--and it has a BAD case of half-ass disease. Oh, and did I mention that is ONE-HUNDRED-EIGHTY years old?
That's where the 45% certifiably insane comes in.
I grew up in an an old house. half was pre-Revolutionary and the other half, pre-Civil War. I know how much work a place like this is and what a money pit it can be. It's kind of scary, because I know what I am getting into. It needs all the plumbing pipe replaced (fortunately, there is not much of it). It needs the floors jacked and supported. It needs foundation work. It needs work in the bathroom and kitchen (if not a totally new bathroom and kitchen). It needs central heat and air. It needs dampers on the FOUR fireplaces. $50K? $100K? That is the bad news.
Yes, I am panicking.
The good news is, of course, with property values being what they are, if we do the work, we can surely get the money back out when we move. DH has friends in construction who are willing to help him with the foundation work. The house is stable and livable, and actually fairly nice on the inside. Yes, it needs a kitchen and bathroom, but we can use the ones that are there for the time being. There is room for a garden and fruit trees. There are KIDS living next door. There are outbuildings for all our junk and maybe for a few animals. There is a creek (or as we say "a crick") out back! Okay, I'm excited. I am not thoroughly cynical. I've fallen for this house.
The house has a name, Carroll Plantation (est 1820), and stories and history. And I have to say, I can't wait to ferret all this out. I am considering starting a blog about the place (as if iIneed another blog to maintain) and our remodeling/restoration efforts. If and when I do, I'll let you all know the URL. In the meantime, if you ever thought I was crazy...
Now you know.
About 2 months ago, due to several factors, we decided to move to a nearby rural area. The location of and appalling road traffic near our present house, crime and poor services in our town, an unpleasant incident at my children's private school where the principal did something very unjust to me, and a general desire to get OUT of the city and go back to being country people--it was just too much. It took me 18 years to get OUT of the country and another 18 to get back IN! So, we've been house hunting.
We are trying to move to a MUCH more expensive area, with great public schools. Our house has doubled in value in the last 4 years to about $200K, but out there, houses of this size on the kind of land we want are $300K-$350K when they are available at all. Comparably priced houses tend to be 25% smaller than the one we currently own--which is already smaller than we need. It's been tough to find houses we can afford that have at least a little land around them. We wanted 5-10 acres, but it looked like 3-5 was more do-able. So we've downscaled some.
We found one house that needed a fair amount of work, but wasn't too old. But they took another, better offer, even though we offered full price. Then we found a second house, one locally known as "The Triangle House" because it was that all-roof chalet style. It was a charming house, on about 2.6 acres of almost virgin timber (that was was one of the things I loved) and it had a garden tub with a whirlpool which was a distinct attraction for my aching joints. But it had some problems, namely the 13 deadfall or falling trees that needed removing, and the weird set up where my office would be upstairs on the second floor and my kids would congregate downstairs in the basement with a concrete slab and 2 flights of stairs (one with a very low, slanted ceiling) between us. It just didn't seem practical. Plus, there were water infiltration problems (PUDDLES! UGH!) in the basement and no idea how hard that was going to be to fix... if it could EVER be fixed so that it really never leaked.
It was not easy telling this to my husband that since he was deeply in love with the place. I tend to spoil him, letting him have what he wants. I figured i could live with it. When the seller backed out of the contract, DH was devastated. He didn't have any of my reservations about the place. He was enthusiastic about felling and splitting all those trees (and the new toys he would get to buy to do it with). He doesn't really spend a lot of time in the house, whereas I am there quite a bit of the time there. Anyway, finally, I just blurted it out, the reasons why the house made me so uneasy. It wasn't until then that he finally seemed able to let it go. It took TWO WEEKS of stress and raging for him to let go of this house that we never really had.
To his credit, I guess, I have to remind myself that over the years, while we've bought 3 houses, he's been overseas, or otherwise occupied for every single house. I've done all the hunting, all the "oh my gosh we can't afford ANYTHING," all the moping because I've looked at everything there is and there's still nothing. He hasn't really had to cope with the heartbreak of not getting the house he really loves before, while I've learned the hard way that in house-hunting you cannot afford to fall in love. You HAVE to be able to walk away from any deal. You don't "have" a house until you sign the closing papers. It's not yours. You cannot lose something that is not yours.
Anyway, we've been looking and looking, even at houses further up in the price range, up to $350. I know this seems pathetically cheap to some of you, but that is FAR more than we can afford to support. I have been house-poor and don't want to repeat the experience. But we still weren't finding anything. We found two houses on 6 acres for $350K, thinking we could get my brother to move into the small one. But the bigger house was just TOO small. Then, we found two manufactured houses--TRAILERS--on 7 acres for $300K. But trailers... we have to sell this place in 5-6 years when DH retires from the Navy and we move on. Some people (like us) are very uneasy about buying trailers, no matter how nice. We were beginning to get really bummed out about our prospects of finding a house we could afford on "some land" in the right school district.
During the course of our travels out in the county, we came upon a likely looking house. It was for sale. It was WELL within our price range. It was big enough for us. But it was under contract pending a home inspection. So we went home, feeling blue, kept looking, kept not finding anything. And Monday, we followed up with our agent about that likely looking house. Turns out, the home inspection had come through and the buyer had backed out of the deal.
We got a copy of the home inspection and found some interesting bits. The house has only one bathroom. The plumbing is part galvanized and part copper (a BIG no-no)... and part, as the inspection report says, "There are at least three repairs made to the water supply lines of the bathroom sink and toilet area, which are made with rubber hose and automotive clamps." When DH and I stopped laughing like hyenas we read the rest of the report. The house needs pretty serious work-though some has been done--and it has a BAD case of half-ass disease. Oh, and did I mention that is ONE-HUNDRED-EIGHTY years old?
That's where the 45% certifiably insane comes in.
I grew up in an an old house. half was pre-Revolutionary and the other half, pre-Civil War. I know how much work a place like this is and what a money pit it can be. It's kind of scary, because I know what I am getting into. It needs all the plumbing pipe replaced (fortunately, there is not much of it). It needs the floors jacked and supported. It needs foundation work. It needs work in the bathroom and kitchen (if not a totally new bathroom and kitchen). It needs central heat and air. It needs dampers on the FOUR fireplaces. $50K? $100K? That is the bad news.
Yes, I am panicking.
The good news is, of course, with property values being what they are, if we do the work, we can surely get the money back out when we move. DH has friends in construction who are willing to help him with the foundation work. The house is stable and livable, and actually fairly nice on the inside. Yes, it needs a kitchen and bathroom, but we can use the ones that are there for the time being. There is room for a garden and fruit trees. There are KIDS living next door. There are outbuildings for all our junk and maybe for a few animals. There is a creek (or as we say "a crick") out back! Okay, I'm excited. I am not thoroughly cynical. I've fallen for this house.
The house has a name, Carroll Plantation (est 1820), and stories and history. And I have to say, I can't wait to ferret all this out. I am considering starting a blog about the place (as if iIneed another blog to maintain) and our remodeling/restoration efforts. If and when I do, I'll let you all know the URL. In the meantime, if you ever thought I was crazy...
Now you know.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Sport: the power to inspire
A friend of mine posted this video about Dick and Rick Hoyt. Due to lack of oxygen at birth, Rick is almost completely physically disabled—but he's still "in there" with a great sense of humor and a passion for sports. He and his father Dick compete in marathons and triathlons, with Dick pulling, pushing, and carrying Rick throughout the competition. I watched this video of them and literally sobbed. There's a triumph of the human spirit here. I wanted to share it with all of you. It's not about skating, but it says something about skating—and the transcendence and power of sport.
Friday, April 13, 2007
On the Edge the Serial Chapter 100 has been fixed
Thanks to the three people who wrote to me that On the Edge the Serial: Chapter 100 was broken. It seems like I've fixed this problem at least 23 times since I started running the site and every time I write the code over, I forget to do it right and do it wrong and then 2 years later, it requires fixing yet again. Anyway, I finally DID fix it. Future chapters should work.
Thanks much to the people who are still reading On the Edge the Serial. Someone posted a comment and asked what I planned to do with On the Edge... the answer is, "I have no freaking clue." The serial is still (or SHOULD still be) being posted at the rate of about one chapter every 10 days. Beyond that, God knows if I will ever have the money to publish the novels again. I want them in print and that costs. I never seem to get ahead-er enough to make that happen. It's depressing, I know. All I can say is keep checking back on the figure skating fiction at Skatefic.com and on this blog here. When anything happens, I'll let you know.
Thanks much to the people who are still reading On the Edge the Serial. Someone posted a comment and asked what I planned to do with On the Edge... the answer is, "I have no freaking clue." The serial is still (or SHOULD still be) being posted at the rate of about one chapter every 10 days. Beyond that, God knows if I will ever have the money to publish the novels again. I want them in print and that costs. I never seem to get ahead-er enough to make that happen. It's depressing, I know. All I can say is keep checking back on the figure skating fiction at Skatefic.com and on this blog here. When anything happens, I'll let you know.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Fire! Fire! Fire! Help!
On November 4, 1997, at 4:04 AM in the morning. I heard an intermittent buzzing. I sat up in bed, bleary-eyed, and put my feet on the cold floor. I stood up and took one step. And in between that one step and the next, before my bare foot hit the hardwood floor, I thought, "The house is on fire." I wasn't thinking straight, and I called to my husband and threw open our bedroom door. He says that the first thing he saw as he opened his eyes was my silhouette against the flames.
The home office, right across the hallway from our bedroom door, was on fire. Flames were licking up the wall behind my computer monitor which was already charred. I bolted from the house, screaming for my husband to get the baby (who was two) while I woke my brother, who was living with us at the time and is notoriously hard to wake.
When I got out the door, I realized that my husband had not followed us out. He was going for the main breaker. And without a thought, I ran back into the smoky, burning house, into the teeth of the fire. I scooped up my GG and left, nearly colliding with my husband who was already dragging the hose down the hall to douse the fire.
I went to the neighbor clad in nothing but a t-shirt and panties and hammered on their door for five minutes before they got up. They called the fire department for us. Despite being less than 3 miles away, the fire truck took 20 minutes to arrive. By that time, the fire was long out. Without my husband's firefighting training (courtesy of the US Navy) we would have lost everything: my wedding dress, the hundred year old pictures of our families, every stitch of clothing, everything. Once the fire got into the attic, the house would have been a total loss.
As it was, we were out of our house for weeks. We missed Thanksgiving, living in a hotel. We moved in a scant 4 days before Christmas. And I nearly lost my mind. The damage came to $43,000. Insurance paid, but in fits and starts, wreaking havoc on our budget. Every thing we owned had to be washed, cleaned, restored, or painted. It was the single most stressful event in my whole life--to the point where "stress" seems like such a pathetic understatement, I can't begin to think of a noun that really fits.
For years afterward, I woke smelling smoke. I would have to get up and check the whole house before I could force myself back to sleep. I remember, vividly, how my bedside clock looked at 4:04 AM that morning. I, who can barely remember my daughters' birthdays, remember the exact date. I can see the flames, feel the terror.
I smell smoke in my nightmares.
I have a good friend named Hope who I've known for years. Last night, Hope's sister's house burned to the ground. They lost everything. They are now living with Hope.
At a time like this, when you've been where I have, you want to do something to help. Your heart goes out, but you feel helpless nevertheless. And that's where you come in. One person can't do much, but together, we can do a lot. So here I am, asking you to open your hearts, your closets, and your wallets to help Hope's sister and her children. They have lost everything.
Child One: Boy, age 4, size approx. 5
Child Two: Girl, age 1, size approx. 24 months.
You can send monetary donations via PayPal to icrochet@bellsouth.net
or by mail to:
Hope Wilbanks
ATTN: Donation for Faith
PO Box 100
Palmetto, LA 71358
Please be generous.
The home office, right across the hallway from our bedroom door, was on fire. Flames were licking up the wall behind my computer monitor which was already charred. I bolted from the house, screaming for my husband to get the baby (who was two) while I woke my brother, who was living with us at the time and is notoriously hard to wake.
When I got out the door, I realized that my husband had not followed us out. He was going for the main breaker. And without a thought, I ran back into the smoky, burning house, into the teeth of the fire. I scooped up my GG and left, nearly colliding with my husband who was already dragging the hose down the hall to douse the fire.
I went to the neighbor clad in nothing but a t-shirt and panties and hammered on their door for five minutes before they got up. They called the fire department for us. Despite being less than 3 miles away, the fire truck took 20 minutes to arrive. By that time, the fire was long out. Without my husband's firefighting training (courtesy of the US Navy) we would have lost everything: my wedding dress, the hundred year old pictures of our families, every stitch of clothing, everything. Once the fire got into the attic, the house would have been a total loss.
As it was, we were out of our house for weeks. We missed Thanksgiving, living in a hotel. We moved in a scant 4 days before Christmas. And I nearly lost my mind. The damage came to $43,000. Insurance paid, but in fits and starts, wreaking havoc on our budget. Every thing we owned had to be washed, cleaned, restored, or painted. It was the single most stressful event in my whole life--to the point where "stress" seems like such a pathetic understatement, I can't begin to think of a noun that really fits.
For years afterward, I woke smelling smoke. I would have to get up and check the whole house before I could force myself back to sleep. I remember, vividly, how my bedside clock looked at 4:04 AM that morning. I, who can barely remember my daughters' birthdays, remember the exact date. I can see the flames, feel the terror.
I smell smoke in my nightmares.
I have a good friend named Hope who I've known for years. Last night, Hope's sister's house burned to the ground. They lost everything. They are now living with Hope.
At a time like this, when you've been where I have, you want to do something to help. Your heart goes out, but you feel helpless nevertheless. And that's where you come in. One person can't do much, but together, we can do a lot. So here I am, asking you to open your hearts, your closets, and your wallets to help Hope's sister and her children. They have lost everything.
Child One: Boy, age 4, size approx. 5
Child Two: Girl, age 1, size approx. 24 months.
You can send monetary donations via PayPal to icrochet@bellsouth.net
or by mail to:
Hope Wilbanks
ATTN: Donation for Faith
PO Box 100
Palmetto, LA 71358
Please be generous.
Friday, April 06, 2007
For Cathy, Who is Purple-3
ARGH. Damned laptop shut down AGAIN for no reason and I lost my WHOLE blog post. I HATE that. Worse yet, for some stupid reason, FireFox didn't keep the session information for the thirty five windows I had open. Argh and double argh. Let's see, where was I?
Oh yes.
I'm very fond of the poem "When I am old, I shall wear purple/with a red hat that does not become me." It reminds me of my friend Cathy, who a couple years ago decided not to turn 50. Instead, she turned "purple" and she is now "purple-3." Being orange-6 (<grin>, 36, actually, and not phased by the numbers) myself, I kind of understand her refusal to surrender not so much to age and its indignities, but to society's ideas about who and what older women are and should be.
It occurred to me last night when I was reading this article about a 64-year-old grandmother who appeared (tastefully) naked on a billboard for Dove's Real Women advertising campaign. I thought it was great until the end when she says, "age is but a number, and real beauty—at whatever age—comes from feeling young and thinking young." I know our society identifies youth with beauty to the exclusion of beauty after youth, but this quote bothers me. It endorses youth=beauty in the midst of a campaign that SAYS it means exactly the opposite. Are we really beautiful in all our sizes, shapes and ages, or is beauty, fashion, and self-esteem only for the young, the thin, the fair? Dove can say one thing, but even its models seem to think another. And if we all do, who are we really fooling?
So this morning, I was reading Crooks and Liars, and came across this video by Gogol Bordello. The band plays what they call "Gypsy Punk." And it's got the infectious, driving beat you expect from tradition gypsy music. And the lyrics are delightfully silly. The song is "Start Wearing Purple." And though I have not deciphered all the lyrics yet, it seems to be saying, "Don't be shy about looking your age. I love you and I think you are beautiful even if you aren't 20 anymore." How empowering!
And I thought of you, Cathy.
Oh yes.
I'm very fond of the poem "When I am old, I shall wear purple/with a red hat that does not become me." It reminds me of my friend Cathy, who a couple years ago decided not to turn 50. Instead, she turned "purple" and she is now "purple-3." Being orange-6 (<grin>, 36, actually, and not phased by the numbers) myself, I kind of understand her refusal to surrender not so much to age and its indignities, but to society's ideas about who and what older women are and should be.
It occurred to me last night when I was reading this article about a 64-year-old grandmother who appeared (tastefully) naked on a billboard for Dove's Real Women advertising campaign. I thought it was great until the end when she says, "age is but a number, and real beauty—at whatever age—comes from feeling young and thinking young." I know our society identifies youth with beauty to the exclusion of beauty after youth, but this quote bothers me. It endorses youth=beauty in the midst of a campaign that SAYS it means exactly the opposite. Are we really beautiful in all our sizes, shapes and ages, or is beauty, fashion, and self-esteem only for the young, the thin, the fair? Dove can say one thing, but even its models seem to think another. And if we all do, who are we really fooling?
So this morning, I was reading Crooks and Liars, and came across this video by Gogol Bordello. The band plays what they call "Gypsy Punk." And it's got the infectious, driving beat you expect from tradition gypsy music. And the lyrics are delightfully silly. The song is "Start Wearing Purple." And though I have not deciphered all the lyrics yet, it seems to be saying, "Don't be shy about looking your age. I love you and I think you are beautiful even if you aren't 20 anymore." How empowering!
And I thought of you, Cathy.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
First Freedom First
I don't normally talk about politics here. Okay, sometimes I give you a peek into what I feel strongly about--but only sometimes. Anyway, I saw this video this morning and felt I had to share it. It hits me particularly close to home for many reasons.
Freedom cuts both ways.
Freedom cuts both ways.
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