CafeChatNoir

If the reports are correct, Beyonce Knowles gave birth to her baby girl this evening, which is wonderful cause babies are awesome.  (Especially when they’re not mine.  Cause I don’t think it’s a spectacular idea to have my DNA scattered about.  One of me is quite enough.)

What bothers me a bit is the rumor that she was able to rent out an entire floor of the hospital for 1.3 million dollars.  I don’t know how many rooms that is at Lenox Hill Hospital, but I don’t like the idea that people who may have needed one of those rooms couldn’t get one because they were basically outbid…  I understand her desire for privacy, but any people who may have actually *needed* a room on that floor probably wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about who may or may not have been down the hallway, because they may have been more concerned with getting medical care.  My other rumination on this is that if you’re THAT concerned about privacy and you’ve got that kind of money to spend, why not just have a birthing room set up at home?

Where I’m especially conflicted is that I’ve essentially done the same thing with my grandmother in the past 17 months, which makes me just as much of an asshole.  And I’d rather not be, but there you go.  Until this month, my grandmother been a single resident in a semi-private room – what the care center bills as a “suite”.  Did she need a suite?  Absofreakinloutely not.  But she landed in  one when she got there, I wasn’t smart enough to tell them to move her to a regular private room immediately, and by the time I figured it out, moving her would have been detrimental to  her mental health.  (She’s now to a point where moving her to the regular room across the hall won’t bother her.  She is now in the room across the hall.)  So, much like Beyonce, I managed to have my grandmother taking up two beds rather than one, and someone might have needed that other bed, especially since it would have been at a semi-private rate.

I’m still mad at myself that my decisions basically took up a bed in the care center that someone else may have needed.  Beyonce pretty much cleared out the entire wing.

If this isn’t a sign that there is something not quite right with health care, I’m not sure what is.  I have no problem with being able to get what you need.  But my grandmother never needed a suite, but because she could pay for it, screw anyone else that may have needed that other bed.  And Beyonce didn’t need the whole floor, but because she could pay for it, screw anyone that may have needed one of those rooms.

Still nice and shiny and I’ve done well to not poke it too much lest it get smudged.  I’m counting today as the real New Year’s Day since there is outdoor hockey being played.

Can’t say I’m sitting here thinking, “Gosh, 2011 was so great, I wish it could have been longer!”  (Been a LONG time since that thought was in my head at the turn of a year…)  Perfectly content to have this one in the rear-view mirror.

But, 2011 wasn’t all bad.  Got on the road to being a full fledged history nerd.  Only 1 trip to Phoenix that was “OMG, oh shit gotta find a flight NOW!!”  Not once did my phone ring at 3AM with my grandmother on the other end asking, “Are you sure you did my taxes right?”  I’m sure there were other things, but I can’t think of them right now.

The downsides were many trips to PHX, which while they are getting easier, still wear me out.  My grandmother is in a pretty bad way at this point – general consensus of the nurses is 1-2 months.  Given my grandmother’s adherence to such timelines so far, I’m still planning on being back in April & August.

Though the chances are high that I’ll be making my final trip to PHX this year, there are good things ahead.  Registered for two more classes this semester.  Hitting the beach again!  Lots of resolutions made that will likely be broken in a week.

So, here’s to 2012 going well.

And this one has actually has nothing to do with me and my grandmother!

Every other year we’ve been in PHX for Christmas, we leave on the 30th in the morning, and as such, we miss the influx of bowl game fans coming to whatever bowl game is being held at the UoPHX Stadium next to the hotel.  Given that I am not leaving until tomorrow morning and even though the Fiesta Bowl isn’t until the 2nd, there has been a decidedly noticeable increase in hotel guests who have decided to make a long weekend of it with pre-game golfing and such.

Not a shocking development by any means – heck, I’d do the same if GMU somehow found itself in the Fiesta Bowl.  And as such, the college football fans have arrived.  (Has the Fiesta Bowl always been on the 2nd?  I thought it had been a New Year’s Day game – is this the BCS continuing to screw things up or am I just remembering wrong?)

So, there is an influx of fans deciding to make a drinking and golfing weekend of it leading up to the game and staying at the hotel.  Can’t say I blame them, the weather is pretty decent.  I will tell you right now, if there were any Stanford fans staying at the hotel, I couldn’t pick them out of a lineup, cause they’re just quietly enjoying the weekend.  Can’t quite say the same for the Oklahoma State fans – several of which I ran into this evening during my postprandial Cabernet.  The Quote Of The Night goes to the gentleman to my right who said, “We’re from West Texas, you have to grade us on a curve.”

No shit, Sherlock.  Still, no biggie.

However, there was also a wedding reception this evening at the hotel.  A Muslim Ethiopian/Somali wedding reception.  With some of the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous dresses I have seen in my lifetime.  Seriously – when I headed out for dinner, a half dozen ladies were walking in and I was just stunned by the dresses and I got caught just staring like an idiot and one of the ladies said, “Hi! Happy New Year’s!” and I found most of my voice and (likely sounded like an awed 8 year old) – “You have the most beautiful dresses I have EVER seen!  They’re just… GORGEOUS!”  They were more than happy to tell me that they were traditional Ethiopian dresses (though they really need to add “formalwear” to that “traditional” tag, cause I’m fairly certain these don’t get worn while getting dinner together.)  Seriously, these dresses crossed the lines from “lovely” to “works of art”.  (In talking to some of the younger gals later in the courtyard, I have now discovered that there is a pretty big Somali community in PHX.  Never would have guessed it.)

Now, let’s consider the “grade us on a curve” group and “happy wedding reception”…

Yes, there were some snarky comments from the West Texas contingent as some of the wedding party went back & forth through the lobby.

In a true moment of clarity, I realized going with what would be considered the “Northern Liberal Elite” (of which I am only 2 of the 3) route would do nothing, and my brain said, “It’s time for the ‘Bless Your Heart’ approach*” – cause any southerner knows it means, “You dumbass.”  When the next snarky comment came up, I just went, “Now darlin’, you just need to HUSH!  They are having a wedding and everyone deserves a fun wedding and reception and they’re just all having fun.  So you just hush up now.”

And damned if that didn’t work – if in no small part cause the wives then piled on to boot.  +1 for basically going with “Sheldon Cooper, don’t make me call your mother” maneuver.

Seriously folks, different doesn’t mean anything but different – and if you take the time to talk to people, you’ll find more similarities than you realize, like when I joked with the first ladies I saw this evening that they outclassed my jeans, they said, “But your jeans are more comfortable!”  Or when I was talking to the gals in the courtyard, I was helping them lookout for relatives that would be annoyed that they were hiding out and smoking.

We’re all just people mucking our way through the same mess.  So, be nice.

*While I don’t technically qualify as a Southerner and as such cannot legitimately use the “Bless Your Heart” approach, I spent enough summers with my grandparents in Atlanta to learn how to use it…

Really, there are days I do wonder if someone whispered that curse over my crib in the nursery.

Over the past couple days, I’ve discovered that I am once again jumping every time the phone rings.  Then I remind myself I don’t even know who is calling and I should take a breath – except for the fact that I pretty much have to answer the phone anyway.  The level of consistency in Caller ID numbers with regards to the care center and hospice leaves much to be desired.

So, note to whomever has 410-321-58** – oh for the love of all that is good and holy, I told you that you have a wrong number three times, STOP CALLING ME.  This is why your number goes straight to voicemail every time now.  (Yes, I know that 410 is Maryland, but I also regularly receive phone calls from Phoenix with a Minnesota area code, so area codes are fairly meaningless anymore.)

I have figured out that while the hospice nurses do not always call from a “restricted” number, all “restricted” number calls come from them.  (Do not get me started on this.  HIPPA be damned, I am the MPOA, you should damn well show the number you are calling from.  If you are concerned about calling a wrong number and giving away info, then you need remedial phone dialing training.  If you are worried that I will call when you are not on-duty, put your phone on silent.)

So, the phone rang, I jumped, saw the “restricted”, my heart sank, and I answered the phone.  Yup, hospice nurse manager just giving an update – which was that my grandmother still had pneumonia and that she was seriously tired and no one was even remotely inclined in doing anything but letting her sleep…  I was SO good and resisted the urge to respond with, “Well, DUH, she’s near 89 years old with end-stage dementia and pneumonia, she might not be chomping at the bit to make a badminton match, so yes, LET HER SLEEP.”  I’ve already had to go a few rounds of reassurance in the past of, “If she’s sleepy and you choose to let her sleep, that is OK.  It’s best to not go poking badgers with spoons.”  I have personal experience of waking her up when she wasn’t in the mood to get up.  Trust me, while it was satisfying to finally be able to retaliate for all the times she woke me & my brother up at the crack of dawn for no good reason, it still wasn’t pretty.

The amount of snark I have to contain when it comes to my grandmother convinces me yet again that I am SO not cut out for this.  It is (and has been) a serious situation, and yet I fall back on inappropriate humor pretty much every damn time.  Somehow I cannot help but  think that everyone that is dealing with eldercare issues always has a calm, measured, appropriate response for everything – and I never quite seem to have that – or I have to choke back several completely inappropriate responses while trying to come up with the appropriate one.

That all being said, I have to thank her for holding out until the end of the semester, especially since I nearly dropped my classes when she had her bad spell the week before classes started.  Makes me wonder if Sharyn told her Donald was taking classes and not me. ;)

Cause I’m not keen on playing God.

My grandmother has pneumonia.  It does not surprise me that this happened, I have actually been expecting it.

I did not expect that the care center would put her on antibiotics for it.  They say it is pallative, but in an 88 year old woman with end-stage dementia and very clear advance directives, antibiotics are a curative measure.  There is a reason they call pneumonia “the old man’s friend.”

I really would have thought given everything else that managing it rather than trying to cure it would be a no-brainer.  Instead, I had to call the hospice nurse and tell her they need to find another truly pallative treatment for this and to pull the antibiotics.  (Fortunately they do have an absolute boatload of things they can do that will keep her comfortable.)

If my grandmother could have a lucid and rational moment and I told her, “Hey, you’ve got end-stage dementia, and a bout of pneumonia, but don’t worry, they’re gonna clear up the pneumonia so you can just have the dementia that much longer” she would sit up and punch me in the face.  (Advance directives are great, but it’s also good to be able to say I REALLY know what she wants, cause she made it crystal clear over the years.)

It would be one thing if clearing up the pneumonia would give her a normal life again, but it won’t.

Still feel like a bit of a schmuck, though.

New laptop!  Probably a good 3x as fast as my old one, at half the price.  Mind you, this wasn’t on my list of things to do today.

My timing is just so impeccable.  The old laptop died today.  2 papers and an exam to write in the next two weeks and it can’t boot up.  Couldn’t have happened on the 15th when time would have been a luxury to figure out if it was the drive, the motherboard, or simply jammed with cat hair.

So, this evening is security patching, installing software and restoring backed up files (yay, Mozy!  Last backup 20 hours ago.  Gotta love it.)

Really old laptop – you couldn’t hold out for 2 more weeks?

Honestly, I think just one instance of a pepper spray wielding customer should be enough for stores to say, “You know what, let’s not do this 10PM or midnight opening crap and actually let our employees have the WHOLE day off for Thanksgiving.”  Because guess what?  People will still shop between now and Christmas.

As it is, studies have shown that prices aren’t necessarily the best on Black Friday anyway.

Part of the problem is that we’re a very consumer driven society.  If a store is open at any hour with good deals, then someone will show up.  This gives retailers the only reason they need to open.  Problem is, it also gives retailers the only reason they need to tell their employees that they have to cut their Thanksgiving day short so they can be at the store for the late night opening.

I’d love to see one of two things happen:  1. Consumers say, “No, we’re not going to go shop on Thanksgiving because it’s Thanksgiving.  We can wait until normal opening hours on Friday just like we used to do, and the world certainly didn’t come to an end back then.”  or 2.  Retailers say, “We’re not opening until our regular opening time on Friday because Thanksgiving is a DAY of thanks and doesn’t end just because dinner is over and then everyone can go to work.  That, and it’s not right to expose our employees to lunatics with pepper spray.  We’ll see you on Friday.”

Though I suspect we’re long past the point of no return.

ETA:  I’m not anti-Black Friday.  It makes sense that it’s a big shopping day since so many people have the day off.  I’m anti-midnight-psychosis.

We’re staying put for Christmas.

I’ll go out there for a couple days afterwards.  I can do Christmas or her birthday, but not both anymore.  (Lord knows I didn’t manage it with any grace or dignity up until now anyway.)  The stress isn’t even remotely worth it, and she’s to a point where she doesn’t know if we’re there, and on the off chance that she does, she has no idea how long we’ve been there, and certainly doesn’t know what day it is and whether or not we’re there on Christmas or if I’m just there myself a couple days later.  (Nevermind the fact that it costs near 3x as much for both of us to go out there for 8 days vs me there by myself for 4 days.)

I have to say, my attitude towards the holidays has improved immensely since making the decision.

for some sign/indication of the weather to come.  Given that they didn’t have a reaction strong enough to wake up my brother in the moments leading up to the earthquake, they might not be the best indicators of weather-related things that may become reality.  But I’m watching them anyway.

Carmen is getting high off her catnip butterfly I bought for her at the beach.  Lily is testing the specific gravity of every item that lies in her path.

Moxley is (as usual) actively chastising both felines for their behaviour.  (I love him to death, but he is a bit of a narc.)

So, in short, it’s a 110% normal night here.

But hey, we’ve got working flashlights,  3 1/2 days of water, beef jerky & snack pack puddings – so I think we’ll be OK.

I was in PHX wondering, “Well WTF do I do now?”  I mean, hell, when they said my grandmother was “death imminent” I actually thought, “Well, at least this time I know what to do.  I have INSTRUCTIONS!*”  So, yeah, there has been some emotional whiplash to say the least.

My grandmother is what I would describe in a “very crappy but stable” status. Everyone agreed that there was no harm in heading home – no real sense in standing around watching nothing happen.  Now, whether this “stable” is short, medium or long term is anyone’s guess, but the hospice nurses have assured me they are going to try really hard to make sure I REALLY need to jump on a plane before they say to jump on a plane.  It helps that I know she won’t die alone by any means, and I don’t have an overriding psychological need to say goodbye.  The woman that was my grandmother left a while ago.

Her anxiety was through the roof and we all thought it was the two day gap in her meds, but I finally figured it out – we’d been barking up the wrong tree all week.  Everyone had been focusing on anxiety management, because that has always been a very, very large problem for her.  It hit me that it needed to be about pain management. There had been a couple occasions where you could tell she just couldn’t get comfortable, and the Best Nurse Ever** gave her some morphine – which calmed her down immensely.   She also didn’t want to open her eyes, and tended to have a death grip on the armrests on her chair.  I mistook the closed eyes as light sensitivity (she’s had issues with that for quite some time – figured the episode last week made it worse) and the hands just a manifestation of anxiety.  Until it hit me – they’re both natural responses to pain.

Now, if you ask her if she is in pain, she won’t admit it.  She will not admit a pain of unknown origin – because then  you have to see a doctor!  (I know that is still cemented in her head.)  She also has intermittent aphasia, and likely had a TIA last week, so if you say pain, she may translate it to chartreuse – and no, she’s not chartreuse today, you moron.

So, she’s back on vicodin with a side of morphine when needed, and while she’s tired and kinda quiet – she’s calmer, which is very good.  I’m still kicking myself that I didn’t see it immediately.

Me, I’m dealing with some re-entry issues – mainly trying to figure out what on earth I was doing before I went down the rabbit hole for a week.  Oh, yeah, trying to get ready for classes @GMU to start next week.  Which I’m now wondering if it was overly optimistic to think that things were stable enough with her in the first place to attempt such an endeavour.  If nothing else, I’ve got until September 30th to drop them.  I still need to pickup my books & parking pass – that was something that was going to happen at the beginning of this week…  Ah well.

And to top it all off, we’ve got a bit of weather headed our way, so today I was out getting supplies.  Figure if I have water & non-perishable snacks, it should help guarantee that we have power & water service.  3 1/2 days of water, Slim Jims and 3/4 of a tank of gas – should be good to go.  (Nice thing I realized tonight – if the power goes out, we will still have hot water.  Gas hot water heaters FTW.)  It’s just a bit of stuff I don’t really need right now as I’m trying to concentrate on getting my brain back in “home” mode and losing a weekend to weather wasn’t on the agenda.

* Quite literally, written instructions.  We call it the Big Book of Death.
** She really is.  I absolutely adore her.

The Dead Collector: Bring out yer dead.
[a man puts a body on the cart]
Large Man with Dead Body: Here’s one.
The Dead Collector: That’ll be ninepence.
The Dead Body That Claims It Isn’t: I’m not dead.
The Dead Collector: What?
Large Man with Dead Body: Nothing. There’s your ninepence.
The Dead Body That Claims It Isn’t: I’m not dead.
The Dead Collector: ‘Ere, he says he’s not dead.
Large Man with Dead Body: Yes he is.
The Dead Body That Claims It Isn’t: I’m not.
The Dead Collector: He isn’t.
Large Man with Dead Body: Well, he will be soon, he’s very ill.
The Dead Body That Claims It Isn’t: I’m getting better.
Large Man with Dead Body: No you’re not, you’ll be stone dead in a moment.
The Dead Collector: Well, I can’t take him like that. It’s against regulations.
The Dead Body That Claims It Isn’t: I don’t want to go on the cart.
Large Man with Dead Body: Oh, don’t be such a baby.
The Dead Collector: I can’t take him.
The Dead Body That Claims It Isn’t: I feel fine.

Got in last night.  Talk to nurse at care center.  Grandma is sleeping.  Ate like a horse at dinner.  Interacting with people.  Decidedly not on the “dead in 24 hours” list.

Mind you, she’s tired as all get out (the aneurysm-rupture-that-wasn’t did take her down a few notches) and her meds are all kinds of farked up because the MD discontinued everything but Xanax Thursday night*, assuming she was on her way off this mortal coil, but she’s definitely not dead, or actively dying.  It’s undoubtedly shaved a few years off her lifespan, but she is decidedly still among the living.

*This is a good object lesson for the next time I get this call.  If she still has a pulse, leave her damn medication regimen intact.

Got a call this afternoon, “Your grandmother is not doing well, do you want her to go to the hospital?”  Insert string of unprintable language here.

Push for a slightly more comprehensive version of “not doing well” and the symptoms line up perfectly with her aneurysm finally rupturing/leaking, which is something that we certainly saw coming.  Doctor is talking 24 hours.  Hospice nurse called in.  Discover upon having the paperwork faxed to me that of course, the care center doesn’t use the hospice services that are in the building they share. (Of course not, that would make sense.)  Regardless, she will not be going to the hospital – her wishes have been made exceptionally clear over the years.

Booked a flight for tomorrow.  Sharyn is a bona fide wreck – she doesn’t want to admit at all that this could be the aneurysm, and keeps insisting that it’s not that bad.  (While not even remotely arguing with my coming out west less than a week after I left, so it ain’t good.)

So, I’m flashing back to this time last year where I was headed out to PHX on 24 hours notice with two versions of what is going on, with reality likely falling somewhere smack in the middle of things.

So, tomorrow I head out and probably move her to the hospice center just down the hallway and wait.  Now, knowing my grandmother, I’ll probably walk in and she’ll be sitting up in bed asking, “Why the hell is everyone hovering over me?”

Ready for what, I can’t say I’m exactly sure, but I feel like whatever it is, damned if I’m not ready for it.

I truly cannot remember a year when I have been packing up from the oceanside sojourn feeling more recharged and ready to take on whatever nonsense Karma, the Fates, the Universe, et al decide to chuck at me.  Granted, saying this out loud probably sets me up for a shitstorm of magnitudes I could not have imagined in my wildest dreams, but I’m feeling pretty chilled out regardless.  Truly chilled out is a state of existence that I can honestly say I haven’t felt in a good, long time, and I am certainly enjoying the hell out of it.

I’ve got some seriously busy times ahead of me, but for the first time in a while, I feel like I’m ever so slightly ready for it.  Damned nice feeling if you ask me.

Having a local advocate for my grandmother is A Good Thing.  However, it can get interesting at times because she is very hyper-sensitive to nursing home issues, and I am utterly numb to it.  (There may be a touch of residual caregiver fatigue.  Just a little.)  With these sensitivities at the opposite ends of the spectrum, there are bound to be times where we view things a little differently.

The care center where my grandmother resides is certainly good enough, but they do have some left hand/right hand issues on the administrative side, which annoys me to no end, but they have not impacted my grandmother’s care, so I pick my battles.  As long as she gets her meds on time, it’s all good – and trust me, it is in their best interest to get her the meds on time.  You don’t want to be around her if she hasn’t gotten her Xanax.

So, this weekend she sustained a minor injury to her arm, including a small cut that someone mended with a couple little butterfly bandages.  Unfortunately, there was no corresponding paperwork, so all we know is that the band-aid fairy came around.  When Sharyn called me last night about it, she was seriously spooled up about it, and frankly it sounded more like my grandmother had managed to get into a fight with a weed-whacker.  When she gets spooled up, then I get spooled up, because I’m thinking, “Crap, now I have to go all MPOA militant granddaughter on them, and that isn’t going to solve anything either.”  Fortunately, I have a rule:  If it isn’t life threatening, I ignore the situation for 6 to 18 hours so I can cool off before calling and asking, “OK, what’s the story?” knowing it will end up being somewhere in between what I’ve already heard and what they tell me.

So today I call the charge nurse – she still has no info on what happened, but the butterfly bandages are already off and the cut is closed up and it was in fact, a very minor injury.  The Assistant DoN is investigating to see why no incident report was done, and I’ll call her back in a day or two to get the details.  I have my own suspicions that my grandmother likely whacked her arm on the night table, someone came in and patched it up and then got caught up with another resident and flat out forgot the paperwork, or it’s in someone else’s chart.  (I’ll not comment on the fact that there are only 9 people on her wing over the course of a weekend and it shouldn’t take that long to make 9 calls of, “Did you bandage Vynne’s arm?”)

But this is the type of stuff that is just going to be the death of me.  I’m going to be out there next month for a couple days and I am going to have to have a Very Serious conversation with them that will pretty much only consist of this:  Stop pissing off the advocate. Seriously, she gets pissed off, I get an earful and am left feeling like yet again, I am not quite measuring up to the herculean task that is being my grandmother’s granddaughter in her declining years.

Additionally, Phase II of “Cindy gets her life back” (yes, it’s just like Stella & her groove) is kicking off once I get back home, and I am going to be incredibly busy for the foreseeable future, not even remotely as instantly available as I have been, and certainly not at all inclined to have to be the voice of reason over administrative cock-ups.  I cannot put my life back on hold again.  I made that mistake for 3 years, and I will not repeat it.

I know I shouldn’t be mucking around on the internet while on vacation, but it looks like its fixing to rain, so it’s a good day to putter around and read rather than having to make a mad dash from the beach when the skies open up.

Once again, we are not being failed in the food department.  Did our usual Friday night outing for Awful Arthur’s so I could get my crab & lobster bisque and clams casino fix.  Saturday we tried the Cafe & Wine Bar at Coastal Provisions – another great meal.  I had seared scallops with linguini that was just perfect and Donald got the surf & turf and I believe he might have left the pattern on the plate.  They are now on the “definitely going again” list.  It’s small and quiet and really nice.  Only open Thursday – Saturday, so call ahead.  Sunday we hit Port O’ Call for another good meal that included shrimp stuffed with gouda and wrapped in bacon and slathered in barbecue sauce.

Last night we did foodie night and hit The Left Bank.  This summer, they not only have the 5 course tasting menu, but a 7 course and 9 course blind tasting menu as well.  We went with the 7 course and it was spectacular.  I go the wine pairing with it, and if you do that, someone else better be driving.  (The *huge* old-fashioned I had to start probably had some effect as well.  I swear, this was a double and a half.)  There was heirloom tomato gazpacho, fennel & goat cheese macaroons, kingfish tartare, braised pork belly & short ribs, a plate of cheese, almonds, & honey, a plate of heirloom tomatoes and strawberry gazpacho, and a couple other things that I am now forgetting, but it was all just incredible.

I’m still a little shocked I’ve been here 4 days and still haven’t gotten any shrimp & grits yet.  That will definitely be rectified soon.

In completely unrelated news, I am on Google+ now, and it says I have invites, so if you want one, shoot me your email address.  I like it.  I doubt I’ll be dumping Facebook for it, but I do see myself using it – just probably not quite the same way as I use Facebook.  No ads and a lot less clutter.  The “Circles” make it a lot easier to determine who will see what, and make reading easier as well.  I’d really like to see some news organizations & businesses get on to G+ – I follow a lot of pages on Facebook, but I have no way of separating them out for viewing on Fb – all the pages are lumped together.  On G+ I’d be able to separate them out to things like news/politics/businesses, etc.  (I’ve found one breaking news page so far, but nothing else – if you know of any businesses or other non-person profiles you think I’d like, let me know.)

First, gotta tag the spectacular Kelly Bowers in this because she’ll read it and nod her head and say, “Yes, that’s what I’ve been telling you all along…” :)

It was a bit odd to be heading south when I was already fairly well chilled out – that hasn’t happened in I don’t know how long.  There is definitely a difference between chilled out and beach mode – and if you’re already chilled out, beach mode happens instantaneously as soon as you get here.  I had gotten used to it taking a good 3 to 5 days to simply unscrew myself from the ceiling before I could even approach beach mode.

If you’re just chilled out, things will happen that will annoy you.  Once you’ve hit beach mode, you just don’t care.  Examples:

- A/C on the car died.  Hey, the fan still works, and we’ve answered the question of which car the dog is in on the way home.
- Bash up already bashed foot again, resulting in lovely swelling.  Eh, ice and elevation and hey, I’ve got tons of books to read.
- Dog isn’t satisfied with a quick trip to the side yard on a rainy morning and isn’t amenable to returning inside for an umbrella?  Hey, I’ve got dry clothes I can change into when we get back.
- A knowingly ill-timed trip to the drugstore resulting in being right in the midst of the Saturday afternoon northbound traffic jam?  Nothing else to do but crank up the tunes, sing along and get down with your bad self.  (This may result in drivers around you who have not achieved beach mode yet to look at you as though you have three heads, but I get that on a near daily basis anyway, so I’m used to it.)

Yup, beach mode is good, and the faster you can get there, the better.

So I’m prepping for the annual oceanside sojourn, and over the past couple days, I realized I wasn’t happily flipping out over heading to the beach.  Not that it won’t be a wonderful time, but I honestly can’t remember the last time when I wasn’t getting ready to go and thinking, “If I don’t get the hell out of town I am going to strangle someone.”  At the moment, I am actually chilled out and relaxed and heading for ocean breezes seems almost superfluous.

‘92 to ‘04 it was “I need to get away from work.”  2005 it was a combo of “I need to get away from work and fuck all, my Mom died and you can bet your sweet ass I’m taking two weeks.”  2006 was still recovering from massive job burnout.  2007 I was stressing about my townhouse being on the market.  2008 was when Grandma went off the rails and getting away really wasn’t terribly meaningful, because my phone went with me, and hence, Grandma…

But this year…  Grandma is in the care center and doesn’t have a phone in her room, so I don’t have to be “that person” on the beach frantically fielding phone calls.  School has been out for almost 3 weeks, so no “must escape my coworkers/clients*” stress.  I’m not trying to sell a house in a rapidly crumbling market.  Yes, I have a couple things going on that have me mildly mentally preoccupied, but nothing more than that, just mildly preoccupied.

Sure, I am jonesing for fresh seafood & fruity drinks with umbrellas in them (or souvenir glasses) and I’m hoping I can again achieve last year’s feat of not repeating the same beer two days in a row, but this is decidedly odd.

I don’t think I’ve ever taken a vacation when I didn’t desperately need a vacation.

*Yeah, I think of the kids as my clients.

Because what else do you do on America’s birthday but go run a 5k?  Hauled myself out of bed this morning and headed up to Potomac for what has become my favorite July 4th activity.  Below are all the gory details, pulled straight from my race report over at BT.  Hope you get a laugh out of it.

Total Time = 40m 38s
Overall Rank = 1081/1247
Age Group = F 35-39
Age Group Rank = 61/72
Lap Paces:
1 – 12:26
2 – 12:25
3 – 14:27
.1- 10:49

Pre-race routine:

Got up, got dressed, drove there. Stopped for a latte. :) Coming off bashed foot and weekend plague, happy to be conscious.

Event warmup:

Just under 2 weeks ago, bashed the daylights out of my left foot. Much to my delight, the pain disappeared on Thursday. Just in time for me to be sick for the rest of the weekend.

Got my number, went back to the car to change into my running shoes, put on left shoe and….Owww. Why does that hurt? It shouldn’t hurt. IT WAS FINE THIS MORNING. Gingerly walked over to the warmup area and did a couple test jogs – apparently when I run I don’t push off with my two outer left toes, so all was well. Or I was favoring it and would end up with a twisted knee and a torqued hip, but whatever.

Passed on the group warmup being lead by a very enthusiastic gentleman and couldn’t help but look around and think, “You know, a bloody mary bar would be a perfect addition to this race…”

Had a bit of a sinking feeling at the race start as it was so humid that I was sweating even though we weren’t even moving yet.

Run Comments:

Given the circumstances, I had set my run/walk intervals at 1:30/2:30. Enough walking to deal with the fact that I’ve been out of the saddle for a while and enough running to keep me from being my usual idiot self and pushing too hard and blowing up. Plan your race, race your plan.

1st mile went very well. Stuck to the intervals with no problems, felt great when we hit the mile marker and listened to the voice in my head screaming “RACE YOUR PLAN!” as I went into mile 2.

Mile 2 went just as well, but I could feel myself getting heated up. The temps were coming up, the humidity didn’t seem to be going down and there was no breeze. The water station isn’t until just before the end of the second mile – a little too late for me. Not because I was thirsty – but because I was just too hot. Two cups, two sips and the rest went over my head and down my shirt. Un-sexiest wet t-shirt contest ever. Between this and the snot rockets, if there isn’t a rash of Missed Connections for #483, I am giving up on men in this town once and for all.

3rd mile was where the wheels came off. Overheated AND the sun came out! When the run intervals came around, just concentrated on short strides and quick turnover and thanked the heavens for the walk intervals. Really wished more people had put out sprinklers. Took my time going through the two that were on in that last mile.

Finally hit the turn to go to the finish. Love that turn. Nice and flat and then downhill. Somehow managed to pick up the pace in the last run interval – I think it’s easier when you know you can just fall over at the end.

What would you do differently?:

Not bashed my foot or been sick so I could have gotten some training in over the past 2 weeks. If I could have made the humidity lower, I would have done that, too.

Warm down:

My usual at this race – get bottle of water and dump ice down my shirt.

What limited your ability to perform faster:

Coming off being sick, the humidity, and oh, yes, the fact that I am utterly out of shape.

If anyone else is on it, let me know so I can stalk find you.

Just hit me that my stress levels are actually back down in the range of normal people.

That hasn’t happened since, oh, January 2008.

I’m starting to think that I must have been running around drop kicking puppies into vats of boiling oil in a past life given how this week has gone.

Monday morning, I woke up feeling great.  Optimistic.  Good about life.  I’d had a great weekend that had run the gamut from hot nerd talk on Friday to a massage on Sunday.  School is done, feeling good, gonna get caught up on everything I ignored over the course of the school year, summer is going to be great, get some good mo going into the fall, get shit on track.  Life is good.

Well, the Universe overheard me and she started laughing hysterically, did a shot of absinthe and said, “Well, I have my work cut out for me this week.”

Monday was fine enough, had some trouble getting my brain to shut off long enough to get anything else done, but not too bad.  Tuesday I managed to walk into a box in the living room with a rather spectacular amount of velocity resulting in a nicely damaged foot.  (No running for me this week!)  Wednesday ended up being dedicated more to reading than anything else, cause damn, I did a number on that foot.

Then yesterday happened.  Managed to get things done, but not without some fun and games.  The dryer died.  With a load of wet towels in it.  Not a showstopper dammit, repairman coming out today.  Then a couple hours later I had a filling fall out.  Awesome!!  And then – just to round out the day properly – I left my jacket at the pool hall last night…

I suspect there is a lesson about keeping expectations low in here somewhere, but I refuse to acknowledge it.

I don’t talk much on politics here, because it just seems to bring out the worst in people.  Though he’s not exactly my cup of tea, I’ve found myself fascinated by Newt Gingrich’s campaign.

Back in May, I was sitting in the airport on my way to Vegas and pondering the news of his getting into the 2012 presidential race.  While I was kind of surprised that he was even running (I genuinely had gotten the impression that he was content writing books and providing analysis to the various and sundry news and political shows) I was more surprised that he was only announcing on Facebook and Twitter.  Not in conjunction with a press conference or a rally – just on Facebook and Twitter.  My first (very snarky) thought on that was, “Are you running your campaign out of your Mom’s basement?”  Running an effective social media campaign takes work, of course,  but only making the announcement via those outlets struck me as a bit, well – lazy.  Call me a throwback, but I think a presidential bid deserves an actual press conference or rally or something along those lines.  (I know he’s not the only one to announce via social media, but his is the one that is standing out right now.)

Less than a week later, he stepped in at again by criticizing the Republican Medicare overhaul plan. I was actually impressed that he spoke his mind rather than simply running in lockstep with the rest of the party.  (Though I do wonder how he would have reacted if someone else did this when he was Speaker.)  Political suicide in this climate, but admirable to me nonetheless.

That was then followed by a two week cruise to Greece. That one had me scratching my head a bit – he was either going for the “Yes, dear, you’re right, we need to get away” demographic, or he just didn’t really care that much.  I guess I wasn’t the only one thinking it didn’t seem to be the best move as on June 9th, his top campaign aides resigned en masse.  I don’t care what business you’re in, when everyone walks out the door, that’s a bad sign.

Then came yesterday’s news that his finance staff had quit. (Insert joke about sticking around to make sure the Tiffany’s bill was paid off.)  Stick a fork in him, he’s done.

I was talking with a friend last weekend about this – why on earth would you run for president if you just really don’t care that much?  His answer?  “Easy.  He wants to stay relevant.”

I get that.  Everyone wants to stay relevant – in their field, in life, all of it.  No one wants to get pushed to the backburner and relegated to a footnote in the history books.

But running for president?  Write more books, OpEd pieces – there are any number of ways to stay on the Sunday talk show circuit and stay relevant in the party.  Running for president seems a bit extreme to say the least, and frankly smacks a bit of desperation.  Why you’d put yourself through the hell of a presidential bid simply to stay on the map simply eludes me.

Of course, ask me the question again when I’m 68 and feeling like I’m fading into obscurity and I might have a different answer.

So, the school year has come to a close, and I’m just a little thrilled.  (As is every other person I met at schools this year.)  The experience was good, the kids were pretty cool, and of course I’ve managed to come out of the school term with more questions than answers as to what my next move should be.  (There was a time in my life where though I didn’t have a full life plan, I had a good idea of what was next.  I long for those days.)

I think it is safe to say that being a full time elementary school teacher is not really right for me.  I’ve found I have many fundamental disagreements with how things are done – most of which I can sidestep as substitute, but wouldn’t be able to avoid if I pursued this full time.  So, spending 3 years attempting to get a Masters in Elementary Ed to go into an environment where I would be constantly and utterly frustrated by the way things work seems incredibly misguided at best.  This is also why I am SO happy that I spent the time in the classroom and figured this much out – it definitely was not a waste of time.  I’ll still go back next year as I continue to try to figure out WTF I’m doing, but I’ll probably focus more on high school to get an idea of the environment with the older students and see what that’s like.

I know this much:  I do like to teach.  I like being able to show someone something they didn’t know before.  I love it when I can help someone understand something.  I love research and reading and studying.  I love learning new things.

Maybe it’s time to take the advice that the spectacular Miriam Hodge gave me a couple years back and become a professional student.  Mind you, I have no idea what I would study or if I could even get into grad school in the first place – a BS in Accounting doesn’t exactly translate well to Humanities & Social Sciences.  I guess my summer project is getting that all figured out now, isn’t it?

So, last week I got a call that a care conference was on for my grandmother – Sharyn had a couple issues she wanted to make sure were addressed.  Nothing earth shattering and frankly, I’m just happy my grandmother is no longer calling me at 3AM so I’m more “Eh, if she hasn’t broken another bone, we’re good.”  (Note to all: You really, REALLY should be good to your kids and grandkids.  They will be choosing your nursing home, and may or may not be checking up on you.)

Called back, confirmed time, spoke with woman who coordinates it to make sure she had my phone number and understood that though Sharyn would be there, they would have to call me because I am 2,000 miles away.

“And who are you again?”
OMFG.
“I’m the one with the MEDICAL POWER OF ATTORNEY.”
“Oh, OK.”

So, I take myself out of the lineup today so I can be here to take the call and pretend like I’m terribly interested in this.  (Even though I’m not super interested in the details, I *do* need to know what’s going on.  Even though I get tons of info from Sharyn, I want to hear exactly how they react when she says she sees something she doesn’t like.)

Well, 2PM comes and goes.  45 minutes later Sharyn calls, says it went fine.  Um, what?  She didn’t realize I had told them to call me.  So I’m furious at the idiots at the care center, she feels bad (told her sure as hell wasn’t her fault) and I’m ready to punch someone.  I decided to cool off a bit before calling the care center and asking exactly what type of brain damage they are suffering from that they didn’t understand “here is my phone number, call me for the conference” means CALL ME FOR THE DAMN CONFERENCE.

I called, and I still couldn’t tell you what on earth that woman was thinking, other than she apparently wasn’t.  But they have very firm instructions that I am to be included on any other calls, dammit.

First, no one seems to be able to tell me if it’s going to happen on Zulu time or rolling with the time zones.  5 hours important when you’re kicking off the end of the world.

I’ve RSVP’d as a “Maybe” to the Post-Rapture Looting event over on Facebook.  Cause, what if they’re wrong?  Not that it won’t happen, but what if all the folks who have just tried to be decent tolerant people and who didn’t run around telling people they were going to hell because they were of the “wrong” religion were the ones that got swept up?  You know, all of us that are supposedly going to get left for the locusts.  If that’s the case, then there is going to be one hell of a party upstairs and our pets will all be there with us, thankyouverymuch.  (Seriously, WTF, no pets allowed?  I don’t think so.)

So, I would find that pretty funny.

Now, if they’re right and I’m down here madly brushing up on my Zombie Apocalypse skills, at least I can stop dealing with people knocking on my door trying to share their religion with me.  (The religion sharing doesn’t bother me so much as the knocking on my door in the first place.  But then again, I’m a bit of a hermit.)

Now if nothing happens, then, well, we’ll just have to wait for 2012.

On the other hand, if my grandmother gets swept up, then there are going to be a lot of questions on ALL sides of the arguments. ;)

ETA: On the very off chance that someone who does hold faith in the Rapture is reading this and is horrifically offended by it…  I don’t say these things to offend.  I say these things because it’s what I feel about the whole thing.  What little faith I have carries me through these things.  I hope yours can do the same for you.

At first I felt mildly guilty for managing to parlay a trip to a bank into 3 nights in Sin City, but now, I’m feeling rather smart about the whole thing.  It’s always nice to have a little break from reality, and honestly, Vegas is the most unreal place I’ve ever been and perfect for a quick getaway. :-D

Bag is packed, traffic to the airport is clear, I’m on the list for an upgrade (I’ve flown United a *lot* in the past 9 months) and the only thing I can’t locate is a pair of non-scrip shades.  I have a sneaky feeling that I will be able to find a pair out there.

Penn & Teller*, wine tasting & art lecture, dinner at Picasso and poolside time with fruity drinks with umbrellas in them are *just* what the doctor ordered.

*Though I will admit some trepidation – my seat is excellent.  I am slightly concerned that my head might be cut off.

So, Osama bin Laden is dead and has been buried at sea, in accordance with Islamic tradition concerning bodies at risk of being desecrated.  Only in America would be manage to respsect the death rites of even our worst enemy.  (Yes, I understand the practical considerations as well, no need to have a shrine somewhere for him that a traditional burial would bring.)

I don’t know if anyone really noticed, but it wasn’t even a few hours after the announcement of his death that “See something, say something” was being reiterated across the internet.  I’m quite certain no one out there believes that the death of bin Laden signals an end to extremist violence around the world.  But at least give us an overnight, maybe a day to enjoy finally winning the longest damn game of hide and seek on record.  A small break from being pushed to paranoia in the name of National Security would be quite welcome.

Getting rid of one person, even if it is the guy at the top, isn’t really going to change things.  There are still followers, still people who hate for irrational reasons and who will lash out with violence or rhetoric to incite violence as their response to their own fear of a changing world.*

It will never be gone, but there is one less person advocating it today.

Is it right that he died voilently at our hands when we supposedly are a peace loving nation?  I don’t know, but two things come to mind:
- Karma is a bitch, and
- He started it.  (OK, that’s my inner 8 year old talking, but my outer adult can’t argue with the sentiment.)

*It’s not a Muslim extremist thing.  It’s an extremist of any kind thing.  Fear leads to hate and then violence.  Any diety provides a good excuse.

For someone who isn’t exactly a huge social butterfly – this weekend was like the Tardis – bigger on the inside.  And then the President scheduled an address to the American people…

After a ridiculously social weekend where I was utterly exhausted and completely wound up beyond belief, I went up to my favorite watering hole for a pint or two and commiseration over the Caps being down 2 games in the series against Tampa Bay.

Then things got interesting…

Notice of a Presidential address.  Hmmm.  Late Sunday night?  WTF could that be that the major networks didn’t already know?  Couldn’t be the economy – that’s more prime time than late night.  Walked out for a smoke* and walked back in and every crawl had the news of the death of Osama Bin Laden.

Well that will certainly change the tone of an evening to be sure.

Though I will be happier with photographic and/or DNA confirmation, as I said on Facebook – I’m glad the cocksucker is dead.**  I’ll admit that while cheering I did send off a message to Friday’s dinner companion to get his thoughts on the matter as he has some experience with all this.  (What a strangely fortuitous time for him to find his way back into my virtual rolodex.)

That all being said, while news of this doesn’t necessarily change anything in the big scheme of thing – it’s nice to feel like we can firmly put one in the Win column for a change.  (I’m sure there have been other wins, but they don’t all filter down to the American public…)

As much as I know I shouldn’t take any glee or pleasure in another’s death – this jackass tried to kill my friends.  In my mind, after that, all bets are off and you deserve whatever painful and ugly end that befalls you.

Working backwards to more positive parts of the weekend…

This afternoon I spent a few lovely hours at Wheaton park with Chris and Celia and their two gorgeous little ones.  This encounter made me realize that Facebook (and the Internet et al) can warp time a little bit.  It wasn’t until I sat down and thought about it that I realized I was pretty sure I hadn’t seen them since they got married.  Thanks to the grapevine, email and Facebook, I had a fairly decent idea of what was going on with them, so it didn’t seem like it had been that long since I’d seen them.  Didn’t hurt that Celia isn’t aging.

Unlike me – if you’re asking a 6 year old.  Saturday was a great little cookout with Jen & Bob and their adorable little one, J.  Well, J’s friends from next door came over.  J, being the Hostess with the Mostest, grabbed K’s hand and said, “I have to introduce you to someone”***  K says, “Oh, your Grandma?”

Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

Thankfully little J replied with a reassuringly vehement NO and that I was Aunt Cindy, but still – seriously???  I know I’ve got some grey streaks in my hair, but for me to be the grandmother of a 6 year old – there would to have been two *really* youthful pregnancies along the way.

This after I was feeling all young and semi-gorgeous on Friday night.  Up to Old Town for great evening of dinner & cupcakes & TV with a friend I hadn’t seen, in oh.. 4 years?  (Again, thanks Facebook!)  We’d lost touch thanks to work and life and stuff in general just getting in the way, but it had always been a curiously no-drama, no-holding-to-high-expectations friendship and there were no hard or hurt feelings on either side – and meeting up again it felt like we’d not skipped a beat and it was like sliding on a old pair of favorite blue jeans – just right.

That all being said, I think I will need to sleep for the next 3 days.

*I don’t want to hear it.
**Thank you to the writers of Deadwood for giving me a full appreciation of the many ways in which the word cocksucker can be considered appropriate.
***6 years old, and says “introduce” not “meet” – too smart for her own good, and god help Jen & Bob when she gets older.

So, the Royal Wedding is tomorrow.  I won’t be getting up at 6AM but I will TiVo it so I can see a few things, and skip the boring stuff.  I know a lot of folks are scratching their heads trying to figure out why anyone is fascinated, and I have a few theories:

- We don’t really have anything like the royal family here.  (Yes, I know that was part of the plan in telling England to sod off back in the day.)  Sure, we’ve got our first family, but that changes out every 4-8 years and various and sundry celebrities, but nothing quite like the royals.

- Hats.  This country does not have enough large scale events involving hats.  I especially would like to see what Grandma E busts out of the hatbox for the occasion.

- The Dress.  Of course I want to see the dress she wears.  Despite all appearances to the contrary, I do have a girly side, and she wants to see the dress!

- It’s enjoyable to watch a wedding where you know you won’t get stuck at the singles table.

- It will break the internet.

- Commoner marries a Prince!  Though I’ve long since abandoned any notions of growing up to be a Princess, I can’t help but latch on to a few of the more practical aspects, such as a very large housekeeping staff.

And for all that think the media coverage has been a touch ridiculous, just remember our media seems to only follow news and events in one of two ways:

1. Beat it into the ground like a dead horse until it turns to glue, or
2. Ignore it.

*~*~*~*~*

Speaking of beating a dead horse, the President has released his long form birth certificate…  Something that I have always felt to be a total non-issue to start with, and yet I am quite certain that this won’t be the end of it.  If it’s any consolation Mr. President, I have no desire to see your reports cards from any school you attended.  (I really didn’t care about President Bush’s grades either.  Or Clinton’s.  Or Bush Sr.’s  Or Reagan’s.)

*~*~*~*~*

Locals:  Had to go find some Rescue Remedy today, and finally found it at Felix & Oscar: Pet Food Naturally over on Backlick Road.  Of course I found it just as the storms were clearing out, but I’m guessing we’ll have a few more before the summer is over.  For whatever reason, RR is hard to find around here – Whole Foods only had the Children’s formulary – which I implore all parents of school age children to purchase, and OTPR only has it for in house use and not for sale.  (Many thanks to their giving me some samples in case I couldn’t find it today and for pointing me to F&O’s.)  Neither PetsMart or PetCo carry it.

Got two bottles cause I am sure I’ll lose the first one before it’s empty, just like I misplaced the last bottle I bought…