A Voice from the Past

I took a hiatus from writing. I don't know why. I just didn't feel like talking. Nothing of import occurred. I'm still working at UNTHSC, I'm still shacked up with Logan, the kids are still ornery and spoiled. I've been keeping busy by getting minor repairs done to my car, such as the blower for the heater/ac/defroster (over $580, yikes!) and the driver's side door lock (You could lock it from the inside, but not the outside, though it would lock if you locked the passenger side front door or the trunk.) (over $400, yikes!). I've been trying to spend more time with friends and family.

I have a clear focus now on something I do want to write, though. My sister Grace has returned two out of several of my father's journals (I anticipate getting the rest soon.), and I have been re-reading them with the notion that my father's life story needs to be told. I have been howling with laughter because I know the players in the stories, but I think with a bit of research to expound upon some of my dad's stories, I could make a really great book. His writing makes you feel you are right in the middle of the story. And he writes about everything from world events and politics to the minute details of being a house husband in his early 70's. Re-reading my father's journals these last few weeks has made me feel closer to him, and given me a new perspective about him that I didn't comprehend when I was in my 20's.

I anticipate that I will end up doing quite a bit of geneaology and searching through archives from the Star-Telegram and Fort Worth Press (defunct in the late 70's or early 80's), two newspapers where my dad worked, looking for his letters to the editor which were somewhat famous locally. The task is a bit daunting, but it's also very energizing.

Scarlett was right

I started writing at work the other day, but got booted off and couldn't reproduce my original text, so I put it off for a while, but never got back to it. Now I can't even remember what I was writing about.

Logan and I both had birthdays in the past week. No great shakes, either one. No gifts, just good beer and better cake. Logan's was Guinness and Black Forest cake. Mine was pear cider and cherry cheesecake.

Yesterday, Susan and I started a walking regimen, one mile three times a week to start. I had to rest between each quarter mile. My back was throbbing in pain. Susan's calves hurt her, but mine were fine. The back pain felt like two ice picks right where the butt dimples are, though. I did feel good last night, though, and slept very well.

Tonight, I washed dishes and tried to get the kids to help clean house. Logan and I got into a big fight -- I don't even know what started it now. But he let me understand that I am here on suffrance. He says he may put me out on the curb if things don't improve. I seriously have to get back in school and finish my degree so that I can get promoted at work. I need to be able to support myself. In some ways, I feel like I felt when Bill used to tell me that no one would ever marry me except him because I was overweight and wasn't very good looking. I actually had a few moments of feeling suicidal because I felt so helpless.

I don't know if my problem is that I am too literal-minded, I wear my heart on my sleeve, or if I'm just hormonal. The kids would be distraught if I moved out, either of my own accord or if Logan threw me out, and I don't know if Logan would do that to the kids. I also don't know which would win - his temper or his frugality. Would he put my belongings on the curb, or sell them at the flea market?

Well, tomorrow is another day, and I guess I'll drink a cider and think about all this tomorrow. I'm only making myself depressed, picking apart the situation.

Pig in a Poke

I'm loving the new-to-me Benz. It handles sooo well, and it likes to go fast; I have to monitor my speed closely, in order not to get a ticket. Logan says it wants to go fast 'cuz it misses the Autobahn. (Auto Bahn?) But the little car has developed a problem. Well, it probably had the problem when we got it, but we didn't notice it. It needs the radiator repaired. It overheats in the evenings, on the ride home. It may be that there is a leak or a crack; I don't know. It runs just fine in the morning, but come time to go home, it gets hot about 3/4 of the way home. Yesterday was the worst. It started steaming, so I immediately pulled over to the Walgreen's parking lot and called Logan, who came to my rescue, adding water & antifreeze/coolant with the engine running. It rode home perfectly after that, and did well this morning. Logan has it today, investigating getting it repaired, which sounds to cost the better part of $250.00, though Logan may be able to get some kind of crack sealer for aluminum and get the hole(s) to plug up enough to fix the problem. We shall see.

I hope that works, because I was hoping to buy a metal detector for the kids & me to use in our new hobby, treasure hunting. The severe drought here in N TX has the lakes and rivers so low that I thought the kids and I might have some luck going along the banks & shores, looking for lost coins & jewelry. I'm sure we'll find our share of bottle tops & nails, but it will be fun to try. And the main point (though the kids don't know this) is to get them outside, doing some exercise, and away from the computer, which causes lots of strife.

Top Drawer

I'm feeling very happy and excited today. Yesterday, after various finagling which included convincing Logan to put up the title to the decrepit Suburban as collateral, I obtained a loan in order to buy a car. Logan spied an '89 Mercedes E (6 valve, 3.0 L) for sale in a neighborhood near work. He describes it as "very cherry". The Blue Book value on it is $4,100.00, but the guy selling it was only asking $3,500.00. We took it for a spin, and Logan loved it. It is very sound mechanically, and very good appearance-wise as well. Logan bargained the seller down to $3,300.00. I pick it up tomorrow. Finally, a car in my name after being chauffeured by Logan for over a year. "A friend" and I, along with Herbie and Susan, are planning an excursion tomorrow, a drive about town in my new car, lunch at Red Lobster (which is very good for being a chain restaurant), and perhaps shopping or a movie.

The other item that has me excited is the prospect of a new job with a considerable jump in pay. A position opened up (Administrative Technical Support Specialist is the overblown title) in the Facilities Management department. It came open only because a lady died of cancer. The job entails keeping spreadsheets and writing reports on the construction projects on campus. I had a very promising interview yesterday, and my boss said he would give me a glowing recommendation despite the fact that he doesn't want to lose me.

Logan is happy since I gave him some money to fix the white van so that he can park it next to the curb in order to free up the driveway for my new car. Also, I paid for the title transfer on the Suburban since I needed the title to get the loan. And obstensibly, the Surburban was bought for me to drive back in 2002. But since it only gets 10 mpg, it no longer makes sense to drive it. We need to sell it once I pay off my loan and clear the title.

Gad, all the paperwork involved with getting vehicles bought, tagged, inspected, & etc. almost makes one want to ride a horse.

If I get the new job and I'm going to be driving a Mercedes, I'll sure feel like I'm in the top drawer. I may even let Logan drive it once in a while so I can sit in the back and say, "home, James!"

A Moving Experience

I had a moving experience last night. And early this morning. And shortly after arriving at work. The gas pains are mostly gone. If I was a good friend like ERIC, who shall henceforth be referred to as just "a friend" since he got his knickers in a twist over my telling the world (or the handful of people I can count on one hand who actually read this blog) that he rolled his Dad's Cadillac one night after allegedly leaving a bar where he may or may not have imbibed several drinks, and then allegedly having to swerve to avoid another driver who allegedly came over into "a friend's" lane (can't use "he" again, as it is an ambiguous reference), but who am I to say since I wasn't there, and as such, this is all heresay anyway, then I would EMAIL YOU ALL A PHOTOGRAPH of the results of my many excursions to the toilet this past day. But I'm not that kind of friend. For which you may be very glad unless you secretly ... suffer? practice? (I can't think of how to term this.) coprophilia. Here's a link to the Wikipedia page on the topic, if you're interested:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coprophilia

This led to learning a fascinating fact: "The German colloquial term for scat fetishism is Kaviar." I'll bet that makes for some careful ordering when one wishes for caviar.

So. That's all I'm gonna say about that. ("Thank God," I can just hear you saying.)

In other news, Logan's staples and stitches were removed from his knee yesterday, and he was walking without his cane today. It's amazing how quickly he's recovered. His surgery was just two weeks and four days ago, and he seems almost back to... no better than normal. Next up, the left shoulder impingement which may be caused by a bone spur. For a really good diagram, point your browser to:

http://orthoinfo.aaos.org/fact/thr_report.cfm?Thread_ID=133&topcategory=Shoulder

Anyway, that's enough about medical stuff. And lunch is over, so back to the salt mine!

Now, for your edifaction, ten artists (in no particular order) I've ripped to my computer at work so I can listen to something decent while I slog away here. All these artists move me in one way or another (sometimes, more than one):

Dean Martin
Bauhaus
John Prine
The Smithereens
Bob Dylan
Ian & Sylvia
Robert Earl Keen, Jr.
Sisters of Mercy
The B-52s
Cake

So, what are YOU listening to, right now? Drop me a line at: jsitton@hsc.unt.edu.

The Slop Jar Blues

If I was more computer savvy, I'd create a sound clip to sing you this song:

I was sittin' on the slop jar,
waitin' for my bowels to move.
(I gotta doo-doo, I gotta doo-doo!)
Yes, I was sittin' on the slop jar,
waitin' for my bowels to move.
(I gotta doo-doo, I gotta doo-doo!)
And if they don't move by Tuesday, I'm gonna have the blues.
(I gotta doo-doo, I gotta doo-doo!)

There are many more lines to this gem, and many more which can be made up as one sings along, as would oft occur when I first heard it, riding the band bus (one time, in band camp...) with the mostly black band during my high school days, but I will spare you, gentle reader, with further assaults.

What brings this song to mind is the state of my bowels. I've felt ill the past four days, being very windy, having severe gas pains, bouts of astoundingly loud and long, almost trumpet like flatulence, and the inability to pass much of anything despite a couple of bowls of raisin bran, a couple of cups of prunes, two stool softeners, six laxative pills, and enough water to fill a toilet bowl several times over. I haven't a clue as to what brought on this bout of dyspepsia, but if it does not abate forthwith, then I feel I have no other recourse than to consult my physician in order to rule out any type of blockage which might result in surgery.

My father used to say that as we age, we become more childlike, particularly absorbed with matters of our elimination. I hope to God this is not true, for it is incredibly annoying, having this topic so much on my mind of late. I'd rather spend my time thinking about more pleasant things like, say, the nagging dull pain in my back which causes me to wonder if I'm developing a kidney stone, or the sharp pain I sometimes get in my knee, which causes me to wonder if I will need knee surgery soon. Logan went to the VA hospital today to have the staples removed from his knee, which he says, feels better in some ways and worse in others, so I look upon possible surgery with some trepidation.

Mostly, though, I would just like to be back to normal, where the course of my digestion ran like the tide, constant, predictable, and without any thought to trying to hold it back or force it to flow. Gad, it's awful to feel so old. Though I guess it beats the alternative. Hey, another day above ground! At least with a grumbling gut, I have no doubts that I'm still alive! (How's that for a silver lining??)

Happy Birthday, youngest daughter

Brighid turned 14 yesterday, and I'm am thankful that she's alive (having been hit by a car and hospitalized for a week about two years ago) and not pregnant. (I had my first daughter when I was 14, and I just learned my brother's daughter is 7 months pregnant at 17.)

I'm taking her and her best friend to lunch at Benihana's in Los Colinas (or Lost Colitis, as Logan calls it), then we might take in a flick, say, The Devil Wears Prada or some such.

Brighid is becoming more fun as she gets older. I thoroughly enjoy her bizarre sense of humor. We laugh at the ridiculous and poke fun at the arrogant. One of her chief amusements is turning the radio up loud on classical music when we're at a red light next to a car which is blaring rap at hearing-loss inducing decibels. She appreciates the humor of David Letterman, Eddie Izzard, and Pee Wee Herman. We laugh a lot together, which is good, since it will help when the bad times happen, which I know they will. She's 14 now, and just starting the journey up "fools' hill", as my mother called it, that passage of one's life during which one's parents become eat up with the dumb ass.

A child climbing fools' hill will become amazed that his parents are able to function, given the level of their stupidity. A child climbing fools' hill will become deathly embarrassed of one's entire family, and require being dropped off at least a block away from whatever function he is attending. And a child climbing fools' hill would far rather be seen in outdated clothing than with one's family in public. Luckily, one reaches the summit of fools' hill around the age of 18, and is usually back in the foothills of fools' hill by the age of 22.

So I try having fun with Brighid now, while she still likes me and thinks I have useful things to say. Happy Birthday, youngest daughter. Your mommy loves you and is glad you were born 14 years ago.

Your Tax Dollars At Work

Yesterday, I cooled my heels damn near all day, waiting while Logan had his leg taken apart and rebuilt. He's currently cooped up at the VA hospital, but at least he has a morphine pump, so every 6 minutes he can knock himself back out. From what I understand, knee surgery is exquisitely painful. 24 hours after the surgery, they made him get up and walk on it (with crutches, of course). He's not a happy camper.

The VA hospital is gargantuan, taking up approximately 4 - 5 city blocks square. The meandering of buildings is a rabbit warren inside. One employee I spoke to on an elevator said he lost 35 pounds his first 4 months working there. I was worn out when I got home.

I was dumbfounded by the size of the complex and the number of people awaiting (in various states of patience) services. Many of them seemed just a disability check away from being homeless, several seemed slightly schizophrenic, and most seemed forlorn and depressed. In spite of the soothing atmosphere, nice furnishings, and friendly volunteers, I went away with a vague feeling of hopelessness for the whole situation. We're currently creating a bumper crop of new veterans, and Logan tells me Congress still hasn't funded the VA in the budget. I can't think of anything witty to say about this. In my mind, it's outrageous. Even a Republican Senator, John McCain, thinks there is too much pork barrel spending in the budget:

http://mccain.senate.gov/index.cfm?fuseaction=Newscenter.ViewPressRelease&Content_id=1722

and lists several pro-veteran issues on his website:

http://mccain.senate.gov/index.cfm?fuseaction=Issues.ViewIssue&Issue_id=35

Odd, that I find myself agreeing with a Republican. But I guess as one grows older, one becomes more fiscally conservative. In any case, I don't hold out much hope for things getting better for Vets anytime soon.

The only amusing portion of the day was the ride home. I could not, for love nor money, get the driver's side door to shut. The latch is stuck in the closed position, and won't disengage in order to catch on the pall. So I drove home, 37 miles, with my arm out the window, holding the door shut. Today, I have an aching Flexor carpi radialis, and needless to say, I'm taking the car in to be repaired in the morning. Today, I rode to work with a Bungee cord holding the door shut. I am so saving up for a new car.

A whole month, shot to hell....

Yes, I'm alive. But just barely. I've been sick for a week, and just haven't been in the mood to do much of anything, let alone write.

Today is my third day back at work after missing three days (two whole days and a half of two days, so that makes it three in my book) due to this cold I still haven't shaken. Thursday last week, I started feeling tired, ran a low grade fever, and started losing my voice. My throat hurt, was very scratchy, and my sinuses were plugged. Then the bronchitis kicked in. I spent four days in bed coughing up my lungs and spitting out huge, yellow loogies. Then the sneezing, watery eyes, and runny nose started. I wanted to cry, I felt so bad. But between the cough syrup, expectorant, and antihistamines, I managed to deal. I'm back to having my sinuses slammed shut and I'm still coughing up crud, but it's clear now, and I'm feeling markedly better, so I returned to work since I had to get the leases paid and the journal entries done before the end of the month. We have Monday and Tuesday off, so I plan on spending the weekend in bed with a thermos of hot toddies.

When I returned to work on Tuesday, I had a letter on my desk from my boss' boss, informing me that as of September 1st, I'm getting a raise of $100 per month. Not great, and not the reclassification of my job that my boss requested for me, but a merit raise is a merit raise. Herbie thinks I should just put the money in a savings account to save up for a new car, but I'm thinking I'll put the money directly on my credit card bills in order to pay them down faster, thus saving me more money in interest fees charges than I could make on interest gained by a savings account. In any case, it was a nice ego boost, as the letter mentioned just how great a worker I am! Yeah, I know, corporate b.s. "Atta Girl" notices are just paper. What counts is the green paper you get as a result.

On a different tangent, I had a grand time in Cisco visiting with my cousins. Weyland stayed in the pool almost the whole time we were there, and as a result, and despite many well-intentioned slatherings of sun block by me, he looked like a boiled lobster by Sunday. Brighid must have taken her one remaining brain cell out, played with it, and lost it because she accepted a cousin's dare: lick the tiles in the pool. I cannot fathom what she was thinking. Oh, wait! She wasn't! It was no surprise that she became ill an hour or so later with a fever and diarrhea. You know, I never suspected I'd have to tell a child, "don't lick the swimming pool tiles!" Live and learn.

My cousin Martha brought me the neatest thing from her dad's old printing shop: the hot type her dad set for my dad of my birth announcement. I didn't even know it existed, as I've never seen the finished product. I just bawled when I saw it, which made Martha bawl. It was just so emotional, seeing a tangible thing that represented the bond between our fathers. Both were printers, both ran linotype presses, and both were great with words. Odd how some gracefully formed bits of steel could bring about such a storm of feelings.

On the 4th, we're going to see the Cats play at La Greave field. Tickets were only $5 here at work, and there's going to be fireworks after (unless the severe drought we're in causes the powers that be to cancel them), and tailgate parties before. We're going to bring the de rigueur hot dogs, watermelon, and margaritas. There's nothing like sitting half baked at a baseball game. What's cool about seeing the Cats play is that all the seats are good since it's such a small venue. We're only 5 rows back, along the third baseline, so we should have a good view of anyone trying to make it to home plate.

The only other news of import is that Eric rolled the Cadillac Wednesday the 21st. He was leaving the Shamrock after meeting with a client when someone tried to come over into his lane without looking. So he swerved, hit the median, and rolled. He got a slight concussion, a laceration on his forehead, and lots of little cuts caused by the broken windshield. The cops took him to the hospital first, then to the Mansfield jail since Tarrant County was full.

I had my phone turned off since I was sick and didn't want to be bothered, so I didn't get the two calls Eric put in to me before getting ahold of Logan. Logan went and sprung him from jail, then spent the day chauffeuring Eric around, as his license had been temporarily suspended. It took a couple of days and a forged, notarized document for Eric to get the auto pound to let him get his laptop out of the trunk. The last time I spoke to Eric a couple of days ago, the car was still in the pound. It's in his dad's name, so they aren't releasing it to Eric, though they might let the insurance company haul it away.

Eric's parents are in the UK on vacation, so it may be a few more days until the shit hits the fan. In the meanwhile, Eric is staying close to home and pretty much incommunicado. How fun is that?

Death Tour 2006

The Gals and I went cemetery visiting this past Sunday: Cottondale, where my parents, sister, maternal grandparents, maternal grandmother's parents and siblings, and numerous other cousins (including Machine Gun Kelly) are buried, Mount Olivet, where Herbie's mother is buried, Rendon, where Shellie's parents and brother are buried and where we had a nice picnic lunch (There's a picnic area for that purpose, so don't think we're so morbid.), and Rose Hill (now Shannon~Rose Hill or Rose~Shannon Hill, I think, having joined with the Shannon family of funeral directors; incidentally, I lived across the street from Rose Marie Shannon Lewis and her passel of what was it, 11 children?), where Susan's mother (and, incidentally, Lee Harvey Oswald) are buried. Hebie took pics, which I will add once she emails them to me.

Other than that, not much else upon which to comment besides the kittens, which are growing like weeds. I'll post new pics of them as well, maybe when I get home since I'm at work now and don't have the pics on my work computer.

Friday, we're going to the Sitton family reunion in Cisco, so I'll be incommunicado for four days during which I'll socialize with my cousins, beat several people at Scrabble®, eat too much, swim as much as possible, and try to convince someone else to be president of the Sitton Family Association. I may even play 42, though I'm not very good at it. Much fun will be had by all, I'm sure. I will post lots of photos afterwards.

As far as visiting the graves, I'm glad I did. I had not been in many years. I was pretty well composed. I almost cried, but didn't. It's been 18 years since my parents and sister died. The hurt hasn't gone away yet, but it's not as near the surface.

Awwww.....

Partly Cloudy and her six kittens which were one day old the day these pictures were taken:

Even More Japanese Gardens Pictures

Here are some more pictures taken at the Japanese Gardens, about half by me and half by Brighid:

or so Hamlet says

I just learned some new words, which makes me excited, especially because I like to play Scrabble and work crossword puzzles:

tawse - a leather strap slit into strips at the end and used especially for disciplining children

hygroscopic - readily taking up and retaining moisture

anadromous - ascending rivers from the sea for breeding

catadromous - living in freshwater and going to the sea to spawn

agromania - intense desire to be in open spaces (an intense form of spring fever, perhaps?)

cancrine - of, like or pertaining to crabs

hieromania - pathological religious visions or delusions

quoz - absurd person or thing (This is a very good word for Scrabble.)

More Japanese Garden Pics

Here are the rest of the pics from the Japanese Gardens. Including some fun ones. I was unable to post them all on the same entry. Too bad I don't have sound clips to go with these. (All photos copyright Susan Scott-Wilson except as noted.)



We decided Sunday, April 2nd was "Insult As Many People As Possible Day", so in addition to telling various ethnic jokes and moving the furniture when blind people visit, Eric snapped this beauty of me and Shellie:



Now you know why some cities have rules against drinking in public parks. If Fort Worth does, I never found it on their website, which I scoured for over thirty minutes, looking for anything regarding possessing alcohol in parks. I 'spose they could get us for public intoxication, and maybe Eric and Shellie for public lewdness, but no one complained, and we didn't see cop one that day, so --- heh heh --- we got away with our awful behavior.

Much Fun Was Had By All... Waaay Too Much

April 1st & 2nd saw the Japanese Gardens celebrate their annual Japanese Garden Spring Festival. I suppose it's what they do in Texas, where you can't seem to grow cherry trees with much success. Since Herbie's birthday was on the Ides of March (beware! beware!) and Eric's was on April Fool's Day (no, I'm not kidding), the gals and I plus Eric, Austin, Weyland, Fiona, and Brighid all went last Sunday to the Festival. Here are some pics (copyright Susan Scott-Wilson except as noted):

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Friday after work, Logan said he wanted to go to the "Wall O' Beer". So we went to Central Market, bought some Sam Somebodyerother's Nut Brown Ale, some McKewan's Scottish Ale, some Belhaven, and a six pack of my favorite, Ace Perry Cider. Logan also picked out some pita bread, salad fixin's, smoked turkey breast, mesquite smoked ham, baby swiss cheese, two different kinds of olives from the incredible olive bar, and some artichoke hearts. After paying (almost $90 for one little sack of groceries and four six packs of hearty drinks (wait... one was a FOUR pack, not a six pack, the cheap bastards!), we sat out on the patio and listened to the house band play a mix of oldies and Texas Swing. We ate our sandwiches, drank a couple of the drinks of our choice, and smiled at each other. I was feeling good. Hard cider is 5% alcohol, so I was just starting to catch a buzz when we decided to go home.

As we pulled up to the house, I mentioned that the kids had been unsupervised for almost three hours, and opined as to whether or not they had buried an ax in each other's head, since they hadn't called the whole time we were gone. Logan figured neither had so much as looked up from the computer screens. Sure enough, when we walked in, there they were, seemingly biolinked to the monitors. My pale, wimpy children who don't play outside but have superhuman stamina when it comes to staying parked in a chair, playing games online, fine tuning their websites, and hacking their parents' passwords. Here's a link to one of Brighid's websites: http://jiyu-rutherford.tripod.com/

I haven't really worked on my own website, http://home.earthlink.net/~janesitton. I need to learn more about building a website, though, because I have a (rimshot!) hair-brained idea to have a website about my hair. My hair is really long now, but I'm thinking of cutting it. I don't know how I want it to look, though, so I thought I'd let complete strangers vote on what kind of hairdo I should have. I would even include a PayPal link so people could donate to my salon fund! My website would have pictures of previous hairstyles, a place where people could grab animated scissors and dye bottles and fool around with my hair online. I can visualize what I want. I just don't know how to make it happen.

Other than my hair, I'm constantly obsessed with my health. But I'm a lazy hypochondriac, so all I do is contemplate fantastical illnesses. I never bother to go see the doctor until something really happens. Chalk that up to my Scottish ancestry, I suppose. Save myself some money by diagnosing myself.

The latest entry into my medicine bag of horrors is that I have some new female trouble. I've had four children, all via natural childbirth, so sex shouldn't hurt, right? Well, it did. Logan and I attempted to make love early Sunday morning, and to my surprise, it caused me a great deal of pain. I started bleeding. We had to stop. I'm supposed to see my doctor tomorrow (He didn't have anything sooner.), but now I've got my period on top of it all, so I'm thinking of rescheduling. Seriously, not to be gross, but can the doctor really tell anything when the playing ground is muddy? I suppose he's seen it all, but it makes me uncomfortable (both physically and mentally) to be examined while on the rag.

Saturday was a good day, though. Logan spent most of the day with a few SCA buddies, planing wood, then having dinner and drinking beer (after planing the wood, of course... just call me stubs!!). When he got home, the kids and I went to a bardic. I hadn't been to one in a while, so it was good to see the people I've missed and even the ones I haven't missed so much. I did notice that my breath support while singing wasn't what it used to be. I've fallen out of practice, and am somewhat rusty. But nevertheless, it was good to sing so much.

Other than goofing off on the weekends and doing laundry during the week, I haven't been very busy. The only think of import is that I've decided to do Oprah's Debt Diet, and have already got one credit card company to knock two points off my interest rate AND waive the yearly fee. Not counting my defaulted student loan, I'm not quite $3,500.00 in debt, which isn't bad compared to the majority of people in the United States. My goal is to be out of debt in nine months or less, and have enough saved for a new (or new to me, at least) car by this time next year. Wish me luck. I think what's going to work for me is to close the accounts once they're paid off, keeping only one bank card for emergencies and a couple of gas cards to keep from having to carry cash.

I'm back... I think.

Eric and I were yakking on the phone the other night, talking about nothing of great import, when my mind strayed to the house in which I grew up. It was at 1404 Grand Avenue, on the North Side of Fort Worth. (It was burned to the ground by Bill Chappell back in the mid 80's.) It must have been built around the turn of the century, during the Cattle Baron days of Cowtown because it had an Edwardian look about it and because there had been a fireplace in the kitchen which some previous owner enclosed with drywall.

I talked on and on about the house, things I remembered doing in it, being able to see the fireworks downtown from the front porch, being a block from a park, playing hide and go seek with the kids across the street. I never realized before how happy my childhood was for the most part, taking into consideration the fact that my mother was bi-polar, and tried to drag the whole family along on her mood swings.

Last night, Eric and I were at the Shamrock, and I forced him to play dirty Scrabble with me. I won, of course, since he wasn't much inspired to play in the first place, and the best he could come up with was "ho". My best was "quim". Q's are worth 10 points each (or it it 8?), and it was on a triple letter score, so the play was worth around 35 points. I drank five glasses of pear cider, and had a headache when I got home (I suspect more from smelling cigarette smoke than the alcohol), but I drank some water and took an aspirin before going to bed, and was fine this morning.

Physically, I've been feeling really tired lately, as the period from hell hasn't ended. That isn't entirely true. I've had maybe two or three days without bleeding, but I cough, sneeze, or tighten my abdominal muscles for any reason, and the period starts back up. It's not a full-fledged period, but pretty much a continuous pinkish discharge. My guess is the fibroid is somehow being assaulted by the progesterone from the IUD. I'm not having heavy periods any longer nor am I having terrible cramping which causes me to take a flexaril and sleep for two days, but the flow is never ending. This is getting tiresome. I used to have to wear pads everyday because of stress incontience. Now I have to wear them everyday because of the fibroid. If reincarnation is true, I'm coming back as a man in my next life. In the meanwhile, I need to buy stock in Proctor & Gamble, makers of Always With Wings.

Nice Weekend

I've sort of been taking a break from writing. Not on purpose, but just because I've been too lazy to write. I've been feeling very tired lately, probably due to IUD induced anemia. After having the IUD inserted, I had a period that lasted 12 days. It wasn't as heavy as my periods used to be, pre-IUD, but Jesus Christ in Prada, as Eric says, 12 days! This month, I'm on day 11 with no end in sight, but the flow is even lighter. I'm not sure I like this change. I've had almost no pain since getting the IUD, but it's wearisome, having the cycles last so much longer. It's like it just trickles now, taking longer for the same amount to come out. The biggest difference, though, is the lack of blood clots, which is odd considering that progesterone can cause clotting. I used to pass things that looked like grapefruits, but now, nada. At least I don't have a parasitic twin. Weyland and I caught a program last night about a fetus in fetu. Gross, but strangely fascinating.

I actually thought my period was over yesterday, and managed to coax Logan into bed in the late morning. We had a nice romp (after which I discovered he must have knocked something loose because my period started back up), then took a lovely nap together for almost two hours. When I woke up, Logan was smiling at me. I was about to tell him that I love him when he told me he could see the yellow feathers sticking out of my mouth. Apparently, I was smiling like the cat who ate the canary.

Saturday, Eric and I went for lunch at Pappadeaux where we had a pound of crawdads, a pound of peel and eat shrimp ("skrimp", Eric likes to call them), and a lobster and seafood salad, finished off by a nice slice of key lime pie. We then went to the Shamrock where we sat and burned copies (backup copies... yeah, that's it!) of each other's CD collections. I now have lots of Bauhaus, some Cabaret Voltaire, and some International Conspiracy Project. Eric's also going to send me some Chris and Cosey and some Skinny Puppy. Old stuff from our punk days. He got a real eclectic assortment from me, Edith Piaf, Leonard Cohen, and Bessie Smith.

After we were finished with that and had had a few drinks, we went to what used to be called 651 but is now called, I think, Hotshots, to go dancing. But the place was dead because all the queens were in Dallas for the gay rodeo. Eric was in one of his moods, but I refused to cooperate. I didn't want to go trolling the other dives on Jennings. I poured his butt in the Avalanche he borrowed from his mom, turned up Sisters of Mercy, and hit the highway. I was going to head back to the Shamrock, but Eric fell asleep on the way, so instead, I drove down Jacksboro Highway and did the loop. Well, partially. I drove 820 S all the way from where it intersects 199 to where it turns into I-20. Then I went south on I-35 and went home. Eric woke up when I pulled up to the curb. Since it was around 9 p.m., I went inside and cooked omelets for everyone, plain cheese for the kids, and asparagus, portabella mushroom, and onion for the grownups, which I served with some pecan smoked sausage, orange juice, and hot tea. Eric sobered up sufficiently after that to make his way home around 10:30 p.m. or so. All in all, it was a very pleasant weekend.

XOXOX & Thangs

Logan is the man. Yesterday, he got me a huge box of chocolate truffles (though the mushroomy kind would have been appreciated as well), TWO dozen longstem red roses, and took me to lunch. I think he felt sorry for me when I told him last year that the only guy who ever bought me flowers was Bill Chappell, the man who murdered my parents and sister. I gave Logan a handmade card, a variety of candy, and a book called Medieval Hunting: The Hawk and The Hound. The kids got candy and handmade cards as well, and Brighid made a card for me. Weyland tried to cut out hearts, and was frustrated by his efforts. He threw the hearts on my bed, but I gathered them up and will keep them. :)

In other news, I go back to the dentist tomorrow morning to have the permanent crown installed in the place where the temporary one is now, my lower right jaw, next to last tooth. Then tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to see my GP to have my iron level re-checked, my cholesterol checked, and to talk about various aches and pains. I might even see about getting a referral for a psychologist. I need to talk to someone objective about my problems and goals.

One thing that I became clear on while talking to Eric the other day is that I am afraid to go back to school because I'm afraid I won't fit in the desks. In the years following Weyland's birth, I've gained probably around 100 pounds. A former GP I used to see thought that I had what is called "survivor syndrome", a kind of guilt which causes a person to behave in a manner that subconsciously they think will protect them. He opined as I have built this wall of flesh around myself in order to keep myself from being hurt by relationships. If I make myself unattractive, then I won't be confronted by men who might be interested in me, and thus, I can't be hurt.

I have to wonder how much my weight affects Logan's desire to sleep with me. I'm sure it can't be fun, having someone who weighs 300 pounds on top of you. To be fair, he weighs around 250 pounds at least, so I would get crushed, too, if he was able to get on top, but his bad knee precludes that. Back when we first started dating, I weighed about half what I do now, and he weighed around 200 lbs. The first time we slept together, we broke my bed due to our... energetic acrobatics. So we went to his house and proceeded to break his bed as well. I thought it funny that we broke two beds in one day. Now, it wouldn't be hard to do that just by sleeping in the same bed.

I've got to do something drastic in order to get my life on track. I need to lose 150 pounds. I need to save up and buy a new car, which means getting a rein on spending and paying off all my bills. And when I get a new car, I need to go back to school so that I can do something more productive with my life than just being an accounting clerk. Everyone wants to make more money, sure, but given enough money, how many people are happy working at a mundane job? I feel that I must write. I've got to do something important. Given my fear of dying, fear that there really isn't a god and we just cease to be when we die, and my fear of living a meaningless life, I don't think I will be happy until I do something which I think makes a difference to someone, be it myself, my children, or the world at large.

Mr. Sandman

I've had some interesting dreams lately. I dreamed Logan gave me two gemstones that smelled like strawberries. What does this represent? The kids? They don't usually smell like strawberries. Brighid usually smells like she needs a bath because she always forgets to wear deodorant, and Weyland usually smells like dirty socks because he hates to bathe... until you actually get him in the tub. The he hates to get out. Then the other night, I dreamed that I met a fabulous Scotsman. He had glorious blond hair hanging down to his shoulders, a beard and moustache, and snapping blue eyes. He was wearing a kilt in what looked like the ancient Stewart hunting tartan. Here's a link with some pics of Stewart tartans:

http://www.lindaclifford.com/Stewart.html

So anyway, I met this guy who was just gorgeous, tall, broad-shouldered, with a great bellow of a laugh. He bent down to kiss me and then swooped me up in his arms (In my dreams, I always weigh what I did when I was about 20. I don't know why this is so. Perhaps I don't have an accurate mental image of myself.), when Logan turned on the bedroom light and woke me. I was pissed. I don't think the dream means anything in particular, just my brain having fun. Maybe I've been reading too much brain candy lately, and not enough non-fiction.

The weird thing, though, is that I saw a guy who looked almost like the guy in my dream on The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson the other night, in a band called "The Wicked Tinkers". Here's a link:

http://www.wickedtinkers.com/Bio's.html

The guy's name is Keith Jones. He doesn't appear to be wearing a Stewart tartan, but the drum is in the way, so I can't tell which one he is wearing. In any case, I thought the band was really great, full of energy, and ...loud. If they put in an appearance at the Highland Games in Arlington this summer, I'm going.

I should really get to sleep earlier, but I wouldn't have seen them if I hadn't been watching Craig the other night. He had them on to play at a sort of on-air wake he held for his father, who died last week. Craig gave a really touching monologue in honor of his father. You can see it here:

http://www.cbs.com/latenight/latelate/

I've never been a person who is much affected by famous people, but I had to send him an email after seeing that show. I think it is extraordinary to find a celebrity who really acts like a normal person. Grief is something most people try to push aside and ignore. I thought it was wonderful that he was able to convey just a bit of what he is going through via the medium of television. It made me, as part of the audience, feel closer in a way to this personality whom I find amusing and interesting.

Party Party

Yesterday was Beth's 27th birthday. Lordy, that makes me feel old. I was going to meet up with her for dinner at P.F. Chang's, but called with my regrets in the early afternoon. I had been to see my new dentist, and was suffering the effects of having a temporary crown installed and an allergy attack. I must be allergic to my dentist because almost from the very moment I laid back in the chair, my eyes began to water, my nose got runny, and I started sneezing repeatedly - 5, 6, 7 sneezes in succession every fifteen minutes or so. I barely made it through work without giving up and going home.

Once work was over, I hightailed it to the pharmacy to get my prescription for pain meds filled, went home, changed into my pajamas, and medicated myself. Logan made me some glorious homemade chicken noodle soup, rich and savory with lots of rosemary and sage. I napped a little, woke up in time to watch CSI New York, the news, and part of Letterman. I felt much better when I woke up this morning.

Sunday was a good day. I had planned on meeting Beth and Eric for brunch at Hedary's, but she never showed. So Eric and I had a leisurely meal, laughed our heads off, and smiled when we said the same thing at the same time. We know each other so well. I told him when we're both old and gray, like, say, in our 70's, that we should get married so that we can take care of each other. We spent the day driving around looking at potential sites for Eric to open shop. He needs a warehouse type space big enough for a studio, living area, and office type area where he can meet with clients. It sounds like his business is starting to pick up, and like he will actually be able to buy or rent a place sometime in the next six months.

As usual, we ended up the evening at the Shamrock, but Matt wasn't in, so we didn't stay too terribly long. We both had to get up early Monday, so I was home by 9 p.m. which is really early for spending a night out with Eric.

Saturday night was the "I Survived the Holidays" party, which included lots of food and drink, a bawdy bardic, and a re-gifting gift exchange of gifts deemed too ugly, weird, or rude to keep. I ended up with a box full of strange things - an old Polaroid camera, some 3.5" x 5" floppy disks including early versions of DOS, Windows, and an "adult" computer game (EGA!) called Land of Lust. I so need to put an old floppy drive in the computer so that I can play this game!! Also included in the box was a smiley face alarm clock (a reproduction, not an original, dammit), a training hand grenade, and three bottles of homemade blueberry wine. Crystal, a friend of mine who used to work up here at UNTHSC and who cleans my house from time to time (when I can afford to have her over), wound up with a box of disposable gloves and a bottle of Astro-Glide personal lubricant. I've missed hanging out with some of the SCA folks. LOL

My revised device

I rarely attend any functions of the SCA ( http://www.sca.org ) anymore, but time was running out for me to resubmit my device for acceptance by the heraldry department, often referred to as Laurel or Kingdom Laurel. So I made the changes they requested, and here is the revised device I'm submitting:

The heraldic description is "argent, two goblets vert in a bordure vert, semy-de-lys argent". The device represents hospitality (a cup for me and a cup for you) and my persona's French background (well, Norman, anyway), but it's also poking fun at myself, as I have what Logan calls "vast tracts o' land" (large breasts), and have been known to tipple a cup or two.

And the winner is...

Well, the ballots are in, the votes are tabulated, and the results are: no breast cancer (just a possible congested milk sinus, re-evaluate in 6 months), but a uterine fibroid the size of a Volkswagen. The bleeding (literally!) thing is 6 cm. CM, not mm!! That's three inches or thereabouts! So I had an IUD inserted [fun way to spend an afternoon, considering the fact that the doctor pulled my cervix down since it tends to crawl away when touched and squeezed it with a tenaculum (anything with this definition ought to be consigned to the toolbox of a dominatrix: n. A forceps with jaws ending in sharp inward-pointing hooks.), then shoved a foreign body up into my uterus.] If the IUD (which releases a tiny amount of progesterone each day) doesn't control the heavy bleeding, then the fibroid will likely be removed arthroscopically. If that doesn't work, then I'll probably have an ablation (cauterization) of the lining of the uterus. If THAT doesn't work, then it could be a hysterectomy. But my doctor said we want to avoid that at all costs, hence the barrage of other treatments first. Now, for my bowel habits!!

Seriously, learning I did not have breast cancer was a huge relief. I cannot convey the feeling I had upon learning that other than to say it felt like a cement skin I was wearing suddenly shattered, freeing me to walk about normally rather than weighed down by the burden the worry was causing me. Susan and I celebrated by having a couple of doubles at the Shamrock, then I went home, picked up the kids (Logan was in pain, and wanted to watch TV.), and went out for dinner to celebrate some more. The kids and I also stopped off at Half-Price Books where Brighid exchanged the full-screen version of one of the Star Wars movies she got recently for the wide-screen version, Weyland got some computer game based on Norse mythology, and I got a book to give Logan for Valentine's Day: Medieval Hunting - The Hound and The Hawk. All and all, a very satisfactory evening.

Now that my health scare is behind me (for now at least, don't wanna tempt the gods by saying forever), I'm going to concentrate upon getting things lined up so I can go back to school. I will forever be a drone unless I can get a degree and make myself more valuable by learning new skills. I don't make New Year's resolutions, but that would be a good one if I did.

Say WHAT?!?

To keep my mind from worrying since it's another 2.5 hours until I go see the doctor and find out the results of my mammogram, I thought I'd write about my tendency to be hard of hearing (or have selective hearing as Logan believes).

There is a commercial for some medication (I've never paid attention well enough to hear the brand name.) which starts out with someone saying, "my asthma...". I always hear "miasma" instead.

In the song More Than A Woman by the Bee Gees, it always sounds like they're saying "bald-headed woman" to me. Then there are the songs that are "filked" on purpose. Jerry, my daughter Beth's biological father, used to sing "pussy on a highway" instead of "put me on a highway", "take it to my bedroom" instead of "take it to the limit", and when they sang, "and show me a sign", he'd flip the bird to the radio. Childish, yes, but really, really funny when you've been toking a joint.

Apparently, I'm not alone in mis-hearing things. There are a few websites out there dedicated to this phenomenon:

http://www.amiright.com/misheard/artist/springsteenbruce.shtml http://www.sandiegoscene.com/ezine/articles/rice.htm

There's even a discussion about this topic on one of my favorite reference sites, Mudcat.org:

http://www.mudcat.org/@displaysong.cfm?SongID=5803

I wasn't aware there was a word for these types of occurrences, "Mondegreens". I did know about Malapropisms, which I find amusing. But I like puns, so it's not a stretch.

Send me your mis-heard song lyrics: janesitton@earthlink.net

Now, back to work.

#1 on the charts the day you were born

http://www.thisdayinmusic.com/member/birthdayno1.php

Have fun. Mine is "House of the Rising Sun" by The Animals. I prefer the version sung by Joan Baez.

Results Redux

I diagnose myself with worry warts. I had another mammogram today, and the doctor didn't like the way the films looked, so I had to have an ultrasound. The technician just said, "hmm", and sent me on my way, saying the results would be sent to my doctor, Dr. Hantes, and that I should get something in the mail from Consultants in Radiology. How comforting. The last thing I got in the mail from them said there were "findings" which started what will probably turn into an ulcer. Two days seems an interminable amount of time to wait when they already know the results, but just won't tell me yet.



More news at 10:00 p.m.

WD-40??

Still worried about not getting my test results, and upon advice from various sage personages, I called my doctor's office again and proceeded to... well, not harangue the office staff per se, but argued my plight. I really shouldn't have to wait two weeks to know if I have cancer or not, should I?? So the squeaky wheel got oiled. First, they found another doctor to sign off on the results. They called me back and just said to get another test done. I worried about that all last night and called again today, saying I wanted someone to read or fax the report to me. So the nurse agreed to read it to me. Here's the synopsis:

asymmetric density of the left breast with no spiculation, calcification, or thickening of the skin - advise retest to determine cause of density

It could still be cancer, but it's now less likely. I'm marginally relieved. But I still won't know for certain until the 11th.

My appointment on the 11th was originally to have an IUD inserted to treat menorrhagia and hypermenorrhea (either annoying enough in its own right), but I suppose it will also cover the results of the upcoming mammogram. All this poking and prodding, squeezing, and mashing is becoming tiresome. If reincarnation is true, I'm coming back as a man next time.

Logan just called to tell me his results. His bone scan revealed that his white count is elevated, which means he has some sort of infection in his bone. The doctor said he will either need a total knee replacement or an amputation. More doctors have been called in to consult. Logan will of course get a second opinion if an amputation is recommended, but opined as how he'd like to have a red macaw and an earring if they do cut off his left leg at the knee.

Happy news, yes?

I did have a happy time Sunday evening. "The Gals" and I got together at Shellie's house, which was just lovely with cute and unique Christmas decorations. The table was elegant, and the food, cooked by Herbie, Susan, Heather, and Mrs. Smith, was delicious. Shellie made a nice salad, and I was lazy and bought a pie. I woke up with my back in a misery after sharing my bed with Eric, and I just never got up and around good in time to bake a pie. I made one last weekend when we had originally planned to have our Christmas party, but were thwarted by an attack of the wrathful plumbing gods. Shellie and Herbie had plumbing problems, and Brighid managed to pull the bibcock off the wall of the house in the backyard as well. Not that we could have had the party at my house -- the kitchen is mostly clean, but the rest of the hovel looks as if a bomb made of laundry and legos has exploded. I suppose it's just as well, since Logan was laid up in bed with a pillow under his knee, and the kids were firmly ensconced in front of the computers, dreaming up new ways to torture their families in The Sims.

Speaking of games, I'm off to play a round of spades before lunch is over.

Happy F*%#ing New Year

Or so my eldest daughter, Beth, said, in a text message sent to me early yesterday morning. I was at the Shamrock, drinking with Eric. We had just gotten back from seeing Brokeback Mountain. It was a tale of misery, for sure. I just wanted to slap everyone involved, and yell at them, "get on with it or get over it." Of course, being gay in the late 60's and early 70's in Montana and Texas was different (though not much depending upon distance from an urban setting), but gawd! There sure is enough misery to go around in the world.

Logan had phoned just before Beth, on her way to drunk (her words), sent me the lovely greeting. I thought it was so sweet for him to call me at midnight to wish me Happy New Year. He was at home, minding die Kinder. He let them stay up til midnight, then sent them off to bed. When I got home from the bar, he was still awake. Eric spent the night (in my bed) since his mom didn't want him driving with all the drunks and cops out. So Logan (playing Age of Empires 3), Eric, and I drank some more. Eric opened a couple of bottles of a heavy red wine which I had trouble drinking. The acidity was pretty high, and I had already had three rum & Cokes (doubles at that!), so I wasn't really in a mood to drink anyway.

I needed something to help me relax, though, since I've been worried about my test results -- or lack thereof. I had a mammogram done on the 27th, and got a letter back the next day from the radiologist saying I needed further tests. My doctor is on vacation until the 11th, but I went ahead and scheduled another mammogram for the 9th. What a wonderful way to start the new year.