geeking on garden tools

My neighbor Ron lent me a pretty darned nice garden tool today. It's a weeder. It's used standing up. It works really well.

I spent some time wandering our little backyard and pulling up thistles and plaintains (which my pup is extremely allergic to). I wouldn't go so far as to say it was fun, but it didn't suck the way weeding normally sucks.

Now I must have my own. I'll probably even use it.

living in a small town

I didn't get the MRI yesterday. The appointment at the hospital was cancelled because the technician who does MRIs was out sick. I know it's a small hospital, but sheesh.

I still had the full-mouth x-rays, a knee x-ray and the mammograms. So it was dose day after all.

she can rent her own damned car

Next time my older sister comes to visit, she's on her own.

Seems my late cousin Joe left Ter a quarter of a million dollars.

I'm really happy for her, and she's really upset and anxious and feeling very guilty. She's welcome to give it to me, of course, but there's not a big history of that sort of thing from her.

*insert big cheesy grin here*

Anyway, after a lifetime of money problems, there's some relief for her. And that is a good thing. And maybe if one of her kids finally graduates from high school (the first three didn't bother with that nonsense) he might be able to go to college. That's got to feel good to her!

But next time she comes to the PNW, she can rent her own damned car.

she's what!?!?!?!

I'm taking care of myself.

I saw my wonderful doc this afternoon, for my knee. She wasn't very encouraging about it being a minor injury. And it's also time to catch up on other things. Wednesday I have a consult for my upcoming follow-up colonoscopy. Thursday morning I see the dentist. Thursday afternoon I have an MRI of my knee, as well as an x-ray of it, and my regular yearly diagnostic mammograms. If I get to the hospital early enough, I can also have my fasting bloodwork done.

On Wednesday I will learn how to give my dog her allergy shots.

Can't say I enjoy all this attention.

like fair is a natural concept

This is how we die sometimes.

Slowly. Confused. Angry to be giving up control. Tired. Conflicted. Disoriented.

Mostly we just want to wake up one day, dead. I guess it happens like that sometimes, not that I've ever seen it.

Dignity can be lost in a whole host of scenarios. Losing the ability to make decisions for herself seems to be happening at the moment for Aunt Grace. I will pray that the person who is now responsible does the right thing, whatever the hell that is.

decision!

I'm staying put. And you know I'm going to tell you why.

Aunt Grace will be sprung from the rehab center sometime next week. She's been offered hospice care (a few hours a day) in her home. She realizes she'll need more than that but is only willing to have someone for 4 hours a day. The hospice nurse will come for 2 hours a day. The other 18 hours, she'll be alone. She's not eating, is very weak, and now apparently her hands are shaking quite badly. I don't know how she thinks she's going to take care of herself but not only is she not asking for help, she's refusing the help that's offered (Jeanne has offered to spend the first few nights with her).

So this is how she wants things. My presence isn't going to change that. Add to that a mixture of some seriously passive aggressive family issues on her nephew's side and an absentee POA (who just "can't handle it when Grace isn't feeling well"), and you get the picture. And the picture is a talkie, and it's saying "Do not go there."

So this is how I was thinking. I took a long walk on the beach with Inti, to dawdle a bit and enjoy the sun. It's a stunningly beautiful day here, if a wee bit chilly. I met up with my neighbor and friend and we finished the walk together and then spent a full hour idling in her driveway (she took me up on an offer to drive her and the pups back up the hill) talking. And she's not having such a good time of it right now, relationship-wise, to put it gently. And she said, quietly, "Don't go now. If you weren't here I wouldn't have anyone to talk to."

I try to live by the signs, I jokingly tell myself. All the damned signs are talking to me. It won't be all that easy, but I'm going to just stay right here, because for a lot of reasons it's the right thing to do.

decisions, decisions

I'm thinking I should go back east. Resisting the idea, of course, but thinking about it all the same.

Aunt Grace is trying to decide on hospice care at home. She likes the idea that Medicare will pay for a few hours daily of nursing care, but is having a hard time with the idea that if her heart starts giving her trouble, she won't be going to the hospital. I understand, and it is indeed a hard decision. Palliative care is so different from the way we take care of ourselves all our lives, and in her case that's almost 93 years.

Jeanne thinks Aunt Grace needs someone to talk to to help her make that decision, and someone close to her. Of course, Aunt Grace won't call her friends and burden them with that. Jeanne thought that maybe my brother could help. I've never had a heart-to-heart with my brother and I have a high level of confidence that I never will. And while that doesn't mean he's not up to it, well, there's nothing in our history together that would lead me to believe he's capable of it. But I called him anyway and other than the usual "I'll try to make it down there" vague and non-committal scheduling issues (I can only guess that the wife has him on a short tether), he seemed willing.

Last summer I had to have such a talk with hobbitt's sister in Michigan. But I can't do this for Aunt Grace over the phone. Of course I couldn't get back there in time for her scheduled release from the rehab center on Wednesday (which will also require my brother's help - strong arms to get her back into her home), but I'm thinking I could be of use.

I want to, and don't want to. I should have stayed. It's hard for me to sit tight. It was hard last week, too, when Jan was in charge of all decisions regarding my cousin. I'm so used to stepping up, or into the fray, or whatever you want to call it.

What to do?

oh no, not again

I knew it would happen. Yes, here it is. The post-crisis stultifyingly deep dark depression. I sure wish "active mode" had a fader feature, rather than this awful abysmal freefall.

*sigh*

latest news

So Jeanne called me yesterday to give me the straight dope about Aunt Grace.

Several large areas of her heart not functioning at all. On-going renal failure because of that.

4 months tops.

hospitality gone wild

I got to the home of Charlie and Mohamed yesterday afternoon. Immediately Charlie started mixing up 7&7s and dragging out just about every snack the guys had in the house. When Mohamed got home, he started cooking. He made a huge salad with mushrooms, hard-boiled eggs, olives, tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce and peppers. Then he made a huge bowl of shrimp cocktail. Then he started making a traditional Egyptian fava bean dish (which Charlie won't eat), fried eggplant with lethal amounts of garlic (which Charlie won't eat), and falafel (which Charlie won't eat).

Dinner was amazing. I love Mo's cooking. He knows I love his eggplant and falafel and has even come to my house prepared to make it for me in my own home.

About two hours later, Mo was hungry again and started frying up chicken wings, so for me, dessert was hot buffalo wings. He's upset that I won't stay another day and to be honest, I could stay if I wanted. But I'm not sure I could waddle out of the house on Wednesday.

Somehow these guys have maintained their weight. Mo is working out almost daily at the gym and he is buff. Even Charlie, who like me has struggled most of his adult life with his weight, is looking good. I don't know where all the Sun Chips, sesame sticks, cashews, spinach dip and corn chips go, not to mention the Seagrams. But I know where they'd go if I stayed, so I am outta here in about 45 minutes.

I'll be back in hobbitt's arms in about 12 hours.

random thoughts that may or may not be related to funerals and loss

I saw Jill yesterday briefly, and she served me lunch while I helped feed Dylan. She hadn't known I was in NJ. I didn't tell her until yesterday. But on Monday, she dreamed that I was staying at her home for Aunt Grace's funeral.

Her ghost is back. I don't know if I've ever blogged about it. Sometimes when I was babysitting, I would hear a plastic cup being dropped over and over again on the kitchen floor. I could see the entire kitchen from where I was, and there was no cup. Dylan's toys would turn themselves on and off at random. He would follow something around the room with his eyes and point. This happened all the time.

Yesterday, while I was feeding Dylan, I thought a dog came to me and nudged my leg with its nose. Then I remembered they don't have a dog. Evidently spoons are starting to flip out of the sink and onto the floor and one of Dakota's toys was turned off while Jill was holding it and watching the switch move.

I'm using my cousin's computer since the unsecured wireless network nearby has a signal too weak for me to steal. I don't use AOL and I don't know how to "turn off" the instant message function. So folks all over the place are freaked out that Joe is using his computer. I have an away message set that says who I am and why I'm using his ID. Last night I received an instant message from one of Joe's oldest friends Chick, who wrote: "I know this isn't Joe. But you said if this ever happened you'd come back to haunt me. And now I see you have."

Aunt Grace is pretty puny. I think, and I hope, that we've said our goodbyes. I don't know if I'll come back here any time soon, though. Someone else in my family can represent me.

My cousin didn't eat vegetables. I think I'll need a bucket of Metamucil and a plunger when I get home.

My sister and her husband stayed in Joe's room the past few nights and left yesterday. This morning the alarm in that room went off at 5:30 a.m. Okay, that's like 2:30 a.m. for me on west coast time. I didn't have too much of a problem waking up enough to deal with that, but when my own alarm went off at 8:00 a.m., it took me perhaps 10 full minutes to force myself awake, even though I was standing and starting laundry.

Driving in a funeral cortege, regardless of how small, on the New Jersey Turnpike during late rush hour is a pretty stupid idea, if you ask me.

When crossing Route 9 in Lakewood yesterday, there were two cars heading my way that were stopped to make a left hand turn. Just as I entered the intersection, a minivan roared into the oncoming lane from behind the two cars and made a left hand turn in front of me. Gotta love NJ drivers. Not.

I've learned a lot about kindness and commitment from the Snyder family this past week. And maybe about patience. I was incredibly impatient at Jan for leaving my cousin on a ventilator when she knew he absolutely didn't want that. My thinking was not generous about it. I wasted a ton of energy in that thinking, when all I really needed to do was try to understand how hard it all was for her. In the greater scheme of things, a few days on a ventilator doesn't mean squat compared to the guilt and doubt that she would have felt had she made terrible decisions sooner. The upshot for Joe is peace, one hopes. And the way it all panned out, there's lots of peace for Jan and her family, too.

This is what I mean about my stinginess of spirit. I was ready to extend compassion to my cousin but not to the person who meant the most in the world to him. It was not possible for me to see the other side of the coin. So while I think I can do the compassion thing, I realize now that I'm only able to do that on my terms. And that particular way of thinking needs work.

It's cold here, and dry. I'm ready for some damp and clouds and weather perhaps just a tad warmer than this. I'm ready for blooms and bees and digging. I haven't "walked the dog" in a week, and my knee, though still quite sore, is also much better. Yet I have confidence that shortly after arriving home I'll be imprudent again.

Dylan is pretty well potty trained. He's wearing pull-up thingies. I had to watch the kids alone for about thirty seconds yesterday, during which time Dylan crapped his pants. The aroma wafted up to my nostrils while I was holding Dakota, and I said, "Dylan - did your sister poop her pants?" He said, "No, I did," and laughed. How, precisely, do you change a kid with pull-ups when they're overflowing with crap? That is, without getting his legs and outerwear all crapped up? Nevermind - I'm not sure I'll ever need to know that.

I was sad that he didn't say, "Poor Elmo" or "Poor Spiderman" or actually "Poor Incredible Hulk" which was the case. Because even though the goal is for him to say "I need to potty," it's still pretty damned cute when he laments crapping on the Incredible Hulk.

For those of you with unsecured wireless networks, I have only one thing to say. Boost the signal, dammit!

That is all for now. Maybe one of Charlie's neighbors boosted the signal and you'll have to read me again later. Time to fold up and stow the sheets I was using on this sofa bed, take out the trash, and slip the garage door opener under the closing door. Joe's AOL account, when he shuts it down, says in a sexy voice: "Goodbye, Joey."






Goodbye, Joey.

yet another home stretch

Yesterday's funeral mass at St. Gregory the Great was amazing. Amazing to the point that my sister Nanc and I thought it might be possible to attend Catholic church again. Almost.

The priest knew my cousin Joe, since Joe attended mass every morning. He knew where Joe sat on which days (in the back during the week and up front on weekends) and why (because when it was crowded in church, Joe worried about being able to be on his feet for too long). Father Rich is a young man (maybe 40?) with a rich baritone singing voice and what appeared to be great reverence and joy at doing his job. He spoke with love about my cousin's volunteer work at the church (candles and helping his friend Jan with floral arrangements) and the hospital (5 days a week until he got too sick). He understood that blood family took second place in Joe's life after he was adopted by his "across the driveway neighbors" 20 years ago.

Jan took note of him and after a few days of settling in to her new condo, invited Joe to dinner. His response was, "I already ate." But she kept up with the invitation and eventually Joe became not just a friendly neighbor but a family member. Jan's first son was at high risk of SIDS death, and when she needed help, Joe would rush over to hold the baby for her. And when that son died, Joe was the first one over there to hold her hand. He wouldn't have had a clue what to say, but he could do that: hold her hand and cry with her, and remember David with her, when no one else had memories of the three-month-old child and therefore many people avoided her. When one of her later-born sons broke his leg, it was Joe who rushed them to the hospital. He was there for every cut and scrape, every graduation and birthday, every honor, every high school play. His photo albums and scrap books are full of "family" events with the Snyders and thank-you letters from the two sons, now grown and in college, and who still consider Joe their dearest (if "oldest") friend.

Father Rich knew all of this. (I didn't. Joe didn't talk about stuff like this.) The service was beautiful, personal, heartfelt and deeply spiritual. The priest related story after story showing what kind of man my cousins was. When a new and elderly neighbor moved next door here, Pat walked over to introduce himself. He said to my cousin, "I know we'll be good neighbors and friends." Joe's reply: "We'll see." And yet every morning Joe brought Pat's newspaper from the driveway to the door, knowing that Pat couldn't walk well at all - though neither did Joe - and sat with him for a brief bit of company and a cup of coffee.

When it came time for the sacrament, Father Rich invited us all to come to the altar. I didn't do this at my parents' funerals. According to church doctrine, I can no longer receive the sacraments, and even though I don't believe that the Divine really gives a rat's ass about Catholic church doctrine, I respected my parents enough not to push it. But Father Rich invited even those of us who would not receive the sacrament to come forward, and to hold our hands at our hearts so he would know to give us a blessing instead of the wafer. He clamped his hand onto the top of my head and then touched my cheek with his hand. I won't forget how he included me yesterday, how before and even after the service he held me in a tight embrace while I wept all over his vestments. I won't forget the enormous capacity that all these people in Joe's life had not only for him, but for giving and loving. It's an important lesson for me about expansion over contraction, embracing over protecting, extending rather than turning away, and keeping open, all the time. To see my stinginess and selfishness, my laziness and my threadbare spirit in such a compassionate setting was a gift and a hope and a light.

Being in his church and with his community was comforting. Staying here in his home is comforting. When I leave here tomorrow, after his burial, I'm likely to never see this place again or any of the things Joe had that I remember from his father's house, from when I was a little girl, like the old crank phone, the letters from my grandmother, the hundreds of photos of my grandparents and aunts and uncles in their youth. These things all belong to someone else now, and I know the Snyders will treasure and honor these things from deep within their hearts.

I was horrified to see that my return tickets are for Thursday. I was cheered to know that I can change them to Tuesday, and I have. I'll see Aunt Grace again today and maybe pop in on Jill if I can track her down. After the burial tomorrow I'll come back here to clean up after myself and then head off to visit with Charlie and Mohamed, where I'll spend the night. It's just a short drive from there to Philly, and I have only a 2-hour layover at O'Hare instead of the 4 coming east. hobbitt will be at SeaTac to take me home.

I wonder how many meat grinders I'll have to go through before I finally get tenderized the way the universe evidently wants me to be.

Remind me when I get home that it's time to start trying to make more of myself, do more for others and try to make a difference somewhere. Just don't call too early, okay?

so that happened

I got to the hospital this morning just before 9 a.m. The monitors were grim: temperature of 102.5 (which rose to 104 within 90 minutes), heart rate at about 150, blood pressure 80/50, respiration rate between 50 and 60 per minute.

I sat down and waited. I talked to four of Joe's doctors. They were quite clear. I didn't need to be told. I know what all that means, and I know what flesh-eating bacteria means and I know what advanced prostate cancer means and I know what Joe wanted. I was okay with all of this. I asked the doctors to please, please, let the medical POA know what this means, and to make sure she heard it.

Joe had said to her, in no uncertain terms, "If I ever get like that, pull the fucking plug." She had said to me yesterday, and it was echoed by her husband, "I can't do that."

She arrived at the hospital at noon, saw the monitors and blanched. She looked at me. I said, "Jan, let him go. I'm begging you." She turned and walked away. I wasn't sure she'd heard me at all. But within a few hours, the doctors assembled, and gave her the real deal. Joe would never regain most normal bodily functions. He would be in a bed, in a nursing home, with a trach, unable to walk, sit, or stand, bagging his wastes, all the while with an enormous open wound in his groin. And while in that bed, he'd be waiting to die, painfully, from the prostate cancer which had spread to his bones.

She looked at me, and I said, "Please, take one step." The critical care doctor had suggested removing the supporting medicines, while leaving in the ventilator. One step. Removing the ventilator could be visited later. She agreed.

So for most of the afternoon, Joe was breathing hard with the help of the ventilator. His blood pressure dropped. His kidney function tapered off. He was on a continuous morphine drip.

My sister arrived and we went to have some dinner. I hadn't eaten since the night before. We dawdled a bit, and when we got back to the hospital about 6:30 Jan had decided it was enough with the ventilator. They were just waiting for us to come back from dinner before they had it removed. And so right after the nurses changed shifts, the ventilator was removed.

Two hours later, at 9:30 p.m., Joe left us very, very peacefully. We held him and prayed over him. We cried with him and celebrated with him. We called everyone that needed calling. And then just before midnight, the funeral directors came and picked him up, and Jan and I were able to go home.

So here I am at Joe's, eating reheated frozen pizza (thank you, Joe!) at his computer desk (forgive me, Joe!) and having a second large cocktail (thank you, Joe!) while blogging via his AOL dialup connection (WTF Joe?). My cousin had a hard and lonely life. He didn't ask for much, and lived simply and honorably and volunteered his time and loved his few friends and never complained and sometimes I feel like a real shit for bitching about the stupid hangnails of my existence when I have so much that Joe never had: a true and abiding romantic love, health, and a myriad of loving friends.

I celebrate his life, his faith, his determination.

Aunt Grace knows I'm "in town," which is to say, in the state. I want to get to see her soon. She's in a nursing home and is unlikely to be going home to anything like her independent former life. She is refusing food. I don't know whether that means she's not finding food palatable or isn't able to actually eat, but I think I know what she's doing. And I don't blame her. At 92, she's outlived most of her friends and family and has nothing to look forward to except depending upon others. She heard I was "in town" and said, "Good. Now bhd can go to two funerals."

I wonder. I wonder about the human spirit and what it can accomplish. Joe accomplished a pretty good life with his friends Jan and Greg and their children these past few decades. He had little more than that, and I don't doubt for a minute that his exit was timely and appropriate, even if it was sudden and shocking. Aunt Grace has had enough. I wish for her the strength to accomplish her goal.

My father used to say there are worse things than death. I've seen those things and I'm happy for my cousin Joe, and I have hope for my Aunt Grace. In the meantime, I have some clothes shopping to do. Jeans and hiking boots isn't going to cut it.

what do we hope for?

So I'm heading into the fray tomorrow. I should arrive at the hospital somewhere around 10:30 p.m. eastern time. I don't know what I will find there, other than my cousin's dear friend Jan who will give me a key to Joe's house, which is right across the street from the hospital. Convenient.

I should have time to see Aunt Grace, too, who didn't have pneumonia but instead, congestive heart failure. She's only about 30 miles from where Joe is, and her nephew's wife is with her, so I don't feel quite so pressured about that.

But I don't know what we're hoping for. Joe is so sick, and his tissue so necrotic that the doctors had to do an orchiectomy. Look it up. They were unable to insert a urinary catheter the usual way because he was so swollen with infection. There is more tissue that may need to be removed. He is 63, and what he has to look forward to, should he ever recover from the gaping wound that used to be his groin, is more chemotherapy for his advanced prostate cancer (it's in his bones). And he's all alone.

I'm bringing our grandmother's prayer books. I'll read and pray from the books, aloud. They are stuffed with memorial cards for our family members, including his father and mother. And I'll wonder why the Catholic Church, which he has attended daily for decades, won't send a priest to give the sacrament of Last Rites, that is if Jan's husband didn't kidnap the priest today as he threatened to do, and drag him bodily to the hospital.

So what are we hoping for? I don't know. I truly don't know. Well, actually, I know what I'm hoping for, but I'm just not ready to say it out loud.

heading east

Seems my cousin is in bad shape. After months of chemo, his body was too weak to fight off what amounted to a boil, and which turned into a serious infection which is now in his blood. The doctors were able to remove all the gangrenous material from his abdomen, and that infection stopped spreading, but they're giving him a 30% chance of making it. Right now he's on a ventilator and in a coma.

He has dear friends nearby who are looking out for him. I'll be there Monday night.

pah-tay!

Pass! 93% - but let me be specific.

I got one wrong on the plant ID part. I wrote C instead of G. And I mean this sincerely - I wrote the letter incorrectly. minus 1

The tolerance level for crane fly larva in lawns: 25 in on resource, 40 in another. I said 40. minus 3, but those points would have been returned to me if I'd asked for them. I didn't bother.

The reason fruit trees are grafted to rootstocks: to reduce vigor and plant size. I said disease resistence. Oops. minus 3

So I guess it's really 96%. I even got the extra credit correct - and it was tough. We had to match three diseases to their type: bacterial, viral or fungal.

So I did the thing. Start to finish, A to Z. For once.

Then I came home to find out that my cousin Joe is in the hospital with an infection (and he has late stage prostate cancer), and that Aunt Grace, who was supposed to come home from the nursing home yesterday, is instead in the hospital with possible pneumonia. They hadn't been able, in the nursing home, to get her pulse under 114, so I'm not sure whether she'd have been able to take care of herself at all. I hope this epidode ends quickly for her. She's 92. She's more than ready.

So today, just like any other day, is the whole catastrophe once again. Gotta love it!

gulp

I am actually nervous. Scared, almost. I thought I might have to take a chill pill, my good old vitamin x.

Mrs. P made me a sample kit - she took leaves from all the broadleaf evergreens and wrote the name on the back. I'm not sure we can use it, but I'll ask. Anyway, it was very nice, and a lot of effort on her part, since she doesn't have all those trees on her property.

So. I find this fear somewhat interesting. A dear friend asked me last night when the last time was I took a final. And I really don't know. The closest I can come to how I feel right now is perhaps my first detailing (mammogram, chest x-ray and nuclear bone scan) after my surgery, chemo and radiation. That was pretty scary.

I'm all grown up now. If I flunk out of this class, the worst that will happen is that I won't have to volunteer 100 hours of my time in the next two years. I should worry about that? Heck. I like to sleep in. These freaking gardeners, they do things in the early morning.

I would like to say argh

Argh. Yep. With just that much empasis.

I sat at this infernal machine for about nine hours yesterday putting together a study guide for the plant ID portion of tomorrow's MG exam. By "study guide" I mean a compendium of all the possible plants we'll need to identify with close-up photos and the text of the plants' characteristics. For about 75 conifers, broad-leaf evergreen trees and shrubs (and they are legion in this part of the world), deciduous shrubs, vines, ferns, groundcovers and noxious weeds. The broadleaf evergreens (laurel, pieris, photinia, madrone and rhododendrons all look alike to me, and yes, they're all in the exam) are to my mind a bit worse than even the conifers (the firs, cedars, spruce, pines, sequoia, hemlocks and cypress). I don't think I have to worry much about the deciduous things, since the instructors are unlikely to find fresh specimens for the exam, and even they wouldn't be evil enough to have us identify dormant twigs. Right?

And by "study guide" I actually mean a cheat sheet that we are allowed to use when identifying the plants. Yes, I can have photographs of the plant to help me. So this can't be all that hard, right? Right?

The multiple-choice and true-false part of the exam are open book. The books which can be open are very well indexed. Thirty-one questions and 20 plants to ID, in 180 minutes. I certainly can't be puzzling very long on any one thing, that's for sure.

So last night I dreamed about all these plants in their botanical Latin-name glory. Suffice it to say I didn't sleep well. I feel like I have a hangover today. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings, and regardless of what happens, this long national nightmare will be over by noon.

wow

So we've owned this house for a whole year today.

It was supposed to have been yesterday, but some chucklehead wouldn't release the funds in time, so the papers didn't get filed at the county until a year ago today.

I suppose we should celebrate that somehow. Hmmm. Chocolate souffles?

yeah well

I am okay. 'Nuff said.

I had the last instructional MG class today. It's been grand. I've learned a whole lot - again. Faithful readers will know that I did this "same" training in New Joy Sea last winter. And then we moved. I didn't bother to take the exam, since there was no way I would have finished enough volunteer time to get the title.

The exam is Friday. Our project was very well received - in fact, Mrs. Pandammy and I both received kiss on the cheek from the instructor after our presentation. When we mentioned the keys on the "take away" business-card sized plant blurbs, the whole class gasped in approval. Excellent idea, Mrs. P! Way to go!

Ahem. Anyway, it went over well. And now we're done with our classes. I will take the exam on Friday and I do expect to pass. Then will commence the volunteer part of the deal, and already I've signed up for 38 hours of plant clinic time (the requirement is 18) of the 100 hours I'll need to become a bona fide "Master Gardener." I think I'll learn the most in plant clinic, with the veterans, diagnosing plant problems and diseases. I should. Over the course of 38 hours between now and October.

It wasn't such a big deal in New Joy Sea. The course was shorter (9 weeks of 2 half-days a week) but a bigger volunteer effort was required. And the major volunteer efforts involved the plant clinic and the tick lab. And I could not effing wait to put in time at the tick lab! I swear to the almighty I looked forward to that. The big things in New Joy Sea were turf problems and ticks, but up here it's fungal plant diseases and inappropriate species.

Aw, who cares. I'm gonna finish. I'm gonna do this thing, and accomplish something, for the first time in more than a decade.

Anyway. Wish me luck. I've taken this course twice and would like to finish.

someone else's blues

...when I woke up this morning
I must've had someone else's blues
I swear I don't know why....

Someone Else's Blues, David Bromberg, from Wanted: Dead or Alive


Yep. That's me. I'm sitting here on a Friday night, alone, and low low low. hobbitt is attending a kitemaker's retreat at Fort Worden, getting together with old, long-time friends and otherwise enjoying his artistic self. I love that.

I had MG class today. Water quality and vegetable gardening. In the middle of the afternoon session, a young woman whom I'll call Kirsten (because that is indeed her name) popped in the meeting room and dropped an envelope on the table in front of me. I was rather sleepy, the room being all kinds of warm and oxygen-free and all, so I was a bit slow on the uptake. I turned to face her, and she winked at me and high-tailed it out of the room.

She's been missing in action for the past few weeks. I liked her - she was a spitfire, and younger than the average master gardener training attendee (the average being somewhere in the mid-50's, I think). She came back here to have lunch one day early on, and talked a little about herself: a child, living with its father far away, who was better able to provide a stable life; work as a bartender in Pete; having come here because this is where her folks moved. There is a sadness about her eyes, though her voice and demeanor are spirited and fun and inviting.

Inside the envelope was a crystal star (flourite or amethyst, I'm not sure) and a lovely card with a thank-you for the lunch I gave her all those weeks ago. I wondered for a moment if I was the only person in class she'd connected with. I wasn't sure what to do - she bolted as soon as she dropped the card on my desk. She walked out with the education coordinator and the two women seemed to be talking.

I didn't really want to miss the lecture (on vegetable garden problems) but something got very restless inside my spirit all of a sudden. And a deep dark sadness crept into my soul. And I almost started to cry. So it wasn't that long before I walked out the door to see if she was still outside talking with Janet. She was.

But what was I supposed to do? I walked up to her and hugged her, thanked her. I looked her in the eyes and asked, "Are you okay?" She nodded hesitantly, said yes. I could see quite clearly that she wasn't okay. But she was engaged in another conversation, and I needed not to be skipping out on the lecture. I leveled my gaze at her and nodded. There wasn't much else to do.

At the end of class Mrs. Pandammy and I took the usual post-class-late-afternoon dogwalk on the beach. Mt. Baker was exquisite, its lower slopes crystal clear across the Admiralty Inlet and Whidbey Island. A beautiful afternoon, and yet I was so very close to tears. I needed to pick up my blood pressure meds at the Safeway, so right at dark I drove up into town. As I was checking out hobbitt was coming in with Jose Sainz, a gifted kite artist. We hugged briefly and I limped out to my car. (Yes, my knee is still kaput.)

And on the way home the tears came. Whose are they? I wonder if they're Alison's. I know she must be feeling that cold electric excitement of wonder and regret. Are they mine? Kirsten's?

alas

I know it's late.
I know you're weary.
I know your plans don't include me.

But why the hell were you closed on Mardis Gras, of all days, and for cleaning!?!?!?

Sirens, Sirens, Sirens, you let me down.

I guess we'll have to try again tonight.