customer service

I have been in a fog of customer service fits and starts all morning.

For some reason, I awoke knowing that I need to accomplish something today. I need to speak with the vet, as the pooch, in spite of being in month 2 of allergy shots, is scratching herself almost bloody. I need to speak with the cell phone provider, since there seems to be some major screw up regarding the rebates (as well as the SIM cards) for our recent phone upgrade. I need to speak to the bank in New Joy Sea to find out the best way to close our accounts there.

The vet is in surgery and will call this afternoon.

Cingular has no record of our phone upgrade or our new contract. The first rep I spoke to told me the rebate would be half of what the flyer offered. Customer Care wasn't able to deal with the rebate issues, so I was transferred to the Rebate Department. They can't do anything without approval from Customer Care.

Luckily, when I called Customer Care again, I got an angel: Rita, in Oklahoma City. We were on the phone together for about 45 minutes. She is personally sending me the rebate forms (and yes, this was a VIP upgrade so it's $100 rebate on each phone), and was able to discern that our contract was never put in force, as the "activation" on hobbitt's phone was never completed. (I completed that the day the phones arrived, after ascertaining that the SIM cards they sent us were worthless and mining the SIMs out of our old phones.) I used my cell phone to go through the activation process again for hobbitt's phone, while she waited. And waited. And waited. As best I know, it still hasn't gone through.

As for the bank, the first part of that was easy, closing the regular accounts. I still have an IRA there, and it doesn't mature until next year. I only wanted to make sure they had the new address on the account. (I only get statements once per quarter, and truly cannot remember the last time I received a statement.) But fifteen minutes on hold was enough for today.

So now I can either sit around for the rest of the day waiting for the vet to call back, or Rita from Cingular to call back, or I can get a move on. I choose option #2.

This is more than I normally get accomplished in an entire day. And it's only noon.

scrim

I had occasion tonight to read back in my blog from a little more than a year ago. I was astounded at what I read.

Back then I was in the midst of the NJ Master Gardener class, and getting ready to move. And in the middle of all of that, I found that I was writing beautiful and wonderous things. I was involved with and experiencing the landscape of our home with gratitude and wonder. Though I'm sure most of what was before me escaped my notice, still the unfolding spring held my rapt attention, and in some ways I was immersed, at one, with that.

Since moving here? Not so much, at least to my back-reading. I shouldn't be surprised that our dealings with the builder (whose name we do not speak at druid labs) kept me in a pretty steady state of aggravation. It's no secret that our exposed and nuked yard has rattled my cage. I have spent very little time, in spite of all the gardening I did last year (which mostly consisted of weeding and digging beds in mid-summer, the dryest time of the year here), involved with or even on our land. Handling the depth and breadth of the nettle and thistle infestation was beyond my emotional reserves. Once Bryn and I finished working together, I rarely ventured out back other than to mow the dusty so-called lawn.

This isn't just coming to my attention, of course. I mentioned it here at home on a number of occasions during the winter. Even during the past three months, which have seen the plantings of eight laurels and a mixture of 35 vine maples, cascaras, ninebarks and red twig dogwoods, plus a western red cedar, I haven't felt engaged or connected to this land.

This is true even when I'm at the beach. There is a strong detachment, a barrier which I can neither comprehend nor overcome. Make no mistake, I love it here, and am enchanted and captivated at every turn, on every day. We still do the happy dance at the beach or in the meadow every evening. We still look at each other with that almost-teary joy at all that is before us, and at our happy circumstance to have landed here.

And yet it's all just beyond my emotional grasp. I am dis-spirited, in an almost literal way, and in my spiritual tradition this is a serious condition. I've said it other ways: my life force is dwindling. I have had many temporary reprieves, and I don't feel particularly at risk. There's no abyss before me, ready to suck me into another crippling depression. Last night, as I lay soaking in the tub, I came to tears remembering what little I do about my youth. I didn't love that adventerous girl enough, I didn't tell her how special she was, I didn't protect her from harm, and now she's gone. I knew that all that was important was to honor those feelings. The past is done, and mourning is appropriate and it's also the limit of what I can do about it. Healing can't happen then - it has to happen now.

I begin to write: Why is this, when my life is so good, so beautiful, so easy? And then I remember what this past year has been. Sometimes not too good, and pretty difficult: filled with rage and frustration and confusion and separation and struggle and grief. Also the other stuff, of course, but a whole lot of this.

At one time I thought this year was going to be about welcome, and opening my home. I was never sure of that, if I can be perfectly honest. I'm starting to think this year is going to be about finding the way back to balance, to the center and the knowing. Many of the major events this past year have been about loss - the loss of hobbitt's sister, and then the loss of her husband to whatever sick and ugly frustrations have power over him; the loss of my cousin; the loss of my special aunt. The loss of a lovely home, the loss of proximity to my family, as confusing and confounding as that always was. And yet it's not complete without acknowledging all the freshness in finding community and friends and the indescribable natural beauty that I get to wallow in every day.

Many, many people have pulled on my heartstrings this past year, some needing, or wanting, or just hurting. I'd like to think I was present for them. And there have been many who are also inviting, and giving, and joyous, and somehow I wasn't able to entirely immerse myself in those experiences. I had always said that I never wanted to live in a new house, as it seemed strange to me to be in a space that didn't already have a history, or stories, or spirits. I wonder if I primed myself with that thinking, to the feeling that this house has yet to be inhabited, to have life breathed into it in the way our other homes (both of which we were the 2nd owners) felt.

So this is a "new house", and it's up to me to breathe the life into it. This is the new life, which belongs entirely to me and not to some other obligation, and I no longer have a script. It's all here, and it's pretty good, and I can't actually feel that it's real.

I don't entirely feel up to the task. I don't know where to look for help. I'm also not really afraid. I know that healing has to take place in the here and now. I have faith that it will come, somehow.

tagged!

Golly. Alison tagged me. But I already knew this, since I am assimilated, and so is her beau.

The Five Meme

5 items in my fridge

1. three opened bottles of wine
2. romaine lettuce
3. ayahuasca
4. linguica sausage
5. Coombes Farm cheddar

5 items in my closet

1. the hamper my family had in the bathroom when I was a child
2. many, many, many kite event t-shirts
3. 2 different funeral outfits
4. a ritual mask I created ten years ago, with all the requisite feather mites
5. a door to a secret hiding place

5 items in my car

1. lip blam (Un-Petroleum)
2. the faint smell of wet dogs
3. a purple boa scarf that Lily34 made for me
4. black Reinstock baseball cap
5. lavender aromatherapy thingie for the cigarette lighter

5 items in my purse (aka, my wallet, which is under the driver seat in my car at all times, or else I can't find it)

1. lip blam
2. emery boards
3. my mother's health insurance cards
4. my American Express card
5. my passport (I'm always prepared to make my escape)

5 people who are tagged

1. Redneck Nerdboy
2. triskele
3. NWG
4. edieraye
5. BlueEyes

As if any one of them read this blog. *sigh*

we are borg, and we command aalln to stop laughing

I have been assimilated.
















This is my new Bluetooth cranial implant. When I say "Call home" it commands my cell phone to call home. The cell phone has no choice but to obey.

Personally, I'd rather say, "Winning Lotto Numbers Please" but I understand there are still some kinks in the Matrix.*

I took the picture with my new Motorola Razr.

* Maybe I should have watched those movies, huh?

cuts like a knife

hobbitt and I just upgraded our cell phones. We had ones from the last century, almost. Not that it mattered to me. It worked like a phone should, and like an alarm clock should. That's more than I needed in the first place. I only needed a phone. (Oh, and my ringtone? A telephone ringing. Imagine that.)

So we got the Motorola Razr V3. Silver (mine) and black (his). The UPS gal was just here.

I don't think I'm going to see hobbitt for the rest of the evening.

Gotta love a geek like that.

my latest passion

Okay, it's not exactly a passion. Substitute for passion "the real reason I never get anything done." Anyway, I'm talking about tides.

Though I was raised at the Joy Sea Shore, not more than a half-mile from the ocean and one half-block from the Shark River (which is actually a bay), and even though we were students of the tides (because we fished and clammed and dragged rowboats to the river), for most of my adult life I haven't paid attention to the tides. That's easily explained by the fact that the part of the Delaware River I lived near was beyond the tides, and because Lake Michigan didn't qualify as tidal, either.

But here I am now in a waterfront community, on a peninsula sticking out into the Admiralty Inlet, connected to a larger peninsula that sticks out into the waters of the Pacific Ocean, the Strait of Juan de Fuca, and Puget Sound. Everywhere I look there is water. And every day, almost without fail, I'm walking the tideline, whatever it is.

It took a year, but it finally came to my attention that all tides are not equal, at least for part of the month. Take today's tide, for instance. Note that the difference between this morning's low tide (1 a.m.) and this morning's high tide (5 a.m.) is about six inches, and is separated by only 4 hours. But the difference between the morning's low and the mid-day low is 10 feet. Such tides occur just after the full and new moons, and during the daylight hours except in winter, from what I can tell.

These low tides stop the ferries. They also expose a rich variety of tidal life, and it's not possible to walk near the lagoon inlet, at the waterline, without stepping on hundreds of thousands of living sand dollars, which are both at risk and patiently waiting for the water to return.

Anyway, it puts me in mind of the fact that we live on a little spherical blob of celestial aggregate, which is speeding around a huge spherical ball of celestial fire, and we're all the while being circled by a cold and lonesome chunk of celestial blue cheese. Thinking about this makes me understand completely how we are just a part of the web of existence. I suppose it could make me feel puny and insignificant, but instead I am coming to understand how wonderful, how grand, and how absolutely incredibly divine this perfection is, and that I'm a part of it. And it makes me wonder why I ever ask for more.

spring tides

Around noon today was one of the lowest spring tides of year so far. The dock was almost aground, but a stiff breeze from the north drove enough of a wave to keep it barely afloat. An otter was feeding in the almost-exposed kelp beds, and let me approach pretty close before it dove and was seen no more.

When the tide is this low (and why do such spring tides, which happen near the full- and new-moons, only occur in the daylight hours?) I can actually walk along the clam beds, which is always an adventure. Step too close to a hole and a five-foot spout of water announces the annoyance of the clam. Most of the time that spout is right along side your shoe, and if you're as lucky as me, on the inside.

So I finished the walk with soaked jeans, but not without taking a close look at the wild columbines and chocolate lilies and fields of clover and Oregon grape and rugosa rose. I returned to the car with the scent of the meadow, the sound of the rufous hummingbird defending his territory from my intrusion, and the pitiful cries of the killdeer attempting to draw me away from the nest I never saw.

In other words, I returned from the walk with a head somehow cleared and my heart filled. As usual.

because it was a wonderful life

The creature who is in charge of Aunt Grace's arrangements and estate is a dick. This was the obit in the local paper.

GRACE L, 92, of LAKEWOOD, died Saturday, May 6, at home. Born in Newark, she lived in Springfield before moving to Lakewood 22 years ago.

She was predeceased by her husband, John L, in 1946. Surviving are a nephew and niece, Edward and Jean L of Point Pleasant; a niece, Joan L of New Providence; a grandnephew, Brian L; a grandniece, Karen S; three grandnieces and a grandnephew, Cathy C, Nancy R, Terry H, and John W; and a sister-in-law, Marie B.

A Funeral Mass will be offered at 10:30 a.m. Thursday at Holy Family Church, Lakewood. Interment will be in Woodland Cemetery, Newark. Donations can be made to the Leisure Village Nurses Association, Buckingham Drive, Lakewood, or a charity of your choice in her name.

As if this woman had no friends, little family and no history, and what is there is wrong. Everybody was pissed. The dick showed just how much she cared about this wonderful woman. As in: not a bit. But we're talking about a woman who meant the world to many, many people. So I tried to do it a little better.

GRACE L, 92, of LAKEWOOD, died Saturday, May 6, at home after a brief illness. Born in Newark to William and Jennie L, she lived in Maplewood, Irvington, and Springfield before moving to Lakewood 22 years ago. She worked as an accountant, traveling all over the US setting up offices and troubleshooting for American Insurance Company and Fireman’s Fund.

She was predeceased by her brothers Edward G. L of Springfield and Jack L of Lakewood. She was also predeceased by her husband, John L, in 1946, yet remained an integral part of the L family for the next 60 years. Above all else she enjoyed traveling the world and visited Europe twelve times. She enjoyed reading, playing cards, and visiting with her many long-time and dear friends. She was a member of the Italian American Club and Hear We Are Club at Leisure Village. She volunteered at Kimball Hospital for many years, as well as at the local library.

Mrs. L enjoyed dining out with family and friends and reveled in sharing stories of her traveling adventures. Her social calendar was always full and her company was a delight to her family and many life-long friends. Though she never drove a car, she had no problems getting out and about to go shopping or visiting, or to dine with friends or volunteer. Her greatest joy was to be "on the go."

Surviving are a nephew, Edward V. L of Point Pleasant; sister-in-law Marie B of Lakewood; nieces Joan L (the dick), Martha C, Terry H, Cathy C and Nancy W; nephews Donald K, Paul M, Thomas B, Dennis B and John W; eight grand-nieces and grand-nephews; two great-grand-nieces, one great-grand-nephew, and a dozen god-children.

The family wishes to express their deep gratitude to Jean L, for selflessly providing companionship and loving care in Mrs. L's last months.

Mrs. L was laid to rest with her beloved husband in Woodland Cemetery, Newark. The family requests memorial donations to the OLV Foundation, 19 Buckingham Drive, Lakewood, which provides both emergency and routine nursing services to residents of Original Leisure Village.

It'll be in Friday's paper. I hope the dick sees it. Sometimes it's good that people don't participate in the digital world, because I can vent my spleen without fear of their being disabused of their own dickhood.

forgotten anniversay

hobbitt and I arrived here in our new home, druid labs pacific northwest, on May 2, 2005. That is a long time and a blink of an eye. Either way, it's hard to believe.

This morning when our lovely periodic houseguest departed, I stood on the front stoop and breathed in an intoxicating and seductive air. Wet. Fresh. Cool. Fragrant. It is everything I think of when I picture these mountains, these shorelines, these clouds and this sun. It is the taste of home. I will always be able to find it.

This day was pretty damned good. This moment is precious. This air is sweet. Whatever the past 12 months have brought are merely tangiental to this single, unutterable and luscious moment. I wish to live with such urgency, with a well-used welcome, and a tender heart.

And it's not just because I kicked hobbitt's ass in UpWords tonight.

living

I have a friend in Illinois who was diagnosed with stage IV metastatic breast cancer about eight years ago. That was the initial diagnosis. She did chemo and radiation for the cancer in her bones and then had her mastectomies and reconstruction. She's a single lady with grown children, and worked in the health care industry until recently.

She's been in and out of remission ever since I've known her. Each time she slips out of remission, she knows she's in no worse shape than from her initial diagnosis. (Truly. It doesn't get worse than stage IV.) She's no longer able to work and survives on disability. She was supposed to come visit this spring but I hadn't heard from her in a while.

Yesterday I got a postcard from her, from Maui.

"Hi! I'm starting five weeks of radiation so my childhood friend and I took advantage of a week in Maui. (A special she found on the internet.) We had a great time and actually rode bikes 30 miles down from the top of this volcano. I'm glad I got away before this next treatment and am feeling very upbeat! Love, S.M."

I love these kinds of notes. And I promise, I absolutely swear to the heavens that one of these days I'm going to quit my whining. Really. I am.

celebration and release

Please raise a strong celebratory drink to Mrs. John L., my friend, my aunt, my matron-of-honor.











May 29, 1913 - May 6, 2006

twilight

Evidently Aunt Grace has been praying to all the saints she knows, angry that she's still alive.

Tomorrow she goes home with hospice care, and with a 24-hour attendant. This means that her next heart attack will be treated with comfort care. No more hospitals.

I want to go to her. It's hard for me to stay put.

back in the saddle or something

Late this afternoon I asked hobbitt if he'd mind me taking the dog to the beach for the evening walk. He said it was okay.

Earlier today I had my follow-up with the surgeon. I described how I was doing and he said most patients my age don't report such good results quite so soon. But the recovery is remarkable in that every day, I was well aware of the improvement. Today I was able to cross the right leg over the left, to put on my socks and shoes. Doctor Reis also told me that with normal activity, there's nothing I can do to harm my knee while it's healing. So that was my ammo when asking hobbitt if he'd mind me walking on the beach.

It has been ten days since I last saw the point, the marina at Hadlock, the bridge to Indian Island and Marrowstone, and the lagoon inlet. The beach roses are in full leaf, and there was a rufous hummingbird keeping watch over his little patch of real estate. The meadow is awash in white and purple blooms, and the Solomon's seal is in full foamy flower, too. I could hear the eagles but they didn't seem to be on our side of the lagoon. Maybe they're nesting over by Chimacum Creek. It was a very low tide, so once I emerged from the meadow pathway, it was easy walking on relatively even terrain at the low tide mark. There were two herons fishing.

To be honest, for the most part I kept my head down and focused on the terrain ahead of me, and also on my gait (which is going to need the help of physical therapists), so I'm sure I missed a million lovely little things. But I didn't miss the glimpse of Mt. Rainier, or the lower slopes of Mt. Baker, or the heady aroma of the roses, or the chance to say hello to several neighbors and their dogs. Even in the somewhat brisk headwind on the return trip, I was grateful to be present in the sunshine.

The walk took me twice as long as usual - about an hour and 15 minutes. And that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. And once or twice I even found myself giggling with delight about what I was doing.

I don't think I'll be hauling myself up the hill for another month or so, but that's okay. I'll get there. I'll begin my training tonight, with the 35 steps up to Sirens for a martini on date night.

The surgeon thought that was a very good goal, indeed.

let's rechannel this anger

Aunt Grace is hanging on by a thread. An unraveling thread.

She is experienceing congestive heart failure and renal failure. Her BNP number is above 2000, when 900 or more is severe failure. She's wasting away. And it's time for a decision to be made about moving her from the hospital to her home or to a facility.

Her caregivers (her only blood nephew and his wife) think it's time for hospice care. And they believe that she would be better served at home, with 24-hour care. It's the level of attention they feel comfortable with, and I couldn't agree more.

But her medical and financial POA can't be bothered with all this. She doesn't want to talk to doctors. She doesn't want to drive to the Shore where papers will need to be signed. She wants others to make the decisions, even when that's not legally feasible. And she's got all of Aunt Grace's money in her hands now, which makes everything that much more dicey, especially when at-home nursing care might be involved.

This is a delicate situation. The POA is the first (ex) wife of the nephew. They have two children and two grandchildren. Peaceful relations are important.

Enough is enough. I'm just glad I'm not on the east coast, near this POA, and with a rock in my hand. If you can't have enough compassion for an old woman (who loved you and was your friend for 40 years or more) to see to her comfort when you are the only one who can, you have my utter contempt. And that's saying something.

I'm ready to jump in the fray. I'm ready to petition the court for guardianship, since the POA is falling down on the job. I'm ready to tell her what's what. Shit. I'm not in that family. Aunt Grace married my mother's brother. Fuck it.

Which is all the more reason it's a good thing I'm here. But it's torture not being able to act.

All I can do is this:

Dear Aunt Grace: thanks for being my friend all these years. Thanks for being my partner in crime, thanks for loving me.

Thanks for sticking with my family even after Uncle Johnny died, because you were a stable loving force for me as I became an adult.

Forgive me for not going to Paris with you when you wanted to live there with me, on your dime, for three months in the summer of 1978. I was a moron; what can I say?

Thanks for telling and retelling all the wonderful L. family stories from the 30's, 40's, 50's and 60's for me.

Thanks for the love and care you gave to my mother, who practically moved in with you when you married her brother - it must have been tough having a 10-year-old with you on your honeymoon.

Thanks for being a friend to Dad, and giving him a comfortable place to be when he and Mom were at odds.

Thanks for teaching me to love olives by serving them to me in a festive glass of gin and vermouth.

I'll try to be good and remember that family is so very important, in spite of how my family and your family are really testing my nerves right now.

Say hi to Grandma for me. I look forward to seeing you both again, and meeting Uncle Johnny about whom I've heard so many wonderful stories.

May your journey be sweet, and may you forget these last months of pain and trial.

Your loving niece, BlueHeronDruid

Aunt Grace at her 90th birthday party, held at druid labs east, June 2003

irony? no, that's not it

I find it mildly amusing that neighbors who were quick to criticize (albeit mildly and kindly) our decision to take down a few alders are also the lucky recipients of a lot of the wood, split and hauled by yet another neighbor.