Month: November 2006 (Page 2 of 3)

I get “US” magazine at work, and two weeks in a row have been mightily amused by the lesser-story headlines that are still making the covers:

“Anna Nicole Smith: Her Secret Grief”
Ah, yes, so secret, this grief. Secretive and private, right there under her bleary-faced pic on the cover of US magazine! And wasn’t she just on Access Hollywood, too? Let me tell you, “secret” and “private” are not words this woman evokes when I think of her.

And this past issue’s chuckle: “Nicole (Richie) Gains 10 Pounds”
Sweet jesus. Do we still care? How can you even tell? The woman looks like a boiled chicken. She obviously has issues, and stalking her anorexic ass everywhere isn’t going to make her start eating Cheetos. (Maybe she needs to pal around with Britney, who dominates the cover!) Granted, who am I to point fingers at the skinny – you’ve never been able to clearly identify all the ridges and bones in MY sternum, so from an anatomy textbook perspective, she’s a walking teaching model for budding doctors everywhere. But really, are an estimated 10# :that: gossip-worthy?

Oh, and one final thing. Bubble skirts. They’re stupid. STOO-PID. If they make Molly Sims look like she’s wearing an artfully-gathered potato sack (Hi, Frumpy!), how are they going to work on the average Jane? Jesus, I’d look like a frickin’ hot-air balloon crashing into the ground. Or an upside-down Jiffy-Pop bag.

That is all. End of ranting at the stupid. For the next ten minutes, anyway.

….. Those “Oh FUCK” moments? I had one of those this afternoon, when I broke from my usual routine of how I get out of the garage (hit the inside button, get in car, back out) and instead decided to get in the car, use the remote, and then back out. Too quickly. And who uses the frickin’ rearview camera when you back straight out, no kids around? NOT ME. The door was alllllmost all the way up when I hit it (a horrible, horrible sound, btw), so I just smashed the rear windshield wiper. Right off. ARGH. I SCOWLINGLY drove straight to the dealer, (I’m still amazed how the ginormous dark cloud over my head fit inside that generous roomy interior with me) and they ordered a replacement arm – it’s $30, so it could have been way worse, but it totally derailed my plans – I skipped the post office, got my sandwich to go, foregoing my sit-alone-eat-and-read-a-book plans, and I just went straight back home. It seemed like I’d tempted the fates a little too much by NOT destroying the back end of the car, or the garage, for that matter, and so back to home base I went. And then I thought about my friend who took on a concrete pole, and another friend (who happens to be married to me) who did the exact same thing, and thought, ok, I’m lucky, it’s ok, but it still took a long time to shut off the Oh FUCK gnome in my head (he’s the one with the megaphone).

The Grief thing, it is eternal. It ebbs, it flows. It sits way in the back of the classroom, then one day it’s front & center, waving wildly. I am bracing myself for the holidays, not that I spent a lot of them with my father in the past 20 years, but more for the Norman-Rockwellian nostalgia that assaults us all this time of year. For all my bracing, and thinking, and therapy, and good ol’ cognitive work, there are Unexpected Moments, that seem to come from nowhere, that take me by surprise.

I was in a terrific mood this morning. I’d spent most of yesterday in a trance, knitting furiously, cleaning the garage, doing “stuff”, and while I never felt that I was actively thinking about anything in particular, I could feel myself zoning out. So when I started to get ready to run to the store this morning, I felt like I was snapping back in to place. There was great music on the radio, I was shimmying and singing along, and then – blam – as I stepped out of the shower, great wrenching sobs. It happened, I suppose, because I was thinking about my dog, Polly. And how she would have stayed in Agnes’ kennel this weekend, and how I’d checked to make sure there was still a top on that kennel, because the doghouse would’ve given Polly a great launching pad to jump/climb right on out. And I saw my Dad’s face. How I’d have imagined he looked that day, the first time he saw Aggie sail by the kitchen window, or into his workshop, out of her kennel from her own industriousness and problem-solving. And the mixture of chagrin and pleasure, irritation and delight, that he had a smart dog, despite having done something wrong. Perhaps I saw it enough as a kid, when he’d look at me with those same conflicting feelings. But I saw his squint, his head tilt, and then the flashbulbs began. It’s hard to explain, to describe it, our brains have such complexity as they send images and memories and signals. But in these times of utter grief, without an “event” or clear correlation, it feels like the old instamatic flash cubes, the FlipFlash, bursting with light and crackling into shattered opacity.
I saw the hospice nurse, holding his wrist, pronouncing he was gone. I felt James’ hand on my shoulder, I felt Dad’s hand in mine. I see the nurse so clearly, her brown hair, her glasses.
I heard his voice on the phone, as we laughed about some smart ass comment I’d made.
I saw his old red down jacket.
I heard that sound, his expression of amusement, as his mouth opened and his lips pulled back and I can’t describe it but it sits on the tape in my mind, one of my favorite things to hear, because it meant he thought something was funny, and he was smiling.
I thought I heard his voice on my drive Friday, after Brenda called me again to say the weather’d gotten worse, and before I called James to check the roads. I heard him say, “This isn’t a good idea”, as though he’d said it on the phone. I know it was my own mind, cautioning me, taking his voice because he was the wisest person I ever knew.

Like flashcubes, these moments burn bright and then they are gone. The gut-wrenching pain and sobbing subsides. I know it gets easier, I do. My puzzle-loving brain still wants, sometimes, to pick up my grief, and figure out how to undo it all. To make him alive, to erase everything that happened. But I can’t. Just like I can’t make the spent bulb flash anew.

We knew the weather could be a factor in this excursion, and my step-mother called me a couple of times with updates – each one making me more concerned. So I called the Wo & had him investigate road conditions, and it turns out the highway that I take for about 2.5 hours was designated as “ice/snow/slush-covered” at only 10:30 a.m. with temps dropping and more precip on the way. So, I got off on the next exit & turned around and came home. Which meant I drove through the blinding rainstorm (and construction zones) twice! I’m pretty tuckered out, and disappointed the weekend didn’t go as planned, but there will be another time, and there was no need to risk my safety. Polly had a grand snooze – she is a good traveller, as long as we don’t stop. When we stop, she barks at people because she’s nervous and not sure what’s happening next. And whatever it is, they better think twice about taking her on. Because she is FIERCE. And all the new stuff she got for her first big road trip? Have been re-labeled “burf-day presents”, and she’s delighting in her new big chewie nylabone, and “Sheep on the Lamb” canvas toy. I’m going to go crawl under Lizard Ridge & get caught up with the DVR!

I am completely blaming my father today. I am so, so late for leaving on my road trip, and as I caught myself PUTTERING I remembered how he would just be getting in the shower when the Christmas pageant was about to start, thinking we’d time it so I’d get there just in time for my class’ participation. However, I could go on and on about this, but that would make me later.
I had to blog this, super fast, because you-all need to fall over. Right over. Topple. Kerblam.
May I present: Lizard Ridge.

I love, love, love, love, love it. I did the entire border as directed, in dark purple Cascade 220. This is one of those projects that the moment I saw it on Knitty.com, I just knew I had to make it. A lovely pattern, a lovely yarn, and now, a lovely afghan. I will be under it all winter. Because we keep the thermostat at 63′. So really, all that Noro? A cost-saving, energy-conserving investment. Mmm-hm!

Have a great weekend everybody…. and with the big cold front moving through – stay warm!

Three months ago, I attended the last session in a five-part series through Kansas City Hospice. It was a structured group designed to address the first year of grieving. On that last day, we wrote ourselves letters, and I made a mental note to brace myself to see my own handwriting in the pile of mail around early November.

Well, the letter came on Tuesday, but that was book club night, so I didn’t open it. Last night, I paused, picked it up, and then set it back down. My headache didn’t really fade until close to bedtime & I slept for over ten hours. This morning, I told myself I’d open it, and got all the way out to the car before I realized I’d left it inside. I waited for the alarm to set itself, and then went back in. Re-set the alarm, back out to the car. Sat in my car, and read the words I’d written to myself. Purple ink on pink paper, too. And I cried, but it was a mixture of emotions – I’m sad, I was surprised to see that indeed, I had made some progress (here were also things I hadn’t yet done), and I was shocked by my own wisdom and perspective. Because I wrote the letter, honestly, as if I were a parent writing to a child, with my hopes for myself, and with humor, and with love. One thing I’d hoped for myself did come true – I’d hoped to be less angry, less desiring of punching things. Anger has been replaced with sadness, which I suspect will take a lot longer to fade, and ultimately will never leave me.

I think everyone who goes through a major life upheaval should do this very same thing – and give the letter (all set to go – stamped & addressed) to a trusted friend. There’s something very different about opening a letter than re-reading a blog entry, or flipping through a journal. At least it was for me. I won’t write it all again here (some of it is just between me & me ;) ), but here are a couple of paragraphs that resonated.

8.07.2006
Dear Jennifer,

This has been a rough summer for you, and hopefully things have gotten a little easier. I hope that you’ve been able to write about some of your favorite “Dad” memories – and that it feels OK, maybe even good. {note – haven’t quite done this one yet!} I want you to remember him, every day, even if it’s in a joke or a smirk or an angry political reaction – he’s living on inside you and it’s ok to remember the good times.

Remember to tell all those friends, family & your husband that you love them. Thank them again for all that they did & continue to do. Remember how much your dad loved you – it never leaves you. You will always be his princess, his Fergendorfer, his little girl.

Start looking at the types of grasses you & James will plant in your memorial garden next Spring. Make sure you still know where those Suburban gift cards are. {this made me laugh}

Don’t worry. As he said in his last true conversation with you: it will all be OK.

It will. {this made me cry, both sad tears and joy tears.}

Love,
Jennifer

I have a semi-splitting headache today, and no discernable cause. (I’m well-hydrated, caffeinnated, got enough sleep, haven’t missed a meal since 1983….) The only thing notable today is that I woke up & discovered that for the first time in a LONG time of my voting life, I was able to say, “I’m a winner!” (Technically, I’m on the winning “side”, and some of my issue votes passed, too.) I’ve contained the grandstanding because in our house, when one person wins, the other loses. And it’s the same way at work. So I just expelled it at those fuckers down the street with their yard signs and from the comfort & privacy of Mimi, said, “LoooOOO-Hooo-Hoooo-OOO-Hooo-ZAHHHHHH” in their general direction as I drove to work.

In all the election drama, and getting ready to host bookclub, I completely forgot a birthday. Miss Polly. Yesterday, she was Three. Three years old! My li’l girl! She’s overdue for a dental chew, so I’ll give her a big one tonight & we’ll have hugs, and I know she’ll forgive the oversight…. Hopefully I’ll also finish the Lizard Ridge border & have Final Pictures to share! (I’m doing the full-blown border with scallops on it – it gives it so much more stability & really pulls the whole thing together.) In the meantime, I’m drinking copious amounts of water and pushing the vision of leaving work & going home to nap out of my head…..so far, unsuccessfully….

Our big boss left for Arizona & will be gone through the end of the year, so I asked MY boss if we could party today. No go.

We hit the elections at 6:30 a.m., and still had to wait in line. Apparently people with last names beginning with “A-I” don’t get up early. We waited in the “Everybody Else” line, and I got handed a ballot with the stern instruction to make sure the circles are completely filled in or they won’t count. WTF? Are we still voting in the way I used to take the Iowa Basic Skills tests? Jesus. Soooo, I turn around and see the one electronic voting machine open, and ask to use that. This discombobulates the lady manning the voting bin, and they had to get another person to run it (they have to insert a card.) Sweet cheeks. I have held up the Everybody Else line process now. What the hell? So I get started & I hear the Wo state that he’ll use the machine after me. And THEN! I hear the one discombobulated lady tell him that the electronic machine is primarily for the handicapped and disabled. Greeat. I do a quick scan to make sure I haven’t muscled my way past any crippled early-risers to get to the machine. WTF? I mean, yeah, I read the little flyer and noticed that I could put an object in my mouth and use the touch screen that way, but nothing about it said “For the Disabled”. And hello – it’s a computer-based world, and I’m not going to worry about my coloring skeelz at 6:45 in the mo’nin’. (Bubb Rubb made me say it like that. And I’m not much on political correctedness on my blog. Especially when there’s stupidity abound.) I cast my votes, and then got out of the way so the Wo could pretty much cancel me out. (We agree on most of the issues, at least!) I think there should be a standardized voting process from a machine standpoint. Did we learn nothing from Florida?

So, after today, we’ll get a respite from all the mudslinging ads, and yard signs. The anti-choice, anti-stem cell, pro-Jim-Talent people on my street put all their yard refuse out in two huge bags – open at the top, and as I drove by on my way to work, I thought, “hm. I could just swerve…. and topple them over…. and they would knock down their yard signs…. hmm….” But I didn’t. Freedom of Speech and all, and, let’s be honest, the fear of being arrested.

Get out and vote! Completely unrelated, but because I LOVE this picture, here’s a neat shot the Wo took of Suzy retrieving a duck this past weekend:

If she could run for office, I bet her platform would be “Moar Fud and Treets 4 Dogz Evvywere”. Now, that’s a yard sign I could get behind.

My direct phone number (and address) at work has somehow gotten listed as a residential number. So, I used to get phone calls trying to sell me things, and for a while I got pizza coupons. (bonus!) When I came in this weekend, I had pre-recorded messages from various election folk, begging me to vote for them. This afternoon, I grabbed a call and after I said “This is Jennifer”, I heard a woman say, “Obviously your feet ain’t botherin’ ya that much.” Hm. I don’t want to impose my Midwestern Nice Standards, but I’ve even travelled a little bit, and I have yet to hear that sort of greeting condoned in any part of the country. I said, “What do you mean, my feet?” as I began to suspect this was yet another telemarketer with a list in front of her. (At this point, the two people in my office are looking at me like I’ve gone crazy. I won’t say they’re wrong, but we can’t attribute it to that phone call.) Over the phone line, I heard far-off laughing and more silence, so I went back to the good old standard, “HELLO?” and that woke up my telemarketer who immediately asked me to vote yes for the soccer stadium tomorrow. Never mind, sweetie, you’re calling Missouri, not Kansas. I can’t vote on it. And I’m at work, so no cally here no more. And my feet? They are just fine.

I’m ready to go home. Home to my Wo, and our dogs, and I’m not answering the phone unless I recognize the number.

I’ve got me the Monday Blahs. I started to write a post about the stench left behind by our resident homeless person in our work garage stairwell, and I sounded like a cake-eating Republican beyotch. On the eve of the election, I’m not cruel enough to give my husband that kind of hope. Heh. ;)

I had a ramshackle, busy weekend. I shopped with my friend Roger for 7.5 hours on Saturday. Yes, that’s a whole billable day of work! I was correct in thinking, Crate & Barrel can’t be THAT bad – there can’t possibly be 1,200 people there! (like there were that Wednesday night from hell.) There were maybe 400. And waiting in line wasn’t so bad. I didn’t get much, Roger did. We had to put the seats down! :) Then we went to Pottery Barn, he ran in to Williams Sonoma, we ate lunch, and then trucked around NE Furniture Mart (the devil’s playground). Grabbed a cone at Sheridan’s – and then went to Super Target. I get tired just remembering it all. But I did finally find the buffet/hutch I’ve been seeking for so long. And it was on sale. But they have to special order it, so who knows when it will actually get here. However, like a wise person, I learned from the couch incident & paid for delivery. Delivery=Good. I believe my hubby will agree. :)

Went to brunch on Sunday & then watched the Chiefs reclaim the Governor’s cup – woohoo! I also got Lizard Ridge completely put together! I’m working on the crochet border, and will get pics up soon. It’s absolutely stunning. I nearly fell over. I’m sure once the border’s done, I’ll be on the floor. Or else it’s just all this racing around project-stuff catching up with me! I have to host our book club tomorrow night, so tonight’s crazy for cleaning (and that is SO not how I spend Monday nights), and I’m going to Iowa this weekend – so I don’t know when exactly things are going to let up. Given the proximity to the holidays, I expect around January. Oh well, I’ll be knitting my way through it all. Next on the needles: another Vintage Velvet scarf in deep mallard blue Touch Me, and then a sweater or two. I have so many projects just begging to move up the priority list…. there’s another thing I need to do, finish organizing all my yarn. OK. I’m just going to lie down on the floor right now. Overwhelmedness, thou art my new friend!