Arbor Mist Melon and me

I am surrounded by towers of cardboard boxes, stacked nearly to the ceiling. The packing people have finally finished their arduous task of packing out the world's worst packrat, me. I could see fear in their eyes when they entered the Inner Sanctum of the Domestic Goddess, aka the sewing room. It took them a good four hours just to pack all the stuff in that one room.

Tomorrow, I return to the house I left two and a half years ago. I was asked to return by my ex. He knew I was struggling to get by on my government dole, and would never ask to come back after I had been the one to initiate the divorce. It was true. I have eaten far too many ramen noodles and cans of tuna to be healthy. I've lived on cheap macaroni and cheese and other delicacies from the Dollar Store. There were nights that the meal was homemade bread and a cup of tea. I didn't let on to most people that was how it was.

It's been rough. I've watched as my business has gone steadily downhill, because I have no capital with which to fuel new product. I fall in between the cracks of the system, because I live in a decent place that is not Section 8 housing. Due to that, I could not get food stamps. I refused to live in an unsafe, unsavory neighborhood, just to put more food on the table. The veritable rock and a hard place.

I'm exhausted tonight. The tv is now disconnected from the cable (but not my precious internet!) and my cookstove is obscured by the stacks of boxes in front of it. My phone has been transferred back to the house. The only thing left to do is to pack up what is in my desk, and disconnect the computer. That will happen in the morning, along with corralling three felines who will not be happy about it.

For now, I'm kicking back with the remnants of a bottle of cheap Arbor Mist Melon wine, and am going to adjourn to read some comics. After all, the new Daredevil came out today. ; )

Memphis blues

A little late in reporting, but Tuesday was another day spent in Memphis at the VA Hospital. I caught the DAV van at 0630 down at the old shopping mall (now very deserted since the new one was finished). I had three appointments scheduled: the nutritionist at 11, neurology at 2:40, and ophthalmology at 3 pm. If you ride one of the volunteer vans, usually you can get in to see the doctors early. I went into ophthalmology first, and they took me right in.

Lucky me! The department has a new toy, and I was the very first patient to be scanned with it. The technician had to use her cheat notes, and although I have no idea what the machine is called; it does a scan to check if there is swelling around the optic nerve. I suppose all was well back there, assuming she did the test correctly. She would say look at the green dot, and sometimes there WAS NO GREEN DOT. Then she'd adjust things, and a fuzzy green dot on a bright red background would flash and little lights would buzz across the viewing area in angles or circles. Weird.

The ophthalmologist shined a lot of bright lights in my eyes, and said he couldn't see anything really new going on, but my chart tests indicate they should prescribe new glasses. Of course, they had just dilated my eyes, and I will have to go back in two months to get that done. :P

I was out of there before ten, so I wandered over to the nutritionist's office and signed in early for that appointment. I got right in because someone else was a no-show. Evidently, when I can afford to buy food, I eat fairly well. I've lost five more pounds, have no idea why. She seemed satisfied that I knew how to eat properly, did NOT give me a huge lecture on being overweight, and sent me on my merry way.

I decided to eat lunch before I went to the fifth floor neurology because I know that clinic only meets in the afternoon. I shopped a little in the canteen, didn't buy anything. I still made it up to the fifth floor before the receptionist went to lunch. She told me which box to put my paperwork in, and I took a seat in the waiting room. I had asked if I could see the doctor early. She made no promises.

Monday night, I could not sleep. I tossed, turned, and sweat all night long. So by noon, I was dead on my feet. I dozed off and on in the waiting room, too tired to even try to read the Agatha Christie mystery I brought along. The room filled up, and before long, everyone else seemed to have been summoned for vital sign checks but me. I kept pacing to keep awake, without much luck. It was after 3 pm when I finally saw the doctor.

I like Dr. M. He's a fairly new resident physician at the VA, and must be from the Ukraine or thereabouts. He is very straightforward, and I like that. He actually read my charts, which so often doesn't happen with the VA, and he said he was concerned about a couple of the results of the many tests I had last week. He didn't tell me everything, but I did get out of him that my sed rate is high, and another test that has to do with autoimmune system problems, the C-Reactive Protein was also high. According to WebMD, A recent study suggests a link between increased CRP levels and the development of age-related macular degeneration. Well, hello?

So, after all this, the doc gave me a refill on some meds for restless leg syndrome, which was one of the reasons I didn't sleep the night before. In order to get it filled, I had to go to the other end of the campus to the outpatient pharmacy, take a number and wait to see the pharmacist before the prescription was even turned in. I appealed to a volunteer who was at the information desk to help me get in touch with the van driver, who had been looking for me. The volunteer got me in to see a pharmacist without waiting, and he in turn had a few of the pills filled for me right then so the van wouldn't be delayed any longer. By the time we got out of there, it was well after 4pm, which meant it was dark when we got back to Jonesboro. Too long of a day.

Best part? I have to go back NEXT Tuesday for another of those unspeakably awful GI tests.

All this, and I've spent the last two days ripping out the carpeting in the house before I move back in. Oh, and I've sold several braille tshirts in the past few days. Maybe things will look up, just a little.

The Hurrier I Go, The Behinder I Get

The harder I try to get ahead, the farther behind I slide. I've been trying to sell things on ebay for well over a year now, and with the increases in fees and the way the structure has changed, I'm beginning to think it's not worth my time and effort. A good third of what I brought in last month went right back to ebay in listing fees, store fees, and final value fees. Of course, I know that I listed probably three times as many items as I normally do, but it's really hard to justify the effort if someone else is raking in most of the profit.

My income is not keeping up with my outgo. I am on a rather fixed income, dependent mostly on my veteran's compensation check each month. By the time I pay rent, insurance, utilities, phone, and cable(which is mostly my internet ISP since I only subscribe to the minimum basic tv cable channels), it's the fourth of the month, and there is nothing left for food. I try to eek out a tank of gas a month for the car. Most of the time, I stay home, only going out to the post office when I have to send parcels, and to visit my mother at the nursing home. I don't eat out, except to take my mom lunch on Sundays. It's not like I'm a wasteful spender.

Last month, I broke down to the point of applying for food stamps. Well, guess what? I don't qualify. I have no children, live by myself, and do not live in squalid HUD housing. I own a seven year old car that I paid for entirely on my own. I don't do drugs, drink alcohol or smoke. I don't have a live-in boyfriend or illegitimate children. But I'm not far enough down the ladder to get any assistance. Go figure.

Therefore, I am taking up on an offer that my ex-husband has proposed: move back in with him. We have really continued to be friends even after the divorce, and it's not like I'd have to break in a new roommate. We are known quantities, so things will work out. At least I won't starve this way. ; )

Another happy day in paradise

Time to face the music and go to the VA hospital again to have more testing. I spent three days in hospital here in town the first weekend of November with another bowel obstruction and raging kidney infection. Blah! Humbug!

This was a big part of the lack of blogging recently. Nothing great or good to tell. I've become sick and tired of being sick and tired. My anemia problems are back; I have zero stamina these days for any sort of strenuous activity. That brings me to the last day of November, and the next round of tests.

I rode the DAV van over to Memphis, thank goodness for the volunteer drivers! My appointment with the GI lab was for 0800, and I was there on time. Alas, there were others scheduled for the same time, and they took them in first since they all were having a single procedure, and I was there for two. The handsome Latino RN was very nice, but he could not get an IV to run after two tries. He called over another nurse, and she tried twice with no success. Finally, they called in Miss Gussie, whom I have seen before in the GI lab, and she got it on the first shot. I seem to recall they had to call her in the last time to stick me for the IV port. She is such a nice lady, and so calming in this sea of chaos that is the VA system.

I lay on the stretcher for nearly two hours before my turn came to go in the procedure room. I joked with the nurse who was going to do the anesthesia to please make me plenty stupid because I was very nervous. She asked if I had undergone this procedure before. I replied I had, that was why I was nervous. They gave me some foul-tasting stuff to gargle and swallow to numb my throat; she popped me with the Demerol and I vaguely remember gagging on the endoscope as they put it down my throat. I began to come round when they were going at the other end with the sigmoidoscope, and whined enough that they asked if I wanted more drugs. I most certainly did! Next thing I knew, I had been asleep for an hour or so.

The doctor came in to tell me what they found. Sometimes, I wish they would just give me a written statement, because my head was still quite fuzzy. I know he said that they found that I had reflux problems, and some ulceration in my small bowel due to Crohn's. They had also checked what is left of my rectum and said there is a possibility of a fistula there. Biopsies were taken, and I suppose I will find out within a week or so. Waiting for the definitive is the hardest part.

I have no idea how they are going to treat all this. I am going to be asking a lot of questions shortly. At least we now know where the blood I'm evidently losing is coming from and that, I suppose is good news.

The van ride home was a blur, and I made it home from the shopping mall where the van picks us up without incident. I came home, fed the cats, and we all curled up in bed for about the next five hours. They know how to comfort me, the little fuzzy buddies!

The weather has turned cold now, from 66 degrees F when I got on the van this morning, to 35 degrees with a 25 degree wind chill out right now. It rained all day, and I hope that it doesn't ice up overnight. We might get past that. Snow, I can deal with that. Ice? No.

Looks like a three cat night. Brrr.

Just a little white lie

Something I have never been able to do is lie to my mother. Actually, I'd make a sorry poker player, because I just can't lie with a straight face to anyone. It's just not in my nature. (Maybe my name, which according to a few sources I've looked up means "truth", is an appropriate one?)

Today, I looked straight into my mother's face and told her a fib. I felt so guilty. This one won't hurt anyone, and today, my mother needed to hear something cheerful. She fell last week and broke her arm in two places, right above her right wrist. She's been in a good deal of pain, and the worst part is that it's her dominant hand. She can't do her needlework that she loves so dearly.

So, God forgive me; I told my mother a lie. I told her she won a blue ribbon on the little redwork sampler I entered in the fair for her, when in truth, it placed third.

I think maybe, looking at the other entries placed around it, that it got judged in the wrong category. It was a stamped cross-stitch, not a counted one like the others around it, and by comparison, it did look a little sad. My mother is eighty-six years old, and when many people are just sitting around complaining about what they can't do, she is stitching away at something. Maybe it's not twelve stitches to the inch linen, but it's precious to me. It's the Best of Show in my book. Grand Champion.

The look on her face when I told her about the ribbon was priceless. It was really the first time I'd seen her smile genuinely in a couple of weeks. For the first time in my life, I was really bragging on her. Why did it take me so long? She has always been the one to brag on me.

When I pick up the ribbons and entries next Sunday, I will carefully take one from some of my own items (I entered seven, and they all placed first), and will pin it to her sampler and take it to her. She will be thrilled, and so will I.

I love my Mama, and she's a winner in my eyes.

A Laborious Weekend

Since I work at home, holidays don't mean as much any more. I have an unusual schedule because I like to work late at night when the phone won't ring and I don't have a lot of interruptions. This Labor Day weekend, I had hoped to get back into the sewing room and finish a couple of projects. It didn't happen. The best laid plans of mice and me.

I haven't been feeling very perky now for some time. Not that I ever run marathons or go to the gym, but just general malaise. It had been getting worse over the past week, and by Friday, I was totally exhausted by the time I changed the catbox. I worked on some PhotoShop stuff for some patterns I'm reworking, and around 4PM got ready to go to the post office. It wasn't as hot as it has been in recent weeks, only upper 80's, still very steamy due to the humidity.

After collecting my mail (which included a hilarious Devil Duck from a friend in Canada), I thought I'd swing by the Deals dollar store to pick up a few frozen food items. I went in, got my $15 worth of cheapie stuff, and headed out the door. The heat hit me in the face like a brick. I have a gimp tag on my car, so I wasn't parked that far away. By the time I reached the car, my head was spinning. I tossed the bags into the car, fell onto the seat and started up the ignition to get the air going. I had a bottle of cold water in the car, and I drank most of it right then, letting a little of it splash onto me to cool me off. I felt like I could barely catch my breath. I was having visual disturbances. I almost panicked, because I had forgotten my cell phone at home.

I sat in the car, face in the A/C vents, for a few minutes until I got cleared up enough to drive. I made my way home on some less busy streets, since it was now Friday/holiday/rush hour traffic. When I got home, I gathered the bags, locked the car and by the time I got to the front door to unlock it, I was almost stumbling. I fumbled with the lock, had to shush the cats to get them from making an exit, and I could hardly boost the bags onto the kitchen counter. I was breathing heavily, my pulse pounding in my ears. I knew what was going on. My hematocrit levels were bottoming out.

There was frozen food in the bags, so I began wildly stuffing the contents into the refrigerator. I felt like I was about to black out, as the visual disturbance once more loomed. I sat down on a kitchen stepstool lest I fall right over. I scared the cats. They circled me like they didn't know exactly what to do. Then Ringo came up and began to administer fuzz therapy in the form of rubbing on my feet. He meowed at me, and rolled over on his back for a tummy rub. I didn't have the strength.

My now-famous hives began to emerge, adding insult to injury. I grabbed my cellphone and retreated to the bathroom to disrobe and take a cool shower to help ease the itch. Taking off my clothes was such an effort and sent me into more labored breathing that I decided I better call for help. I called my ex, and he came over while I was in the shower. When he got there, I was still sitting on the edge of the tub, barely able to stand. I got dressed, and we headed for the VA in Memphis, an hour and a quarter away.

The ER at the VA has moved, and the entrances are different than the last time we were there, causing us to have to walk further than planned. I signed in, stating shortness of breath and fainting, and was taken directly to triage. Immediately they ran an EKG, and in a very few minutes, had me back in a cubicle in the ER proper. It was now about 8PM.

Now for the blood draw. No fewer than three people came in to try to get blood out of me. My veins had done a disappearing act. Usually they can find SOMEWHERE to stick me, but no luck. The ER nurse called the phlebotomist on the hosptial floor for assistance, and she refused to come down, saying they should stick me in the leg. I was not for that, and neither was Ralph (seriously, he was great!), the ER nurse. He finally found a place where they could draw blood, and off to the lab it went, and I waited. And waited. And waited some more. I heard the exasperated comments of the staff, trying to get beds for us patients, and there were none. One man had been in the ER for forty-eight hours, because there was no bed in cardiac care for him, and the only other heart monitor systems are in the ER. I was going to be a problem, too, since they can't put female patients in the male wards, and they would need a private room to vacate.

I waited. A doctor came in to check on me, and told me that he would bet I was "a quart low" and would need blood. We would have to wait for the lab results. Meanwhile, I was having quite an attack of the restless leg syndrome, and that made my already painful back even worse. I asked for some pain medication, and was rewarded with a Percocet. Unlike a lot of people, that drug does not make me euphoric in the least, and gives me a nasty hangover when it wears off. I was miserable and it was now 1 AM.

My ex was falling asleep in the chair. He needed to go home, and I worried about that long boring drive with him so sleepy. (Same stretch of road where I fell asleep at the wheel and totaled my car nearly six years ago.) Almost 2AM, no sign of whether I was going to be admitted for sure. I told him to go on home; I'd call him in the morning. Well, later that same morning to be precise.

The nurse came back round and told me that one of the vials of blood they had drawn was "no good". WTF? Since I don't have knowledge of how that could happen, it just makes me wonder how the others were. I had already been stuck seven times in attempt to put in an IV line, and for blood drawing. I was already black and blue all over my arms. I looked like a battered woman, and was in a sense. Nurse Ralph told me that he could probably do best by drawing out an artery on my wrist. This is how they draw blood for arterial blood gases, and it can be really painful. Been there, done that. I was nervous about it, but it has to be better than taking it in the leg, so Ralph assured me that he once worked in a prison hospital, where the junkies had no veins left to stick, and he was good at hitting this artery, carefully feeling for the pulse. Bingo! One shot and he was in there, no fishing around for this guy. I wanted to kiss him, almost. ; )

Another group of doctors, the attending physician, the resident, and a med student, all female, trooped in to evaluate me. Poke, prod, look at the rims of my eyes, etc. Questions, questions, more questions. They decided to check for blood in my stool. (With an ostomy, that's easily done.) The occult test was positive. I'm bleeding somewhere, albeit slowly, since nothing was visible. They order the blood for sure.

Four AM. The word comes from above that beds are opening up. A little scary, because no one gets formally discharged in the middle of the night on a holiday weekend. The gentleman who had been waiting forty-eight hours was taken up to a room. The man gasping in the next cubicle was carted away. Then it was my turn. The staff was so short-handed that Ralph had to roll me upstairs on the gurney. I've never seen a nurse do that before. There has always been someone on duty to transport patients to the floors.

They take me to the fifth floor, generally the neurosurgery floor. My room was a double, but both beds were empty. It was a negative pressure room, one that is used for isolation. The door had to remain closed, or an alarm would beep. I heard plenty of beeping over the next few hours. The tech came in to take my vitals, and shortly two nurses came in with the promised blood. They determined that the IV port I got downstairs would not do for transfusion. They stuck me again. At least they didn't go on a fishing expedition, either.

There is a new procedure at the VA for transfusion protocol. It's like a missile launch; two people have to be there to confirm it. While I was down in the ER, I had been tagged numerous times by different people and now had four armbands. One of them was the crossmatch band, with little biohazard red stickers for the blood match. The two nurses had to check my name, social security number, blood type, and a couple other things before they could think about starting the infusion. Actually, I have no problem with check and recheck in the least. Especially when it comes to something like this.

It took some time to get the lines ready, as there is a filter on the line, and it has to be routed through another IV line. I watched in a way I don't think I have before. The dark crimson blood is cold when they bring it in. It takes a few moments before it begins to make its way down the tubing and into your veins. It's still cool as it gets to the entry point, although you can't feel the coolness past that. I idly thought about how this was the colour they settled on for Daredevil's movie costume. Blood red.

By now it was nearly 5AM. I was exhausted to the point of dozing, but was awakened at ridiculous intervals by the automatic blood pressure cuff inflating, or someone coming in to ask more questions. It took until almost 8AM for the unit of blood to finish, then they brought me another one. I tried to sleep. The shift had changed, and a new group of people began the parade into the room. I turned on the tv. There was a movie channel in the hospital, and I sort of watched "The New World", only because it had Colin Farrell in it. Beautifully photographed, but boring as hell. Best part of it was the way they cast the Native Americans. Some beautiful people in this movie.

All this time, I had been NPO, no food or water. The docs had told me I couldn't eat until the GI doc came in. He finally showed up, and that gave me the go ahead to eat, since they couldn't do the testing yet (that will be outpatient, later). I reminded him on the way out the door to tell the appropriate people, please. I know I've waited hours for food before, when a doctor forgot to issue orders that I could eat. At 5PM on Saturday, I got a meal. Real food, too! A barbequed pork chop, baby lima beans, turnip greens, tea, milk, a slice of whole wheat bread and a chocolate chip cookie. I have never eaten turnip greens in my life, but I did then, and they tasted pretty good. Add another item to Things I Thought I Didn't Like But Will Eat Now.

No rest for the wicked. The gaggle of med students, interns, and docs wandered in, and all the questions were asked again, along with poking and prodding. This is the bane of being at a teaching hospital, but in reality I am glad for it, because you really do get some cutting edge care. And then you get the poor little medical student who has to do the dirty work, like checking stool samples. I struck up a conversation with her in the ER, and she was back on Saturday to give me a "tilt test", which checks your blood pressure lying down and standing up. Bless her. This was her very first time to use the new automated blood pressure cuffs, and she had to read to operate it. She was very sweet, and I hope that attitude can stick with her through her schooling and serve her well as a doctor. I told her so.

I was told that I would be transferred when a bed became available down to the cardiac care unit for a twenty-four hour heart monitoring. Seems that when your hematocrit levels drop like this, it can stress your heart. Once again, I was shuffled around, this time to a private room overlooking the loading docks of the hospital and the fire station across the street. It was better than the previous room, where I overlooked the roof of an adjoining building.

A nurse came in to attach the heart monitor, which has six leads to it, but is wireless as far as being tethered to the wall. A great improvement over the old kind. We had a laugh about certain parts of the female anatomy that eventually succumb to gravity, and it was quiet for a while. I watched something on public tv, and don't even remember what.

The medications that I normally take were brought to me, along with some new ones, and I fell asleep sometime after 11PM. At 3AM, the phlebotomist appeared for another draw. I got up to go to the bathroom, noticing that I wasn't feeling wheezy now, and then went back to dreamless sleep until the breakfast tray came in shortly after 7AM. French toast and bacon, orange juice, milk, Special K cereal, and undrinkable coffee. Except for the coffee, I wolfed it down.

Dozing on and off, I got a phone call from my ex, letting me know he was going to see my mother in my stead, and that he would come over when he left the nursing home after lunch. I tried to watch another movie, but it was just too boring. Instead I looked at some public tv stuff, and kept trying to sleep. I couldn't call anyone because cellphones were prohibited on that floor, and all my numbers were in the cellphone, not my head. One bad thing about flash dialing.

The GI doc came in and told me that it appeared that I do have something going on in my gut that is probably causing the anemia. I'm going to have to have a scope for them to find out. I am not amused. They will have to go from the top, as there is no way in from the other end. He suspects Crohn's disease in my small bowel, which can cause a slow leakage of blood. Hoo boy. He also said they would cut me loose Sunday afternoon. I was overjoyed by that.

Lunch arrived: roast pork, parslied potatoes, broccoli with cheese sauce, and a slice of apple pie. Not bad. I could have eaten the platter they brought it in on, so the food tasted good.

My ex called, and handed the phone to my mother, who could not understand a word I said (being now quite hard of hearing). She was confused as to what was going on, and I smoothed it over saying I was coming home, they had just kept me "overnight". I did not say two nights.

I told him that they were going to discharge me that afternoon, but had no idea what time. He said he'd be up around 2PM. I tried to watch another movie, and fell asleep.

He got there about 1:30PM and the only thing on tv halfway interesting was the women's world championship beach volleyball finals. Note I said halfway. The nurse came in and unhooked the monitor and told me that I could get dressed. We cleared out around 4PM.

We stopped at Wendy's for a hamburger, and got Frosties to take to my mother and Mrs. Harris, her roommate. Sunday was Mrs. Harris' ninety-second birthday, and the doctors told her last week when she was in the hospital, that she probably wouldn't see another one.

My mother is not eating again. This is not good. I feel that when Mrs. Harris goes, my mother will not be far behind. They have come to really rely on each other.

I should go out to see her today. I don't honestly have the energy to do it, and if she has "a bug" that is making her ill, I do not need to be exposed any more. It creates quite a dilemma. Calling her only upsets her. I've found that out from my brother calling her. Another rock and a hard place.

If you have made it to the bottom of this, congratulations. Just recalling it all makes ME tired. Wake up! You have better stuff to do than read my blog! ; )

Junk mail, the other spam

I hate junk mail. My mother used to call it "dog mail", because it might as well be addressed to the dog as "Resident". Today was a whole dogpile of dogmail.

I don't ever check the mailbox in front of the house because I have a post office box. Anything that is of importance comes to that address, not here. I had forgotten just how long since I opened it, until the doorbell rang today, and the postman stood there in his little postman short pants, with an armload of dogmail. He was checking to see if anyone was living here, because not another smooth postcard would fit in the box.

He was very nice, and I explained that I had a post office box and didn't really look for mail here, and I'd be more attentive to cleaning out the "boxholder" mail. That's the postal term for stuff addressed to "Resident" or "Boxholder", adverts, flyers, pitiful pleas from people trying to sell you Christmas cards for the poor little children on the Indian Reservation or whatever. He said it looked like there might be a few envelopes mixed in, so be sure to go through it before I tossed it. I assured him I would do that.

I dragged up a wastebasket, my letter opener (the one with the loaves and fishes on it that I got for a year's service teaching Sunday School to Episcopalian brats) and the paper shredder. First I went through and pulled out all the catalogs for Casual Male and trashed them. Next came all the adverts for pizza, tire rotations, oil changes, and Walgreens. Slam dunk! Then I opened and shredded at least fifteen offers for "pre-approved" credit cards. How can they pre-approve ME? I have no real job, and my ex took me through bankruptcy a couple of years ago. About half of them now come with a little faux credit card (see pic) that says on the back "This is not a real credit card." Duh.

The shredder stalled. I had to compact the paper in the basket to continue.

Then there was Sears telling me that the warranty on my dryer had expired. Last February.

About a dozen dunning notices from a firm in Ohio that is trying to get me to pay a chunk of money that the VA did not pay to a HEART SPECIALIST who must have been cruising through the ER about the time I landed there with a bowel obstruction. If the man even talked to me, I have no proof, just a bill for $550 that I refuse to pay. I've also gotten threatening phone calls from this same firm who has probably bought the debt for pennies on the dollar from the original office. They can eat my shorts. What are they going to do? Ruin my non-existant credit?

The best junk mail today, though had to be this thing:


First of all, it's addressed to DR. Alice (last name I used to have). It's congratulating me for being outstanding in my field, and that makes me eligible to have my name in their Who's Who book. The last field I was outstanding in was the cotton field I wrecked my last car in when I fell asleep at the wheel. They assure me that this is a great honour and that I will certainly be proud to tell my friends that I am listed in Who's Who. Oh, c'mon. This is more like What the Hell than Who's Who. In what field do I have a doctorate? Yes, I have a B.S., although I'm probably just full of that most of the time. Oh, and Strathmore's Who's Who is not to be confused with Someone Else's Who's Who, according to the minute print at the bottom of the letter. It was so small I literally had to get the magnifier out to see what it said. What a crock of horsecrap.

Rip. Shred. Slam dunk.

Sweating the small stuff

I had an "interesting" experience today. Went to the mail box at UPS and got a boatload of mail and my drugs from the VA. Also, a check for $25 for some patterns. Yay! Then I decided to go to Sam's club for some essentials, like toilet paper, freezer bags, milk, cheese, deli meats.

Got home to find my landlord had mowed the yard and was weedeating the drive. This was around 3:15, and it was scorching hot. I took in the cold items, grabbed a couple bottles of water out of the fridge and took him one. We talked in the shade of the house for about 5 minutes, then I went back to take the rest of the stuff in from the car. I had begun to break out in my normal prickly heat rash already. This happens everytime I get a little overheated.

By the time I was making the third trip from the car to the house, I felt like I was about to pass out. I had already downed most of that half-litre of water, so I chugged the rest, and sat down. I've had heat exhaustion before, so I knew the signs, I thought. I stripped and took a cold shower, then sat down on the edge of the tub to towel off, because I was feeling lightheaded. I went into the bedroom, put on clean undies and a tshirt, and fell onto the bed for a few minutes. I was noticing that everything looked to me as if I had just stepped out of the bright sunlight. Weird.

So I got up and nearly had a vertigo spell. This was not good. I stumbled into the living room, drank another half-litre of water, and it occured to me that I hadn't eaten today. Maybe I was also having a blood sugar drop. I grabbed a piece of this peppermint sugar stick candy that I love, and ate it, hoping that might also help.

The funky thing was what my vision was doing. Everything looked sort of splotchy, like looking at the ground under a tree where it's dappled with sunlight. I could barely read the computer screen, but I looked up heat exhaustion on WebMD, and found that I had done all the right stuff so far, except go to the ER. I seriously contemplated calling 911, but decided that I wouldn't because I didn't seem to have a fever, and I was still sweating. (If you stop sweating, it's heat stroke...get to the ER.)

I threw some cheese tortellini on to boil and sat down to answer emails. My vision began to clear, and I began to cool down. After I had the tortellini, I decided to lie down and take a nap. I didn't wake up until almost 9PM. I just can't take the heat at all any more. I probably wasn't outside a total of more than fifteen minutes out of the air conditioning. Another reason I don't go out during the daytime heat.

Twice before, I've had a collapse from the heat. Both those times were in Navy boot camp, where we were marching in the 97 degree heat of the Orlando sun. The first time, I made it back to the barracks, where I collapsed on the way to the bathroom. Next thing I knew, they had stripped me down and put me in the cold shower and were forcing me to drink water.

The next time, I was running the 2-1/4 mile run, and on the next to the last lap, I fell out. I remember people jumping over me. I got some water down me, and the drill instructors informed me that I was now joining "Special Training Division" because that made me fail the run. I spent three months in boot camp, when most people only spend two, or go home. I didn't want to be a bad statistic. I also spent my thirtieth birthday in "special training". The instructor asked me one day why I just didn't give up and go home. I told them that day I turned thirty, and I wasn't going to quit until I was out of there. The next day, I passed the drill.

Reworking the scrapbooks

It's been a long time since I stuck all this stuff into one of those horrible "magnetic pages" albums. Last week I found a really nice photo album with those archival slip in pages that was marked down to $4.99. Bargain! It also has the Navy emblem on the front, and twenty empty pages!

This particular page isn't going into that particular album, but buying THAT album got me started pulling things out to do a rework of the old albums.

The origami paper doll and the paper are some things I picked up when I first got on island. I am such a packrat! Still have UNFOLDED origami paper I bought in 1984! One of the coolest things I discovered when I got to Okinawa was the brush pen. I'd never seen one before, and I just loved writing with them, and the title strip was one of the first things I did with that new implement.

Looking through my scrapbooks, I now know that there is a whole lot of material here to play with, and remember the good days I spent halfway around the world. I used to scrapbook before it was the thing to do. I can't believe all the stuff in the scrapbooking aisles of the stores now. To me, scrapbooking is putting the stuff you collected yourself into a book. Maybe I've just always been such a packrat that I have all kinds of cool stuff to use! My goal is to buy nothing except maybe some background paper and the page sleeves to store the pages. I want to keep the funky album covers I bought overseas. That's the charm of scrapbooks, to me.

Happy Flag Day!

Call me a flagwaver, because I am. No apologies whatsoever. I love my country, despite her flaws. I've served my country proudly. Long may Old Glory wave!

Kitten Kaboodle

I spent the weekend helping a friend move her houseful of rescued cats from Memphis to Nashville. She has bought a house, and it has the most wonderful playroom that I'm sure belonged to kids before, but will now make a great cat playhouse. There are cubbies for nearly everyone, and a great patio door that looks out onto the back yard with several trees. I would love help her build some catwalks to traverse the overhead space. Maybe that will happen someday soon.

When I came back from Nashville, the resident feral kitty, whom I call Pippin, met me at the door. She's a sweet cat, not quite tame enough to let me touch her, but recently has decided to rub on my pantleg. Suppose that means I'm ok.

Today, upon return from some errands, I got a surprise. Little kitty-heads popped up from behind the concrete border bricks along the porch. I had my camera with me, so I took a long shot, assuming they would bolt. I quietly walked up to them, and found three little guys cowering under the ledge. One is a mini-Pippen, one looked to be entirely black, and the third is orange and white, and a good bit fuzzier than the others. Two made a break for it, and the third stayed put, probably because its eyes were matted shut.

After I put up some things in the house, I came back out and gathered the little guy up and brought it in to try to wash the gooky off its eyes. Otherwise, the kitten looked fine. No matted hair, fairly clean ears for a feral, and no sneezing. Quite a voice, however, when I began gently soaking off the icky with warm water and some cotton swabs. As soon as I got it cleaned up, I took it back out and set it back on the porch, and it immediately retreated to the same corner. I peeked out later to see it munching on the moistened kibbles I put out. The other two haven't come back, but they ran toward my fenced back yard, and are probably hiding under the outbuilding.

Now, what do I do with more kitties? I can't bring any more into the house. If I can catch the mother cat, she is going to get spayed, and I will try to find homes for the kittens.

Net Neutrality

Do yourself a favor: take a look at what is going on with internet neutrality.

There is a lot we all stand to lose if legislation is shoved through on this, so do take a look at this issue. Please.

New bookshelves

Uffda! I've been working on these things all day long. Well, I have to admit that I work fifteen minutes, sit down for a few, then work fifteen more. Days like today are the ones where the mind is willing but the body is weak, and it takes way longer to do something that you thought it might. I know at the end of today, I might have these all assembled, but the place is a wreck from all the stuff I took off the old shelves.

It's midafternoon, and I'm beat. I might have to take a siesta and come back for round two. I already have bumps and bruises showing up where I have dropped a piece of shelving or banged against another piece of furniture. Grrrr.

What you see here is one set, with one more layer to add to the top, and the bottom layer of the second set.

Which side are you on?

In case you aren't familiar with this joke, Marvel comics has a new storyline called Civil War, where the superheroes are divided over a superhero registration act. Some are siding with Captain America; others take the same stance as Iron Man. Pictured here is Toby, dressed up to play Darekitty. I think I'll go with him. ; )

I've been working toward reorganising my library space with new shelving from Ikea. I bought their Effektiv storage units, and am presently building them in the living room, six feet to the right of where I'm sitting now. They are easy to put together, but heavy. I might have to call in some reinforcements to help me get this job done. Film at eleven.

Another Great Adventure

Wow, what a weekend! The Free Comic Book Day festivities at CAPE 2 (Comics and Popculture Expo) in Dallas, TX, were sponsored by Zeus Comics. We drove down from NE Arkansas to participate in an event we hadn't attended before, but had heard great things about it from others.

The first part of the trip was rather uneventful: nice weather, not too hot, not a lot of traffic, and didn't have to speed to make time because the roads are not under construction right now. We didn't get away from town quite as early as we first planned, but we had enough leeway built in that we didn't feel rushed to get going. My car was well-loaded down with the display rack for the quilts, tshirts to (hopefully) sell, my sewing machine, K's artwork, and what I now believe to be a lot of good karma.

We only stopped a few times, once in Texarkana, TX, to get gasoline and some sketchpaper and pens (ooooo! New Stardust Pentel pens!) and make a pitstop. K read Good Omens to me as I drove. That was so much better than listening on tape or cd! We decided to take a break one more time around dusk somewhere between Greenville and Dallas. It wasn't until we got to our hotel that K realised her wallet was missing.

For some reason, I didn't feel panic at all, probably because it was not MY wallet and life that wallets tend to contain. I called my ex, and asked him to pull up the Subway sandwich shops website and see where they were located along the interstate. He gave me the phone numbers, and we called all of them to see if the wallet had turned up. No one had seen it. I had a feeling that possibly there was a shop that was too new to be on the website, so we jumped back in the car and drove some forty-odd miles back across Dallas and out to look for where we had stopped.

It was not the first couple of places we saw, because we remembered it being connected to a service station/convenience store, although we didn't remember what brand of gasoline they sold. Finally, we spotted the right Subway/Exxon station combo across the freeway, and went to the next exit to turn around. The news was good. The person who spotted the wallet told the store manager that there was a wallet in the restroom, and she didn't want to pick it up, just report it. Everything was still in there. Good people still exist out there.

Breathing a collective sigh of relief, we went back to the hotel and decided not to try to attend the mixer on Friday night, because we had some things to do and were already tired. I worked on some braille t-shirts and K worked on some sketches.

We arrived at CAPE a little before 8AM for setup. They were just finishing the tent setup, and we waited a few minutes for the tables to be placed, and to find our spot. We were on the outside edge of this huge tent in the parking lot, near the power source so I could run the sewing machine. We had good neighbors with the guys from Stumblebum Studios on one side and Larry Dixon on the other. Very nice setup, very smooth, and the folks who put on the show from Zeus Comics had plenty of staff to help out with anything and everything. They had portajohns on site, lunch provided (really good pasta and salad!), table covers to make the show look more polished. They are quickly learning how to run a great show. And to think that this event is FREE to the public to meet the guests and to pick up comics, and FREE to the guests as far as setting up tables and attending the parties. You can't beat a deal like that all the way around.

More soon.

So close, but not quite.

I just couldn't do it. It's about 4:30 pm, and I just shut off the sewing machine after a marathon sewfest. I was down to the last bit of background quilting, but the borders needed to be put on, and they would need to be quilted, too. I went in to square up the quilt and my brain no longer functioned. I haven't really slept in about 36 hours. I tried to nap yesterday, but my brain at that point was in high gear, figuring all sorts of cool things to do on this quilt. If you look closely, some of those things are the three dimensional belt on Gunther and the archer chick, the 3D quiver with arrows, something you can't see in this shot...a 3D scabbard for a very cool dagger on the archer chick's calf.

The lesson to be learned here is...get your act together, Alice. Starting this thing one day earlier would have made the difference. I tossed in the towel knowing that I had less than 3 hours before FedEx closes to mail my photos for the jurying of the contest. Reality sunk in when I thought about the fact that it will probably take me that long to put the binding on, once I get it cut.

Face facts, girl. You might be Darediva, but you ain't WonderWoman.



I quilted a boatload of oak leaves into the background, rather than do all stippling. They aren't really yellow, that's just a highlighter effect to show you where a couple of them are.

At least, this will be done for us to take with us this weekend when we go to Dallas for Cape 2!

Will she make it?

Here's what is done at the moment. I have until 8 pm to have this done, photographed, and the photos to FedEx. No rest for the wicked.

I have the side panels to sew onto here, the background quilting to be done, and the binding. Screw the hanging sleeve for now. I can add that later, along with the fancy label on back.

The finishing stuff will go on after the quilting. I will add some shadows to her hair to make it have some definition, and the bowstring will be adding in the quilting step, as will some metal studs on the armour and jewels on the wand.

Gotta run.

On being a Disabled American Veteran

Some twenty-odd years ago, I joined the Navy to see the world and get a college education. Mostly, I got to see a lot of Florida. But the point here is that during my service to my country, I injured my back on the job, which screwed up any plan of making the Navy a career. The good thing to come out of this was that college education now came free as part of my voc-rehab. The bad part would be I would find out how much the VA discriminated against women for the longest.

I was told upon discharge from the Navy that I should go directly to the Veteran's Affairs office and apply for that system. I did just that, getting an appointment for a C&P exam. I was also told that I wouldn't have to worry, the VA would up my disability rating, they always do.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. I went in for the evaluation, and the doctor there asked me questions such as "Are you married?" "Who does the laundry?" "Who does the shopping?" "Who does the housecleaning?" It appeared that if I was married, I had a husband TO TAKE CARE OF ME and therefore didn't need any compensation for an injury that usually gave a man a 100% rating. They "gave" me a 10% rating, patted me on the head and sent me on my way.

I did get into the VA hospital system; they could not deny me that because it was a service connected disablility. Twenty years ago, the way that the doctors handled someone who complained of pain was to give them enough drugs to make them a zombie, then they wouldn't squawk. I was given enough stuff to make me stupid, and I found I had little choice other than bear the pain of everyday living or take the drugs and forget about everything else. I chose not to take the drugs. I like to be able to find my ample backside with both hands.

After several years of no monthly compensation because I had drawn severance from the Navy, I found the Disabled American Veterans post, and joined. One of the local chapter members had been a National Service Officer at one point, and he kindly showed me the ropes of reapplying for increased benefits. (Even though it was painfully obvious that the old boys' club that was the DAV would rather have me sitting out with "the little women" of the Auxillary.)

My benefits increased to 40% with no problem, and the doctor who interviewed me this time was appalled to hear what the first doctor had said. But not appalled enough to raise my benefits above the 50% mark, which makes a huge difference in your standing in the VA pecking order.

A couple of years later, I went through the evaluation again, this time pulling 60%. I would have been very happy had I not known that one of the fellow vets from my post had just been awarded 100% for the very same injury I have. One the way home from the evals, he was bragging about the new boat he had just gotten, and how he really had put one over on the VA finally. I was fairly steamed.

The point of telling all this, I suppose, is to point out how the odds can get stacked against a person who is trying to get benefits. Just being female kept me from getting the same as someone else.

Today I drive a car with disabled plates bordered by a "DAV Life Member" frame. I still get countless dirty looks when I get out of my car, and people assume nothing is wrong because I don't use a chair. (Or they assume that my husband is the disabled vet. Funny now, because I don't have a husband any more.) They have no idea what kind of pain I deal with when I go shop for necessities. If I didn't have the plates, I would avoid places with large parking lots, because it would be all I could do to get into the store, much less spend a great deal of time shopping. As it is, I am dragging at the end of a grocery shopping trip. I hate it. But I am ABLE to deal with it because I did get the plates. (P.S. I never park in the "van" spaces. That just wouldn't be right.)

All is not bad, however. I would like to say that overall, the care I have received from the VA is very good. It's much better now that I have a 60% rating that makes me eligible for prescriptions without copay. Services for women veterans are also much more available. But I do see a lot of things evaporating as the government pulls money away from the VA healthcare system to pay for other budget shortfalls. That's no way to treat those who gave of themselves in service to the nation.

Thank you for reading.

Gettin' there

The characters are beginning to spring to life! Pyrus is pretty much done save for a few details, and I have the hair done on all of them. I don't have the beard done on Gunther yet. I may have to take a couple of test runs at that to determine how to do the best stubbly beard.

Once I get all the figure work done, I will cut away the layer of batting that I'm working on top of now, leaving batting only under the figures. The side panels will be squared up and placed with the main panel. The whole top will then be sandwiched with another layer of batting, and the backing. The background will be quilted, and we are thinking about leaves or possibly a castle turret. Woohoo!
This isn't photographed on a flat surface, so a bit of distortion is resulting. It will all make good sense when I get it flat on a wall and get a good overall shot.

Gunther looks odd with no beard! ; ) The belt buckle is a real one, and the belt is a 3D added piece. There will also be one on the archer chick; you can see that above Gunther's shoulder, where it hasn't been sewn in yet.

Flame on!

That refers to Pyrus' hair. Not a lot to report today, even though progress was made. I found out what NOT to do the next time I attempt this type of project...I will NOT use a fusible bonding agent underneath the applique pieces for this type of work where I am doing freemotion embroidery over the applique. I've found it gums up the needle and causes the thread to fray horribly.

I'm using Metafil size 80/12 needles, and Sulky rayon embroidery thread. The fabrics are all 100% cotton, some from Red Rooster fabrics, and some hand-dyed. This is what I've used on all my other embroidery projects, and it has to be the fusible that is causing the grief. I normally do almost all of the freemotion embroidery without any applique, but the size of this piece (51 inches square) would make it impractical.

I did finish the second Celtic knotwork panel, so that intricate stuff will not be making me crazy at the last minute. I hope. I'm sure that something will go awry, and make me sweat bullets before this is over. Ah, but that's half the fun!

Keeping odd hours

That's really nothing new for me. It's 5 am, and I've been up all night doing the Celtic knot border for the quilt. This was fun, but quite the challenge. To keep me entertained while I worked, I put on a couple of movies. First I watched Sneakers, which always makes me think about the fact that Frank Miller modeled his version of Matt Murdock after a young Robert Redford. After watching that, and the "making of" portion of the dvd which I had not seen before. I put on the director's cut of Daredevil, which I haven't watched for at least THREE months! Travesty! Yeah, it's as good as I remembered ; )

Here's a close up of the knotwork. In the far off view, the purple part doesn't show up much. I may have to use some contrast thread in the quilting to make it show better. There's way too much work there for it to not show.

I just spoke on Yahoo Messenger with Wonder Alice. She has had a migraine today, and so did I earlier. I slept most of the day trying to get rid of it, and didn't wake up again until almost 10 pm. It was down to a dull roar, so I was able to get work done on the quilt again. There wasn't enough on the main part that I accomplished to even document. But it's progressing nicely, and I work well under a deadline.

Shaping up

Not me! The quilt project! As you can gather here, things are looking up. I found some sparkly things today to use to add to the wizard's wand, and a good rough leather-looking fabric for Gunther's boots.

This is the part where I look at the project and know it will all come together, but I know other people really aren't feeling it yet...




This is most of the applique cutting, and the next step will be to start the thread painting details. That's the fun part, when the figures take on dimensions and the various textures start to show. I should have the faces all done tomorrow.

More Work in Progress

This is how we build a quilt...

Step one: Trash through the extensive fabric stash for that one piece that is PERFECT for Pyrus' hair, Gunther's boots, or the archer's outfit. The inner sanctum of the domestic goddess will remain in total chaos until the project is finished.

Who wants to clean up when you are in manic creative mode? Not me.

The pattern is traced onto a fusible webbing, placed on the back of the specific fabric, and cut out. K got introduced tonight to the joys of pinning patterns to fabric.

This is Gunther's hair and his collar to his cape. On the white sheet behind are random pieces of his armour waiting to be cut out.

This is the elven(sp?) archer's face and headpiece.

We will be working this piece from the background to the foreground.

The pieces are assembled and pressed onto the background fabric with a small Clover iron. I have to wear white gloves when I work with fabric. A few years ago, I developed the occupational hazard of dye allergies. My hands crack open and bleed when I handle fabric if I don't wear these lovely designer gloves with the fingertips cut off.

Details will be added when the stitching begins. All the facial features and garment details will be done in free motion machine embroidery.

We had to quit at midnight. K has to go back to her real job, and I have to go to Memphis to the VA for an eye exam. I do hope it doesn't take all day.

Work in progress

Sometimes what seems should be the easy part of a project isn't. Once you settle on a design, picking fabric can be quite the challenge, especially if you are working out of your current stash rather than going out and buying from scratch.

I think I have pulled through every piece of fabric I own, and friends, let me tell you, I could stock a small store with what I have in the collection. Nearly twenty years of serious fabric collecting, and I haven't even bought any in the past couple of years.

What you see here is the background fabrics that I have decided on for the Shining Armor project. The mossy green will be the major part, and the wheat print will be the background behind the Celtic knotwork pattern I've put together for the flanking panels. I've chosen fabrics for the characters' clothes, hair, skin tone, and the binding. There most certainly will be things that I will decide won't work, once I'm started sewing, but I have to make hay whether the sun shines or not in the next week. Photos of the completed 51" square quilt must be in by May 1, 2006.

Here is the full scale pattern for the Celtic knotwork border. It measures 7 inches wide by 49 inches long, and will run vertically on either side of the main characters. It will be woven of 1/4 inch wide bias tubing, in purple and a steely blue.

The reason for the red at the top? I forgot to change out the divider sheet in the printer and why waste a good print when it doesn't matter? These will be made by putting a piece of waxed paper over the pattern and weaving the knots, dabbing a bit of fabric glue at the intersections to hold everything together. When that is done, I will gently slide them onto the background fabric, pin and glue them in place, and stitch them down. Or that's the plan right now. 8 )

The goal for tomorrow is to get some of the first parts of the characters worked onto the mossy background. I will be appliqueing the fabrics onto the background, adding the precise details with machine freeform embroidery. Most of the threads have already been chosen, too, so what is left is to get rolling on this bad boy, and do it up right. Stay tuned.

Serendipity

Easter Sunday has come once more, and I was privileged enough to get to spend it with my mother. I got up this morning and prepared one of her favorite meals, chicken and dumplings (the puffy kind, not the flat rolled ones) and took it out to her at the nursing home. I had arranged yesterday for the ex to meet me there, because my mother had asked about him. He has always been good to her, and went above and beyond the call of duty when she was living in our home. My mother was quite surprised when he walked in her room, and cried when he hugged her. I think this is probably the first time in almost two years she has seen him, because of our breakup.

Mama and Mrs. Harris, her roommate, were very pleased with the dumplings, and made quick work of them. We went out to the front parlor area, and sat with my mother and talked a little and watched a couple of old comedies on TV Land. It was a pleasant day, and afterwards, the ex and I did a quick run through at Big Lots for some groceries. He hates to shop, and for some reason lately, has been asking me to accompany him. Odd, since he would never go with me before.

The high pollen count is still giving me a terrible time, so I downed some antihistamines and went to lie down for a while. I must have been tired, as I slept until almost 8 pm. I checked email, talked briefly with a couple of online friends, and cruised by a couple of blogs. As I was getting ready to sign into this blog to make an entry, I saw on the scrolling blogs that were being updated "wonder alice". Of course, that got me curious. Down the rabbithole that is the internet I went.

By extreme coincidence, wonder alice is also going through the problems of macular degeneration, but the wet form, which is so much more devastating than what I've been through up to this point with the dry form. She lives in Japan, and by reading her blog, I got the pleasure of seeing many views of the sakuras, something I only got to do once, and it was in Washington, D.C. instead of Japan. Still a beautiful memory for me.

Through her excellent photo blogging, wonder alice has rekindled my desire for some of the wonderful Asian cuisine that I sampled during my tour of duty on Okinawa. She also has something else in common with me...a love of floral design. Even though I no longer do it on a regular basis, the skills come in handy on occasion. Just the other day, when rearranging a lot of things in my flat, I came across several of my ikebana containers and the heavy pin frogs I bought off the base in Kadena and Naha. I must try my hand at this again. It does wonders for your soul to work with nature's beauty.

I have a lot to do this coming week, and I hope I can get it all done. So, if you don't see me around quite as much, it's because I'm concentrating in the inner sanctum of the domestic goddess, aka the sewing room.

The Ides of April

I've never been one to jump on a bandwagon, mostly because I couldn't catch it. If I did catch it, I'd have to have someone give me a hand to hoist me up there. So, what am I doing here, adding my blog to Blogging Against Disablism Day on May 1?

Maybe I will come up with something insightful by then. I hope so. Right this moment, it is 0416 and I am rather fried after a long day of helping celebrate my mother's eighty-sixth birthday, and doing a few other things important only to myself.

****

I would like to say that I do not think Tiger Woods would have intentionally used the "s-word" had he known the connotations it has outside the US. I know it was a phrase that I have heard and probably used over the years without having any clue it was considered bad taste in other places. It's another case of two countries being separated by that common language again. Here in the good old U S of A, a bum is a guy who is too lazy to work for a living. Until recently, when a friend sent me a great dictionary of American/British terms, I didn't know it could be a part of your anatomy. Ah, semantics.

Tied up in knots

This evening, my friend K and I worked on our collaboration for a quilt contest that I want to enter. Actually, we are working on two quilts; one with her artwork, and one with her fiance's art. This is what you see here.

I decided to fill in some of the border space with Celtic knotwork. There won't be gaps in it, that's just where I dropped the repeats to see how they would fit. Adjustments will be made to fit the space. I haven't completely decided if I will do it with bias tape woven in and out, or if I will do it with quilting stitches to be less competitive with the interior art, which is rather elaborate on its own. I think I will have to get the center done first, then figure that out.

All I know is that I must get cracking on it. The jury slides have to be in by May 2.

Shock

One of my best friends just told me that her longtime boyfriend had a massive stroke early this morning, and he has been declared brain dead. I missed her phone call because I forgot to stick my cell phone in my pocket on the way out the door to the post office. I had a few groceries to put up, and didn't look at the phone right away.

I had powered up the computer and was checking email when I saw her come online in a messenger service. I had just been thinking about calling her, because we are collaborating on a project right now. I casually asked her what's up, as is normal, and got one of the great shocks of my life. She first said she didn't know what to do, and I had no idea what had happened. So I learned of K's tragedy on an IM. As things go, I am glad I had left the phone, because if I had been driving when she told me, I think I might have had a wreck.

I picked up the cell and called her immediately, and they were on the way to the hospital to meet with the chaplain and make arrangements for organ donation. I don't want to be in the way right now, and my best intentions feel very feeble to me. God help me to be there for her.

My own father died in the same way. I was barely fifteen and remember it like yesterday. One moment your loved one is there, then suddenly, they are not. Words are failing me...

It takes so little to make me happy...

This has been an outstanding week so far. My sister visited, her kids didn't tear up my house, and she brought me the Elektra Barbie that I wanted so badly. (I think that I have mentioned here before about her barely beating a fanboy to the last one on the shelf.)

Then I get a package in the post from R in the UK who kindly sent me one of the UK exclusive lead figures of Daredevil, along with a great magazine-style book with the highlights of forty years of the comics. It's an awesome sculpt for a figure only about three and a half inches tall.

Today was quite a surprise, though. I was lazily perusing the Bendis messageboards, and clicked on Michael Lark's board. There was a preview to some art for DD issue #85, and beside it, a note to me. Now, just how cool is that? It's the art you see here above.

I need to scrape myself off the ceiling and go get busy. Heh.

Hail! Hail! The Bang's all here...

This just in...some really big hail out here. I am afraid to go look at my car. I know with hail this big, it's bound to have beat it up somewhat. Oh, well, that's why I buy insurance, eh?

There were tornados in the area, and we still have watches until 9 PM. There have been no deaths, but a lot of damage. I really hate that part of living in this area, the middle of Tornado Alley.

Tales from the VA

Where do I start this? I guess with getting D to drive me to the VA, when he didn't even get two blocks from my house before he was bitching that his leg was hurting him. (He fell off the back stair at the parts dept sometime last month. Had he gone to PT like the doctor recommended, he probably wouldn't be having this much trouble, but I digress.)

As I learned to do over the course of the past 30 years, I acknowledged the complaint with a meaningless "uh huh", and let it go. There was no more conversation until ten miles down the road when he said he couldn't hear the radio, so he was going to turn
it up. Fine...I couldn't hear it either for the road noise of those gigantic off-road mudgrip tires he has on that truck. So he spent the next half hour switching stations, which has always been a source of annoyance for me. I looked out the window at the freshly plowed and very wet fields that will be planted in cotton in a couple of months. The view is different when you are way up in the air in a monster truck.

We stopped in West Memphis, AR, to go to the Burger King for lunch before we braved the VA. He bought lunch, which I said I would do, and we both got an Angus cheddar burger that was great (sorry, I cannot be a vegan, heheh). He inhaled his and what was left of my fries before I could get done with the burger. Nothing new there, except he didn't say that one more just like it and he'd be fine, which he used to always say.

We got across the river without incident, because any sort of traffic mishap will block the bridge for miles, and prepared to have to circle the parking lot of the VA. As luck would have it, there was a space near the Clinic Annex where you have to go sign in before you go see ANY of the doctors in the entire hospital. So happens that it is also on the farthest most point in the campus if you have to park in the East Lot...so we were double lucky. Whoop.

D was going to buy a paper to read, but the paper machine wasn't functioning, so he had nothing to do while I was there. I signed in at the clinic check-in, and Dan decided that he would park his oversized frame on one of the couches that was right there, and that he would wait for me in that spot. In other words, he couldn't be arsed to walk with me to the eye clinic.

I moseyed on down to the eye clinic check-in, and gave the lady there my paperwork, then took a seat in the waiting area as she directed. My appointment was for 1:15, and it was only 12:30. I sat down and started brailling out my little business cards for the shirts with the business card slate I ordered off ebay. The damn thing only has 11 cells across, so I had to do the first part of the phone number, then flip the card over and finish the line. By the time I did the fifteenth one, I had it down pat.

That was when I heard my name on the page system, and when I went back to the desk, the lady said, someone will be out in a few minutes to get you. So I sat back down and waited some more. After listening to the damn Divorce Court on tv, I was ready to blow out of there. I finally asked her why I hadn't seen anyone yet. Oh, she said, I didn't realise you were here for Ophthalmology. WTF? SHE is the one who handed me a paper when I first got there which was written in at least 24 point type with OPHTHALMOLOGY across the top! She directed me to another waiting room down the hall.

I went in there, sat down again. No one around. I decided I would go find out where the hell I was supposed to be. I grabbed the first person who looked like she might work there and asked if I needed to check in AGAIN. She hauled my paperwork off down another hall, and shortly, someone took me in to do the preliminary screening.

Was it just me, or were the letters getting smaller? She ran me through the eye chart and took my glasses to see what the prescription was. It just now hit me that they did not do a pressure check. Oh, well, glaucoma is not my problem, yet. (My mother has it.)

I was escorted to another room and young Dr. K came in. I remember him from the last time. He's very nice, but has a fishy handshake. Ugh. He pulled up my files on the computer and with an "uh...huh" turned to take me through the next phase. The requisite bright light torture, then he said they would dilate my eyes and be back for me in about 20 minutes. I had to go back out in the waiting area where Divorce Court was still blasting away. I couldn't reach the damn controls, or I would have turned it off. By this time, I was alone.

Dr. K came back for me, and we start the torture again. He says, "You really are sensitive in the right eye, aren't you?" I'm thinking, duh, no, I cry like this all the time. He runs through the eye chart with me again, this time through the funky lens thing, and I couldn't get a good focus out of any of it. When he started that which is clearer, one or two, I couldn't tell much difference unless he went way off. At one point the legs on the E's started to bend. That was very strange.

Final deal was, he gave me a prescription for a new pair of glasses, which he even told me might not make a lot of difference. (Remember, the private doc told me not to waste my money now on a new pair.) He scheduled me to come back in two months for the fluorscein angiogram, because he said he couldn't see a lot going on that was radically different, but my vision is definitely worse from 6 months ago.

I went across the hall to the optician, and actually had a choice of frames. Of course they are not GOOD frames, like the ones I have now, but they look similar. At least they weren't like the "birth control" frames they gave people in boot camp. (So ugly you have no hope of getting laid.) I asked about progressive bifocals, and was told they will not make those. I've never had bifocals with a line in them, and don't want to start now. But free is free. I also asked if I could get a tinted pair for driving, but they won't do that either. However, since I have had cataract surgery, they will tint this pair. So I had to settle for a gradiant tint. They will be on my doorstep in about a month. Who knows if I will even be able to use them? And, it's not like I'm going to get them adjusted when they arrive. Unless I drive to Memphis. Pfffft.

I got my next appointments scheduled, got my travelpay voucher, and took it to the agent cashier to collect my $9.40 travel pay. (That won't even do the gas in MY car, let alone his truck.) D was sitting right where I left him, and it was now 3:25. He said he heard them page me at 1:32.

Now the fun part. Going outside. Thank heavens it decided to cloud up sometime between when we left the building and when we crossed the bridge back into AR. I had a headache and my eyes were tearing something fierce. At least it wasn't bright sunshine like it had been on the way over.

Very little conversation on the way home. I told him about the new freebie glasses and having to come back in 2 months. I'm sure he hopes I can find another ride. This next appt is on a Monday, so I will check to see if the DAV has a van going that day. If not, I guess I will worry about it closer to the time.

He dropped me off at my place, but didn't get out. He complained that he had to go to the grocery store because he didn't have any bread. I believe that if I still lived there, he would not get off his ass from the time he walked in the door until time to go back to work. (Wait...that's how it was when I DID live there!) Things are civil, but I am still very glad to be here by myself with just two cats, instead of a herd.

So, that's the news from here.

What is it about men in tights?

I've been watching Chad Hendrick, the Texan, win his gold medal in the men's speed skating event. As he was whuppin' up on the competition, I was standing in the kitchen, grilling some shish kebobs, minus the veggies (so is that a shish-less kebob, or a kebob-less shish?), and finding myself actually swaying in time to this guy blasting down the ice.

His emotions had bubbled to the surface earlier in the day, making for increased drama for the commentators. Seems this is the anniversary of his grandmother's death, and she was one of his biggest cheerleaders when he was growing up. For a guy who only rollerbladed up until four years ago, this was an amazing performance. After the definite victory, he said he had written her name across the front of one of his skates, and he was going for it for her. Kinda cool, I thought. Not to mention that Chad looks great in tights.

The pairs figure skating is on tonight too. I am one of the klutziest people on earth, so the grace and poise of skaters has me living a vicarious moment, every time I watch it. I can only skate in my dreams, and once in a while, I get to do it, without the requisite busting of my rather ample arse. In my dreams, I get to wear that sparkly skater's dress, and the glistening skates carry me swiftly across a frozen landscape. I'm thin, I'm lithe, and I'm almost floating. I am grateful for my nighttime fantasies. They make the reality somehow easier to take, as strange as that sounds.

And the guy who is skating with me? Man, does he look great in tights! And usually they are red ones. Heh.