FLASH FAIL

So Paul bought this kitty scratch pad thingy for Flash so she won't knead her claws on the new rugs we bought for the living room:

Obviously, Flash does not get the concept.

Wha'?

Ack Attack

Does this make my butt look big?

     

HEY PAUL

On the 4th of July, 1985, friends and I went to the Esplanade to watch the fireworks and listen to the Boston Pops.  After the display we split up and I went to The Rat for a late-night pop before going home.

That’s when I met Paul Koster.

Surprisingly, Paul and I were the only two people in The Rat.  He was sitting by himself at the end of the bar.  I ordered a beer, dropped money into the jukebox, selected The Ramones and The Cure, then pulled up a stool next to him.  We talked about music (he liked punk, but did not dress the part) and art; he told me he was a self-employed contractor and was working with friends on an apartment building close to The Rat.  A more unlikely couple would be hard to find, but we hit it off immediately.  When the bar closed at 2 o’clock we took a cab to his place in Brighton.  After a few weeks I moved in with him.

*****

Paul and I have a lot in common – we like the same music, we both love to cook, each of us has a whacky sense of humor, and we both fit the quintessential definition of a Type B personality.  But most importantly, there are enough differences between us to keep things interesting.  One area where Paul and I differ is that I like to leave early for appointments, but Paul likes to wait till the last minute. 

For most of the major events in our lives, Paul has been late.  It started with our wedding day in 1989.  Paul and I married in Rockport, MA, at the Ralph Waldo Emerson Inn.  It takes about an our to get there from our home in Everett.  I arrived there early to do my hair, makeup, etc.  Paul left home a bit later than he should have.  At the Inn, my mother began pacing and looking nervously at her watch while I tried to reassure her that Paul would come.  Little did we know that Murphy’s Law had caught up with him – he got a flat on Route 128.  So there was my future husband, dressed in a tuxedo, changing a flat on one of the busiest highways north of Boston on our wedding day.  When Paul finally pulled into the driveway my mother, father, and our wedding guests heaved a collective sigh of relief, but I just laughed. I knew he would get there . . . eventually.

Paula and Paul.  June 18, 1989

Two years later it happened again.

I had to spend the night before Marcy was born in the hospital because I hadn’t dilated.  We decided that there was no use in Paul staying up all night watching me sleep, so he went home.  Besides, Nancy, a friend of ours, was an OB nurse and she happened to be on duty that night.  In retrospect, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I sent Paul home while I was in labor, but somehow it made sense at the time.

The next day my doctor induced me and things went fast from then on.  Nancy dialed our home phone number so I could tell Paul to get to the hospital STAT, but there was no answer.  I left a frantic message on our answering machine and hoped that he was on his way.  Less than an hour later Marcy was delivered.

Paul showed up ten minutes later.  His hair was disheveled and he looked exhausted.  When he came into the delivery room I saw Nancy waving her finger at him while whispering “Where the hell have you been?”  He sheepishly made his way to my bed and told me that he had spent the past half hour looking for a parking meter because he didn’t want to spend the money to park at the Beth Israel Hospital garage.  In the haze of pain and exhaustion I wanted to be mad, but when Paul awkwardly picked up Marcy and cradled her in his arms, that feeling vanished.

Two days later, Paul was on time when he picked up Marcy and me to take us home from the hospital.  When we went into Marcy’s room there were a dozen roses sitting in her bassinet, and I thought to myself, how lucky we are to have him.

Late as usual.
Marcy poses and Paul photobombs.

STEROIDS - PART 5 and WOO-WOO KITTY

Steroids Part 1

There is much to be cheerful about today; I am in the homestretch with my Prednisone regimen and I feel FANTASTIC!  After all the scary, frustrating days that led up to this, my lungs are clear and I am sleeping more soundly than our teenage daughter Marcy on a Saturday morning.  And I got through it all without vomiting up coffee grounds.


I would not have gotten through the ordeal without Paul and our amazing cat, Flash.  

I believe pets can tell when their humans are sick or depressed, and  Flash was extra concerned about her Momma during this ordeal.  She shadowed me constantly, to the point of being a nuisance.  But how could you stay mad at a face like this?


Flash has been a member of our family since I got her from a cat rescue shelter 15 years ago.  She is an extraordinary creature; among her many enduring features, she is polydactyl and has six toes on each front paw instead of the usual four.  Polydactyl cats were brought from Europe to the U.S. by the Puritans and as a result, they are usually only found in New England.

Flash has what look like opposable thumbs on each paw, and she uses them in that capacity with great dexterity.  She wraps them around her favorite toys as she bites and bats them with her hind legs.  These claws also enhance her value as a top-notch mouser.  When the weather gets cold, Flash will occasionally leave a present for me on the floor by my side of the bed -- a nicely rigor mortised mouse.  What a great treat it is to wake up on a chilly morning and step on a tiny, furry corpse.

Flash works hard at looking beautiful -- it's a full-time job -- and she has mastered the fine art of posing for her humans' entertainment.  Here Flash displays the Turkey Butt Kitty pose where she makes herself look like an oven-stuffer roaster:

  
Here is the frightening Don't Mess With Me/I Will Eat You Leer of Death; watch out Bela Lugosi:

Like all cats, when it comes to snoozing, Flash has many poses in her repertoire including the I Have a Dream pose:

and the I'm Too Cute For Words pose (which is extra effective when performed next to a sleeping Marcy):

One of our nicknames for Flash is Woo-Woo Kitty.  She earned this title from midnight ravings that sometimes take hold of her.  It goes something like this:  Paul and I will be lying in bed when all of a sudden we'll hear Flash galloping from one end of the house to the other.  She comes to a screeching halt at our bedroom door, then stares wild-eyed at some thing hovering over our heads that can only be seen by cats (we call them greeblings.)  Next she pins her ears back on her head, arches up like a Halloween cat, and jumps simultaneously backward and sideways before spinning around and racing back to the other end of the house.  Evidently, Woo-Wooing takes a lot out of you because she'll do this for a few more rounds before she gets so exhausted that she jumps onto our bed and goes into a deep slumber.

We are not privy to the reasoning behind this behavior -- it simply must be done.  

Unfortunately, getting photos of Flash in full Woo-Woo mode has eluded me.  We never know when it will happen next (I think it has something to do with a full moon), and I'm usually at the brink of sleep when she commences flight.  But some day, when she least expects it, I'll be waiting in bed with my Leica. . .

Steroids Part 6

STEROIDS - PART 4

Steroids Part 1

Wow . . . Yesterday, Day 4 on steroids, can only be described as bizarre.

My fears about not sleeping on the evening of Day 3 were unfounded; I slept soundly through the night and woke up early yesterday, fully rested.  I took my 2^nd day of 5 pills, read my e-mail, then two chapters of this week’s vamp novel.  But then I could read no more.  A strange sensation came over me; after weeks of exhaustion and lethargy, I was overwhelmed by an unbelievable surge of energy.  I couldn’t sit still.  My mind was buzzing with things I wanted to do.  I got up and began dusting the entire living room, then I cleaned out a closet.  Trust me -- housecleaning is not my strong point, so this flurry of activity was most unusual.  I worked so frantically that I was soon soaked in sweat.  I took a shower, trimmed my hair, then tried to sit down and read some more, but it was hopeless.  I just could not sit still.

Paul was beginning to worry.  If you know anything about me at all, you know that I am the farthest thing from a Type A personality.  I am as laid back as they come.  I’m not a slacker – when things need to be done, I do them, but at my own pace.  So it’s no wonder that Paul was worried – I was zooming around like a yellow jacket around a jar of honey – totally out of character for me.

I felt like I had to get out of the house, so I decided to make a trip to Target to buy some new dishes.  Despite his concern, I convinced Paul that I was OK to drive myself.  As I got into the car the heightened vision I’ve been experiencing was very noticeable -- the brilliant fall leaves on trees were nothing short of psychedelic.  Undaunted, I put on my sunglasses and headed out to Route 16 on my way to Target.  Amazingly, I had no problem driving.  I got to the mall and walked into the store. 

The minute I entered I took off my sunglasses and was blinded by complete sensory overload.  The first thing I saw was a huge Halloween display and the colors literally made my head spin.  Ghoulish sounds and spooky Halloween music were playing, and eyeballs were staring at me.  Don't get me wrong -- I love Halloween, but when your vision and hearing are in altered states, the Halloween display at Target is not the place you want to be.

As quickly as I could, I navigated my shopping cart through a maze of giant walls of soup, teetering towers of storage bins, and jumbled shelves of household cleaners before I got to the rear of the store where the dishes are.  


I was overwhelmed by the cacophony of happily chirpping Target shoppers.  Claustrophobia set in.  I began sweating heavily.  I raced to the dish aisle and hastily picked out two sets of dishes -- one black, one red -- threw the heavy boxes into my cart, then made my way to the checkout as fast as I could.  I was frantic to get home.  Again, driving was not a problem, and I made the return trip without a hitch.

The whole experience was incredibly surreal.  While I was in the store I felt like I wasn’t really there.  I grew up in the 1960s, and like many young people then, I experimented with drugs.  My excursion to Target brought me back to those psychedelic days – it felt close to tripping, but without all the fun.

When I got home I told Paul what had happened.  He joked and told me he hid all the kitchen knives.  (I love that guy!)  He told me to sit down and try to relax, then he made me dinner to calm me down.  He served it on our beautiful new red dinnerware.  It worked to a certain extent; I was able to chill out a bit and watch a couple of Masterpiece Mysteries without feeling the need to clean the house from top to bottom.  Unfortunately, I was still unable to read, but at least I wasn’t jumping out of my skin anymore.

Last night I was again able to get a full night’s sleep.  Today I still feel a bit on the speedy side, but now I am behind in my reading and will have to spend the day hunkered down with my nose in my book.

The good news about all this is that my breathing is vastly improved – no more wheezing at all.  I can still feel some residual gunk in my lungs when I wake up in the morning, but it doesn’t bother me during the day or while I’m sleeping.

This weird experience made me think about people who abuse steroids.  I can understand how the feeling of euphoria might be exhilarating – up to a point – but I cannot fathom living with this feeling every day.  I can clearly see how daily usage of this drug could put you over the edge.  Today I’m down to four pills and I eagerly await the day when I’m done with this medication.  It will be soon, and that is a reason to be cheerful.


Steroids Part 5

STEROIDS - PART 3

Steroids Part 1

I thought that by taking my pills early in the day yesterday I would be able to fall asleep easily last night, but I was wrong.  I tossed and turned fitfully because of the steroids, and I was treated to the pleasure of experiencing a new symptom -- heartburn.  It is SO frustrating to be exhausted and unable to sleep.

By 3:30 this morning I had had enough.  I learned my lesson the night before and had taken possession of the TV remote before Paul fell asleep.  I surfed over 300 cable channels for something completely mindless and found the perfect snooze-fest movie -- an asinine film starring the equally asinine Carrot Top.  Man, this is one scary-looking dude!  My plan worked though, and I fell asleep about three minutes into the movie.  I was so zonked out that I didn't wake up until 1 p.m. today.  I slept soundly the whole time and to my delight, I didn't wake up once coughing.

Today I reduced my dosage to five pills, but I'm worried because I took them so late in the day that it might prevent me from getting to sleep again tonight.  I've got my fingers crossed, so we'll see what happens.

My heightened vision and hearing is still there, and my eyes are still sensitive to light.  It occurred to me as I write this that I've recently read a similar account of sensory overload.  I searched through Anne Rice's Interview With the Vampire and found this passage where the vampire Louis, tells the person interviewing him about the sensations he felt when Lestat drained him of his blood and made him a vampire:

I saw as a vampire . . . It was as if I had only just been able to see colors and shapes for the first time. . . . Then Lestat began to laugh, and I heard his laughter as I had never heard anything before . . . It was confusing, each sound running into the next sound, like the mingling reverberations of bells . . .

To me, this is close to what I've experienced.  Hmmm . . . I think I've been reading too many vampire novels.  I'll have to keep a close watch on my teeth and make sure I don't sprout fangs!

Three days into this ordeal the steroids seem to be doing their job, and this makes me a happy camper.  In keeping with the spirit of my blog, I think it's time for something else cheerful . . .

*****

I believe that Stephen Colbert is hysterically funny -- all l I have to do is look at the guy and I crack up laughing!  This is a clip from a show he did last year.  It may be old, but it is one of the funniest things I've ever seen, and it never fails to make me laugh out loud.  This is sheer comic genius.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Craziest F#?king Thing I've Ever Heard - Barreleye Fish
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes 2010 Election March to Keep Fear Alive

Steroids Part 4

STEROIDS - PART 2

Steroids - Part 1

1:15 a.m.  Well, I tried, but sleep is a no go.  I wake up coughing, but it’s less severe than it has been.  I am also soaked in sweat, but how can this be?  It’s 40 degrees out, I’ve got the window wide open, the ceiling fan on low, and another small fan pointed right at me.  I’m having flashbacks to menopause.  I throw off my blankets and look over at Paul who’s wrapped up in three heavy blankets like a mummy.  I take one of many trips to the bathroom then try to go back to sleep.

2:30 a.m.  Still wide awake.  I’m sweating again.  Another trip to the bathroom.  I want to watch TV because that usually puts me to sleep, but where’s the bloody remote?  Our cat, Flash (a.k.a. Flashish, Woo-Woo Kitty), curls up next to me.  She’s like a heat-seeking missile and finds the torrent of heat emanating from my body to her liking.

3:45 a.m.  Still awake.  One of the neighborhood skunks has decided to forage in our backyard and his aroma is wafting through the open window.  Is my sense of smell heightened too?  Paul’s still mummified and snoring away.  I hate him right now.

4:30 a.m.  I actually fall asleep for awhile, but wake up again coughing and soaked in sweat.  Could somebody please shoot me?

10:00 a.m.  After a few minor coughing spells and constantly pulling blankets off then pulling them back on, I managed to finally get some sleep.  I get up, make myself some oatmeal, and swallow my six tablets.

*****

While battling this cold, I have struggled to complete my assignments for the two classes I’m taking at Harvard Extension School this semester:

Blogging and The Vampire in Literature and Film.  It’s hard to be creative when you feel so rotten, but somehow I managed to write my blogs.  In my Vampire class, we have to read a novel a week, which means I’ve got my nose planted in a book at all times.

So far I've read Sheridan LeFanu's Carmilla, John Polidori's The Vampyre, Bram Stoker’s Dracula and Laurell K. Hamilton’s Guilty Pleasures.  The books are fascinating, and reading about the undead seems very apropos under the circumstances.


Next on the reading list is Lord of the Dead by Tom Holland.  This should be an interesting exercise, considering that the Prednisone has altered my vision.

Steroids - Part 3

STEROIDS - PART 1

This is Part 1 of a six-part series.

Today I started a 12-day regimen of the steroid Prednisone for asthma problems that arose from a severe cold I've had for 4 weeks.  Today and tomorrow I take six tablets, then the dosage is slowly weaned down so that by the 12^th day I’ll be taking one tablet, then none.

The good news about Prednisone is that it is not the type of steroid that is abused by athletes.  Great – at least I won’t end up looking like this:

The bad news about Prednisone is that it may produce some very strange side effects, including:

-       Weight gain.  (Oh, joy.)

-       Increase of blood sugar.  (I have Type II diabetes – what fun.)

-       Difficulty sleeping (Great.  Just what I need.)

-       Increased sweating (Yippee!)

-       Mood swings; nervousness.  (This should be interesting.)

-       Vomit that looks like coffee grounds.  (WTF???)

The best time to take this medication is in the morning because it can cause difficulty sleeping, but I didn’t get out of my doctor’s office till 5 p.m.  The pharmacist told me to take the six tabs ASAP, and they have to be taken with food.  So I rushed home, had a quick peanut butter sandwich, swallowed the pills, and hoped for the best.

*****

8:30 p.m.  I’m glued to the TV as the last of the 33 Chilean miners is raised to the surface.  Finally, a news story worth watching.  But something feels strange . . . some of my senses seem to be heightened.  Everything I see seems crisper and sharper, as if the outlines of everything are more defined.  I have to turn off the lamp next to me because the light seems so intense.  My hearing has been affected too – the voices on the telly have a surreal ring to them.  It sounds like Anderson Cooper is sitting right in my living room.  I tell Paul, my husband and soul mate, about these sensations.  He looks me in the eye and says, “Look at you – you’re out of your mind on steroids!”  I tell him to shut up.

10:00 p.m.  Paul and I retire to the bedroom to watch Top Chef Just Desserts.  The most amazing thing has happened – my constant wheezing has disappeared.  This is a good sign.

11:00 p.m.  I want to watch The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, but where's the damn remote?  Paul wants to go to sleep and won’t help me find it.  He gets up and turns off the TV manually.  I resign myself to a long evening of trying to get some sleep.

Steroids - Part 2

RAIN

It’s raining again.  Our garden is far past the stage where we prayed to the rain gods for a good soaking to hasten the growth of tomato and cucumber vines.  Today there is a small lake on the patio and the ground looks like an over-saturated sponge begging to be wrung out.

It seemed like spring would never get here as we impatiently awaited that magic moment when the ground warms up and the threat of frost passes.  Finally, time to sow!  It felt great to get back in the garden under a warm sun and to smell the rich soil as we tilled.  That dirt got caked under our fingernails as my husband Paul and I eagerly planted perfect little rows of 3-inch seedlings of tomatoes, cukes and zucchini which we got from the Italian nursery in our town.

We thought there would be plenty of room for the plants as they grew, but soon they began to crowd each other out as they stretched toward the sun.  Tomatoes quickly overtook sage as they jockeyed for position in our tiny garden.

Cucumbers sucked up the sun and took over the spot where we had planted delphiniums, and the cukes did it so effectively that it prevented subsequent blooms of the electric blue flowers.

  

And the zucchini . . . ah, the zucchini.  Now there’s a challenging vegetable.  Early on in summer the little plant exploded into a starburst of gargantuan leaves at the ends of thick, sturdy stems.

Huge, yellow flowers bloomed every morning and closed by mid-afternoon.  We just knew we’d be getting tons of squashes – I mean, look at the size of those leaves!  But after a dutiful month of watching it grow, daily inspections revealed that most of the flowers were males – the ones that DON’T produce squash.  Undaunted, we kept a constant vigil.  Then one day in July, there it was – a beautiful, colossal zucchini, resting on the ground under all those leaves.

This pattern would repeat itself throughout the summer:  nothing . . . nothing . . . then boom – gigantic zucchini – as if some garden fairies had come in during the night and plunked the fleshy gourd at the base of the plant.

This year our garden provided us with an abundance of fragrant herbs, sweet, juicy rasperberries, and vegetables including tomatoes (4 varieties), peppers (4 varieties), Swiss chard, zucchini, and cucumbers.

        

Those vegetables made many colorful salads, our bushy basil plants turned into delicious pesto, and the raspberries made delicious tarts.  I experimented with new recipes too:  Swiss chard ravioli made with ricotta cheese, wonton wrappers and fresh herbs from the garden; yummy baked, stuffed zucchini; gorgeous yellow tomato soup.  (I will devote an upcoming post to recipes.)  You can't beat food shopping in your own backyard, and fresh, juicy just-picked veggies are a completely different beast from store-bought.

*****

My favorite time of day for being in the garden is the morning.  Neighborhood kids haven't swarmed into the park behind our house yet, so it is peaceful and quiet with only the sounds of chattering mockingbirds, breezes rustling in trees, and music from my wind chimes.  It is amazing how these sounds of nature drown out the noise of the city.  Our garden is a perfect setting for daydreaming and easing into the day with that first cup of coffee.

*****

Remember that scene in Wizard of Oz where Dorothy opens the door after her house lands and the film goes from black and white to brilliant colors as she steps into Oz?  Well, that’s what our garden resembled this year as we were treated to a profusion of stunning, colorful flowers and their intoxicating scents:  hibiscus, daylillies, roses, bleeding hearts, delphinium, petunias, daisies, lavender and rose of Sharon.

      

    

      

We were visited by many guests in our garden this year, and they mesmerized and entertained us on hot summer days.

     

       

But now it is raining.  Vegetable vines are spent, and the strong, green stalks and leaves have dried up and turned yellow, then brown.  There are a few stragglers clinging to life; smaller, more wrinkled versions of their bounteous cousins that weighed down the branches in August.  I savor these late tomatoes and cukes; they are still flavorful, but I hate to see their numbers dwindle as the days get shorter.

Finally, the rain stops.  The water in the garden is receding.  Soon the rain will be replaced by a protective blanket of snow in my sleeping garden.  On dreary days like today it lifts my spirits to look back on the myriad colors and life that make up our own personal Oz.

During the winter I will occasionally take a peek at our garden.  It saddens me to see everything looking so dead, but I know that before all the snow is gone, chives and tulips will begin poking out of the ground.  Soon after, the planting ritual will play out again, and before you know it, I'll be blissfully sitting in my garden, sipping my morning coffee.

This Bird Has Flown

Last weekend my husband Paul, daughter Marcy and I made the grueling ten hour drive, schlepping Marcy and all her stuff to George Mason University (GMU) in Virginia.  This is Marcy’s sophomore year.

Last year the three of us experienced the wild emotions of sending your kid off to college for the first time.  Marcy was scared to death and was afraid that nobody would like her.  We were scared to death – this was our baby, and were sending her off to the unknown to fend for herself.  The minute Paul and I got in the car after moving Marcy into her dorm I wanted to run back in, take her in my arms and protect her from all the horrible things in this world – drunken boys, mean girls, drunken boys.  When we got home I went into her room and sat there for hours, looking at all the little girl stuff she had left behind -- Pokemon cards; ceramic tea pots; mountains of stuffed animals; her favorite tiny white "cha-cha" shoes she wore as a toddler.  I went to her closet and sniffed her clothes and visions of the shy, tiny young girl overwhelmed me.

Two weeks later Marcy called us; she was out of breath as she told us that she had auditioned and made it into Urbanknowledgy 101, (UK 101), George Mason's hip-hop dance team.  She got her first English paper back and got an "A."  She had lots of friends.  She loved her classes.  She was in better shape than we were.

The following month we went to visit her during Parents’ Weekend.  We watched Marcy and her UK 101 team perform to a full house during “Mason Madness” in the huge campus arena.  After the show she found us in the crowd and introduced us to two of her team members.  They were giggling excitedly after dancing their hearts out.  We were going to take Marcy to dinner, but she said, "Oh, Mom, I'm sorry.  There's a party for UK101 and we're all going.  You don't mind, do you?"  Then she was off, cell phone attached to her ear.


I felt differently this time when we left her to return home.  She had settled into her new life and was happy.  But a new emotion hit me -- she no longer needed us.

When Marcy returned home this summer she told us that she loved college.  She said she felt like she had matured and that she could make it on her own. She felt free.  We saw very little of her while she was home.  Our house was little more than a bed and home base for Marcy and all her stuff.

When Paul and I returned from Virginia last week there were no tears.  Marcy was reunited with her friends and got right back into the swing of campus life.  She’s fully independent now.  We expected to never hear from her this semester.

******

Friday, 4:30 p.m. Marcy calls, screaming hysterically.  She lost her debit card.  Luckily I was able to put a stop on her card.  But now there was a new dilemma -- she had no way to access money in her account.  And it’s Labor Day weekend.  And Marcy needs to buy textbooks.  Panic set in.

I go to the website of the Virginia bank where Marcy has an account and figure out a way to electronically transfer money from her account back home, to the Virginia account.  Problem:  the Virginia bank has to send test deposit and withdrawal transactions between banks before they can finalize setting up this feature.  This will take a couple of days.  And it's Labor Day weekend.

Plan B.  I go to Western Union’s website.  I fill out online forms to wire money to Marcy.  The transaction doesn’t go through.  WTF??!!  I call Western Union.  New plan.  Paul goes to nearest Western Union office with $500 in cash.  He waits in line FOREVER because this place also cashes checks and everybody in the world was there cashing paychecks for the long Labor Day weekend.

Paul is finally able to wire money to a Western Union office in a supermarket near GMU.  I call Marcy and tell her where to pick up the money.  Mission accomplished.

Ten minutes later Marcy calls from her car and says she can't figure out how to get to the supermarket which is about 1.5 mi. away from campus and involves only three turns on major roadways.  Google in one hand, phone in the other, I become her co-pilot.  Go straight.  Left at lights.  Left at lights.  She finds the store.  She gets the money.

******

So what are the reasons to be cheerful in this story?  We nurtured a shy, scared little girl and helped her become a well-adjusted, intelligent, and (mostly) self-sufficient woman.  Yes, the nest is empty; this bird has flown.  But she still needs us in her life.

MARCY, Summer 2010