Otter: Woman Medicine; Buffalo: Prayer & Abundance

So we come to the end of another year. To round out 2009, it's time to discuss the last two medicine cards I drew on December 31, 2008: Otter and Buffalo. Before I do, here's a recap of the other cards for 2008:

• Wild Boar
• Badger
• Bear
• Moose
• Armadillo

Otter, according to the book, is woman medicine--the female energy. This applies to both men and women. Otter is a water animal and represents the sleek and graceful aspects of a woman (some of us are more sleek and graceful than others...).

If you have drawn this symbol, Otter may be telling you to become the playful child and simply allow things to unfold in your life. It may be time to stop your addiction to worrying... Become Otter and move gently into the river of life. Flow with the waters of the Universe... this is the way of balanced female-receptive energy. Honor it! In doing so, you will discover the power of woman.

Hear me roar!

Buffalo involves smoking the pipe and prayer rituals. It's about honor, abundance, and plenty:

"...[Praying for yourself and others] could portend a time of recognizing the sacredness of every walk of life, albeit different from your own. To honor another's pathway, even if it brings you sadness, is part of the message that Buffalo brings. This may be a time of reconnection to the meaning of life and the value of peace... Buffalo medicine is a sign that you achieve nothing without the aid of the Great Spirit and that you must be humble enough to ask for that assistance and then be grateful for what you receive."

It's interesting that I was writing about these two cards today because in the middle of this post, I got a phone call. I had made an appointment with Shrinkdink for yesterday, but she had to cancel for an emergency. She called back as I was beginning this post, and we had a short session.

We talked about life and she reminded me of all the tools I have learned from her. I already knew the answers to most of my questions, but I needed to commune with her about them. We were two playful otters in the water--figuring out why my inner compass had gone off course.

As I was just typing out the words of Buffalo, I realized that I had asked for assistance--and gotten it. And I am so very grateful for what Shrinky had to say. She is a wise woman--my very own Medicine Woman. I am so blessed to have met her and known her in my darkest days.

So now, I need to go to the grocery store. It's time to buy the oranges and the flowers for tonight's new Native American Medicine Card drawing. I wonder what the new year will bring? I wish for wisdom, guidance, and extra anchors in the storms.

Happy New Year everyone. Stay safe.

Mommy's King Control Unit--The "Cat Playpen"

The "cat playpen" arrived yesterday, and I took the opportunity to put it together over my lunch break. The kitties FLED when they heard the familiar jingle of metal doors. Back when I had hard plastic cages to take them to the vet, whenever they heard the doors swing, they were OFF! Clearly, I've stirred up some long-hidden memories in the boys.

The directions were simple, and most of it was already assembled, so if I'd been paying attention to the parts, it would've been put together in like 5 minutes. Instead, I tried to use the connectors for the top part for the middle part and spent an extra half hour cursing at it. When I figured it out, I was done in like 30 seconds.

Kingie had run to the bedroom and hopped into my bed. Webster was nowhere to be found. So I pulled King out and put him on the little shelf (which thank GAWD is reinforced). He stood there and sniffed things. He turned in a few slo-mo circles. Webbie came flying out of the bedroom and kept trying to get into the cage from the back. He pressed his little face up against the bars. Oh no! I can't get to Kingie! (I can see this is going to be a problem already.)

So Kingie sniffed some more and then stood precariously at the edge of the platform trying to figure out how to jump down:



He finally got out and ran away. I left it right there next to the couch, so I could monitor their reactions to it throughout the day. Webster finally went inside the bottom part for a few minutes, but then ran out. I'm going to have to pimp it out with some furry soft bedding for the little ledge. Then I need a new smaller litter box for inside and some extra food and water dishes.

Man, I really don't want to do this.

Kingie pooped IN the litter box all last night. Maybe he knows? I tell you, he's WICKEDLY smart.

And then, because we all know how much he loves suitcases, I was not surprised to find he had crawled into the one I took to Nerdtopia that is still in my living room waiting to be put away:


So predictable.

Yeah, So I Have Toe Fungus

Sure, it's gross. Whatevs.

I have toe fungus in one of my toes. To be exact, it's the first one after my big toe on the right side. It hurts like a beyotch. And you know what? It's been there for like a year. Uh huh.

Toe fungus tends to run in families because if you have someone in your family who had it, you are less able to fight it off. My dearest grandmother, who was wonderful in so many ways, had a real problem with the fungus. It ended up going into one of her hands as well as both feet. So we called it Two Foot One Hand Disease. My grandfather used a small dremel to shave them down. True story.

When I was living in Iowa City during college, I dropped something enormous on my toe. I can't recall what it was, but suddenly, I had the fungus. Injury can speed these things along. I called Pa, "I'M GRANDMA!!! OF ALL THINGS, SHE GAVE ME HER FUNGUS!!!!" I was horrified. At 21, such things are soooo not cool. Not that they are cool now, but hey. I'm an adult. As we age, we get all kinds of strange medical maladies. I'm not even embarrassed to be telling you about this right now because I KNOW and YOU KNOW that YOU have SOMETHING WEIRD on your body. Lurking.

Anyway, I moved to Oregon shortly after contracting my fungus and went to a foot doctor. He gave me a huge bag full of a month's worth of Lamisil samples because he knew I was Brokety Broke. I took them all. No worries for my liver. I was young. It killed the fungus, but it took a full 12 months for the new nail to grow in. At that time, it was my big toe. Ouchie.

So I got away with not having the fungus for another 10 years or so. And then last year, I noticed that one of my wee toes was getting a little tender. Sure enough, the nail was starting to poof out. I have the fungus that grows UNDER the nail bed. It's wickedly hard to manage. I left it alone for a while and then a few days before I was supposed to go on a camping/fishing trip with Marshall and The Boy, it flared. Horribly. I went to the doc. I begged him to give me something to take so I wouldn't have to remove the nail and then go fishing. So I went on a prescription, which canceled out any hope of getting a little tipsy on my vacation. Good times. I took all my medicine like a good girl and hobbled around in my dollar store shoes, no doubt making it 100x worse because everything was wet.

When I got back, I read online about treating it and started putting Tea Tree Oil on it 3x a day. It worked. The fungus started to go away. Then I soaked it in Epsom salts twice a day. All was going well.

But then I got distracted.

So I ignored it.

The toe felt better, so I left it alone. I briefly considered having it removed, but I had an ingrown toenail (this exact one) removed when I was like 6 and it ranked up there as one of the worst experiences of my life. I will do anything to not have that happen again.

And so now we arrive to Christmas Week 2009. It began to flare. Redden. Pulsate. It kept in time with my ear whooshing. Putting on socks? Boots? I thought I would die. I went to Nerdtopia and bit the bullet. We soaked it a few times to try and avoid infection. I put some Neosporin on it. I wore no socks. And even though everyone thinks toe fungus is SO GROSS, when I said my foot hurt, Little came running over and kissed it. Yes, she kissed my foot. Even though there was fungus on the toe. That's what family is for, people.

So now I've decided to attack the toe fungus with a vengeance. I got out my stinky (it smells awful) Tea Tree Oil and have been diligently putting it on 3x a day. I soaked my foot in hot Epsom salt water last night and will again sometime today. Reading online, I've also learned that I should try Vick's Vapo Rub and vinegar. Some people suggest bleach and peroxide, but I've learned that can lead to big problems with burning the skin and contact dermatitis. I don't need that. I just need this fungus to go away.

So I'm going back to my hippie roots. I will take care of this problem au naturel. My process:

1. No socks unless I'm leaving the house.
2. Stick foot next to home office heater as much as possible to keep it as dry as possible.
3. Tea Tree Oil with a Q-Tip 3x a day.
4. Epsom salt soaks for pain.
5. Experimental use of Vick's and vinegar when I get the chance to go to the store.

After 2 days of Tea Tree Oil, I can already see an improvement, so I'm feeling good about my process. Go Blondie go Blondie GO!

Holiday Hangover

I survived!

It was a wonderful Christmas with the Blondersons. As you can see above, the Memory Tree went off without a hitch once again. Many thanks to Eagle's Wife for setting it up and storing it each year (I bow before her).

Oh, and for the delicious food and entertainment since church was canceled this year due to the Raging Snow Storm. We rocked Christmas Bingo:


And then we woke up to sights like this:


And this:


Unbeknown to me at the time, my driveway had filled up with 5 foot drifts. And there were trees down and such. This photo doesn't really do it justice because the good part is down at the end. I was too busy huffing and puffing and balancing down there to take a photo. My father came to get me on Christmas Eve, and we noted that this tree limb was frozen solid to the ground in the middle of the driveway:


But the Barbies were totally fine:


And a certain ballerina I know was very happy with her special gift from Mommy and Daddy. She took it with her everywhere for days:


Ma was pleasantly surprised to learn that I adopted her a sea cow. Please meet the newest Blonderson, Elaine. I got her from Adopt-a-Manatee. My mother LOVES manatees. Elaine will be a part of the family now. I have a new sister!


Then Eagle showed up with his handy tractor and bailed Nerdtopia out of its wintry prison:


Miss Little took advantage of the new snow pile:


Meanwhile, back at Farmhouse Villa, things were getting ugly. The kitty litter hadn't been scooped in days. But since I was smart enough to put newspaper down on the home office floor, Kingie hit the targets. Most of the time. I stopped by to check on them and found this after hiking up the driveway in crotch-deep drifts:


So I went back to Nerdtopia and played boardgames:


And, since Dorothy has been teaching a certain Little Person to bat her eyelashes to get what she wants from people, I was forced to bow to her every whim because my heart just couldn't handle resisting Cindy Lou Hoo:


And for those of you who were curious about the ring I bought myself this year, here it is:


Purty!!!

After four days of being snowed in at my parents' house with my sister, brother-in-law, hopped-up-on-sugar niece, and parents, I trudged back up my driveway to deal with my "snow situation." After Eagle made a good attempt to break open the bottom of the drive, he realized it was going to take bigger guns. I called in a professional and two hours later a giant machine showed up and spent a half hour digging me out and pushing aside the frozen trees. I knew the guy from growing up and he had his two boys with him, so it was fun to watch. Not fun to pay for. But whatevs. This is the first time I've had to pay for the snow removal in 2 years, so I am a lucky and blessed girl indeed!

Then I spent an hour scooping off my own stairs and warming up the Corolla from her frozen coffin to go see Marshall and The Boy. I got a wonderful card from Marshall (we're tight on funds this year) and a lovely gift from The Boy (well, let's be honest, The Boy's mother), and settled in for the Cowboys game. Then I was back to Farmhouse Villa because I haven't slept in my own bed with my furbabies for what seems an eternity. We all cuddled in together and I got lots of purring and kneading and love from them.

Now I'm gazing at my yard, which is FULL of limbs and ice and broken parts of trees and the total chaos of snow removal. And even though I put up the Cat Screen last night, Kingie somehow broke in and pooped in the home office again. It's a good thing his little cat playpen is on the way. If the mail ever gets here.

Cause the mailbox is buried...
And I took Diego to Nerdtopia so he's still there...
And the bird feeder fell out of the tree when the limb broke...
And is it really Monday?

Cause I could totally use one more day off. Just for myself. Just for Blondie Time.

Oooof.

Happy Holidays from Mother Nature

I am EXHAUSTED. This is not good. Little & Co are on their way as we speak. Auntie must be in top form for Christmas Eve. The problem? Well, we had ourselves a little ice storm. Not as good as the Great Ice Storm of 1991, which knocked power out of my parents' house for 5 days and took the town to its knees, but a good enough storm to kick my house's a$$. Poor Farmhouse Villa.

The only thing that's keeping me from Totally Freaking Out is that Farmhouse Villa got a new roof last year. So I'm assuming that the roof will hold. Heh, heh (nervous twitters).

Farmhouse Villa is basically a big box with an "A" on top of it. The triangular-shaped attic is ENORMOUS. If this were my house, I would make rooms up there. It would RULE. Alas, it's not my house, so it just has a layer of insulation and nothing else. When I recently blew a fuse (of course the fuse box is in the attic on the far wall), Pa and I found snow in the attic. Good times.

Because it's empty up there, it makes for great acoustics. So ALL DAY and NIGHT I listened to the sound of ice chunks, twigs and full-on branches falling onto my house. (Ooh, just heard another big one right now.) And because it has such a sharp slant, first I get to hear the branch breaking, then showering the roof with ice and bark, and then I get to listen to all of it roll down the side of the house to the ground below.

Please visualize the kittehs' reaction when this happens. Yeah.

The main culprit last night? This tree, which is right outside my bedroom and hangs over the house:


It has a sister tree a few feet over that is just as big and twiggy.

So now the bird tree's limbs are almost touching the ground. The birdie food is frozen solid in its feeder. And for most of the night last night, I had no TV or Internet because my dish must have frozen up in the yard (thank gawd it's not on my roof!).

But yes, it's Christmas Eve.

My mother has just called to inform me that if I come over to her house tonight, I might never get back. I'm to pack extra clothes and leave out a ton of kitteh food. (Oh, Kingie, what will you do while I'm gone?) So now I will pack as if going on vacation to go about 10 miles to their house. I will leave the kittehs to fend for themselves in the big, scary house. Did I mention that Webbie FREAKED OUT all night last night and pranced all over my bed trying to warn me about the scary monsters outside? Again, good times.

So Aunt Blondie will now try to disguise the bags under her eyes, pack up for the weekend, and hitch a ride from Pa, who will come get me with his 4-wheel drive. The Corolla will remain under one of the trees, where it's been pummeled by ice for days.

But I did tell Ma if I was staying for more than one night, I was bringing my fish. Diego is old. If I left him and he died, I would feel very sad. So I will pack him up and bring him to Nerdtopia to spend Christmas with the Blondersons. Five adults, one child, and one MOODY betta.

So even though it doesn't feel like Christmas at all, it is. Let me take a moment from my raving to say something nice.

Dear Readers,

I hope whatever holiday you are celebrating this year goes well. I wish you lots of special food and happiness and moments of clarity where you realize you actually do love your family quite a bit.

I thank all of you for listening to my tales and going on this fascinating journey we call life with me. I watched Love Actually the other night and was reminded of all of the good things about the holidays--even when it's icy.

There, is that happy enough?

Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, and Merry Christmas!

(If you don't hear from me again, it's because my family totally got sick of me and beat me and threw me in the back 40.)

Love,

Blondie

Found Objects

For years, I've had big, ugly plastic drawer things in my various home offices. Since moving into Farmhouse Villa, I've tried to shed myself of such items. It's much nicer to have Grown-Up Furniture. So I recently asked my parents to bring over yet another antique left to me by my Gran when she passed away. It's a beautiful chest of drawers that fits perfectly in the spot where there used to be two super ugly plastic drawer sets. Nice.

These particular drawers housed printer paper, old writing, and a slew of trinkets and memories. (And like 100 bottles of dried up white-out from back when I used to edit ON paper). In the midst of it all, I found the items you see above.

1. Girl with Fish: I thought this was a lovely card, so I bought it for myself. I was living in Oregon with Kira at the time. For some really DUMB reason, I put my writing desk in the cold, creepy basement. I had a small bedroom, so I thought I'd get more done if the desk was down there. Wrong. Don't ever do that. But while the desk was there, I taped this card to the wall. I thought of her as some kind of muse that would whisper writing secrets to me. She didn't work out, but I still think she's gorgeous. She reminds me of the little house Kira and I had together, and so I want to keep her forever.

2. Beaver Figurine: Kate and I have been BFF since we were wee tots. I love her so much. And so I know that her favorite children's book is called The Beaver Who Wouldn't Die (good luck finding it--it's Out of Print). When I was working at the bookstore in Oregon, we had a program called Title 1 that gave a free book to low-income students. Every so often, a whole slew of these kids would show up together and we'd give them books from behind the children's room counter. One day, I decided to organize the Title 1 area. After pulling down thousands of books and realphabetizing them, I came across Kate's favorite book--hardcover, wrapped in mylar with the original dust jacket. I went into a frenzy. I ran to my manager and begged and begged to buy the book. After much pleading and psychotic behavior on my part, he caved. I sent Kate the book, but forgot to throw in this figurine I had purchased to go with it. And so I've kept this damn beaver figurine for... TEN YEARS waiting to give it to her. I think it's time to admit that I'll just keep it now? We'll see.

3. The Bell: This is one of two antique sleigh bells that my Gran had from when she rode on a Christmas sleigh as a child. With real horses and stuff.

4. Tiny Typewriter: That is actually a business card holder. I also purchased that in Portland when I decided I was going to Be an Editor. It's followed me around from job to job, but I always forget to put business cards IN it. Now it serves as a simple reminder: You are a writer and an editor and that is who you are and that is what you always will be.

That wraps up this installment of Found Objects. Stay tuned for when I clean out the guest bedroom!

Kingie and the Christmas Sweater

After King pooped on the floor yesterday in front of me and my parents, I called the vet. We went over all of the testing we'd done, and then I asked him for a verdict. He said, quite frankly, that he thinks it's behavioral. After reviewing all of Kingie's files, he couldn't find a medical reason for pooping outside of the box. He said, "I think he's getting back at you for something you have done that he doesn't like." Interesting.

The vet here in Farmsville works with all kinds of farm animals--horses, pigs, cattle, etc. He said, "All of these animals are much smarter than we think they are. When they start displaying certain behaviors--especially right in front of you when they KNOW you're watching--that's a sign."

So? I have a brat on my hands. Great.

I then asked him about the humaneness of putting an animal in a cage. He said he could tell I didn't want to, but also that everyone has consequences for their actions, including animals. He said behavior training can work well if you do it right. All I know is that I'm tired of my home being terrorized by my furbaby. It HAS to stop.

Now that I work from home, it's easier for Kingie to think he can manipulate me anytime he wants. I will feed him when HE wants or he will eat plastic. I will cuddle him right when HE wants or he will poop in my home office, because he knows that's where I go all the time. He's punishing me? Right. I'll show you punishment: The Christmas Sweater.

I've been throwing Kingie into this Christmas sweater since I first adopted him. It's a dog sweater, and it's too big, but I think it's quite hysterical. Since it will take me a while to get my "cat playpen" and get it all set up, I figured the Christmas sweater was a good punishment for yesterday's poo in the office.

Isn't he adorable?


Since all of his actions are in slow motion, it's easy to just push him over and take a photo.

Now, he plans his escape:


He jumps off the couch just as Webbie comes to get involved:


But no! Webster can't save him! Now the hood has fallen over his face, so he can't see. Stunned, he stops like a giant blinded walrus:


Again, Webbie decides to see if he can help. Webbie is all riled up now--note his poofed tail:


King gets his head and arms out, but wait! His feet are stuck. He finally calls it quits and looks to Mommy for help:


So I took off the sweater and cuddled him and petted him and said, "That's what you get for pooping in my home office."

Merry Christmas from the Blondersons!

Kitteh Woes

I'm not sure what's up with Kingie. Since the great Water Bowl Epidemic of 2009 began, my vet and I have been unable to make a diagnosis. Also? He's started pooping in my home office. Often.

My uncle made this screen back in...well, I don't know when. But it's OLD. It's been in my parents' house since I was born, so that adds at least 32 years to it. I asked them to bring it over for me in an effort to keep the heat in my home office. As you can see, it's a wee bit short. So now it has a new purpose--keep King out of the home office at night. Sometime in the middle of the night, he's been going into the home office and letting it go. This weekend, I had a date with Resolve Carpet Cleaner like you wouldn't believe. Momma was NOT happy.

So now when I get finished with my work day, I will put this screen in front of the office so that no one can get in if I'm not on watch. Unfortunately, as I learned this morning, this will also keep any heat from the house from getting into the unheated (random home addition) home office. So now I'm chattering away with my space heater on full blast trying to get some heat in here. But there is no poop, so I'm happy.

Is King just getting old? Is this his way of trying to communicate a message to me? I don't know. According to my records, he's 13 years old. I did adopt him, however, so that could have been a wild guess on his previous owner's part. He's been to the vet, spent the night, had his pee and blood checked, and went on an antibiotic for two weeks. He's fine. He's not sluggish. He still has a healthy appetite and gets into mischief with Webbie (He ate the bows off the Christmas gifts and then horked them back up. Lovely.). Ever since I got this kitteh, it's been one thing or another. But I love him. He's my sweetie. So I'll work around it.

The first year I lived in Farmhouse Villa, I did a huge Christmas puzzle that I was never able to complete because pieces were mysteriously missing. Over the last two years, I've randomly found about 10 pieces of said puzzle hidden in various places around my home. The kittehs, especially Webbie, love to attack puzzles. So even though I bought this beauty for this year's Christmas puzzle, I think I'm going to have to skip putting it together at Farmhouse Villa:




I'm sad about it, but I can't handle the thought of the endless frustration I will have when both kittehs decide to skitter about all over the puzzle even if I cover it at night. They find their way in, flip pieces all over, nibble on a few, and basically destroy them.

Also, I've now had to purchase a new cat water bowl. Actually, it's a dog bowl. The store only had little wee bowls for kittehs. Don't they understand that my big boy will actually KNOCK OVER the water bowl (I watched him do it) in an effort to get me to give him FRESH WATER? So now King does his Water Dance with this:


Right about the time Kingie took his first dump in the home office, my parents kindly bought me bulk litter bags from Sam's Club. They accidentally got the wrong kind--choosing Fresh Step Clay instead of Fresh Step Clumping. The problem with the clay is that you can't get all the pee out unless you dump out the entire thing and wash it out once a week. This wouldn't be an issue if I had one cat, but I have two and because of Kingie's girth, they are extra large boxes. So despite my best efforts, the boxes haven't been entirely clean. For a while, I suspected that King was reacting to the new litter. But now I don't think that's it. I think he's just being a pain in the a$$. He's sooooooooooo smart and manipulative. I swear he's actually a great ape or something. Or partly human. So I now have the right litter, but the screen is going to stay.

I would never put down Kingie just because he's pooping in funny places. Carpet cleaners these days work like a charm and no one will ever have to know what's going on. In all reality, I'm quite glad that it's poo instead of pee. Cat pee stinks forEVER and has a way of working itself into everything. Of the two problems, I go with the bigger one. But why is he doing this? Why is he constantly eating every piece of plastic in my home??? Just when I think I'm plastic-free, he walks out of the bathroom with some random piece of plastic I threw in the trash last week. WTF?

So now I'm thinking about a new option. I really really really don't want to do it, but it might come to this. I might have to get a cat cage:

Aren't they just lovely?

I would get a cage like this, put a litter box in it and some food and the All Important Water, and put King in there at night or when I'm out of the house. The problems I foresee with this are:

• Webster throws a FIT when I put Kingie in the bathroom for a bath or a pill or something. He howls and scratches at the door and wants in to see his big buddy. If I put Kingie in a cage system, Webbie might lose his mind. Sure, I could put Webbie in there when I go out of town, too, but he would want to sleep with me at night. Webbie is my cuddle baby at night and would lose his mind again if he couldn't get into my bed.
• The cages are expensive. This model costs $142 on amazon, but is originally over $200.
• I feel like a Very Mean Mommy for thinking about caging my baby.

I don't know. What am I supposed to do?

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I would only get rid of Kingie or have him put down if his quality of life was compromised so that I could tell he was miserable. He's not. He still comes to me for hugs every day. He still gets in at least one fun cat chasing match with Webbie each night. He's still my good ole boy.

But I can't keep walling off every part of my home to keep him out of there. I'm conflicted. Thoughts?

UPDATE: My parents just stopped by for a quick visit. While they were here, Kingie wanted me to hold him, but I wasn't in the mood. He waddled into the home office and promptly pooped. In the middle of the day. Right in front of us. I will be ordered the cat pen now...

Blondie's Leap of Faith

After a month of separation, endless phone calls, emails, and text messages later, I've decided to give Marshall another chance. I feel good about this decision. I feel a little scared (there is a wee tightness in my chest that likes to pinch me when I get nervous), but I'm giving it a go.

Here are my reasons:

• After the breakup, I spent many hours explaining to Marshall exactly why the relationship was over. The more we talked, the more he explained that I had never actually told him these things bothered me while we were in the relationship. This was because we never had time to talk. But I realized it wasn't fair to tell someone all of the things he didn't do after the fact and then never give him the opportunity to try to do those things. I had decided for him that he can't change. That's not fair. Everyone can change if they want to. So he said he could change, and I'm going to give him that chance to prove it.
  
• Marshall really is a good person. A very good person. It's hard to find good people in the world. I found myself missing him and wanting to talk to him about things and missing the very good parts of our relationship.
• I am no angel. I make mistakes and do dumb things. I am flawed. But he loves me anyway. That is very important.
• Even though I made the decision to end the relationship and was solid about it, the more we talked and the more he looked at me with those searching, gentle eyes, the more I realized he was serious about wanting to give it a real go.
• Since we broke up and I spent time telling my loved ones why, I realized they might not be so happy about us getting back together. No, Marshall never beat me up or did anything that one could classify as "horrible," but they did know that I spent a lot of time alone wondering why my boyfriend wasn't making a bigger effort with me. My decision to work on the relationship again will no doubt bring in a slew of Judgy Judgersons into my world. But it's My World. I'm the one who is taking the risk. I'm fully taking ownership of my decision. If I didn't think Marshall had it in him to be a team player, I wouldn't have gone back into the relationship.

It's so hard to navigate these types of decisions. But I decided it was time to take a leap of faith. I thought about my own path to self-discovery and thought: I changed, why can't he? Why do I get to decide that he can't change? That isn't fair. Maybe I should give it a shot. Let's see what he can do.

Life is all about choices. So I came to my very own fork in the road and chose a path. He's had time to think about his life and us and what he wants, etc. So have I. I want to feel good about my life, and I do. I want to feel good about trying again with Marshall, and I do. And that is all that matters. I realized I had nothing to lose, and if it works out--quite a bit to gain.

And so I went over to his house last night and brought Lost Season 1. And even though the COWBOYS were on TV (his favorite team), Marshall, The Boy, and I watched 4 episodes in a row. (Yes, they checked the football scores on the computer every so often, but that's OK).

Actions speak louder than words. And his actions showed me he wanted me to be there and wanted to explore something fun from my world. And then he made cheeseburgers and corn for dinner and even had chips and cheese sauce for me to snack on later. He knows I like my snacks.

So we spent the evening with The Boy doing something I wanted to do. It was such a small gesture, but it was so wonderful. I'm really not that hard to please, I swear. I just want the special person in my life to give my interests a chance--and he did so with flying colors. I snuggled into the bed with my book and the Moosecat and Marshall and slept like a rock. Full belly. Happy heart. The sound of The Boy's television silently murmuring next door in his room. Lovely.

So my dear readers, I'm not sure what you think about Marshall, but I hope you will give him a chance with me.

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

-Mark Twain

Five Things I Meant to Do in 2009: Blondie Edition

My sister recently wrote a post called Five Things I Meant to Do in 2009. She was inspired by another woman who had written about the subject on Blogher. Find it all here. I was very touched by Dorothy's words, and so I started wondering about my own "regrets" for the year.

1. I meant to take better care of myself. I'm not sure what is is about this year, but I've been veeeery bad at maintaining a core of good mental health. Throughout this year, I've found myself teetering back into old fictions and self-talk that is somewhat gloomy. I'm not good enough. I don't deserve better. I'm a failure. I'll be alone forever. WTF is that kind of thinking?! Rather than regularly telling myself: Shrinky would be proud! I have found myself thinking: Shrinky would be so ashamed. Key word: ashamed. In truth, Shrinky would NEVER be ashamed of me. She doesn't know how to shame someone. It's all on me. I haven't spoken to Shrinkydink in over a year. I think I should call her for a tune-up. It's all about maintaining. I need to find my power again.

2. I meant to be more proud of my home. One of my key defense mechanisms when I'm feeling "off" is to make a mess of my home so that I can't invite anyone over. (2 points for honesty!) If it's messy, I don't have to invite people in. And then I can have my little castle all to my lonely self. Bad Blondie! I want to be proud of my home. I want to be able to have Kate drop by if she's in town visiting her parents unannounced and not freak out (which has never happened because Kate and I have an understanding about the Dreaded Drop-Ins). I want to be able to invite over relatives--perhaps have a little get-together--without feeling worried that they will think I am not the cleanest person in the world and get all judgy on me. (Note the return of the Shame Monster.) So in 2010, I will work on keeping my home clean enough for any visitor that might stop by. I will tell people that they can come by any time without breaking out into a cold sweat. And I will finally go through the last remaining boxes from when I moved in here 2 years ago that have been sitting in my guest bedroom in the corner. It's time. I live here, and I need to own it.

3. I meant to be a better friend. I get so caught up in my day to day madness that I forget to call people and talk to them. In this day of texts and emails, it's easy to forget the sound of someone's voice. Many of my friends had new babies this year, and it's been difficult to get in touch with them because New Mom = Hella Busy. So I play a lot of phone tag. But I need to make a bigger effort to maintain these relationships--especially my girls in Chicago. When we do actually connect, it makes me feel SO HAPPY. I also need to get my butt up to Omaha to see Kate and Featherplume at least once a month. I cherish them so much, and I want to SHOW them that love instead of just talking on the phone for hours at a shot. I need to..... invite them over. Working on it!

4. I meant to work on personal projects. I have a writing project that I toss aside constantly because I spend my whole work day writing and afterward, I'm too beat to keep looking at the computer. I'm filled with ideas but no steam. It was much easier for me to focus on writing projects in Chicago because it was harder to get out and do things or go to visit friends. I also had plenty of time to work on my dollhouse in Chicago, but I haven't touched it since I moved home--it's over at my parents' house in my old bedroom. But these types of personal projects help to keep me centered and excited about life. It's time to admit that no one sleeps in my guest room (except Kira maybe once a year). It's time to admit that it's become a catch-all for dirty clothes and random boxes and really, honestly, it's just one large kitteh bed. I think it's time to fold up the futon into a couch, clean it out, and turn it into a Project Room. In 2010, I will put my dollhouse in that room. I will become crafty once again.

5. I meant to own my career. I am a professional freelance writer and editor. This does not include full-time work or those lovely things I always took for granted: benefits. After a few years of struggling to find full-time work, I threw in the towel this year and admitted that I am "just a freelancer." This was very difficult for me because I take huge amounts of pride in my work. I love what I do for a living, and it has remained my central Good Thing for a very long time. Realizing that I was not going to continue to charge my way up the ladder was quite hard for me, but I have accepted it. Now I need to focus on maintaining it. I need to network. I need to attend a professional conference (even though they are wickedly expensive). I need to show my face and my mad skillz and prove my worth as a topnotch freelancer. Recently, the industry has been flooded with freelance writers due to the economy. But from what I'm learning, not everyone is very good at it. Sure, they come cheap and with a ton of degrees, but it takes a certain personality type to be a good freelancer. I've learned that I am actually really good at it. So I will continue to get contracts and jobs Because I'm Worth It. I will believe this. I will own this. And the employers will see it, too. I will have a contract lined up when this one ends. I can make it happen. I have for 2 years.

The End

The Indifferent Stars Above: A Book Review

Once I get on a roll with a theme, I find it hard to back away until I've done all my research. Due to the massive snow storms in Iowa in the last few weeks, I've been making random references to the Donner Party. And then they got stuck in my mind, and I started thinking about them all the time. At one point, I had read The Perilous Journey of the Donner Party by Marian Calabro, but that was a children's book (a really good one at that), and it was a long time ago. It was time for fresh material.

While we were journeying back from seeing Little in the Nutcracker, we stopped at Border's. I went to their little search computer and typed in my keywords. To my delight, there was a fresh batch of recently published books about the Donners. I went to the shelves and looked at my options and chose The Indifferent Stars Above by Daniel James Brown. I'm so glad I did. I'm pretty sure it is the best one.

I've always been fascinated by survival stories. People always say: "Why do you want to read something horrible like that??" But I love realizing someone is on the brink of death and basically has to make a choice to live or die. I know that sounds terrible, and it probably is, but when you think about it, that is when we really get the chance to shine as humans. To look death in the face and say, I choose to live. Some people are built for it, and some people aren't. So far in this life, I haven't had to figure out which one I am yet, but something tells me I would not go gently into that good night.

For those of you who don't know the Donners (cough, Mother), they were a group of emigrants who were going to California in 1846 and got stuck in the Sierra Nevada Mountains over the winter. They are best known for resorting to cannibalism, which I totally think is understandable considering their circumstances. Could I do it? Jury is still out. But they had to, and I don't blame them for it.

What is really wonderful about this book is that Brown uses modern psychology and physiology and whatnots to explain the different processes that might have been going on in the minds of the emigrants. He strips away the horror of the situation and puts a very human face on it. I became so enveloped in this story that I spent all of last night finishing it--growling angrily at my phone each time it rang. Just leave me with my Donner Party! I have to know how it ends!

The Donners themselves are not the focus of Brown's tale. Instead, he focuses in on Sarah Graves Fosdick, who was just married when the group set out for California. Most other books about the group talk mostly about the Reed family or the Donners, but the Graves family was a major part of the journey--and the survival of those who made it. I enjoyed Sarah's story, and found myself pulling for her and cringing for her and whacking kitties off my lap to get better reading light for her. It was truly a glorious book.

At then end of the night, I reached the Epilogue. My brain was swirling with everything I had just taken in. The wind whipped around Farmhouse Villa. Trees creaked outside. I was nesting into bed with the kitties for another icy Iowa slumber. Just before I fell asleep, I finished the book, and this part from the Epilogue filled me with a magical kind of serenity:

"...what Sarah's story tells us is that there were in fact heroes in the Donner Party, and that heroes are sometimes the most ordinary-seeming people. It reminds us that as ordinary as we might be, we can, if we choose, take the harder road, walk forth bravely under the indifferent stars. We can hazard the ravages of chance. We can choose to endure what seems unendurable, and thereby open up the possibility of prevailing. We can awaken to the world as it is, and, seeing it with eyes wide open, we can nevertheless embrace hope rather than despair. When all is said and done, I think the story tells us that hope is the hero's domain, not the fool's."

Yes. YES!

That is why I read so many stories like this. Because they show me that I can overcome anything.

----------------------------------

Also by Daniel James Brown:

~ Under a Flaming Sky: The Great Hinckley Firestorm of 1894

Finding Old Scribbles

One of the beautiful things about working from home--the part I actually appreciate and enjoy the most--is that I don't have to commute. After years of taking trains, buses, and Els to work, I do not miss it. Oh no, I do not.

Being a writerly type, I have a tendency to scribble thoughts on sheets of paper and tuck them in odd pockets only to be found years later. Recently, while switching out a purse, I found a piece of paper tucked in one of the pockets.

To set the scene: it's obviously winter. I've obviously just been waiting somewhere forEVER for a train to pick me up. I'm not sure if this if from an El or a Metra train. Could be either one, but it would have been worse on the El. Either way, it gives you a little glimpse of train commuting. Enjoy.

Snot running down my face, ear lobes dark purple and throbbing, yet after it all, I can feel one drip of sweat exit my armpit and slide down toward my bra. It tickles, but there is nothing I can do about it--I'm so stuffed and tucked into this coat that all attempts at stopping the drip or the itch are futile. I'll just have to wait it out.

It's the same with my glasses, now fogged over and covered with small beads of precipitation. There is nothing dry to wipe them on. Eventually, one eye slightly clears and I get a visual of the woman directly across from me. She has a fur-lined hood that has snow hard packed on the left side. I can only see her out of my left eye. I close it for a moment and her head becomes a dark dandelion puff, a weed so out of place this time of year.

I am an old woman with cataracts, a botched lasik surgery patient, a secret pirate.

A Weekend in 8 Acts

Act 1:

After a long few weeks of being horribly sick and then stuck in blizzard conditions, our heroine escapes for a few cocktails at the local watering hole. The next morning, she is up bright and early at 8:30AM because there is a road trip to experience.

Blondie gets into a large vehicle (that has a severe air-whistling problem when it's going full speed on the Interstate) and heads to Missouri to see her darling Little in the Nutcracker. Because she has given Little her very own Pink Kitteh, Aunt Blondie brings her version of Pink Kitteh for the ride. Pink Kitteh wreaks havoc on the ride down, waving at truckers and posing oddly for cars. Grandma becomes the target of Pink Kitteh's shenanigans, and almost loses her mind.


Act 2:

The Blondersons arrive at Little's house, but no one is home. This doesn't surprise Blondie because every time they go somewhere with the Matriarch of the Blonderson family, they are always at least an hour too early. Luckily, they have a key. In short order, Dorothy appears and everyone sits down for a nice chat. Then it's off to get sandwiches and the Star of the Show, Little herself. Blondie walks into daycare and finds Little singing Jingle House Rock with her friends. She scoops up Little and dances and sings along for good measure. Then she flees the scene of so many small children.


Act 3:

Back at Chateau Travolta, the girls get ready for the big performance. Little is make-up'd and gets her hair did. She is now covered with adult makeup, sending Blondie into waves of memory where she's dancing in 100 different dance recitals throughout her own childhood. Then the whole family gets into two cars and drives for a few years until they reach the right community center. They arrive a half an hour early.

The lights dim, the music begins, and we are now swept into the children's version of the Nutcracker, which is blessedly much shorter than the real thing. And there are extra parts for kiddos, such as the little snow birds. That's Our Girl, front and center:


And then later she reappears to clean the Sugar Plum Fairy's castle before the big show. She is waving her feather duster at Mommy, since the Blonderson clan is in the front row:


The family praises and oohs and ahhhs and even gives her flowers:


Upon returning to Chateau Travolta, the wee tot is exhausted from two performances in one day. She is stripped of her makeup and shoved into bed, where she peacefully dreams of ballerinas all night long.

Act 4:

8:30AM, Chateau Travolta. Good morning! Yes! You just got here 15 hours ago, but you have to leave!

Little has two more performances to go, so the Blondersons pack up and hit the road. With Pink Kitteh. But before they leave, they get their minds blown by a wee 5-year-old who decides to write a story about some certain Iowa kittehs:


Then it is all kisses and hugs and goodbyes and see you soons. Our heroine is once again trapped with the Nerds in the big whistling car. The only solution to the madness is to stop at the nearest Borders, where Blondie purchases:

• Lost: Season 5
• The Indifferent Stars Above: The Harrowing Story of the Donner Party Bride
• The Monster of Florence
• A REALLY cute game for Little for Christmas which can't be shown here lest she see it
• 3 magazines

Back on the road, Blondie entertains herself as best she can until FINALLY returning to Farmhouse Villa, where she promptly throws in Lost: Season 5, and starts watching obsessively.

Act 5:

Blondie wakes up Bright and Early once again. This time, the performance is all Pa Blonderson. And Auntie Blonderson. There is a church concert going on--bell choir and regular choir. And even though Blondie went to have Blondie Time at the watering hole the night before and is not feeling the best, she drives furiously over the wintry, country roads to the little church in the middle of nowhere.

PASTOR: Is this what it takes to get you to church?

BLONDIE: Yes, I only come when the bells and the choir are both in the service.

PASTOR: Well, I'll schedule them both and then give you a call whenever it's going to happen.

BLONDIE: Sounds good. I'll see you in a few weeks for Christmas Eve though!!

Both women giggle and give each other a hug.

So the bells play and the choir chirps and then Blondie gets in line for SOUP, which in her case is chili. Two bowls down, and she's ready for a nap. But instead she talks to all of the people she's known her whole life since she was raised in the church and they haven't seen her for a while and want to know What She's Doing.

Act 6:

Blondie has now driven over to Nerdtopia to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon with her parents. Immediately, she curls up in her nest on the couch, begins to read her book, and falls asleep. The Nerds also pass out in their designated comfy chairs. Snores and snorting sounds erupt from the various sleeping people. Meanwhile, outside, the sun moves across the sky and the clouds roll in and bring freezing rain.

By the time everyone is up and has had dinner, everything is frozen. A nice, icy sheen on the whole world. Greeeeat.

MA: (Looking out window) There isn't enough wildlife outside. Blondie, go out there and run around for us.

Blondie: (Silence)

So the family watches the very last episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation. It's been a two year epic journey of Sunday Night Star Trek. It slowed down at the end because Blondie didn't want to let go of her beloved characters or her special time with the Nerds. But it had to end some time. There were only 7 seasons, after all. And so the weekend comes to and end. It is the end of the Star Trek Era.

And then Blondie finds herself trapped with her parents. Again. She almost biffs it on the ice-covered back stairs while going out for a cigarette, and realizes she can't drive home. It really is the theme of the weekend. But Pink Kitteh is nowhere to be found. She is at home with the real kittehs, who don't have any dinner and are therefore eating all of the ribbons off the gifts Blondie wrapped so carefully the night before and placed under her tree. Blondie doesn't know this now--but she will soon enough.

After twittering around for a few hours and moaning and groaning, Pa Blonderson is the Hero of the Weekend, and offers to drive Blondie home in his big whistling car.

Act 7:

Blondie walks into Farmhouse Villa and sighs. It's been a loooooong weekend. No rest for the weary. No pay for Friday's vacation day. No way to take out the garbage for the week since the driveway is a skating rink. One episode of Lost, and then bed with the Donner party book. Blondie relates to their wintry hardship.

Act 8:

Blondie wakes up at 8:00AM, wonders where the weekend went, and heads to her home office to start another week of tight deadlines and crucial editing specifications.

Right under the desk where her feet go, perfectly, as if placed there with exact precision and perhaps some sort of measuring device, is a giant stack of Kingie poo.

Welcome to Monday.

A Strong Case of Villa Fever

For the last few days, I've been trapped inside of Farmhouse Villa. Literally. We got a HUGE snowstorm that dumped like a foot of snow in 24 hours and then decided to blow it everywhere in giant drifts. This is my front door when I open it--covered in ice. Almost all of my windows are like this because I live in A Very Old House with Very Bad Window Insulation. Despite my need to save propane, I refuse to redo all of the windows in a rental house, so there you have it.

The really strange thing about this particular storm is that the wind was the worst part. So even though there was originally a ton of snow, a bunch of it blew away into huge drifts. So as you can see in this photo below, there is GRASS showing in part of my yard, yet I can't open my front door because of the drifts. But you can see farm kitteh paw prints in the snow. At least I know they are all still alive:



My neighbors, who are saints, always scoop off my driveway for me when it snows. You can see from the photo above that someone scraped off room for my car. But where, oh where, is my beloved Corolla?

It couldn't get up the drifted driveway:


You can't really tell in that photo, but I have a low-grade incline. On the day the storm began, I ran into town over lunch to get movies and supplies. When I got back, I got stuck in the bottom of the driveway. Like any good farmie, I backed out into the highway multiple times and got a running start (all while avoiding the teetering traffic). I could barely get a few feet in without getting high-centered. So I left the car there and walked up the driveway.

Then the neighbor called and told me I could park my car in her yard so her husband could scoop out the driveway for me. (Saints, I tell you.) So that night, I somehow made it back out of the driveway and barreled my Corolla through their now-blocked driveway and up into their yard where it stuck like a tight pair of hot pants on a stripper's a$$ in the snow. Good times.

So they scooped my drive, but it was in vain. Overnight, the bottom of the driveway filled up again, as did their yard. So now the Corolla sits like a frozen Siren in their snow. I HATE not having my car. It makes me very nervous and twittery. Even though I have no need to go anywhere, I'm driven crazy by not being able to if I wanted to. I've always had a burning desire to escape wherever I'm at with 5 minutes notice. Without this option, I feel nervous.

I called Ma and Pa and mentioned The Donner Party (which, hello? Ma had never heard of. I told her I'd give her my children's book about it.) I watched more of my movies. I flopped restlessly on the couch. I got up and looked outside at my car through a tiny hole I carved in the window ice. I listened as the house creaked and shook in the wind. AHHHHHHHHHHHH!

This morning, I'm a bit better. I feel I'm over the hump with this storm. Even though I still can't see out of my home office windows:



But I will NOT be trapped for long. Oh no. Tonight, I will begin Mission Get Out of the Villa. My neighbor's truck is now parked behind mine for the day, so I won't be able to work on the car until later. He's going to dig out my driveway when he gets home from work. In the meantime, I will focus on my work project with wild abandon, ignoring the iciness all around me. I will crank up my home office space heater and get my fuzzy lapcat Webster to warm me up. And then later I will scoop off the stairs, put on every single outdoor warm item I own, and begin the Battle of the Driveway. I. Will. Get. Out.

And then I will drive to town and drink a big, delicious Guinness. With other people. Face to face. Other people still exist, right? RIGHT???!!!!

Huff puff.

Julie & Julia Stir Blondie UP

Last night I watched Julie & Julia as the wickedly cold Iowa winds kicked up a few feet of show around Farmhouse Villa. It was fantastic. I loved it. I've read the book (which is different than the movie in that it was only Julie's life) and really liked it, so I knew the movie would be fantastic--especially with the help of Meryl Streep and Amy Adams. Those ladies ROCK.

What really got me about the movie was the intense love story between Julia Child and her husband Paul. Julia was such a character--so tall and loud and amazingly goofy. And there was her husband, loving every minute of it. I swooned.

And then we have Julie Powell, whose husband also put up with her incessant cooking and meltdowns about her blog. He is also a hero in this story--supporting the wifie with charm and elegance (kinda... most of the time).

The critical turning point for Julie was turning 30 and feeling like she didn't have "something." She was struggling at dead-end jobs and wanted to be a writer and wanted to be engaged in life. Cooking her way through Julia's book was a way to find that life. As I watched, I wondered: What would give me the life I want?

Now of course, the movie makes it look so easy. The women cook, write, and get books published! They become famous! Whoo hoo! Oh, this is not real life. Well, it kind of is, but it's a faaaaaar stretch from reality. I've had this blog for years and have never come home to find 60 messages asking me if I need a book agent.

(crickets)

But honestly, I really didn't feel jealousy as I watched the movie--I felt passion and excitement. Look at these women doing amazing things! Look at them fighting through the drudgery of life to find something worth doing! Whoo hoo! I was so inspired that I sat down and wrote in my personal journal, which I haven't done forEVER. That was my New Year's resolution from last year--to write in my personal journal more. I counted. I have filled roughly 7 pages. Oops.

This year I want to live life a little fuller. I don't need to have a cooking show or publish a book or anything like that. Baby steps. I just want to Do More. Be More. Really suck the marrow out of life, Mr. Thoreau. I'm ready.

What's Your Sign?

Bad window insulation makes for awesome ice art.

I always say I don't really believe in these things, but maybe I do. A little. Because it's fun. You see, I'm a Gemini. According to some, I'm actually on the cusp of Taurus/Gemini (my birthday is May 21), but no matter how hard I try to mush myself into the category of Taurus, it just doesn't work. I lived with a Taurus in college, and so I know what they are like. That ain't me.

I fall into the perfect stereotypical representation of a Gemini: flirty, artistic, witty, scatterbrained, restless, and loud. Yep, there you have it. That's Blondie in a nutshell. I am twins--two parts of one whole. I can change on a dime.

Sound good?

(snickers)

Given, all horoscope "summaries" tend to pick out the key points and leave the rest aside. I have other personality characteristics that come and go that far outweigh the basic Gemini moods. And that is why I tend to take my daily horoscopes with a grain of salt. But then I sit back and look at "big picture" things, such as life-partner compatibility, and somehow the horoscope thing always tends to come back.

My history is riddled with Leos. My main relationships have always been with a Roaring Lion. And this sign seems to do well with a Gemini for quite a while. I'm attracted to the strength I see in Leos. I want my mate to be "more than me" in some way--stronger, smarter, tougher. I want to be caught if I fall. But as Dr. Phil would say: How is that working for you? Well, my Leos have not panned out. I am single, after all. So I begin to wonder--should I look for other signs?

My father is a Leo. He's the least Leoish Leo I've ever met in my life. I was struck dumb when I realized his sign. He's the anti-Leo, but a lion all the same. And since we are attracted to our parents' personality types, I suppose it makes sense that I would lean this way. But if you put my father next to any true Leo, you would laugh at how different they are. I do.

I've also had a lot of bestie girlfriends who were Leos. I'm attracted to their energy and conversations. I'm at home with this sign. If I don't date a Leo, who do I date?

(Don't you love how this has quickly become a life or death matter?)

So I did some research.

Apparently, I would work best with a Libra (Sept 23-Oct 22) or an Aquarius (Jan 20-Feb 19). Hmmmm. My sister and cousin Kira are both Aquarius because they have the exact same birthday--Feb. 5. Kira and I have been besties since we were little kids, and Dorothy and I get along quite nicely, but DATING them?? Ahem. No. (Don't feel bad for them--they totally wouldn't date me either). And even though I am using my powerful Gemini brain as much as I can, I seriously can't think of a single person I know who was born within the Libra time range (except another roommate from college, and she's already married, so I can't marry her. Oh yeah, and I'm not a lesbian...).

I'm not saying I want to get out there and date RIGHT NOW because Christmas is only a few weeks away and I'm still sick and I have too many plans in the next few weeks, but at some point, I'm gonna want to flirt with someone. Is it still tacky to ask people their signs? Yes. Yes, it is. But there is something to be said for it. I think maybe perhaps I will just ask for the man's wallet and look at his driver's license. Then I can run a background check on him and know his current address and date of birth. Presto magic!

Tell me... do your signs mesh with your partners?

Whooshing While Sick

On Saturday, my mother invited me to an English Tea put on by the Friends of the Library in Farmsville. I was sick, but I was bound and determined to go. We got there, sat down, and began eating and drinking. And then I noticed my ears were getting worse.

This particular illness has led to a complete blockage of my right ear. I was taking some ear drops, and all they really did was close off that ear to the outside world. I knew I hadn't gone deaf in that ear because I could hear the sound of my fingernails scraping my scalp when I washed my hair. So at least I could hear INSIDE my head. Outside? Nada. I snapped my fingers a few times. Nope. Nothin'.

So I went to the tea and found myself sitting in a room with a bunch of ladies. Who were all talking. I positioned myself with the bum ear to the wall, but it didn't help much. And the ear that was supposed to be listening? It was the whooshing ear--my left ear. My Most Annoying Life Destroying Ear. Good times. That ear was also starting to pick up on the sickness. It totally didn't want to be left out. Slowly but surely, it started to block itself up. So I was hearing about half of what I normally hear out of that ear, which isn't much, and then the Whooshing cranked it up a notch. It went to a roar.

ROAR! ROAR! ROAR!

Oh my. I ate my tea cakes and sipped my tea daintily and then, toward the end, I completely melted down. The pressure of listening and trying to hear and focusing on my whoosh pushed my brain over the edge. I got a horrible headache. ROAR! ROAR! ROAR!

So we left and Ma took me over to her house to watch the rest of The Godfather, Part 2, which we had started on Thanksgiving. We always turn on the closed captioning when watching movies because my father can't hear very well (especially without his hearing aids, which is usually how you will encounter him). I like to turn up the TV and listen even though the captions are on there. But that night I found myself giving in and just reading the damn captions. Fine. I can't hear. I give up. I quit.

I've suffered from cold-induced hearing loss before. I distinctly remember working in the bookstore in Oregon and not being able to hear anyone for a few days. I spent that time re-alphabetizing the lit section so I would be able to avoid customers. I stuck a name tag sticker to my shirt that said, "I'm sorry. I can't hear you. Speak up!" It didn't help very much. That was when I learned that people tend to not read signage. Like ever.

But this experience with hearing loss was like nothing I've ever known. Because the whooshing was still there--but louder. I really got a taste of what it would be like if the whooshing ended up consuming my hearing altogether. I almost welcomed complete deafness if it meant the whooshing would go away.

Almost.

I haven't been to see my shiny, new vascular surgeon yet because I've been trying (failing), to get my medical records from Chicago. Each time I call, I get sent to 10 different phone systems that culminate in an answering machine where I leave my name, phone number, and date of birth for them to call me back, which they never do. I've now decided to just go see the doc without the old tests because they'll just retest me anyway. But I really can't do this before Christmas, and since my new health insurance has a $3000 deductible, I have to really think about the testing. I am hopeful that the new doc will be gentle.

I'm still sick, but after stopping the ear drops, my right ear has mostly unplugged with a few days rest. I'm hopeful this whole illness will disappear soon because I just have too much to do in these next few weeks. Being sick doesn't work well with Christmas. ARG.

I've had a few emails from whooshers recently, so if you're here for whooshing--stay strong! I'll be sure to keep you updated about my progress. And there was another Cured Whoosher mentioned on whooshers.com recently--head over there to check it out.

Yours in the Whoosh,

Blondie

For all posts related to ear whooshing/pulsitile tinnitus, click here.

Random Friday

King Blonderson, found in this position, didn't move even as Mommy went to get the camera and then took multiple shots. After she was finished, he went back to licking off all of his belly fur.

I am very sick, and since I don't want to bore you with the details of my sickness, I'll just leave you with this photo. Enjoy.