Let’s turn the wayback machine to 1999, when selling some of our priceline.com friends & family stock gave us the capital we needed to score this house of ours. As I’ve mentioned before, the kitchen was nothing short of a minor disaster.
Non-staged, messy reality. Although I did move the muddy boots from this afternoon’s walk out of the picture.
Alpha kitty on the couch. Doodle on the floor (odd) next to her dad (everyone say HI, Paul!). Beta kitty off-camera to the right. Children elsewhere, playing a new video game. Snow man ignoring me since I’ve cruelly placed him so close to the fire. Dirty wool sock in the foreground. Christmas detritus everywhere. Curtains? Yeah. New. After 10 years of naked windows, I’ve been on a tear.
This downtime stuff? It’s kind of nice.
I’m off to eat a slice of pizza and find a bottle of wine that pairs perfectly with contentment.
Texting while my husband was running errands earlier:
teh crazeez is here.
One curtain done. Badass.
No, ME. Just got your last present.
But I’m so done with presents, I’m MAKING
CURTAINS on Xmas eve. Total badass.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care. Parts of Christmas dinner are burbling on the stove. And I’m waiting for my husband to come to help me hang my badass curtains.
Merry Christmas, dear friends. Love to you all.
The same floor. The same chair. Shift change.
I know the rhythms of this ICU. Twenty minutes until the nurses will let me in. Twenty minutes. Until.
It’s just a building. Just a building, a floor, a unit where my mother drew her last labored breath.
This time, I am here with joy in my heart.
My sister’s tumor is gone. History. Dead tissue in a lab somewhere, long gone from her body. Divorced from her brain.
She’s talking. Asking for the dog that’s brought new life to our home since the two of them arrived Saturday night. Moving her arms, legs, fingers, toes.
Healing.
Rumor has it her neurosurgeon is going to write a case study about her. Because my sisters and I, we are strong like you read about in medical journals.
And it ain’t rocket science. But it sure was brain surgery.
Healthy children.
Healthy, happy children.
The means to care for an ailing dog.
A job. With benefits. Interesting work.
A computer.
A wam cat next to me, hunkering close and losing his shit (like the rest of the pack) because their canine leader is hospitalized.
New underwear!
A sport I love. An obsession (weight lifting) that’s actually healthy.
Swimming. At all. Regardless of speed.
Perspective. Hard earned.
A stolen 3 day weekend on the beach.
Love. Deeper now than I ever thought it could be when I met him 17 years and 1 day ago.
Steak. Nom, nom.
The hurricane left angry seas in its wake, making today the first day we swam in the ocean. But it’s aallllllll goooood. Except for the broken sunroof. And the dog who was certain the skunk was an innocent little kitty who was dying to say HI!
republished with pictures that didn’t stick in the WordPress iPhone app
He is a CPA.
And I have an MBA, having earned an A- in statistics only by the grace of the bell curve. I didn’t fare quite so well in Finance. But I thought I could count. And I was sure he could.
Neither of us has had coffee yet. We’ve finished the warmup. It’s 6:12 am.
Look at the smile on that face. Hell, he’s got a cat right next to him and he’s still smiling. I’ve never seen a happier cancer-laden, arthritic 13 1/2 year old dog. Have you?
I think I told you (both of you?) my goodest good boy has cancer. But to verify, I’d have to go back to a part of the blog I’m none too anxious to revisit.
Even with the dogs and the cats, it’s so still.
Away for five days with their great aunt, the boys aren’t here.
They aren’t in their beds, whispering to each other from seven feet apart as we insist they hush up and go to sleep.
They aren’t asking for one more drink of water, one more story, one more joke.
As we were driving home last night from my nine year old’s birthday dinner in a bar…
(And to be perfectly clear, my son hadn’t actually set foot in a bar until Saturday night, when we gave our 20 year old nephew $100 as we ran out the door saying “Thanksforsittingtaketheboystoamovieanddinnerkthxbai!” All we heard about the next day was why Bobby V’s was the best restaurant my boys had ever been to, and asking have you ever been there Mom? Really? When? Do you know where to park?)
…my father and I were discussing music. He asked me if I could find a Paul Simon CD for him.
Sure, Dad, no problem.
“OK, and I think I have some stuff you’d like. I’ve got the new Andrea Bocelli, and I have all that Bon Jovi I bought for your mother.”
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