No Good Words

my new kitchen island

When he heard I was working on my kitchen, my friend Ron offered to build my kitchen cabinets for me.  We've been friends for some 20-odd years.  He's helped me on projects before, and is the one who taught me how to sweat copper plumbing.

I was more than happy to accept his offer; I've seen his work before.  He got started on the cabinets last fall, before he and his wife went to Arizona for the winter.  He called me in late March, letting me know they were headed for Missouri.

I sent him a message a week or so later, letting him know my construction project is finally progressing, and to see how he was.  I didn't get a reply, which was unusual for him  I waited a week or so, then sent another message.  This time I got a reply that started:  Janice, this is Marilyn...

I knew it couldn't be good news and it wasn't.

Ron is dying of cancer.  I went down to his place to see him.  In just over a month, he's gone from healthy to a constant morphine drip.  He won't be alive much longer.

I am so glad I went.  He's not able to say much, and the drugs muddle his thinking, but we were able to talk some.  I told him this really sucks.  I let him know again that he will always be my hero.  I let him know I was grateful for his help and friendship over the years.  We gave each other a big hug, and cried on each other's shoulders.

But my words felt so inadequate.  What words should I have used to say goodbye when I knew it was likely to be the last time I will see him?  I still don't know.  I can only hope he understood the language of my tears.

Another Goodbye

I didn't know I still cared.  It's not like I left the church where she was choir director mad at her, it was another issue entirely.  Yet, when I left, there was some unfinished business.  It never sat quite right with me, but I also never tried to set things right.  Neither did she.

So when I heard last week that she was in the hospital with an infection, then that she had died on Good Friday, the depth of my tears surprised me.

She was a good teacher; she taught me how to cantor.  I remember when I first met her, at a workshop she led some twenty years ago.  Along with the technical aspects of singing and welcoming the congregation to sing with you, she asked, "Why do we gather as church?"  After gathering our answers, she offered her own view:  We come to share our stories.  The stories of Jesus and Moses, woven into the stories of our own lives.

I've come to believe she was right.

And so I gathered with a whole bunch of people yesterday at church.  My tears flowed freely as her nineteen year-old daughter spoke of what her mother meant to her.  I was sitting at an angle to her family - every time I looked across the church at young Christina, trying so hard to be brave and strong and to (unsuccessfully) stop her tears, I cried again.  For her and for myself in much the same place so many years ago.  Her story mingled with the readings, meshed with my own story, and I cried for her in the years to come, when her mother won't be there to guide her through the rough spots.

But her mother was a good woman.  She laid a strong foundation for Christina and her brother to build the rest of their lives upon, and they still have their dad.  He will be there for them and together, they will heal.

Beatrice Santner, rest in Peace.

Two Hour Project

see my floating wall???

I am wildly unrealistic when it comes to guesstimating how long it'll take to complete the projects I do around the house.

My brother, I'm sure, remembers well the time I asked him to swap out the back door for me.  "How hard can it be?", I think.  "Door out, door in.", I think.  "Two, three hours tops!", I think.

I was so wrong.  He pulled out the old, rotting door - and a good portion of the back wall around it was rotted out, too.  It took him the better part of a week to put the corner of the house back together.  (He did a good job - it was sound when he finished...)

So, I should have known, when I started to replace the siding on the back of the garage today, that the project would take more than the afternoon I had allotted for it.  Sure enough, we were pulling off the rotten siding, and when Joe pulled off one panel, the entire section of wall moved with it.  There's nothing securing the bottom of the wall.  nothing.

I suspected something was wrong.  The inside of the garage was freshly sheetrocked when I bought the house.  I saw the sag on the ceiling line on the back of the garage.  Old, repaired damage, I thought.  I was half right.  It was old damage.

We THINK that at some point, many years ago, someone hit the back wall of the building with enough force to knock the wall off the sill plate.  (It's been known to happen...)  If you line up on the wall, you can see where it leans out at the bottom.  In the intervening years, everyone just ignored or covered up the damage.  Even old oak rots out when it's been in contact with the dirt long enough.

We caught the problem in time, i.e. before the roof caved in.  My two-hour project now involves tearing out the finished walls on the inside of the garage, jacking up the roofline, installing a new sill plate, sistering the existing joints to get around the rotted bottoms, and tying the whole thing back together.

THEN, I can go back outside and put the new siding up.

"Two hour project.", thought I.   **sigh**

ObamaCare: 1

I must admit, having heard any number of health insurance cancellation horror stories, I've been a tentative supporter of Obamacare (AKA the Affordable Care Act) since first hearing about it.  The idea that people would no longer be left out in the cold, unable to purchase any form of affordable insurance, intrigued me.  (Me, I'm OK.  I am one of the few with retirement health insurance.  at least for now.)

Now it does more than intrigue me.  It has a near and dear face attached to the abstract arguments.

I have a longtime good friend who's never had health insurance in the 20+ years I've known her.  She is self-employed, in general good health, but with a pre-existing condition or two, and has never been able to afford the premiums for an individual policy.

This past fall, once Obamacare became a reality, she was able to purchase her first worthwhile policy ever.  Once it took effect, her brother prodded her into going in for a screening colonoscopy.

What she thought would be a routine screening turned into a clip-and-snip operation that took well over an hour.  She needs to get repeat scans every three months for the next year.

Thanks to her health insurance, the scans won't bankrupt her.
Thanks to her health insurance, she has a fighting chance.  They told her that if she'd have waited another year to do the screening, it would have been too late to do anything about the growths.

Obamacare has saved her life.

Dirt Piles

The weather warmed up, and the foundation contractor showed up as promised.

Fortunately, I was off work last week on vacation, and was able to be around to watch them dig and to answer questions.

It's been quite the process.  They started last Tuesday, and would have finished up today except that the weather turned cold and snowy and the concrete companies wouldn't deliver any mud.  It's exciting, after the long, cold winter, to see progress.  (The last piece that needs to go in is the foundation around the crawl space under the kitchen addition.  The slab for the garage, the rebuilt front steps and the side of the house next to the drive are all finished.)

First, they dug out the trench footing for the garage addition.  It's 18" wide and 3' deep.  If you could get a semi into my back yard, it could safely park on it, I'm sure.  Yes, it's overkill, but it's what was required for me to get my permits, so overkill it is.  At least I'm sure it'll all stay put.

After that, they dug the big hole next to the house for the addition and laid the forms for the footing.  That was fun to watch - though I must admit I jumped back from my vantage point at the back door a time or two when it looked like he was about to drive through the wall.

After all the hoopla I've heard about nightmare inspectors coming by, I have to say I've been pleasantly surprised by that part of the process.  You call, they come by within the next two hours.  As long as you've more-or-less followed the plan (and we have), they sign off on the work, and you're good to go.

It's been a little dusty, a lot muddy.  The contractor showed up at noon, hung-over, the second day of the project, and was obnoxious to work with to boot.  (If I hadn't had such trouble getting someone in here, I'd probably have fired him - how unprofessional!)  Fortunately for him, the guys actually doing the labor were here on time and good to work with.  Also fortunately for him, it was just the one day, and he was fine to work with the rest of the time, or I might have fired him anyhow.

I've had some second thoughts and had to take some deep breaths and go back through my (still good) reasons for buying this house and taking on this mess before my stomach would quiet down.

The framing will start next week.  I like and trust the contractor who'll be doing that part of the project.  He's a rare gem, and I know my stomach will be happier with this next piece.

It's spring!

Getting Started

Spring is here and the contractor has returned with the robins.

And just in time.  Friday night, as we were toasting garlic bread in the oven, the handle on the door pulled off.  It made it quite a challenge to finish the bread since the door tried to pull itself in half when we opened it (and there was no way to reattach the handle until the oven was cooled down).  But we persevered and managed to finish cooking without the door completely falling off.  It was close...

I met with the contractor on Wednesday morning.  The job is going to be a challenge for him and his crew.  The drive is narrow, too narrow for any kind of a tandem-axle truck.  The current slope of the backyard goes towards the foundation, which means the grade needs to be changed.  The top of the current foundation is just an inch or two above the dirt, and current code requires at least a six-inch gap between the top of the foundation and the surrounding soil.  But I'm confident he's up to the job.  He's supposed to be here next week to do the digging and pour the concrete.

It's exciting to see progress after the long months of waiting!

Yesterday was 70 and sunny, and Joe and I spent much of the afternoon doing some final prep work.  He took the concrete front steps apart, I removed the rotting trim boards on the garage.  (he muttered something about an imbalance of labor, but I pretended not to hear him.)

I am SO ready for this project to start...

Spring!

OK, it's not quite spring yet.

But the robins are back!

When I was a little girl growing up in Minnesota, my mother watched eagerly for their return each spring.  She'd peer out the window searching for signs of them coming north from their winter break in warmer climes, and was always thrilled when she first spotted them.

I picked up her custom somewhere in there.  Come late February (they arrive here in Missouri sooner than they ever got up to Minnesota.  Makes sense if you think about it at all...) I start watching for their arrival.  When I catch my first glimpse of an orange breast, my heart lifts.  I remember my mother's smile and know mine matches hers from so long ago; winter's days are just about over.

Joe and I have been taking regular walks through the park this winter.  Once the weather turned last fall, all the people went home and we've pretty much had the park to ourselves.  I think I'll probably miss the quiet on our walks once the weather turns in another week or two (though the people-watching will greatly improve, so perhaps it won't be so bad).
 
Last night, it was well after sunset when we were out walking.  As we turned the last corner for home, the branches of the tree we were approaching were silhouetted in the streetlight, and I thought I saw buds on them.  I stopped and pulled one close for a better look, and sure enough the buds are swelling.  Give them just a few warm days and they will be bursting out in their spring song of green.

See, winter only SEEMS like it lasts forever.  Spring comes.

Squirrels

The last few weeks, as I've gotten up in the morning, I've been aware of the sound of the squirrels scampering on the roof.  Then, one day last week, I happened to go outside when they were scampering, and there wasn't a squirrel to be seen.  But, I could still hear the sounds of little fat-tailed rodents.

Inside the eaves.

So, I took a look around.  Sure enough, up at the corner of the roof, there was an opening where the flashing had come loose.  And a matching opening at the opposite corner of the house.  Just enough room for an cold squirrel to squeeze on in.  And, once they were in, I'm sure it was no trouble at all to find their way down the plaster walls to the first floor eaves where they have set up two cozy condos, one front, one back.

They make rather considerate neighbors.  They get up around the same time as the sun.   You can hear them moving about as they get ready for work.  Then, they come home about the same time I do, and settle down for the night.  But, considerate neighbors or no, they had to go.

So, I did my internet research, and found that loud noises will often scare them off.  So this Saturday, while I was out and about for a while, I turned the stereo up real loud.  When I came home, I climbed up on the ladder and plugged up the holes.

It worked for the back condo, I haven't heard another peep.  But this morning, at approximately 6:42, I was startled awake by the tenants in the front condo.  Seems they are rock and roll lovers, and hadn't left because of the noise after all.  They were quite frantic, running up the wall to the (now plugged) exit, then back down, the scurrying in circles.  I couldn't leave them trapped in there to die, so, with a heavy sigh, I got myself up out of my warm bed, rousted Joe out of his, and we got the ladder back out to unplug the exit.  That ended the frantic noises in the walls.

I was telling my story at a gathering yesterday, and a lady with experience with critters told me that if the music didn't chase them out, the best way to get rid of them would be to put coyote urine in their space.  Fortunately for me, since I don't have any coyotes handy, and have no idea how I would get them to pee in a cup if I did, the third hardware store we went to today had some for sale in a well-sealed box.

We shoved a couple of the packets into the eaves through a handy outlet box, and now we'll see.  I hope it'll get them out - it would work for me, I can tell you that much.  I caught a whiff through the package seal - whew!

Happy Cancaversary!

The surgery to remove my breasts was two years ago today.

In most ways, it seems forever ago.  It took longer than I thought it should, but my health has returned.  My visit to the oncologist last month was short and sweet.  "Still taking your drugs?  Yup?  Good.  Go home, keep it up, I'll see you in six months."

The rest of the world, along with my brain, is pretty sure the demon has been banished - if not for good, then far enough away that he'll be a long time returning.  My gut doesn't agree.  It still remembers Mom feeling better, then the news of her cancer returning.  It doesn't care about the estrogen positive markers, the drugs I take to remove estrogen from my body so the cancer can't grow.  It's still afraid.

I picture some escaped cancer cells, sleepy from lack of nutrition but still there, waiting for the estrogen to return and their chance to grow.  It would only take one surviving cell to bring me down. 

Not that it'll get its chance any time soon.  The Tamoxifen and Lupron I take do an effective job of removing estrogen from my body.  I can tell by the side effects.  I LOOK normal, but I'm tired.  My skin is dry, my joints ache, I spend nights tossing the covers on and off based on the state of my hot flashes.  When I get the Lupron shot each quarter, I struggle with heightened fatigue and easily gained weight for the next month.  In other words, all the symptoms of menopause, 'just' magnified and compressed.

I try to take the side effects as part of the price that needs to be paid if I want to continue to live.  Life doesn't come cheap.  I try to remember Victor Frankl's thoughts, that the last of human freedoms is to choose my attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose my own way.

I choose not to let the fear win.  I choose to get up (almost on time) every day despite the fatigue, to put on my best face, and to face the world with the closest expression to a smile I can muster.

And tonight, I choose to spit in the direction of my banished demon.  She is wailing and gnashing her teeth in the darkness, I am marking the day with a bowl of ice cream and a grateful spirit.  So there!

Snow Day!

the cat is NOT sure about the snow!

Snow Day!

It's one of the great things about working for a school.

I find the unexpected break in the work week so delightful.  That, and by the fact it's a snow day, I know I don't have to get out and about.  which makes it a lazy kind of sleep-in day.  the kind I had in my camper van every day.  which makes me really miss the camper van.  but that's a story for another post.

A lazy kind of day, except for the shoveling part.  It takes a little over an hour to shovel the driveway and sidewalk at my new house.  And none of it is snowplow snow, which makes the job much easier.  I don't mind getting out to shovel as long as it's snow and not ice (and today's snow has no ice under it).  It was just the right amount of exercise - enough that my muscles are tired and talking to me, but not screaming at the abuse.

A lazy, make-chicken-soup kind of day.  I knew I didn't have the ingredients on hand, so stopped at the grocery store last night before the storm hit (along with several hundred of my closest friends).  While crowds are not normally my thing, I happened to get in line behind one of my old neighbors, and we spent the fifteen minute wait catching up on life, so it wasn't too bad.  That, and it's interesting to see what people figure they can't live without for the next two days.  There was one girl with only a 12-pack of Diet Coke in her basket.  Me, I'd have lived without the soda.

I'm sorry to have to admit I did spend part of the day working.  I have a project that I can do from home, and even though I didn't HAVE to work on it, the work is done much more easily without interruption, and interruption-free time can be hard to come by at the school.  And it wasn't so bad, sitting at my table at the computer, watching the snow come down. 

As the day winds down, I am deeply satisfied with how I spent it.  A little work, a little exercise, a little play.  It's all good.