Woolly Mutts

Update

For those of you who do not follow my facebook feed......I am home and insanely happy to be so.  It's 6:48 pm and I have been fed a lovely dinner, showered hospital off my bruised and punctured body, and am in my pjs ready for bed.  A hospital stay can wear a person out!

Stress test came back just fine, as did all other tests, indicating that my body is awesome but my brain has a slight case of the crazies.  I'm working on that, but ya know, crazy takes time.

Ironically, about 2 weeks ago my older brother, who lives in Mississippi, had an almost identical hospital visit with identical results.  This leads me to the following conclusions:

A: This particular type of crazy has a genetic link and since he is older, it's all his fault.

B: Like any little sister, I want to do whatever he does, so it's all his fault.

Case closed.

(I love you, Dean, and hope you're are feeling much better!)

(p.s. my price for playing in the traffic has gone up considerably.)

Life is Adventure

It is 6:30 am here at Swedish American Heart Hospital.  Had a little heart scare yesterday so they have kindly offered the hospitality of their lovely, if somewhat blood thirsty, facility. (Just offered up 5 more vials.) They will come soon to take me down for a stress test.  Not sure if I hope they find something so it can be fixed and my chest will go back to being happy, or that they find nothing and Zanax will continue to be my friend.  Stress will make a person crazy.

Everyone here has been incredibly kind.  I wish I had a picture of my sort-of-swanky hospital room, but the camera is home, where I want to be.  Soon.  Amazing Husband stayed with me all night.  I have rarely been so comforted by the sound of snoring.  If only the bed had been a little bigger.  You sure don't go to the hospital to get any sleep.  Or food.  This may be the perfect weight loss combination - mind numbing fear and no food.  Life is good. :-)

AH has gone home to care for the mutts, who were either afraid we had abandoned them (both of my lovely children checked on them last evening) or were thrilled to sleep on our bed all night.  He'll be back as soon as possible, bless him.  I'll keep you posted as answers become available.  In the end, it will all be fine.  It's the stuff in the middle that worries me.

xo

A short story for the long month of February.

It isn't long, of course.  In fact, it is the shortest month of the year, but while I adore Valentine's Day, February is always a tough month for me.  You know how people talk about those pivotal moments in their lives...their misbegotten youths....the fork in the road of life?  February, 1975, was that for me.

It's a long story, not short at all, and not pretty in the telling so I'll go with the condensed version.  I was 17, newly married (That's how it happened, back then.  If you got yourself knocked up there weren't a lot of options.), and about to give birth.  The birth itself wasn't much to talk about.  I was not prepared and it remains a bit of a blur.  The baby, a girl, seemed fine...for awhile.  Then she got sick, really, really sick and I became an adult in the blink of an eye. 

The illness, and several resuscitations, did a momentous amount of damage.  Epilepsy, cerebral palsy, developmental delays.  She began to have several different kinds of seizures at about 5 months.  By one year we knew that what had begun badly had gotten so much worse.  The neurologist (whom I shall never forget, but can now forgive) told us, myself and the baby's 19 year old father, to find a good home for her and move on with our lives.  At the time I remember being insanely angry for such a suggestion.  Now, I understand.  I did not take his advice.  Several months later that poor young father took us home to my parents, walked away and did not look back.  At least someone was paying attention.

A lot of time and emotion followed that small abandonment.  I did the best I could with what I had available to me and I learned quickly to make it up as I went along.  Life is not particularly kind to a divorced mother of a seriously handicapped child, but there is wisdom to be gleaned.  I can tell you with complete certainty that "God only gives you what you can handle" and "He only gives the special children to special people" are complete and total bullsh*t.  Adversity at that level is not gifted or earned, it simply is. 

She lived with me until she was ten and then the decision for placement was made. Today is her 35th birthday and she still lives in a branch of that original facility.  I have very little contact with her, which was my decision and my own burden to carry.  Again, it simply is what it is.

I tell you this story today because the date is appropriate and when you spend your whole life walking (or being pushed in your wheelchair) up hill your story should occasionally be told.  

Happy Birthday, Jessica.  If anyone deserves some happy, it sure as the world is you.

Levels of Misery

Yesterday, when I did my first morning log in to facebook, I learned that Forbes Magazine has declared Rockford, IL, (home of the sock monkey...I kid you not.) the town where I was born and still live today, to be #14 on the Most Miserable City to Live In list.  Technically, I live in Machesney Park, which is a northern suburb (village connected to the north end of Rockford...not sure it actually qualifies as a burb), which, to be honest, makes Rockford look damn good, so everything is relative in life and geography. At least we aren't #1.

The criteria Forbes used had to do with crime and unemployment, and there is no question that Rockford has more than its share of both.  The crime part isn't something that has ever been a big issue for me, and I work in an older, sadder part of town next door to the needle exchange program.  The crime is there, but I've managed to avoid it, though have witnessed the drug problem frequently.  The unemployment is horrible and has touched several people I know and love.  

For me, who has lived here for-ev-er, its problems are different than those Forbes touched on.  Rockford is stuck in a conservative box that I don't ever for-see it breaking out of.  I'm not sure it wants to.  Part of the problem is that we are located close enough to larger, or trendier cities that most of us make fine use of on a regular basis. I certainly do. Perhaps if better shopping/dining/museums/films/theater/education/art were not quite so close at hand Rockford would step up to the plate and provide for itself. Maybe not.  I've heard the powers-that-be talk about it since I was old enough to grasp the concept, and that's been several decades.

Now, I'm no authority to talk here, because my idea of a great evening involves my husband, a fireplace, knitting needles and Netflix, but I think most of us that have lived here a long time have stopped looking close to home for our entertainment/leisure time options.  It's the proverbial forest from the trees scenario.  Rockford does have some really great qualities, but my jaded eyes have lost the ability to see them. Perhaps it's time for me to become a tourist in my own town and rediscover the positives that Rockford has to offer.

Case in point: this photo is of Anderson Gardens.  It's located ten minutes from my house.  The only time I go there is if visitors come from out of state and we have to figure out how to entertain them.  

 

Jane resides at the Burpee Museum of Natural History in Rockford. Confession: I have never, ever, been inside this museum.  Ever.  What is up with that?

So, before I spend much time complaining about where I live, I guess I ought to take some time to really get to know her first.  The real her, and not just what I think I see.

Still, is a Trader Joe's too much to ask for?

The object of my desire (of the chocolate variety).

Oh, be still my heart, it's that time of year again.  The Cadbury Caramel Eggs are back on the store shelves.  There is no other taste so good/ so bad for you treat that can hold a candle to these little golden beauties.  I warm them in my hand and try not to gobble them too quickly.  The chocolate is creamy and the caramel center perfection.  Yum.  Oh, yum.

Once upon a time, when I worked at the library, there was a patron who was a particular favorite of mine.  He was also as frugal as the day is long.  Each year after Easter, he would go from store to store finding the caramel eggs on sale, put them in egg cartons, and then bring them to me.  Bags of them. He got such a kick out of my insane love of the Cadbury Caramel Egg. I miss you, John McDougal.  I hope you and yours are doing well.  

While I'm sure you are all just thrilled to learn that I grow weak in the knees over CC eggs, the main purpose of this post is to see if my facebook settings are correct and my posts appearing, as they should, on my page.  Hope it works!

Happy Valentines Day to all you lovely and well loved (by me!) people! xoxoxoxo

Old and the restless

I was walking down the aisle of our local grocery store yesterday and took a minute to better observe the store remodel we have endured the last few months.  The walls and floors look quite nice , but now I have no idea where anything is....which ticks me off.  I'm getting there.  Each week we go I get a better lay of the land, but most shoppers still push their carts around like lost souls.  I got to wondering if I were a visitor to the area if I would find this a nice store to shop in?  Then I had a really profound and overwhelming thought; I want to move.

Now, if I were a normal person I would chock this craziness up to end of Winter restlessness, but I'm not even remotely normal and I think all seasons should last as long as they are intended to last (even Summer, which I dislike).  I love Winter, and yet, maybe I'd like to experience Winter somewhere else.  Midlife crisis, maybe?  I'd say I'm a little old for that.  Boredom?  I rarely get bored.  Maybe just good old wanderlust. Could I really belong somewhere other than Northern Illinois?

When I returned home I enlisted the aid of Find Your Spot.  Find Your Spot takes you through a lengthy, and free, questionnaire and then offers up a number of places they think would suit you well.  The majority of mine were in Vermont, Maine, and Oregon.  Progressive, four seasons, not too many people, a library, and a yarn store. Not more than an hours drive from theaters and museums, and a large body of water.

 

Not listed, was where I think I really need to be, Grand Marais, MN.  In fact, if I could wiggle my nose and work magic, I'd be there right now.  To be fair, I've never visited any of the places Find Your Spot selected just for me, and maybe there are a few I might love.  

Despite my itchy feet, I won't be going anywhere.  The ties that bind are strong here and, let's face it, unless we win the lottery, the cost of living here is what we can afford.  Still, it's fun to dream.

Sunday Cats

What we should all be doing on a Sunday.....napping.

Frank

Maddie

Magnolia

Himalayans have the most beautiful eyes.

All photos taken by Amazing Husband and his amazing camera.  Isn't that last one of Magnolia lovely?

Happy Super Bowl!  Hope your team wins.

Lost: The Final Season (no spoilers cuz I'm clueless)

Dear LOST,

      I've missed you.  All your twists, turns, freaky music, and cute red (bad) robots; it was just way too long between visits.  So long, in fact, that when we met again last night I had a hard time remembering who was dead, or alive, of both, or neither.  I guess that's why you offered the recap that I decided I had better things to do and ignored.  Live and learn.

    So, to keep this short, even though it appears you've gone all Shrodinger's Cat on us (this, I must confess, was my amazing husband's observation since I have always been too pissed at Shrodinger for being mean to his cat to really grasp the experiment) I will continue to be faithful, right up to the very bitter end.  Despite a few not-so-fantastic seasons, LOST has been some of the best television to come along in a long, long time.  Don't let me down.

Mahalo,

Holly

P.S. Sayid, hang in there man.