So I posted a little sumpin-sumpin at Gratuitous Gratitude this weekend. It all still applies.
Guy and I had a great weekend in Weaverville. He got a new guitar from Dream Guitars which is owned by a super nice guy with a super great ear. We also went back to the Secret Garden Spa and had two hours of exfoliating, soaking, shea buttery, massaging goodness. Bliss.
I had taken for granted the store where we purchased my piano. Here is this piano store in Raleigh, about 5 miles from my house, and I can go in any time I like and play a couple dozen of the finest pianos in the country. No lie. When it came time to buy one, Richard actually let me come to the store after hours and just sit and play. He had tuned and voiced 4 instruments for me to choose from, and then just let me take my time and find the one I loved.
There are not stores like that for guitarists. They get Guitar Center. Or Sam Ass. And they get to choose from a few different giant guitar companies who are all selling the same crap basically. So when Guy found Dream Guitars and then found that it was in the same town where we honeymooned, it was just too perfect.
Paul has a beautiful collections of guitars. There is a $50 sitting fee to prevent people from just stopping in to play "Stairway to Heaven" on a $10,000 Michael Greenfield guitar. It is applied to the cost of the guitar if you choose to buy from him. He had a 1910 Martin that was the fourth they made, and it sounded amazing. It was really gorgeous, but it didn't and won't be coming home with us.
Guy got to sit and try a dozen or so classical guitars from all different builders. I never realized that the type of wood used greatly changes the color of the sound. The two we narrowed the search down to both ended up having Brazilian rosewood sides and backs and German spruce tops. Both guitars had a deep rich bass, a full mellow midrange, and a clear singing treble. The one he chose was from a Brazilian builder named Moriera. It has a very traditional sound, even tone across each string and up and down the neck, and the G string really rings.
I have already picked a dozen pieces for him to learn. Maybe our Thursday Tunes will get back up and running soon with a little Diabelli for piano and guitar. I hope so.
And my laptop? All better and back from Best Buy. It would be nice, except that I left it at the Inn on Main along with my favorite Birkenstocks. Sigh.
Monday, April 30, 2007
So I posted a little sumpin-sumpin at Gratuitous Gratitude this weekend. It all still applies.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Guy and I love the show Boston Legal. We often forget to watch it because it starts at 10:00 PM and we are either already snuggling or whatever.
However, tonight, we remembered to watch (having already gotten the snuggling out of the way), and Alan Shore is suing a department store for selling dolls. Bratz to be exact, but they are calling them "prostitots."
Izzy, I hope you are seeing this and have some sort of pride. I think you wrote some of Alan Shore's dialogue tonight. If you aren't getting royalties from David Kelley, you might need to send him an email with your blog address. I'm inclined to think he already has it.
Edited to add: You can go read more from Izzy on this subject today. Then you can send that email to Scholastic. Aren't I the bossy one?
Monday, April 23, 2007
Still though, his life is defined by how well his medications work that day. Forgetting to take something means that it will be a bad day. Waking up at 3:00 AM and thinking it is 6:00 AM, thereby eating breakfast and taking your 7:00 AM medications at 4:00 AM means, that it will be a bad day.
A bad day: A day in which anxiety and nervousness overtake Daddy's ability to function. Eating is out of the question. Dressing himself is out of the question. Sitting down or getting up by himself is out of the question. Sleeping that night will most likely be out of the question.
While in California, my momma consistently told me that I didn't understand what he was really like because I wasn't there from day to day. "You've just caught him on a bad day," she would say when I would call him on the phone and he wouldn't know who I was.
Now that he is in Tennessee, both my mother and my brother give me reports on him. My momma's reports are tempered in hope, or possibly stubbornness. A bad day can possibly be followed by a good day. A bad day can possibly be fixed or prevented with medication. A bad day is just that - a bad day. In my momma's voice you can hear her defiance against the Parkinson's and Alzheimer's. You can hear her missing her husband above all else.
My brother's reports are more to the point. How much weight Dad has lost. How many times Dad got lost in the house. How little Dad is sleeping. How I need to be coming to see Dad soon before too much more of him slips away. In my brother's voice you can hear frustration. I think that I hear resolve some days for being the chosen one to have to deal with it. I know I hear strength.
But me. My firsthand information only comes from too short visits and phone calls. Daddy perks up on the phone with me. I know he is trying to put on his best. I have done the same for him all of my life. Even on a bad day, he will get on the phone with me and tell me that he is making it. His voice cracking and shaking with the Parkinson's induced anxiety, "I'm getting by, Sweetheart. Don't worry about your Daddy," he'll tell me.
Today, Guy and I went to see a lawyer about drafting our wills and other legal documents. As we went through the questionnaire with her about our assets, insurance, and such, we came to the section about "what if we both meet an untimely death or are incapacitated simultaneously?"
Who would we want managing our finances while we laid in the hospital in our comas? In a shared room of course, with mourners, secret twins, and a dramatic soap opera soundtrack in the background.
I opened my mouth to say, "My daddy."
When all that came out was an audible squeak, I looked at Guy, and he said, "Schmoopie, you're crying."
And I was. Right there in the lawyer's office. I started to cry and I had a hard time stopping.
All of the things I used to rely on my Daddy to be, he can't be now, and all of a sudden, I missed him desperately. I wanted his advice on selling my house. I wanted his advice on buying a new car. I want his advice at least once a week, and it is not available anymore. And I saw my mother and how much she misses him in a whole new light.
Asking for his opinion or for help causes his anxiety to go through the roof. There is also the factor that whatever answer he might give you to your question was valid most likely 30 years ago. Or it is to an entirely different question. The main problem though is that it brings on the anxiety that is so bad for him. So I do not ask.
The last time I was with my daddy was in December. We were visiting for Christmas and I lost the baby while we were there. I didn't want my parents to come up to the hospital because I knew that would send Daddy right over the top. The next day though, I wanted him. I wanted him to comfort me, to hug me, and to be my daddy. So I requested a snack. Our snack. Peanut butter and Nilla wafers. He fixed me three little sandwiches and brought them back to the bedroom. He sat clumsily on the edge of the bed and put his stiff bony arm around my shoulders and patted. He patted and said, "I love you, Babe."
Parkinson's and Alzheimer's will never touch Daddy's heart.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Oh the Joys has gone nominating crazy.
Bless her heart. I'm touched. Honored. Flattered. That she would nominate my little corner of the blogosphere for the best writing ability. It's amazing. Especially since 80% of the strings of words that I place a period after are ever complete sentences. I'm just a fan. Of the period. I love that little dot. Grammatically speaking that is. The other kind of period can kiss my ass.
And then, I realized that she had also nominated me here:
OTJ, you are too much.
The beauty of this is that you can vote for as many people you like. In the same category. So I can ask you to go vote for me and follow that up with suggesting that you vote for everyone else you love to read too! I'm going to go on a voting spree right now.
Friday, April 20, 2007
We have been looking forward to this vacation at Whymommy's house for a long time. Guy, Lovely, and I headed up north on Tuesday for a few days of visiting and sightseeing.
So why then, am I blogging?
Vomit. Extreme vomit. And our good friend extreme diarrhea. Let us not forget 101.2 fever, chills, and during all that fun, forgetting to take our sinus medications. So this morning, we said goodbye to the purging of our system and hello to massive sinus headache and my most favorite ever, severe menstrual cramps and backache. No New Years Eve baby after all. Fair. Life is so very fair.
I have never been so much fun in my life. Last time we traveled, I had a miscarriage. I swear, Lovely may never leave town with me again.
Funny thing is, Whymommy and her crew were all sick before we came. There was this big looming question mark of whether or not we would actually come because of The Plague. However, they all got better, so we came ahead.
Most likely, I picked it up before leaving Raleigh.
There is the slightest chance that I got it from Little Bear who was ill on Tuesday night. This being an option because he is the yummiest baby in the world and I could not resist nibbling on his little ears and kissing all 10 fingers and toes. Good stuff.
Doubtful though. My body is the type to harbor a good bug and save its release for the most inopportune time.
Which is exactly what it did.
I cannot remember ever being so violently ill. At one point, I came out of the bathroom to find Lovely standing about 5 feet away, staring at the door in horror. I can only imagine what it sounded like from the outside.
I'm just praying now, that she and Guy don't get it.
Today, they are at the Air and Space Museum. I am just sitting here pouting, considering making some jambalya to stock in their freezer. Because when Whymommy says she doesn't cook, she isn't kidding. I always took that statement to mean that she didn't think she cooked well, or she didn't enjoy cooking. Um. No. But Whydaddy does, so no one is starving.
Anyway . . . they are at the Air and Space Museum. Yesterday, Guy and Lovely did the monuments on their own. Wednesday, before the onset of sickness-that-makes-you-wish-you-could-die, we went to the zoo. It was completely cute to watch how Widget took to Lovely. He doesn't know anyone who is 11. He knows people around his age, and he knows adults. It's been fascinating to watch him make a place for her in his world. It was her hand he reached for (as long as Mommy was in sight), and he sat next to her to watch gorillas.
It all makes me think how great of a big sister she would make.
That is if we could ever get freaking pregnant again.
When I crawled back into bed this morning and Guy asked if I was okay I replied, "Well my ass has stopped exploding, but I just started my period."
He pulled me over onto his chest and rubbed my head.
"2008 will be great."
Optimism can be as catching as this plague. Far far more pleasant though.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Still no Viao. It's just not as much fun to type on Guy's laptop. Things are spaced differently. The key bed is more shallow. The clicking of the keys is a more muffled sound, so I end up hitting them harder just to get the right noise.
I am an odd bird.
And yet, I have finally gotten to that day when I have to write. There is a post brewing about my father, but not one that I'm going to write now. It has been brewing for months, but this past week especially.
Right now though, there are things to get off my mind that normally I would have just tossed into an entry throughout the week. Welcome to the uncluttering of a blogless mind.
Kurt Vonnegut died. I know you know this already. However, I mentablogged about it several times this week. I'm actually glad I didn't have a computer, because as it turns out, I have nothing to add to the death of this amazing man. Just that I'm sad that he is gone. And I love his writing.
I'm jonesing for a new look here. I've been working on designing mastheads and am having a great time doing it. The only problem is that I'm learning code by trial and error. I'm looking at the code for my CSS and other people's CSS' and trying to figure out what means what. It would be so much easier if I just got a book or something. But then, that would signify some sort of grand commitment to this whole thing. . . unlike the plane ticket I purchased to hang with Mamma and the gals in July.
Guy and I finished our 8 sessions of counseling that come in his benefit package. Now we are all cured and done with fixing ourselves. Not really. I do feel much better though. I would like to keep going if the insurance covers any part of it.
I had a great tune to share with you this week, but I missed it. Damn. Thursday came and went without music. I'm very sorry. Next week, I promise.
I sold my house. To an "investor." Damn again. I'm not happy about that, but the moolah will be nice. I had big dreams of some nice young couple moving in with a couple of dogs . . . Now I just have dreams of not paying mortgage on an empty house every month and the new kitchen I'm getting ready to buy for our current house. *big sigh of relief*
Doogal is just fine. HooRah.
As Guy and I were watching "The Price Is Right" on Thursday (I have been feeling really bad lately, and plus, we were just being lazy), he decided that he would name his next band "One Dollar Bob." They can open up for "Aurora Welding" any day.
And now, for our lazy day, we are sitting on the floor with my Yamaha four track, the one he wanted to get rid of, listening to our old four track tapes. We have no shame. Lovely is laughing her little head off. And that is after we sang duets of as many Aaron Spelling theme songs as we could remember during breakfast.
We are off on Tuesday to visit Whymommy and her family. I'm so excited I just peed a little when I typed that. Lovely and I took a virtual tour of the zoo in preparation this morning. She also bathed the dogs so they can be clean for their visit to puppy camp at Boo and Pilot's house. We are ready.
That's about it for now. I miss y'all.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
No laptop still. Trying to have computer time when Guy's not having computer time is proving to be more difficult than I thought it would be. I get this time because I'm still in the bed with some nasty no good sinus issues. Blogging through the pain though. Woot.
I glance longingly at my Bloglines, watching the posts pile up, and I brush a tear from my eye.
On a completely random note, Guy and I now hate our Sleep Number bed. I posted a love letter to it over on Props and Pans, and now, 2 weeks later, we are returning it. Should I amend that post? I feel as though I should. "Sleep Number bed was great for the first week. Then developed large trench in the middle where the two air chambers separate and the foam insert crumbles beneath you. Also, bed is not designed for cuddling at all." That's not even to mention how awful it is for other activities.
We are going with a very traditional, boring, standard mattress. I can't wait.
One thing I will be checking today is Doogal. I am waiting anxiously to hear from Girl over at Fertile Mertile. She is having a very important ultrasound today. Say a little prayer for her Doogal if you will.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
So sad. My little Viao is in the shop. For about 2 weeks. Guy and I have to figure out how to share a computer.
Unless of course, we buy a new one in the meantime. . .
For now though, I'm having blogging withdrawals, and Guy is talking about this time as though I'm in blogging rehab.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Save your ears. Instead of an actual tune today, I'm answering Mamma's tag (and her new template is to die for! I've got to stop just reading off of Bloglines!) for the famous music meme. You know, the one where we list 7 tunes we are really into right now. I thought this would be easy for me, but it wasn't. My problem is that I load the cd changer up with stuff and just let it spin. I have no idea what the names of songs are or even the name of the album often.
It required research. And by research, I mean actually finding the right cd cases for the trail of cd's that I have been listening to and then placing in the case of the next on the playlist. Then it required me trying to decide if these seven songs were going make me look stupid. Then it required me realizing that the previous statement must mean that I'm still 12.
So I give you, the seven songs that make me squirmy right now. And although there is no Wilco on the list, Wilco always makes me squirmy. No matter what the song.
"The Dark Blue," Jack's Mannequin
There is plenty of piano, clever phrasing, and great vocals. I have to admit, I got this one from a 16 year old. But since Ben Folds grew up, I needed another rowdy piano boy to satiate my desires. Thank you, Jack.
"Hundred," The Fray
I came late to The Fray. Even though I heard the "how to save a life" song on Grey's Anatomy at the same time as everyone else, I didn't buy the album. Until a month ago or so. And boy howdy. It is unreal. Again, more piano-y goodness. Words from the early days of me and Guy: "And who's to say it's wrong, And who's to say that it's not right, Where we should be for now."
"Someone Else's Tomorrow," Patty Griffin
I have a list of songs I wish I wrote. At least half of them are by Patty Griffin. "And the memories fade. Send the ghosts on their way. Tell them, They've had their day it's someone else's tomorrow." She makes me feel the same way this blogger did today. Like I wanted to say all of that, but shit. They already said it so much better.
"Girl in the War," Josh Ritter
I love this whole album. If you haven't picked up a copy of Paste magazine, you so should. For about four years now, Paste has been my beacon of new music. Each month it comes with a CD sampler and awesome reviews of dozens of artists. Well worth every penny. Oh, and that's where I found Josh Ritter. I love this album down to the artwork. It makes me want to quit just adding to iTunes and keep buying actual cd's. This is the first song off The Animal Years, and it is my favorite today.
"Miss You," David Lamotte
David is from Montreat. Montreat is my favorite place on earth. Montreat is where Guy and I were married. I bought this cd when we stopped in Montreat on our way home from Tennessee in January. After the miscarriage. From the song:
"I've been searching for the right words
I've been straining for the sound
My head is full of voices
I've been trying to write them down
I've been walking 'round in circles
Looking for the perfect way
I make it all so complicated
When all I really want to say is
I miss you."
I'm pretty sure that David didn't write this song about a miscarriage. You know, being a boy and all. But it's funny to me sometimes, how a great song takes on its own life after being written, recording, and released. And you listen. And you relate. And you make it your own. This song, when I listen to it, belongs just to me. Me and Cleatus.
"9 Crimes," Damien Rice
I so wish I was this female singer. Her voice is haunting and the interplay she gets to do with Damien Rice makes me more jealous of her than any other musician currently. This song, with the tennis game of "Is that alright with you?" makes my heart ache. And I don't even really know what its about. Nor do I care. It is a beautiful song.
"Rootless Tree," Damien Rice
Yes, I picked two Damien Rice songs. You are lucky that I picked any that weren't Damien Rice songs. That is how much I love him. I did stick to the newer album. I don't know why. I could still listen to the older album 24/7 and be happy. "Rootless Tree" is a song with a chorus of fuck you. I don't know why I love this song except that the pure angst and 12 feet deep anger is so beautifully done. I don't really care what emotion is shown is music - when an artist makes me believe with all my heart that they are really feeling that emotion as they perform - then I am hooked.
That. Is what I love about Damien Rice. I believe every heart string that he pulls.
And just because I can't stop with just 7, I give you my eighth and ninth songs:
"The Blower's Daughter," Damien Rice
If you have never heard this song, please stop reading and go listen to this little clip. Then buy it. This song was my divorce and remarriage song. I cannot, to this day, listen to it with a dry eye. And again. The female singer - "did I say that I loathe you? did I say that I want to leave it all behind?" My dear word. This might be the most perfect song ever.
Except that he also wrote, "Cannonball." Our love song. "there's still a little piece of your face I haven't kissed." Of course, that's not true anymore. I have kissed every piece of his face at least a dozen times. This. Is the perfect song.
There they are. The seven, rather nine, songs I love now. I am into them. Go and spend your hard earned money on them. Pay for your music just like you pay for your electricity and water. Please.
I tag Girl (more Ben Folds goodness, Dahling), and Jen (because I think she needs a good distraction right about now). Let's here your most hopeful songs, ladies. I'm ready and armed with my iTunes.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Some people have a way with words . . . I don't think I did a good job of conveying my news last night. Again, sometimes I don't say things right.
Plus, for the life of me, I can't figure out how to reply by email to comments that are left here. I get a comment in my inbox, and if I hit reply, it always just comes back to me. So I read these great comments that are left by the kindest people, and I end up just talking to the screen here. I know some of you know how to do that - could you clue me in if you do?
Yesterday was good news in my mind. At first, I thought I wanted more definitive answers, but that was when I was assuming there was something wrong. Or rather, assuming that she could make predictions about the future that are impossible to make.
Learning that she simply thought it all looked normal, was good news to me. I am happy about that.
Thank you so much for everyone who sent good thoughts and warm fuzzies. Right back at you.
Now we just keep trying.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
I don't always ask the best questions. I don't always say the right things. I don't always give good first impressions.
I'm a connector. Guy says so. I make connections. Between people. Between stories. Between points.
Today, Bach came to her piano lesson and worked her way through some arpeggios. She wanted for me to fix them so badly. She knew there had to be something she was doing wrong.
The problem for me was, there wasn't anything to fix.
They were normal.
This morning I took my charts and my questions in to my doctor. She sat in front of me baffled as to what she could say. I wanted to know why I wasn't pregnant. Or at least, that is what I asked. It wasn't what I wanted to ask though.
I don't always ask the right questions.
She told me there were no tests to tell me why. She told me we had only been trying for 2 months. Which is inaccurate in my mind. In my mind, we have been trying since October. Not the point though.
When she looked at my charts and said that she really didn't have anything she could tell me, I teared up. I wanted for her to say something so badly.
Then she said, "I don't know what you want from me. This all looks normal."
And then I stopped. I looked up and literally pointed my finger at her.
"That's it. That's my answer. I needed to hear from you that this all looked normal."
So she said it again. It all looks normal. Keep trying.
Do Re Mi Do. Do Re Mi Do.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Tomorrow morning I go back to the doctor.
I wrote that first sentence about 3 hours ago. Then I walked away. Then I walked back. Checked in on some of my favorites. Karaoke Diva has a new blog design, some great pictures, and a scary story about her son (he is okay now though). Kristen is talking about divooce. Nancy is doing parental madlibs.
I'm just delaying anxiety.
Tomorrow morning I go back to the doctor. Alone.
Since December, I have been doing everything with Guy. He was laid off from work at the absolute worst and best time. Double whammy - lost job and lost baby - but still. He has had all the time in the world to help me along.
We have been together 24/7 ever since. We even go to therapy together. Although our therapist has laid down the, "Guy can't hold Canape's hand and stroke her head when she is getting out a good cry in the 50 minute hour."
Tomorrow morning I go back to the doctor. Alone. With my charts and my questions.
I want some answers. Even if they are multiple choice answers. I want to know what some of the reasons I'm not pregnant yet might be. Could it be related to the miscarriage? Could it be related to our ages? Could it be related to my emotions and this blasted anxiety? I want to know the possibilities.
I'm trying. I'm eating better. I'm exercising. I'm taking my prenatal vitamins. I'm charting. Lord knows I'm having sex. Insert the "oh yeah-Luther Vandross-booty circling dance" here.
So I want to know what the possible answers are. And I'm am going to ask all by myself. Somehow, I know that I'm not conveying the importance of this.
I am a fiercely independent person. Fiercely. People who have known me a long time have their questions about me and Guy and my sudden "lack of independence." They are confusing a lack of independence with a "desire to be together," and a "sincere enjoyment of each other's company." I can see how that could happen.
Tomorrow I go back to the doctor. Alone. With my charts and my questions. And I will be strong.
There is this part of me that doesn't want to try anymore. A defeated part of me. And that is so crazy because it hasn't been long at all. But I don't have any experience to put at the end of a pregnancy except pain. And with each month that the bleeding starts again, I am yanked back into the one moment that the bleeding was such a bad sign. And that is so crazy too. But true. I'm sighing at myself for even typing it, but dare I avoid it?
Then I sit up straight and take a good deep breath. And I quell that part of me because it is the irrational part. The part that lets emotion guide thought instead of thought guiding emotion. I will not do that anymore.
Tomorrow I go back to the doctor. Alone. With my charts and my questions. And I will be strong. I will not give up.