San Francisco - The Boring Part - Day 1

If you're going to San Francisco,

Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair,

If you're going to San Francisco,

Be sure to pack a change of underwear.

(Oh, and your laptop is a nice touch, too.)

I'm pretty sure that's not what the song says but it SHOULD. Maybe then I would have thought of that for those "just-in-case-you-get-stuck-there" moments.

If you read my last posting from what seems like six weeks ago (but was really only Tuesday morning), you know I went to UCSF for a doctor's appointment and some tests. This was supposed to be straightforward. Nothing in my life is EVER straightforward so why, after all these years of experience, do I still act like a "daft and dewy-eyed dope?" (Thank you Rogers & Hammerstein. What's up with me and songs today?)

The appointment was good, as doctors go.

If you've been hanging out with me for very long you know how thrilled I am by most doctors. There are a few fabulous ones but the bad ones are just SO bad, they take up all the air (and print) space. So, it's time to set that straight. I GOT A REALLY NICE DOCTOR! She was informative, personable, investigative, warm, conversational, and thorough. I even brought the kids in to meet her. She laughed and smiled and acted like a human being. Be still my beating heart.

For those of you who may not know, I battle several health issues for which there have been no clear-cut answer. It has attacked different nerves in my body and is degenerative (not MS, not ALS, not AIDS, not HIV - yes, they have checked me for all these and then some - good times), has had a blood component called "porphyria," which has also caused my liver and spleen to get very sick periodically, leaves me with diminished physical stamina and quite fatigued at times, and has affected my immunity. And just for the record? I HATE TALKING ABOUT HEALTH ISSUES. About myself.

That was one of the reasons I started the blog. I could update here and then not have to talk about it when I see my friends. Get on to more interesting things, as it were. But every once-in-awhile I have to face it, see doctors, or (blech) TALK about it. It is the human condition.

The reality is we will all get sick from time-to-time and sometimes we get REALLY sick. Most of us live with a pain or five here and there. Some of us live with chronic conditions for which there is no cure but they wear away at you. Some will be taken out by wretched things. Cheery, I know. Sorry. But it is reality. I just choose to focus on the OTHER things in life which are also reality. Humor, joy, kids, friends, pets, nature, compassion, God's grace. The GOOD stuff.

Which puts me in mind of a little friend I had when I lived in the Projects for a while, as a child. Her name was Lanie and we were near constant companions after school and on weekends. She would go to church with us sometimes and I, in my theological eight-year-old wisdom, thought she needed to hear about the devil and hell as we rode along in the backseat one day.

"OH!" she shouted, covering her ears. "Don't tell me about that bad part! I just wanna hear the good stuff!"

That pretty much sums up my attitude on discussing my health. I like to focus on the "good stuff." Because if I have to give that up AND have my health affected, then it HAS cost me dearly and I would spiral into a depression. There is just so much good and beautiful and joyous in the world. And it will be joyous and good the day I drop dead. (Wait.....I'm not sure that came out just right but I think you know what I mean......!)

When it gets maddening for me is when I am assigned an attitudinal do-little-know-less-uncaring-I-am-the-god-of-the-universe doctor. I won't describe him because you've all met him. I don't know anyone who hasn't come into contact with at least one of these self-appointed rulers of the cosmos. They're such one-trick ponies they don't merit much more explanation.

But sometimes, some blessed, wonderful times, you get a doctor who loves what they do and genuinely wants to help people. I think Dr. Chi, my UCSF Immunologist, is that kind of doctor. So......Yay!

She said she would be doing HOMEwork and research (really? For me?) because she has never seen my particular blood result history and wants to get to the bottom of it. Then she ordered more labs. Labs to be run at her first-rate medical center, UCSF, where I've had labs run before. But since then the insurance has changed the rules and they want you to have labs done at their cut-rate facilities, even if they're very specific labs and take specialty equipment and highly skilled techs. Unless the doctor says "No, it must be done here at the hospital." And by the time I discovered that, the appointment was over. Dr. Chi was the one who told me to check with the insurance company before having the tests done.

And the office staff was less than helpful. One sweet little gal cooly informed me that they wouldn't deal with insurance issues and it was my problem if, "I didn't want to be bothered to go have labs elsewhere and come back and forth." I informed her I lived 150 miles away and it wasn't a matter of not wanting to be "bothered." I was SO proud of myself. I didn't reach across the desk and whack her. Because that's what I wanted to do.

Instead, I spoke kindly and managed to at least get her cooperation in asking someone else. And then I prayed. And then I went to work. I took on Satan - also known as the HMO. Wow. Lanie would have REALLY freaked out if I had told her the truth about THEM.

I spent the next two hours on my cell phone lost in the maze of computer prompts. Each time I got a live body I was put on hold and disconnected or sent back to the introductory prompt to start all over again. When I finally got an answer, I was told they had no information for California and I had been routed to Arizona information. How far can your eyeballs stick out of your head before they actually fall out and roll down your chest do you think?

Next was our local group. They were the ones who informed me special approval was needed and should have been requested beforehand. But it was a possibility. One caveat: it would have to be requested to be processed STAT. And who would have to do that? Our kindly office staff. Yippee. Just great. That'll probably happen when Hell freezes over.

May I say thank you to all of you who were praying for me this day? Our little stone in a sling actually brought down Goliath. And caused the following weather phenomenon:

I won't go into death-defying details but five office people later and a "chance" meeting with the doctor in the hallway (to ask if she would write a request saying she wanted the test done at UCSF and she MORE than happily said she absolutely did, and did it immediately), the insurance rep who had been less than friendly, took it upon herself to WALK MY PAPERS to the approval dept., got them approved before we hung up the phone, and worked out the rest with the office. And this after another rep with the same insurance company had told the office it would be DAYS before it could be approved.

I saw locked doors opened right before my very eyes. The eyes that were laying on my chest.

And I got validation.

A lovely woman, Tanika, who usually worked in a different department, approached me as I sat in the hallway weaving together office staff, insurance companies, labs, and doctors into something I could actually use.

"I just witnessed what you went through with the office here. And I heard what was said to you by the girl who accused you of not "wanting to be bothered." Here's the card of the department manager. Please talk to her. They can't fix what they don't know about. No one should go through what you just went through. That was completely wrong."

Would she have been on my side if I had lost it with that person? Doubtful. Self-control is a powerful tool. I'm usually on the frontlines of battle ready to take on the world. It is so nurturing when someone else leads the charge. And not something that happens to me very often.

With approval verification numbers and blood test orders in hand, I headed for the lab downstairs.

An older, sweet little Chinese woman was my lab tech. She sat me down and poured over the requested tests. She pulled out eleven vials. And then she stopped and said, "Oh. One of these tests must be performed before twelve noon and it's now 4:00pm. It has to be sent to the Mayo Clinic. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

Now, for some people this might have been bad news. But for three hooligans set loose on the city of San Francisco, this was YAHOO! news. We had been finagling, trying to think up an excuse for staying one more day and failing. We don't really have the money to just spontaneously vacation. Especially in a city like San Francisco where the locals start each day by opening up the window, wadding up a $50 bill, and throwing it out. EVERYthing is expensive. Parking for the day can cost $30-$40. Thinking about parking is an automatic ten bucks.

So when we go, it's usually staying with a friend (who has her dear sister with her right now while said friend is facing her own health battles), or it's an up-and-back in one day. But what could we do? Budget or not, I had to come back the next day. This also meant our few hour trip to the museum would now have to be delayed until the next day when we could take our time and CLOSE THE PLACE DOWN! After the lab work, of course. We tried to be appropriately somber about this financial hit. We failed. We wouldn't get any richer sitting around wringing our hands so we took our joie de vivre and thrust ourselves upon San Francisco. We don't believe in receiving blessings and then lamenting them. If this was where God saw fit to drop us off for the night, who were we to complain?

More about that tomorrow.

Copyright 2009

People I Hang With - Only They Don't Know It

Hi All!

I am gone today, headed for San Francisco and UCSF. I'll knock out the doctor's appt., get my labs, and the plan is to head over to the newly redone Academy of Natural Sciences Museum.

So to keep you entertained, I'm passing along two of my favorite videos. I'll start with the sublime and end with the hysterical.

This first one is really short and is an incredible computer animation of the landing of U.S. Airway Flight 1549 on the Hudson River. It features the actual communication between the pilot and the tower. It's profound if you've never seen it. I've watched it five times. I want to be as calm as this pilot when I face disasters. I want him to fly me everywhere. Even to the grocery store.

This one is from the Ellen Degeneres Show. If I ever get to visit any of you who live in Texas, I'm stopping by this lady's house on the way. She's in Austin,Texas and she and I would get aLONG! I wonder if she would adopt me? I'm up for grabs! Do you think maybe I could go to a taping of "Austin City Limits" while I was there? Everybody sing...."I wanna go home with the armadillo....country music and Amarillo and Abilene........." (that's the theme song just in case you're wonderin' why I'm more off my rocker than usual.)

Special thanks to Susan at My $99 Life for featuring the first one, and Gitz at Gitzen Girl for making me roar over the Ellen video. Thank you, ladies!

Ape Runs - News at Eleven

THIS is a happy woman! Just LOOK at that cute apron. Do NOT look at the following items:

1. Wayward garden hose under feet.

2. Empty LARGE pot that should have flowers, or at least weeds.

3. Pitiful, nearly non-flower bed right behind me.

4. Driveway and sidewalk with leaves blown all over. (Don't call me if you want to stage photos of your home.)

5. 500 mosquito bites on legs. It was mosquito Thanksgiving yesterday and I didn't get the memo. The party raged on until they were all drunk. It was complete debauchery. I'm not attending next year.

But DO notice this really spiffy apron I'm wearing. I ordered it from "A Georgia Farmwoman" at Life On a Southern Farm. She makes them out of feed bags and they are plastic. I have been SERIOUSLY wanting a plastic apron. I blew the last one out and it just couldn't be saved.

And, frankly, life has been detestable without a plastic apron. Desperate, despicable, desolate, dire.

Or maybe just damp.

I have to bathe dogs, wash a car, and occasionally, when we run out of paper plates, I have to wash dishes. So I love plastic aprons.

And this apron, THIS apron was made by someone I admire for her practical farm skills and kind ways. (And I have two other VERY SPECIAL aprons made by my sweetie friend, Diane, who is an apron maker extraordinaire. And the truth is, one of those aprons is Hannah-Bo's. And I borrow it all the time whether she wants me to or not. And this is the same Diane who drove all the way across town to celebrate Hannah's scholarship with us while wearing an apron. A DARLING apron. That's why we're friends. We might both be buried in our aprons. But not while we're still alive.)

And if you click on the photo and see the full size you will be frightened by my face looming into your screen. When you are over that, look at what the apron says: Pen Pals! How did she work THAT out?

Don't you want one now? Maybe I should have gotten two. You're probably gonna buy them all up.

Copyright 2009

Counting Her Blessings

Ever have things just pop out of your mouth and you have no idea where they came from?

No, not like your teeth or your food. What are you thinking? What do I come to you people for if you're just gonna make cracks like that? Focus.

I mean you SAY something. And you didn't even think it up, that you can recall. And it's really good. And you hear it for the first time when it comes out your mouth. As if someone else said it.

That happened to me this morning. I came up with a REALLLLLY good excuse/explanation for behavior unbecoming a gentlewoman. (Well, I'm not much of a "gentlewoman" but I'm laying groundwork here.)

I was folding laundry. I had spent the night on the couch. Grizzly, the husband, now has the sickness we all had and we don't sleep together very well when one of us is puny. I squeezed out about four hours of sleep between flicking the tv on and off and changing laundry every time I woke up. The sound of the washer and dryer running lulls the kids to sleep (Wild Man, the son, almost melted down when we got a new washer and dryer. "I'll NEVER be able to sleep now because they won't SOUND the same!") and it blocks the sound of the tv. Oh, and it was also good to do laundry because at any given time, I'm usually eight years behind. But you know this about me.

So, as I hunted and picked through 3,000 socks, none of which had a match, I was telling the kids about a good thing that happened to someone we know. The kids were happy for them. Yes, this was good. I dug around the basket some more and pulled out a pair of underwear. As I looked at them I realized Minky, our six-month-old Border Collie pup, had chewed out the "center" (I'm trying to be delicate here.) How did this happen? Oh my socks and garters, just don't even ask. Toss. (Socks and garters! Isn't that just the best exclamation?! Especially for laundry. And no one here even WEARS socks with garters. Thankfully. That might mean my husband was 98 which would be ten years older than me.)

What was I saying?

Oh yes, continuing on with my big news, which wasn't the underwear, I then began to talk about WHY these wonderful things had happened to our friend. And I mentioned all the advantages life had offered her. Being born with a silver spoon in her mouth, as it were. Having wonderful parental support, don't cha know. Ample access to money that might give the faint-of-heart the vapors. Beautiful surroundings. Supportive, adoring husband. Wonderful health. Lots of family and help.

The Wild Man was not duped. "Don't covet," he advised, using my OWN words against me. (Coveting has always been on the front lines of my lectures because it robs us of gratitude and satisfaction. And I detest ingratitude.)

"I'm not coveting!" I laughed lightly. "I'm counting her blessings!" Wasn't that BRILLIANT?! What a fantastic explanation. And that's when that moment occurred I just mentioned. I didn't even know that was on my lips. Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth spoke. Perfect! Excuse dujour extraordinaire!

Hannah-Bo, the daughter, laughed from the bathroom where she was getting ready for choir. "I LIKE that," she said. "I'm gonna use it!"

"Me too!" I responded. "That's my new lingo for coveting now. I'll just tell people I'm counting their blessings." How tidy!

And then I flopped back down on the couch and started having thoughts about how God CHOSE to allow her to be blessed in this way. And then something about Job, from the Bible, and me, and anyone else whoever asked, "What gives?" popped into my head. "Who are you to question God? If this is what he sees fit to do for her and not for you, then so be it."

Okay, Wisdom. If you're gonna come in, would you at least knock first? Just so I can decide if I want to open the door? It would at least give me the chance to act like I'm not home. Guess it's too late for THAT.

And a wonderful/terrible object lesson came rushing back to me.

I have to tell you first that our family has desperately desired to live in the country. We foam at the mouth when we talk about it. We have had a veggie garden, cats, dogs, chickens, a lamb, and varmints of all varieties in a suburban backyard. We rhapsodize about wide-open spaces, we glory in the mountains and views of them, we revel in the sounds of nature (except that confounded incessantly barking dog next door!). We have more trees on our little lot than the rest of the block combined. In fact, when we read the first Little House on the Prairie book, "Little House in the Big Woods," we dubbed our homestead "Big House in the Little Woods." (It's not all that big - it's just that the lot is SMALL.)

All that being said, we frequently take drives into the countryside and dream. And we oooh and ahhh. And we imagine. But the reality of that dream is not on our financial horizon nor will it likely be, short of a miracle. And it was in this mindset that the kids and I went on a "Point-and-Drive" one day. (The Wild Man started this and I do declare I will post about it.)

We came upon a grand house. It was in a Victorian style with three stories, beautifully appointed and painted in hues of light green, mocha, and burgundy, and situated on grounds that were more reminiscent of lush gardens than of a yard. An elegant white, sculpted wrought-iron fence surrounded all of it. And it was encompassed about by tree-filled acres opening to a view of the Sierras. We stopped the car. Who wouldn't? We pulled over to the side of the road and sat sighing, taking it all in. We talked about how lucky those people were to live in that place. And what must THAT be like? And wouldn't we love to have all this?

About that time, I saw a man walking out from the house toward the gate. The mailbox was there. Maybe he was headed for it. I presumed it was the owner and I thought he might be wondering what we were doing. Although I didn't think a woman and her two kids in their SUV would seem like an imminent threat, I felt I owed him an explanation. And, having NEVER met a stranger in my life, saying hello wasn't a big deal. I started the car and pulled closer to his gate.

"Hi," I said as he approached. "You probably get this all the time. Your home is so beautiful I imagine people are constantly stopping just to admire it."

"Sometimes," he answered with a smile. "I haven't been here too long. It was our dream home." He seemed to want to talk about it and, since talking is my main hobby, I could tell we were in friendly waters. "We just built it a few years ago," he explained.

"Wow," the kids and I responded. "You sure did an incredible job. I can't believe you could accomplish so much in such a short time," I added.

"I was a firefighter in San Francisco," he said. "Housing prices skyrocketed and after living there for thirty years, we were able to sell, move down here, and pay for everything outright."

"That's amazing," I replied. "How wonderful for you."

"Yeah, well, it would have been," he returned, "but right after we moved in, my wife got diagnosed with cancer and I lost her nine months later. I live here alone now. It's too big for me so I'm thinking about selling. My three boys all live in the area and one of them is talking about buying it. I can't rattle around in here. It was our house. It has everything she ever dreamed of. I built it for her. We'd been planning every detail for years. What's the point if she's not here to enjoy it?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I offered, feeling unable to think of the right words to say. I felt instantly broken for him. "How terribly hard that must be. I'm so glad you have your boys nearby." It sounded feeble.

"Yeah," he said. "It's good. I spend a lot of time with them. But they sure miss their mom, too, and the grand kids will be growing up without her."

We talked on for a few minutes more and then shook hands warmly and said our good-byes. Our hearts were heavy as we drove away. We felt so very sad for his dream lived out, alone.

And then I looked at the kids and they looked at me. "God allowed us to meet that man today and hear his story," I said. "When we look from the outside all we see are our own dreams and we imagine life to be perfect if only we lived like that. But would you trade your life and your blessings for his heartache? Let's try to remember that God knows best and we are where we are by his plan and design. And to want something else, to the point that it keeps us from appreciating the blessings we have, is to tell him he doesn't know what he's doing. That's what coveting is. God must love us dearly to allow us to learn this lesson in such a profound way."

And so, as I sat contemplating my laundry, I remembered this penetrating object lesson and stopped coveting, for the moment, again. And even if I call it "Counting Her Blessings" it all adds up to the same thing: dissatisfaction with what God has given me and thinking someone else is getting a better deal, or has something I think I need. And it took my son to name it.

So then I gave thanks for the 3,000 socks with no match.

No I didn't.

If you think I'm THAT far down the road of wisdom you haven't been hanging out with me long enough. Stick around.


Copyright 2009

A Twittering Twit - Really, What's the Point?

Okay. So I signed up for Twitter. Even though I fail to see why I should.

"Everyone's doing it," everyone tells me. "People enjoy it!" Really? Why?

Just in case you have a life and couldn't care less what Twittering is and don't know or care to know, let me explain in boring detail. Twitter is a service wherein you can send a message to whomever is interested (known as a follower - radical term, stay with me), and it's just one message but goes to all of your followers at once. You can only use 144 characters so it is meant to send out short notes about what you're doing or thinking.

No offense to anyone using it, which would now include me, but I really don't get it.

Do you actually want to know more about me than you already do? My life does not tend to produce interesting, "Twitterable" moments.

Let me give you an example of what level of excitement you can expect if you decide to follow me on Twitter.

"Walked across the room. No injuries."

"Have gone upstairs."

"Have gone downstairs."

"Who used all the toilet paper and didn't replace?! Grrrr."

"Who put the milk carton back in the refrigerator empty? Grrrr."

"Minky! Stop barking! Darn dog."

"JoJo! Stop barking. Darn dog."

"This is the highest pile of laundry since...since....since.....piles of laundry have been getting high (the pressure defeats analogy production)."

"My toenails look disgusting. I'm doing a pedicure as soon as I go upstairs for my supplies."

"Have gone upstairs."

"Who used the last of the toilet paper up here, too?!"

"What was I up here for?"

"For corn's sake, there is cat barf on my bed."

"I did not realize you could see into my neighbor's garage so clearly if you bend over just right to clean up cat barf."

"I wonder if there's a dead body in that rolled up carpet?"

"Am heading downstairs now to start laundry."

"Son is playing X-Box 360 instead of doing school work. He is in trouble. Jello brain."

"I wonder if I have any new followers on the blog - going to check."

Alternating Posts 60 times a day: "Yay! They like me!"/"Nothing. Probably no one else will ever sign up as long as I live."

"I need to dust my desk."

"Heading on over to check out all the blogs I follow."

"Dangit! Just dropped my headphones."

"Wow. Noticed how badly I need a pedicure. I should have realized this before now."

So, this is representative of the scintillating updates you can expect from me if you follow. And someone can read them to you in the hospital if you lapse into a coma. They say people can sometimes still hear and understand during that time. I hope that's not true for you.

Copyright 2009

My Dog Has Diarrhea?

Not MY dog but apparently SOMEbody's dog. Just look over at my ad that came up yesterday from Google Ads and is still there (scroll down and look right). And you can read about dog vomit, too. (Where was this last week when JoJo hurled behind my chair!)

Truly, there is an ad - somebody click on it for Pete's sake and maybe I'll make money from it - and honest-to-goodness it says, "My Dog Has Diarrhea." Now, isn't that the kind of ad that makes you just want to click it and hope for pictures? Just wanted to keep you aware that it IS my mission in life to bring you THIS kind of cutting-edge information through my ads. Your welcome.

P.S. If it isn't there, refresh your page and it will probably pop up. You know you want to. If you don't see it the first time it's because there will be a huge banner about teeth and whitening and what not. Everybody knows teeth and diarrhea go hand-in-hand. OMWord, I'm digressing now. I've told you before - there is a 5th grade boy who lives inside of me. He is out of control today. This is EXACTLY the kind of thing that tickles his funny bone. Yes, I'm easy.

Gird Your Loins! I Am Ranting!

Well, in reality your loins are probably safe. But I insist on raging and waging war for a bit so it seemed only polite for me to ask you to consider your very state of being when encountering a brawling woman. (And I simply must state for the record that Lucy Lawless aka "Xena Warrior Princess" looks incredibly like me, don't you think? Especially the diminutive waist and chiseled features. Yes, we were separated at birth....they gave her the "fabulous" cells and entrusted me with the "fat" cells. I am faithfully caring for them.)

But really, that's beside the point because I have a leonine femur to pick with you, Blogger.com. Why do you fail to notify me of new blog posts on the blogs I follow? You send me some and not others. And this is random. So I never know which blog I should be backtracking to see what's been missed. And I am absent in the face of vital information. Or those I follow think I am ignoring them. Or their scintillating writing, or photography, or witticism, is not celebrated by me in the way it should be. And they wonder where I am. And surely my comments are vital to their very well-being. And I sound like a slacker when I blame it on YOU. So do tell.

Is anyone else experiencing this problem and is there anything to be done about it?

Just know that if I'm not there at your blog it will be Blogger/Blogspot's fault. And no matter what, that will always be my default of choice. And most of the time, it will even be true.....!

P.S. My other beef - My comments don't always go through on websites or blogs where I have to enter my name, email, URL, birth weight, number of teeth, date of worst hair cut, and how often I shave my legs. After entering all of this and then leaving a profound comment, it is disheartening to see it disappear and never register. Any insights on that? Attn: Life on a Colorado Farm......this is happening now at your site. And the blog party - 50 comments on different sites simply gone. So, you techy types who are laughing right now - DO DISH! FIX ME! HELP ME! I need to be saved from myself.