I Probably Shouldn't Jinx It

I have about a week left in my second trimester, and I have to say that things are going really, really well. I can (mostly) breathe through my nose again, and I can now brush my teeth without feeling like I'm going to hurl. That was weird. Also, I'm sleeping pretty well on average, not including the early morning pee breaks. Most of the time when I wake up in the morning I don't even feel pregnant, I'm so amazingly comfortable. My monthly doctor's appointments last approximately 5 minutes. We listen to the heartbeat, and confirm there are no problems or questions. Done!

Lately I have been reflecting about how lucky we are that things have gone so normally. I have heard so many horror stories and seen so many disturbing things on TV, I feel like I have spent the last 6 months waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or maybe the first shoe. Somewhere, I just know a shoe is waiting to drop. Like I said, I probably shouldn't jinx it. Then again, it can't be a bad thing to realize how good I have it, right?

I will probably take this all back in the third trimester, but I'm hoping that I am able to continue being active, which seems to help me sleep and feel a lot better overall. I have this DVD made by a Cirque du Soleil trapeze artist when she was really, REALLY pregnant. Observe:



Granted, I'm not doing this workout very often, maybe once a week, but I always feel pretty good when I do. The only thing I object to in this DVD is that her final move is to put her arms straight out to the sides and make little circles with them for 3 minutes straight. I'm not sure how much practice it would take me to go from my pitiful 1 minute to her 3, but more than my remaining 3 months!

Travelogue: Jacksonville, NC

I have found this whole writing thing to be a bit more difficult since we never seem to stay home on the week-ends. On the bright side, we've taken some pretty neat trips, so I decided that it's time to catch up on some field reporting.

The first trip we took this spring/summer was to see my cousin-in-law get married. Her new husband was in the Marines at the time, so they opted to get married on the beach near Camp Lejeune, in Jacksonville, NC. There were lots of good reasons to do this - the scenery was beautiful, the atmosphere was fairly casual (second marriage for both), and the price was definitely right. Say what you will about the military, but they definitely provide some nice extras for their people when they can.

I had never been through a security clearance for a military base before - the only time I had ever been on base was to go on a sailboat that happened to be docked at a Naval base, and they didn't really care to check us in (after all, it was quite a few years before September 11th). Checking in wasn't really a huge deal except that we had to wait in line in the heat. The thing that entertained me throughout this process was reading the Dos and Don'ts of the dress code for times when you are not in uniform. The rules themselves weren't all that earth shattering, but there were pictures to illustrate - upstanding young men in their polo shirts and khaki shorts, and then some candids of the guys in ripped cutoffs and sleeveless t-shirts, who, honestly, looked like they were having a bit more fun.

From a purely self-centered perspective, I will admit that seeing Lisa did not help with my Shamu feelings. You see, Lisa is due a full month before me. Go ahead, check out the pictures and tell me she looks pregnant. Yeah, that's what I thought. I comfort myself with the knowledge that she is in a tough spot, as this pregnancy comes after gastric bypass surgery, and she definitely cannot eat with anything resembling reckless abandon. When we heard the news, we were mostly concerned since we didn't have any information about how one would cope with that combination. I'm happy to say that she (as you can see from the pictures) is incredibly healthy and so is the baby. She is also having a boy, so that should be fun at family gatherings.

On the way in, I saw the following sign and demanded that we pull over on the way out so I could get a picture of it. Now this is something you will only see when you are on a military base:



I was pretty surprised that somebody decided to draw a picture of the thing, since "TANK XING" seems pretty self-explanatory.

Baby's First Sheep

A friend of mine introduced me to the Martha's Vineyard Fiber Farm Blog a while back. It is an excellent place to get your cute fix, what with all the pictures of baby lambs, among other things. Not only that, but there are usually links to all sorts of interesting things. One that caught my eye was a link to a pattern for some knitted sheep. That very same week, I bought some yarn and knitting needles, and went about re-learning to knit. My mom taught me how once, but I was probably 15, and had long since forgotten almost everything. And yes, I'm aware that the pregnant lady knitting is a little bit of a cliche. I'm OK with that.

For the first project, I knitted a scarf. It started a little bit rough, left a couple of holes along the way, but finished strong. It won't win any prizes, but I may wear it for the two weeks or so that we call "winter" here in North Carolina. Then I tried to learn the purl stitch, and it wasn't pretty. I spent a couple of weeks just toying with it, seeing if I could get it to look cohesive, but it just wasn't happening, so I left knitting be for a little bit. See how I am when the going gets tough?

Finally, I decided it was time to attempt the sheep. A quick glance at the pattern revealed there was no purling required - sweet! After another trip to the craft store, I was all set. And (fanfare please!) after a few days of working while we watched TV, baby's first sheep was all ready to go:




OK, so now all I have to do is knit the little sheepy blanket. Per hubby's request, it is Carolina blue in color, and may or may not get a little UNC logo at some point. I re-checked the pattern and it says "moss stitch." Eh? So I look up moss stitch and find out it's knit 1, purl 1 for two rows, then purl 1 knit 1 for the next two rows. Crap! I tried, I really did. The problem was, if I pulled the yarn from one side, my stitches multiplied. Multiplied! I started with 24 and would end up with between 27-30 by row 2. So I tried pulling the yarn the other way. It went OK for about 6 rows, but then I noticed that I wasn't getting a blanket so much as I was getting a clumped-up knot of something that resembled rope. Awesome. So for the second time since starting, I abandoned the purl stitch. I just knitted the blanket, and I think it looks just fine:





I had the inspiration to create a few of these, and make them into a mobile. If I manage to do that I'll definitely post a picture - I'm pretty proud of my craftiness!

Ultrasounds

For my first ultrasound (around 5 weeks or so), for once I was really glad I paid attention during all the movies I've seen that involve pregnancy. You see, I astutely noticed during movies like "Knocked Up" that the mother-to-be was wearing one of those drapes during the procedure. And every woman knows what that drape signifies. So, I did some research ahead of time to see if it was possible that the first ultrasound would be - how can I put this - a little up close and personal. And oh yes, it was. The actual image was pretty anticlimactic. I mean, it's basically a blob. Oh, with a fluttery blob inside it. It was so startling to see something with a beating heart on that screen that I laughed. This was not the best thing to do when the ultrasound wand is up close and personal - she had to re-find the image a couple of times during this process. But hey, we got the baby measured and confirmed that the heart was beating, no problem.

We just had ultrasound #2 (18 weeks). My mother-in-law lives about an hour away, and was able to get off work to come along, which was really cool. My mom had a short hospital stay last week (nothing awfully serious, she's OK!) so was unable to join this party. I thought, "Hey! No problem, we'll just bring a video camera and she can see it later." Which was all cool until we got there and they told us no cameras. Dammit. I'll admit, there were tears - I blame the hormones. The genetic counselor we talked to was very understanding and has probably seen all sorts of weird behavior. Pregnant women are not the most stable of creatures at the best times.

I'm not sure what I was expecting from this second scan. I mean, I knew it wouldn't look like a blob. At least hopefully we're not giving birth to an amoeba, that would suck. Instead, now we've got an alien fossil. What? Well, allow me to illustrate. First of all, the baby is transparent. This, to me, was a little bit shocking. Also, here is the face, which just screams alien:



And here is the profile, which looks like some sort of fossil:



It was still a pretty cool experience. Now, a word on finding out the gender ahead of time. We have heard lots of stories from other parents about wanting to be surprised. My personal thought on this subject is that there will be shock and awe a-plenty when another person comes out of my body, and I'm not in need of any further surprises, thankyouverymuch. Also, we have had a really hard time with names, and narrowing the field by 50% sounds like an excellent idea at this stage. So, we found out by way of another ultrasound image taken from the baby's bottom: it's got junk! The tech even put an arrow pointing to the body part in question and wrote BOY, just in case there was any confusion. So look out world, we're having a son!

Return of Frankenboob
(and other oddities)

Let me just preface this by saying that I have known at least ten women that have been pregnant during the time I have known them. Also, due to my pregnancy obsession developed during the "trying" phase, I had read about lots of the possible "benefits" that occur. Naturally none of these have happened to me, just ones I had no idea were even possible. I have consulted Doctor Google a LOT, usually entering "pregnancy and..." whatever it is at the moment. Here are the highlights.

1. I can't breathe through my nose. Nobody ever mentioned pregnancy boogers, but let me tell you, they exist. It's the worst at night, as if I'm not uncomfortable enough. Speaking of uncomfortable...

2. I am a freakin' whale. Don't get me wrong, I understood going into this thing that I would... expand. I just seem to be ahead of the curve (no pun intended) so far. I'm not even halfway through this process and already the pregnancy is unmistakable. Granted, my husband is on the large side so this could be a MegaBaby(TM), but most of the comments I've been hearing lately are like "Wow, you ARE pregnant" and "HOW far along did you say you were?" and my favorite "I can't believe how big you are already!"

3. Frankenboob. Remember the radiation? Yeah, the Frankenboob is making an appearance, this time not as the boob that ate Manhattan, but rather the boob that refuses to grow like the other one. It might be the only part of me that is NOT growing, and I'm extrapolating this in my head to the point where I have to lean to one side to balance.

4. My shoes no longer fit. WTF, are my feet pregnant? I have been assured by Doctor Google that this is normal and happens to other people but seriously, that one was a surprise.

Other than that, things have been going pretty well. No weird food cravings, which is probably good. I can't eat grilled chicken anymore, though, it totally grosses me out. We're on track to find out the gender next week, and I'm super impatient to find out. Given my size, I'm going to make sure they take a good long look around and make sure it's not twins! [insert shudder... here.]

Misconceptions

Get it? 'Cause I'm going to talk about babymaking and stuff and there's the word "conception?" It's true though, there were some things that I thought I knew before we went into this whole "create another person" process. I ended up going to a consult with an OB/GYN for advice and she was incredibly kind and helpful. I recommend that, rather than going to the Internet, if this is something in your immediate future.

1. You really have to be vigilant about protecting yourself from unwanted pregnancy, because if you let one sperm past your defenses, that is it.

I don't know why I've been trying so hard this whole time to prevent unwanted pregnancy. Seriously, the whole process of trying to figure out when you might ovulate was unbelievably difficult for me. It was just a lot of math, and even then I was never really sure.

2. You should have sex every day between periods if you are trying to get pregnant, then take a home pregnancy test as soon as you are one day late.

No. First of all, that is a LOT of sex. And it's a lot of perfunctory sex. I'll just leave it at that. Also, home pregnancy tests, while I'm sure they are useful in certain situations, just take you on an emotional rollercoaster that could just as easily be avoided (along with the expense) by being a little bit patient. Granted, I'm not a patient person, which is probably why I bought so many of the damn things.

3. You will "just know" when you are pregnant.

Oh hell no. Actually, the only time I "knew" was when something was wrong, early in the process. I was technically pregnant (see home pregnancy test / emotional rollercoaster comment, above) and my midsection blew up like a freakin' balloon. Luckily, we had heard the advice about not telling everyone right away, because my period was really late and heavy, so evidently that one didn't take. I probably went through 1/10 of the suffering that people who have later miscarriages went through, but it was still pretty horrible.

The bright side is that we did finally have success, it was just 15 months later. That may not sound like a long time, but it felt like forever. I talked to a friend of mine who has two children, and she advised me to enjoy the time I had left with my "old" life while I could. Just when I took that advice and started to think about things we could do, trips we could take, etc... I got pregnant. Ha, ha, ha, universe. Don't get me wrong, this was still fantastic news. I do have a lot to say about this whole pregnancy thing, though, so bear with me for a few posts, OK?

Where Do We Go From Here?

My surgeon and I had a conversation after my last biopsy about what they found. Like I mentioned, it wasn't cancer, just more warning signs. To sum up: 1) family history 2) previous DCIS diagnosis 3) "markers" found in second surgery 4) let's be frank: lumpy boobs that seem to continually make more lumps. It's what they do. So, suffice it to say my "team" doesn't think that sitting back and monitoring the situation is quite enough.

Tamoxifen is always the first option presented, since it is the least invasive from the doctors' perspective. I am pretty anti-drug, and am particularly anti that drug. Don't get me wrong, I take antibiotics when I'm sick, and would accept chemotherapy if I ever needed it (but hopefully not). My friend Rich had migraine headaches every day, for example, and I think it's fantastic that his doctors found a drug that would stop that nonsense. EVERY DAY! Yikes. The drugs I am not a fan of are the ones that people seem to take because the drug companies tell them they should and/or convince them they have a "disease." I feel slightly that tamoxifen falls into that category, not to mention the side effects scare the bejoolies out of me.

That left us to discuss prophylactic mastectomy. That's right, cutting off the boobs so they have a much lower chance of killing me. Several thoughts went through my head at that point, like, has it really come to this? Am I so scared that I would willingly undertake a somewhat major surgery not to mention the ramifications that follow? Finally, am I done with my boobs?

The last question got me to thinking about babies. I mean, not that we hadn't talked about the subject before; at the last family reunion I attended I realized how much love my family - heck, our families - have to offer, and how lucky we are in that respect. My stance on the whole childbearing subject was always "Someday but not now," because I genuinely have liked my life the way it is, and I'm not foolish enough to think that having a baby wouldn't change that in a very fundamental way. But this, plus my age which is *mumble mumble* made me realize that it's time to change my life (our lives) fundamentally.

So, I signaled for a time out to the surgeon and the oncologist, whilst we get with the baby-making. No, not right there in the office, although from the way they were talking about the urgency of the whole thing I'm not sure they would have been disappointed. And hey, nothing helps you make a baby like other people telling you to hurry, right? Right?

The Recap

Hi, I'm Jen. My friend Melisa has inspired me to start writing again, with a combination of writing herself and gentle cajoling. But, in order to appreciate some of the weird stuff that is happening to me this time, you have to have a small understanding of what prompted me to write so much here in the first place.

Back in 2002, I had a small run-in with breast cancer. Since I have family history (both mother AND grandmother on the opposite side), my oncologist at the time recommended radiation so that it reduced the chances of recurrence. Most of the bizarre shit that happened to me during that time either related to my doctors, the treatments, or strange reactions of the boob in question, which at the time I dubbed Frankenboob.

So here I am 7 years later (I can't really believe it has been that long) and all kinds of stuff is happening - but I'm going to save that for the next post or this will be entirely too long. I did have one more biopsy, but no cancer this time only "markers" which just means it's even MORE likely now that my breasts will, in fact, try and kill me. Oh yeah, and I fired my oncologist "Dr. Turban" because he weirded me out. I mean, he wanted to hug me every time I saw him, for one thing. I'm not a very "huggy" person (what can I say I'm from the Midwest) and seriously, the most I want from a doctor even when I'm distraught is maybe some tissues and a reassuring pat on the back. The last thing I wanted was a hug every time I went to see him, that's just yucky. He also mentioned that I should be drinking milk every time I saw him, even knowing that wasn't going to happen. So I've got a new oncologist, and she does none of these things. That aspect is much better.

Wrapping up the disease updates, I have also found out that I do not carry the breast cancer gene. So, mom, you are off the hook, at least in theory. My oncologist was quick to point out that we don't have tests for *all* the breast cancer genes, just the ones we know about. Thanks - remind me why this test has value again? Speaking of mom, she also survived a bout with ovarian cancer last year. It was, to sum it up, terrifying. She is doing much better now, and even took a trip to Italy recently. However, I feel like there are now new and exciting body parts that can threaten to kill me down the road. I'm trying not to think about it.

Other than the random health nonsense, things have been going along really well, and clearly I haven't been inspired to complain about anything or there would be more posts!

Same As It Ever Was

I overheard our receptionist talking to a group of small children in the lobby today.

Receptionist: What's your name?
Child #1: Kyle.
Receptionist: And what's YOUR name?
Child #2: (babbles semi-incoherently)
Child #1: He said Roy Rogers.
Receptionist: Roy Rogers??
Child #1: His real name is Gabriel.

The funniest part about this exchange is that I'm not 100% sure that the receptionist knows who Roy Rogers was. We are the generation, after all, that likes to forget anybody came before us. Kind of like her cohort, who didn't know who sang Blackbird, and then had trouble figuring out that Paul McCartney was one of the Beatles. It makes me want to lie about my age in the wrong direction.

I Hope You Know That This Will Go Down on Your Permanent Record

The Violent Femmes played Raleigh this week-end, and of course I went. I spent countless hours as a teenager listening to their first album. On casette tape, of course, so that it subsequently started sounding like the band was playing underwater on some of the songs, and then the tape finally just broke. We would play their music on the band bus (oh yes, the band bus), and many times my own personal judge of character of somebody I had just met was whether they liked the Femmes or not. Needless to say, my husband is a fan. I don't know if he wore out his casette tape playing it or not, but he knows the lyrics to some of their more obscure songs, so he passes the test.

The concert was free, and held in downtown Raleigh at a tiny park in the middle of the bar/restaurant/art gallery/trendy junk shop district. Let me preface my review of the concert with this: I am old. I'm convinced of this fact for several reasons.

First, I don't really enjoy drinking cheap, overpriced beer. I mean, $4 per can isn't THAT bad, by concert standards, but after one can of Bud Light I'm ready to just give up on drinking for the night. Also, they used this stupid ticket system, which means you have to wait in line to buy a ticket, then wait in line to trade your ticket for a beer. This means that you buy a bunch of tickets intending to trade them in later, but then if you don't want any more to drink, the bastards running the concert get to keep your money. Yeah, we drank ALL of the beers. No unused tickets for us! Looking around, I saw that most people also used all of their tickets. Many, many, tickets.

Second, I don't like crowds. It seemed like most people around me were basically OK with standing around shoulder-to-shoulder. This could have more to do with redeeming all of their tickets than with their age, I'm not sure. All I know is that I was hot (it was 95 degrees and humid with no breeze, even at 9 at night) and people kept shoving through us. Why in God's name can't people just stand the fuck still when the band is playing?? I mean, send one person to go get beer, there is no need for all seven of you to come shoving through everybody in a bizarre, rude, conga line.

This was not helped by the lesbian couple next to us, who decided to bring their children along, ages 12 and 8. The 12-year-old seemed OK, bobbing her head along to the music, smiling, trying not to acknowledge the drunk men next to her that were perving on her something fierce by the end of the set. The 8-year-old was NOT happy, and looked like he was going to throw up at any minute. Thankfully, he held off. He was practically laying down on the ground though, which meant that his mothers had the job of making sure he didn't get stepped on. They proceeded to direct traffic around him, which made some people get a little unruly. At which point, one of them would threaten to kick his/her ass, and the unruly person would walk away. We were pretty thankful for the "walking away" part, although generally it was more like "walking around the crazy lesbian and then shoving whoever else happens to be in the way (usually me or Nikki)."

That being said, the Violent Femmes still rock my world. They are good at what they do, which is more than I can say for other artists that are currently played on Top 40 (although I listen to less and less of that, to be sure), and they are still very odd. They played Country Death Song, which is a dark and ironic choice being that they were fairly close to being in the Appalachians. We sang along and looked around, expecting outrage. All we got was drunken revelry, and somebody behind us shouting FREEBIRD about 25 times throughout the course of the set. The set was much to short, of course, but hey - the price was right.

Yum

Is it wrong that I'm so excited about the potential of Karl Rove actually getting caught doing something shady? I can barely listen to stories about it on the radio without clapping my hands with glee. Glee, I tell you. I just finished reading one of Al Franken's books (dated, I know) about Rove's push polling to knock McCain out of the primary, and various other shady shit he's done to help a President that should never have become one.

And just to cement my liberal standing, I will repeat what should be repeated, over and over again. Al Gore never claimed to have invented the Internet.

London Calling

Our main TV broke about three weeks ago, so the first I heard of today's bombings was on BBC news on my way to work. It made the news much more immediate hearing it on a London-based station. The immediate panic and the jammed phone lines reminded me so much of 9/11 it was eerie. In addition to the victims and wounded, they talked about the 3 million or so people who would normally take the subway or buses today, and it was hard to imagine how scared those people must be, all of them.

My other thoughts are about Iraq. I have never been there, but I have to think that getting on a bus there you would take your life in your hands every single day. Not to mention on the street, in your home, going to the store, anywhere. Are they scared all the time? Or are they just numb to it by now and take it as part of everyday life? Also, ask yourself what your reaction was the last time you heard about a suicide bomber blowing up a bus in Iraq. Was it on par with your reaction to the attacks in London?

Of course this doesn't diminish the tragedy in any way. In "free" western societies we expect to be able to walk down the street or use public transportation without being blown up. Of course, we also expect to live without things like illegal search and seizure, wiretaps without court orders, imprisonment for indefinite time without hope of trial, going to jail for not revealing a journalistic source, things like that.

Hawt.

What other word is there to describe North Carolina in July besides, "Gaaahhh." Seriously. Hot, Africa hot, and humid so it seems like you're swimming through the air rather than walking. This is interrupted only by sudden and torrential downpours, some with lightning and thunder, some with hail, some with only huge, furious drops of rain.

Sometimes, the rain parts the heat like a wave, and you go outside and forget how hot it was just an hour ago. It feels clean and you want to sit outside and drink iced tea and be Southern® for a while.

Other times, the added moisture just makes it worse. You go outside and you feel like a piece of broccoli in a steam cooker. You slow down, though, so you get evenly cooked on all sides.

Spring, Summer, and Fall

I had a whole series of things that would fit into the seasons categories, but I got so hung up on how to write the Fall one that I haven't written anything. So I'm just going to skip it. Plus, the overall blog tone has gotten a little depressing with the multiple deaths in my family and among friends of the family.

There are much happier things that have happened this year. For example, my friend Krissy got married this February and about forty of us went on a cruise to watch it happen. Now that was really something, so much so that I finally got motivated to get a free photo account. The images are BACK, baby! Well, I still have to re-upload the old ones.

Moments like the wedding seem to have a gravity of their own, leaving an imprint in your mind. Sitting at a little restaurant on the water, listening to the water and the mexican music played on the official wedding boombox, sipping a margarita and watching a good friend get married to somebody she loves with all her heart. Now that is a good one to keep with you for a while. Despite Carnival making abundant mistakes, we had a fantastic time and wouldn't have changed it for the world. A lifetime of happiness to Krissy and Ted!

Winter

While we were on vacation, my Aunt Ola Mae passed away. It seems as though our family is reaching the point where we will be gathering for funerals more often. Most of these will be for people that have reached the winter of life, and I think Aunt Ola Mae had definitely made it there. She buried two husbands, has seen a generation of children born, then a generation of grandchildren, and finally a generation of great grandchildren. She was the photographer in the family - we used to joke that we wouldn't recognize her without a flashbulb on her forehead - and she drove like a bat out of hell. Seriously. We would all leave at the same time and she always always was the first to arrive. She was always full of energy and loved to laugh. The overwhelming sense I get from her passing is that she had seen everything there was to see, and now it's time for the next adventure. I hope she takes some good pictures.

Good Things

And I say
No, no, no, don't pass me over No, no, no, don't pass me by
See I can see good things for you and I
Yeah, good things for you

The year is 1992 (or thereabouts) and the place is a basement of a rental house that is somewhere in the vicinity of campus but is just far enough away that you have to find somebody with a car to take you there. There are five of us in the basement, and we are trying to learn songs with only three chords. For a brief period we consider naming the band DAG, but then Tommy convinces us to go with Oresteia. This turns out to be an interesting choice, considering that the only gigs we ever play are in crappy hick bars in semi-rural Wisconsin. For the most part, they call us Ortega, and then are fairly hostile when we don't play salsa music. Actually, that's not true. They are VERY hostile, when we don't know Freebird. FREEBIRD!! SKYNYRD!! DAMN, this band SUCKS!

So back to the basement. We feel like rock and rolls superstars in the basement. It's smoky and poorly ventilated, which proves to be good practice for me at putting up with the aforementioned crappy hick bars. I only have a couple allergy attacks, which is amazing considering the length of time we spend in the basement. Ray, although a great guy and pretty good contact with the crappy hick bars, has some trouble with the DAG songs. As they say in the South, bless his heart. It probably didn't help that he's deaf in one ear.

I know that leaving the band was the right thing to do for my college career. My week-ends were better spent practicing piano than pounding out DAG in a smoky basement. Still, for a brief while it was fun to be a rock and roll superstar, even if it was only in my own mind. I attempted to join a smaller band later on, sort of a Hootie wannabe, but it wasn't the same. Maybe because he didn't smoke.

It's That Time of Year Again

How to make deep-fried turkey instructions can be found here and here, the last one includes a recipe for the seasoning.

Enjoy!

Eulogy

Instead of trying to do something elaborate here, I am going to stick with what I do naturally. Telling stories.

My favorite story about my grandfather:
When I was little, I remember sitting in my grandparents' kitchen and coloring in a coloring books. It is possible that the coloring book came with me on the trip, but it is possible that it came instead from the toy cupboard. The toy cupboard was a fantastic place. I don't know what was originally stored there, but it became the place to keep toys for the grandkids. My grandfather sat down next to me and watched me color for a little while. I had carefully outlined the shapes in crayon and was filling them in, moving the crayon back and forth across the surface.

"When I was your age, we didn't color like that," he said.

I didn't reply, but switched the movement of my crayon to an up-and-down motion. He watched for a second.

"When I was your age, we didn't color like that," he repeated.

Again, I switched, this time to diagonal.

"When I was your age, we didn't color like that."

I had almost exhausted my options, but switched to a round-and-round motion.

"When I was your age..."

In my best exasperated child voice, I said, "Well Grandpa? How DID you color when you were my age??"

"Well, I didn't use all different ways like that, I picked one and stuck with it!"

***

My grandfather's favorite story about me:
They had taken me to the grocery store with them, and as they went through the checkout line they gave me some money for the gumball/toy machines near the door. I don't remember how much money they gave me, but it gave me the option to get gum or a toy, and several different options of toys. At three years old, this was a monumental decision. By the time they finished paying for the groceries and got out to where I was standing, the money was still in my hand. As soon as they were in earshot I blurted out:

"These machines are driving me CRAZY!!"

***

We weren't ready for my grandfather to pass away. He had always been a central reason why it was more fun to spend time with my family than go to the movies. My uncle thought for a year or more that a-g-i-l-e was pronounced "a gill" because my grandfather thought it would be funny to see if he would believe it. This was before the phrase "Is that right mother??" was commonplace in their household.

He played baseball with his kids after dinner in the side yard, a place we probably should have been playing baseball when my brother managed to hit one right through their plate glass window.

I remember at Christmas having a song stuck in my head (as I often do) dancing in place to it in my uncle's kitchen. When I looked up, my grandfather was dancing in place to the same rhythm, just because I was. I started laughing and promptly forgot what song was in my head, but we kept on dancing anyway. Like I said, more fun than the movies. Certainly stranger.

Grandpa was always smiling, always shaking his fist in a mock-threatening manner, would always make editorial comments about things going on around us - just like I do. We all have stories that capture a part of him, and we're lucky in that respect. But we still weren't ready. He was Enright, Chuck, Charlie, and Finn. He was Grandpa.

I'm Going to Have to Call You Back

Alrighty, so I have been meaning to really write, but obviously I'm just putting too much pressure on myself. So for now, I'll just get something here so I don't look so lazy. (Oh, it's much too late for that.)

I was on my way home the other night and saw a Cyclist up ahead. You know, he's not riding a bike he's cycling. He has the spandex shorts, the spandex jersey, the funny little shoes, the helmet, the sunglasses, and as I pass him, I realize he's talking on a cell phone. What sort of a conversation is this guy having? Those numbers (huff puff) sounds good Bob (huff puff) but I'll have to (huff puff) call you back after I (huff puff) get up this hill.

Life in the Kingdom

As far as turn-based games online go, there is none finer than The Kingdom of Loathing. Where else can you become a Disco Bandit, fighting things like Baseball Bats (a creature with bat wings and a baseball for a body) and P Imps (in the Copse of the Deep Fat Friars)? My current questing takes me into the Palindrome, where every creature is (you guessed it) spelled the same forwards as it is backwards. The only problem now is that when I run out of adventures I am very very sad. So, I do the sensible thing and get my character falling down drunk.