On the other hand...

Mama is doing so much better, she has been moved to the Skills Life Center for rehab. Today she dressed herself and was quite personable. As much as she wants to come home, even she will admit that the past few days have been good for her. Once her strength and appetite return, she may be able to come home.

She really wants to come home. She misses the cats and her room and the Old Lady Mafia, though they have been visiting her and bringing her little gifts, God bless 'em. She hates her room-mate, who, I must admit, makes Mama seem extraordinarily high functioning. I don't know what Miz E's diagnosis is, but I strongly suspect she has Alzheimer's. She talks non-stop, assumes anyone who is speaking is addressing her and takes off her clothes. Several times a day. She's 85- it ain't pretty. They have her hooked up to a sensor that makes one hell of a shrill and annoying noise whenever she gets out of bed because she tends to fall. She also tends to get out of bed every 20 minutes so Mama's room is pretty noisy. All of this is pretty annoying, but Mama's biggest complaint is that Miz E hogs the TV. If Mama is going to be in there for any length of time, I may take a TV over to her.

The stress level around here has decreased greatly in the past few days. I dreaded moving Mama to the nursing home but after the obligatory high-volume fit- which I missed, thank goodness, but her doctor did not- she was pretty cool about the whole thing. She is being cared for by very good and kind people and is improving every day. All to the good.

I am over being pissed off at Dave, mainly because Mama is doing so well. Stress #2 taken care of.

And, with the help of two members of the Junior OLM, I was able to complete two projects that were either interrupted or delayed by Mama's illness.

My most beloved daughter-in-law helped me paint and reorganize my craft room, which is now beyond wonderful and is my favorite room in the house. I will post pictures of it soon- it's gorgeous. Becca is a fantastic painter. We really work well together and even Pookie pitched in. (I'd post an adorable picture of Pookie helping, but my son has asked me not to do that, so you'll just have to imagine a gorgeous three-year old in a Superman T-shirt rolling Hawaiian orchid paint on the walls).

Then my good buddy Melinda brought her substantial artistic ability to the completion of the Literacy Council project that was approaching deadline. I committed to producing a decorated chair to be auctioned off at the Chair-ity Event fundraiser tomorrow night. It turned out to be quite charming, I think.

I designed the chair. Melinda did all the painting and decoupage. I made the fairy figure and the fairy cushion.

I actually made SIX fairies, as the original design called for, but when we started assembling the chair, they were just too much. SO- as per usual - I did six times more work than was required. Less is more. More or less.

We added a "Flower Fairies of the Garden" book by Cicely Mary Barker, and the chair was complete. I had not realized what a stress not having the chair ready was until I turned it in at the Adult Learning Center and felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I hope people bid on it.

Off to bed, me.

Bitterness alert- read at your own risk

I have been informed that I am basically a positive person until it comes to the news and Mama.

I have been informed this by my husband.

I admit that I do tend to rant and rail about the crap that passes for news, especially TV news. I tend to avoid the news entirely unless my hubby is home. Avoid, hell, I NEVER watch the news unless he is home, so I think his judgment that I am negative about it is a bit skewed. I'm not negative about it as long as it's not on.

And I don't think I am negative about Mama, either. I think I am reasonably frustrated and a tad resentful, but also I think there is good cause. Mama is a rip-snorter and can turn ANY situation into a no-win one. Dave grew up with the woman, so he knows this. He just doesn't want to hear about it anymore. Period. He wants to abdicate, and resents it when I object to being the abdicatee.

Case in point coming up.

The plans were these:
April 22- May 16: Dave traveling to San Diego, and then to Brisbane.
May 6 - May 16: Kate traveling to Michigan to visit her dad and sister

And then this happened: Mama was rushed to the hospital where it took three days for the doctors to come up with a diagnosis that explained the symptoms that weren't patently faked. (The faked symptoms included laughably sham seizures and phony faints.) The real symptoms seemed indicative of some type of CVA- a micro stroke, or TIA, perhaps.

Tests have since shown an 80% blockage in her carotid artery. This is serious, and some plan of action on how to proceed needs to be formulated. That plan of action may or may not include surgery. It may or may not include admitting her to a nursing home. It may or may not include Mama coming home but needing constant supervision.

In the meantime, someone needs to visit her daily to keep her company, to keep her spirits up and to make sure she is being cared for properly. Someone will have to help her deal with whatever changes to her life are on the horizon, and comfort her if she does not get to come back to the home she wants to return to RIGHT NOW! Should they segue her to a nursing home, someone will have to help her adjust to a new environment and assure her that she is still loved and isn't being abandoned. Someone will also have to handle the logistics, the paperwork, the arrangements, and the business of caring for a sick, elderly person.

So...
The new plans are these:
April 22- May 16: Dave traveling to San Diego, then to Brisbane.
May 6 - May 16: Kate probably not going anywhere.

I know Dave's company is at a critical nexus right now. I know his job requires him to travel long distances all too frequently, and that no one, right now, can do what he does. But apparently, on the home front, no one can do what I do, whether I want to do it or not. It is getting harder and harder, even more so than when our children were young and I was a stay-at-home Mom, to carve out a bit of a life of my own.

For some reason, I feel a little negative about that.

And so... home- which is no frolic

Early tomorrow, I hop on a plane and begin the long, uncomfortable, and lonely trek from San Diego to Tennessee. Alone, because Dave is in Chicago, though he is headed home as well and will meet me at the Nashville Airport. We don't even seem to live parallel lives anymore. It is the nature of his job to keep him not so much on the road but in the air, and by that nature, to keep us chronically apart. This time, however, I chose to be apart. I did not want to go to Chicago. It is cold in Chicago. I wanted the extra couple of days in San Diego.

Have I ever told you how much I LOVE San Diego? No? Then let me list the ways and reasons I love this town.

1. My daughter is in San Diego, and she is good company.

2. San Diego is beautiful and the weather is predictable- mostly nice, with occasional so-so. It's fun when it rains here- the natives panic!

3. San Diego is very restful, (mainly because all my responsibilities are in Tennessee). I sleep well here, and often.

4. There is a complete absence of Mama in San Diego.

5. Our apartment is light, bright and airy. It does not smell of cats or old ladies.

6. My clothes aren't covered in cat hair in San Diego.

7. Great food!

8. Great shopping!

9. Great day spa where I pamper myself mercilessly.

10. Complete absence of Mama.

I really don't want to go home right now, I am having such a good time and my schedule is so booked between now and mid-May that I won't be coming back in a hurry.

Now, why don't I want to go home? Let me list the reasons.

1. Mama is there.

Oh, well, home I go. Mama will greet us with top-volume pathos and talk non-stop for the next three days. She will repeat herself every 42 minutes. For three days. But I have an Easter feast to prepare, a GFWC convention to prepare for, two fund-raisers and a clubhouse cleaning day to take me to the end of April, and a scrapbooking convention and a trip to my Dad in Michigan in early May, so I will be very busy and may not notice.

Reason 11 for loving San Diego? MY SCHEDULE IS CLEAR HERE!!

Back to busy, busy, busy. See you there.

WHALES IN BONDAGE!! Well, not quite...

A young SeaWorld trainer on the nose of a pilot whale.

Do not try this at home.

After our open-sea adventure, Kel and I did, in fact, saunter over to SeaWorld today. Having been spoiled by Disneyland and the San Diego Zoo, I was relatively unimpressed by SeaWorld's people management. It took us almost an hour to get INTO the park. It must have been Hire-An-Incompetent Week at the marine park. Well, I shouldn't be too unkind; we did get a $10 refund because of our wait, which they didn't have to do...but really, I don't wait well, especially when there are WHALES just over the fence.

Kel played with the mantra rays (whose tail tips had been surgically removed) but I couldn't help but think of Steve Irwin and kept my hands firmly in my pockets. (Actually, they live there and only come out for special occasions).

We then went to see the dolphin show which was great fun. Dolphins must have devolved from the porcine family because THEY ARE BIG HAMS. One young dolphin named Dolly jumped a hurdle that took it over 16 feet into the air. Gaudy. That's her below, leaping over a yellow rope.



The animals seem to be healthy and well-maintained, and their trainers show genuine affection to them. The marine mammals are regularly groomed and well-fed and have a decent volume of water to patrol. They are breeding in captivity, so perhaps a life of captivity has its perks. I guess that's how we rationalize the captivity of all animals, including our pets- it's a decent trade-off; loss of freedom for greater security, no predation, regular meals and health care. Kinda like having a job for room and board with a doctor.


After cavorting with the dolphins, who joyously soaked the first 14 rows of the audience as their finale, we meandered over to the sea otters. We ended up at Shamu Stadium, where the show was less impressive- killer whales are not the show-offs dolphins are- and more impressive, because it revolved around KILLER WHALES! The top predators of the ocean. In like, nothing feeds on them. In like, should the mood strike, good ole Shamu could have his trainer for lunch. Of course, they feed him 250 pounds of fish a day so that he won't be peckish come show time, but the size differential between the whales and their trainers makes you wonder how it came to be that they were ever captured in the first place- and trained in the second. I mean, really, how DO you train a whale? What do you do if it misbehaves? Give it a good spanking? Take a look at the next picture and see if you agree that only the very young with no sense of their own mortality ever take these jobs.

We had a great time, I have to admit. SeaWorld may be a commercial enterprise, but it is funding and supporting research and education about the other mammals with whom we share this blue planet. Conservation is as important as exploitation, and at least the exploited are respected and cared for. A sea zoo, if you will. Last week, we went into the ocean to see whales in the wild. Today we saw them in a pool. Both experiences increased our knowledge about these mammoth, mysterious creatures- as well as manatees, hippos, beluga whales, and all the other marvelous animals we were able to see first hand, up close, and personal today. It made me feel connected and protective of them. And that, I think, is the point of SeaWorld.

If you go... take a raincoat. The whales and dolphins ARE out to get you wet.

Friday last my daughter and I took a little excursion. We went down to the harbor, hopped on a small cruise ship and set out in search of whales. We had our picture made just before embarking. Fortunately, some one else took the picture, as I am a mediocre (at best) photographer, so the picture came out well. Here it is.

I managed some decent shots of the harbor, the Point Loma lighthouses, old and new, a great shot of another cruise ship also watching for whales, and lots of shots of the ocean. It's very big and very blue and black, and it was wonderful being 10 miles out from the harbor on a sunny day.

But I didn't get any shots of whales.

We SAW whales; we saw a whole pod of gray whales, and they breached and blew and slapped their flukes for us. It was incredible. They are called gray whales because under all the barnacles and other colorful parasites they carry on their skin, their skin, is, in fact, gray. But when they come out of the water they seem more golden than gray. They seem miraculous, really. Maybe miracles aren't meant to be photographed.

Though distance may have had something to do with the lack of photo ops. The boats are not allowed any closer than 100 yards and may not intercept the migration path so it wasn't like being on a research vessel and being close enough to touch them, but it was certainly close enough to get an idea of their speed and size. They are as big as whales!

The researcher from the aquarium provided us with lots of information and ways in which to track the movements of whales, but for most of the trip out, I just enjoyed being on a boat again, getting a little wind-burned but not sun-burned- I was well bundled and sun-screened- and watching the various sea-birds trailing us in hopes, I guess, that we would throw food at them.

It was incredible watching for kelp and seaweed beds, and identifying species I have only seen as lab specimens in the past. Birds would settle down on them and float for a bit, and then take off into the skies again, some so close that I could have touched them if my reflexes weren't 57 years old.

Sea lions sunbathed on the buoys and raised their dog-like earless heads languidly as we passed. Blase seals. What a world.

There is nothing more relaxing than being on a boat in good weather and on smooth water and conditions were perfect. We were, as I said, 10 miles out before we spotted the first venting spout of the largest gray whale. Thar she blows! Took me back to me pirate days, it did.

The good news is that the gray whale no longer faces extinction, though it was a close call. Their numbers have come up from an all time dangerous low of 4,000 to about 22,000 at last count, a size estimated as the carrying capacity for gray whales. They are baleen whales, and we were given samples of baleen to examine. There were jars of krill, barnacles, and other sea creatures for perusal as well, which we looked at on our way back to port. While in the presence of whales, nothing can distract you from them.

We stayed with the pod for about three-quarters of an hour and then headed back into San Diego Harbor, passing the Midway as we came into the dock.

Kel and I had thought about going to Sea World this week, and may still do so, but somehow, after seeing them in their natural habitat, I'm not sure I can appreciate whales in captivity. Bet I could get a picture of them, though.

Here I am, in sunny San Diego! Yes, the sun is actually shining, but it is a full 20 degrees cooler here than it is in Tennessee today. It is so nice to be here. I really miss the place when I am gone. And this trip is perfectly timed- smack in the middle of all my General Federation of Women's Clubs stresses.

Saturday was the Highland Rim District meeting, which required a great deal of thought and preparation and a trip to Sparta. (No, not to the 300, but to a little town north of McMinnville). We met in the newly renovated art deco Oldham Theater and what a terrific place for a meeting. The people of Sparta are rightly proud of their historical preservation. The theater now serves as a welcome center and meeting room.

Inside, they have preserved the lobby and ticket booth and the theater itself has been renovated to a very commodious meeting room. It is a wonderful facility and was great fun having our meeting there.

Since the District only meets twice a year, there is great pressure to not forget anything and to get all available information distributed efficiently. We also had a district fund-raiser to pull together, so I was stressed. The Old Lady Mafia drove to Sparta in the Beast- Dave's Ford Excursion- which was packed to the gills with entries for the craft contest, materials for the fund-raiser... and the youngest OLM who was attending her first District meeting and was a bit nervy about it. Her crocheted tablecloth, which she didn't even want to enter, took First Place and Best in Show. She was so pumped on the way home that at one point we were looking for a place to buy a tranquilizer gun to calm her down with.

After weeks of preparation, the end of a big meeting can be a big let-down, but since I was leaving for two weeks the very next day, I didn't have time for one. Turns out to how been a good thing. All the stresses on Saturday, and a smooth, uneventful trip on Sunday, and now I have roughly 12 days of relaxation before Easter and the GFWC Convention in Nashville.

I got home to two emails from friends I had lost track of over the years. There is something very touching and humbling about being remembered. And with revisiting the past. My high-school class is preparing for its (gulp) 40th anniversary reunion; of course, I am sure you all know that, being a prodigy, I graduated at age 12; and there seems to be real excitement about this one, which will be held at a state park in Georgia (even though my high school is in Michigan). The odd and wonderful thing about all this getting in touch with the past is that both of the dear ladies who wrote to me are now living in California, and one of them is right here in San Diego! Even if they miss the reunion, we should be able to have one of our own.


Easter is going to be fun. Jake, Becca, Kendall, Haley, Delaney, Emily, Dave, me, Mama, and the three Cayces are coming to my house for a feast of leg of lamb, Russian salmon loaf en croute, cucumber dip, eggs, ham, homemade bread.... I will be one busy woman preparing the feast, but feasts are my FAVORITE THINGS TO COOK! I love from-scratch cooking. It is going to be so much fun. Care to join us?

Could it be that hubby will sleep with the fishes?

I have not seen the light of day nor left the house since last Thursday, when me buds and me cleaned the garage. I was battling the first symptoms of a cold at the time but muscled through them. It was worth it on Thursday- the garage was (and is) gratifyingly and spectacularly improved and I was feeling great warmth and gratitude toward my good friends for their efforts. On Friday, it was a different story. I was as stiff as a board and aching from head to foot. Perhaps throwing myself away had something to do with that.

I was smart. I took it easy on Friday. The muscle pain increased, and by Friday night, the GI stuff started, and I am NOT discussing the military. (Though incendiaries did come to mind as I did long tours in the head. EVACUATE!! EVACUATE!! Literally.) Saturday, the cough began and it was all down hill from there. Muscle spasms. Murderous headache. Nausea. On Sunday, I spiked a temperature which by Tuesday rose to 102. Cold sores. Fever blisters. Chapped lips. Sore throat. I was exhausted, and spent most of Monday and Tuesday sleeping. The fever finally broke Wednesday and I began to feel better. I actually left the house twice today, once for groceries and once to buy Mama a hamburger.

It has been a rough week, but things are looking up. Now that the garage is clean, I'm thinking of having my talented son teach me how to use power tools. I would like to build things without sacrificing sundry limbs and wobbly bits. I have a table I want to sand and decoratively paint. I have a chair I want to design for the Literacy Council Chair-ity next month. And there are household repairs I would like to do myself.

Women don't usually get trained on power tools, at least not women of my generation. I can use appliances, but lawnmowers, trimmers, sanders, drills, table saws and routers are as outside my realm of experience as are trips to the moon. I am hoping that is about to change. I think Jake will be a fine teacher. He already knows I am a klutz, so I've got that going for me.

I could be a craftsman, I think. Hell, after a week where I have been discarded, recycled and sick as a dog, I think I could be just about anything except nursed by my husband, who was thrilled by the garage, by the way. He did his part by storing the Christmas stuff and cleaning off his bench, work that was necessary and appreciated, though I must admit that THIS little exchange gave me a bit of a turn:
Mama: (as Dave comes in for dinner) What did you do today, my son?
Dave: I cleaned the garage.

Excuse me... he cleaned the garage? You mean like someone who wipes off the counters has cleaned the kitchen?

I admit, I bristled a bit about that. I'm sure he didn't mean it the way it sounded... Man, I sure hope the Old Lady Mafia doesn't hear about this. I'd hate for them to kneecap my old man. I am too old and too fat to be a glamourous widow. I need a spa trip before they whack him.

The Old Lady Mafia cleans a garage, and I throw myself away

Just call me "The Godmother".

I made my hubby an offer he couldn't refuse... (mainly because I made the offer psychically, and he's apparently out of the range of my brain waves).

The offer was to clean the garage.

People, this was no small offer, psychic or otherwise. It has been almost a year since I last parked my car in the garage. Until this morning, it would have been impossible to park a teaspoon in the garage. It contained 10 years of accumulated crap, 300 pounds of empty cardboard boxes from Christmas and beyond, an unusable, irreparable queen size bed, a kaput washing machine, and enough Christmas decorations to do Rockefeller Center twice. An ironing board last used by Wilma Flintstone. Boxes of VHS tapes. Countless plastic plant pots. Paint cans. Gas cans. Multiples of dead batteries, dead TVs, dead computers, dead radios, dead stereos, dead lamps. It was the Garage of the Non-Living Dead. There were also gardening and power tools scattered everywhere. There were books and papers to such a degree that we would have been completely insulated against a nuclear attack.

No more. We are now as vulnerable as everyone else on the planet. At 9 AM, the OLM convened (along with two of the Junior OLMs, Becca and Melinda) to discuss the plan of attack over breakfast. We moved the kitty litter box into the house, blocked the cat door to the garage so that the Great Escape kitty could not escape, opened the garage door and began.

We started by pulling just about everything OUT of the garage and sorting it. HGTV and DiYwould have been proud of us. Slash, trash, and stash, that was our motto. Okay, so it's just a variation on "Mission Organization's" KEEP, DONATE and DISCARD, but our motto is more colorful and more in keeping with the Old Lady Mafia persona.

What amazed me during the whole process was the astonishing amount of traffic our activities seemed to stimulate. I live at the end of my street and usually the only vehicles I see are those of my neighbors and their kids. As we pulled stuff out of the garage onto the driveway and lawn, traffic increased exponentially. We noticed that several trucks driven by old farts kept circling the block, thinking, perhaps, that we were preparing for a yard sale. (I would LIKE to sell the yard, but that's another story). Where did these people come from? What is there about the mere suggestion of a yard sale that attracts these people? What do they do, troll the city, watching for unadvertised yard sales so they can have first pick of the crap? After awhile, we began to feel like vultures were circling us.

About mid-morning, I called the city to schedule a special pick-up for all the stuff we wanted carted out. I live in a GREAT city. At various times TODAY, three different trucks showed up at my house, one for the recycling (mostly cardboard), one for the trash (you don't want to know), and one for the dead washing machine. That truck got here just minutes too late; we went in for lunch, and while we were eating, we saw one of the vultures stop and throw it into his truck. Well, it was on the street so it was fair game, but I felt bad for the city guys who showed up to get it. They stayed to go through the stuff that was out on the lawn to see if there was anything they wanted that I was willing to part with. Nice fellas, all of them.

The garage got as organized as the OLM could make it and got thoroughly swept before we started moving stuff back in. We were putting the finishing touches on the driveway clean-up when, in a moment of mental abstraction, for which I can never forgive myself, I threw myself away. The plain facts of the case are these: as I was attempting, in my fatigue, to move an open trash can- one of the huge city cans that the automatic trash collection trucks grab, lift and empty- I leaned on it too heavily, tipped it over, and tipped myself into it. Seconds later, I hit the ground, half-in and half-out of the trash can. Slightly stunned, I did the only thing a person can do when she has just done something both painful and humiliating. I just stayed there.

Fortunately, my friends recycled me before the vultures could get me AND had the good grace not to laugh at me. Well, not to my face, anyway. We must have been a sight for the neighbors, though, because it took two people and a crane to get my plump self off the driveway.

My car is off the driveway, too. It is in the garage. Damn, we're good!

Quickies!

Get your minds out of the gutter, they're not that kind of quickies.

• Went to Temecula to visit friends last night and had one of the best meals of my life. Olivia and Mike were hosting Robert and Sandie so Dave and I made it a six-some and Olivia, who is more chef than cook, put together the most fantastic Italian meal I have ever had. Good friends, good wine, good food, good time.
• Today Olivia, Mike, Robert and Sandie stopped in en route to the Midway and a day in San Diego to see the apartment, and another good time was had by all.
• Kelly made us a good-bye supper tonight that was superb! My girl is becoming quite an adventurous and accomplished cook.
• I shipped two huge boxes out of here, one to my baby sister and one to myself. For what it cost, I should have just bought them plane tickets!
• My son has been installing a new shower stall in Mama's bath and has sent me a picture via cell-phone. That boy can do anything.
• Looking forward to seeing my daughter-in-law Becca. I really miss her when I am away. I don't just love her, she is one of my best buddies.
• Not looking forward to being snubbed by my eldest granddaughters, but think Pixie and Dixie will be happy to see me.
• As soon as I get home, I will have to get into high gear for the GFWC Highland Rim District meeting and the Spring Convention.
• Wish I could stay here.

Off to pack. Long day tomorrow. Flying sucks but it beats driving... or walking.

And the Oscar goes to...

Dave actually won this year's Oscar pool with 12 correct picks out of 24 categories. Kelly was right on his tail with 11. First-time participant Becca had 8 correct picks. I had 7. Seven out of 24. Less than 30%.

God, I am so relieved. My 13 year tradition of NEVER winning the pool remains intact. Whew! I am so glad it's all over. Every year there is the terrible tension about winning; I can't even describe it to you, it is so intense, especially since I do not deliberately throw the damn thing (other than not seeing any of the movies and not reading "Entertainment Weekly"). No, I take pride in the fact that my unbroken string of losses is entirely the result of my uncanny ability to choose unwisely. How many things have YOU lost for 13 consecutive years?

I started out the evening with a win- the very first category, Art Direction- and was on tenterhooks until about half-way through, when it was finally clear that I would, in fact, NOT win the pool again. After that, I could enjoy myself. A bi-coastal Oscar party involves a lot of texting and phone calling and lacks the intimacy of all of us being in the same room at the same time, but it was still a good time. Kelly has only lost 3 times in 13 years, and it took a particularly weird and bizarre Oscar season to knock her out of the winner circle. I take pride in the consistency of my Oscar ignorance. Weird and bizarre did not knock me off my glorified perch as the consummate non-winner. A pristine record has been preserved for another year.

I would like to thank my husband, my children, my friends and the Academy for this honor.

And the Oscar goes to.... who the hell cares?

My daughter and I have a friend who goes by the moniker Gryphon. I bring this up because it is Oscar time again, and my daughter puts together Oscar ballots every year for which friends and family members each pony up a dollar. Every year, she creams everybody and keeps all the money. She used to have Oscar parties before she traveled west, which brings me back to Gryph. He has blogged, in part, about her Oscar parties. He has also thrown down the Oscar gauntlet on his blog, Life Among the Natives. I have a link to it on my blog. Go there. Be entertained. Then come back, and look at my picks.

Back already? Damn, you read fast! Anyway, unlike Gryphon, I am not going to choose who SHOULD win. I really haven't seen many of the movies and I am a movie-tech moron. Sound editing- better than unsound editing? Art direction? You, the Van Gogh, go to the left. Cezanne, stay where you are. Animated shorts- aren't those worn by Mickey Mouse? I could go on, but you get the point and are probably getting annoyed as well.

Here are my picks in no particular order. I put an asterisk by the movies/performances I have actually seen.

Supporting Actor- Eddie Murphy; who can say "no" to Donkey?

Animated feature*- Cars

Costume design*- The Devil Wears Prada; Hello! The whole film is about fashion.

Make-up- Pan's Labyrinth (or, as a colleague pronounces it, LAB-EYE-RINTH).

Supporting Actress- Jennifer Hudson

Visual Effects*: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. Yo ho, me hearties!

Documentary Feature: An Inconvenient Truth, which documents Al Gore's ineptitude as a presidential candidate and mentions the environment

Art direction: Pan's Labyrinth, which I bet I will have to see in California, as a small market like my little home town will never show it

Live Action Short Film: Binta and the Great Idea- it's the first one in the category which is as good a reason as any to choose it. Oh, wait, they're alphabetical...

Animated Short Film: The Little Matchgirl

Sound mixing*: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest- we pirates must stick together.

Sound editing*: Pirates.of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, and this choice surprises you why?

Documentary short: Two Hands (which are better than none)

Film Editing: The Children of Men (though I suspect women are involved in the process somehow)

Original Score: Pan's Labyrinth

Original Song: "Our Town" from Cars

Cinematography*: The Illusionist. I have also seen The Prestige; too bad these films came out at the same time to knock each other out of the box office, because they are both brilliant and deserve recognition.

Foreign Language Film: Pan's Labyrinth

Leading Actress: Helen Mirren

Adapted Screenplay: Children Of Men

Original Screenplay- Pan's Labyrinth

Leading Actor: Peter O'Toole- I mean, c'mon already; screw that Life Achievement Oscar crap and praise him as he deserves while he is with us

Best Director: Martin Scorsese- see above comments

Best Picture: Letters from Iwo Jima- just so Dirty Harry doesn't blow Marty Scorsese away for winning best director.

Okay, young Gryphon... and Kelly... these are my entirely uninformed picks for this year's Oscars. I would like to thank the Academy for only doing this once a year.

Ruh- roh

Tomorrow, Mama will be going to the Trinity Senior Day Care for the first time. Getting her enrolled has been only slightly less complicated than quantum physics, and has required two people (Stephanie and I), a notary public, a trip to the doctor, and the filling in of a sheaf of forms, all of which I had to read and translate to Mama. She had to sign her own name in front of the notary. Her last name is apparently Richaboa. I know she can write her own name, but when she doesn't want to do something...

Mama seems excited about going, though, and was very pleased with the place when we went for a look-see. So was I. This looks like a good way for her to finally have some social interaction and maybe make some friends. She outlived all her siblings, friends, husbands, and peers, and then was transplanted from Michigan (where she had lived all her life) to Tennessee. Granted, she was very familiar with Tennessee from her many visits to see us while her husband was still alive, but it has not become HOME even after almost six years here. I am not insensitive to how lonely she is but all attempts to ease that loneliness have ended in failure. I have tentative hopes for Trinity.

Now, about the ruh-roh...
My darling daughter quipped last night that she can't wait until I am old enough for HER to blog about ME! I see some Homeric justice in my future. Hopefully, I will be too demented to notice. Or just demented enough to be able to cop a plea! Maybe I should just stop posting about Mama....


Nah.

Episode 143 in which Mama goes to the nurse practitioner and I end up drugged

Mama is in wonderful health. Aside from high blood pressure that would be controlled by medication if she TOOK her medication, and arthritis, she is in good shape physically. For 78, she is remarkably well. She seems to be the only one who doesn't know that.

She has been obsessing about her weight. She thinks she is wasting away. "I'm so skinny. Why am I so skinny?" Aside from having bird-legs, Mama is not particularly skinny, but if she is concerned about her weight, so am I. Every waking moment. Seven days a week.

"I only weigh 112 pounds" she laments, "I used to weigh 163, now I weigh 112." I nod. It's true; 30 years ago, she weighed 163 pounds. She looked like a keishka, so round, so firm, so fully packed. It's the 112 pounds I have some doubts about. "Let's put you on the scale", I say in my most patient voice. I think ahead, and have a witness- Mama is slightly less likely to argue with the scales if there are multiple witnesses. I recruit Stephanie. We maneuver her onto the scales. We make her let go of the sink. We look at the bright, digital numbers. Mama weighs 125 pounds. "There", I say, actually thinking this will resolve things. "See? You're not losing weight. You're just where you should be, not too skinny and not too fat." Most people would be happy to hear this.

But, as my constant readers can attest, Mama is not most people. Within days, she is obsessing about her weight again. "I'm so skinny. Why am I so skinny?" I don't bite. I just let it go. And on it goes... until, finally, she starts the "I need to go to the doctor" obsession. I really can't see any justification for taking her, but hey, it's her money and her right to see a doctor, so I make an appointment with our nurse practitioner, Sharon, whom we both love and trust. I use as an excuse Mama's need for her pneumonia shot.

We get to the office ahead of our appointed time because it's never a sure thing how long it will take to get Mama into the building. She seems to develop a cornucopia of symptoms the minute we get into the parking lot. Her speech becomes slurred. She loses the capacity to walk. She goes totally blind. And deaf. Pathos, thy name is Mama. Once inside, I sign her in while she inflicts her personality on the genuinely unwell.

We get called back and Sharon asks what's up. "She needs her pneumonia shot, and she's obsessed with her weight. She thinks she's wasting away." Sharon looks at the chart. Mama not only weighs 125 pounds, but she has gained 8 pounds since her last visit! The only thing Sharon sees that concerns her is Mama's blood pressure. She talks to Mama for several minutes and gives Mama a lecture about taking her pills, then sends her outside so we can talk.

And suddenly, we're talking about ME! " She's driving me crazy!" I say. "I love her, but I need some help," I say. "I'm not sleeping and I am battling depression again", I say and then I burst into tears. No one is more surprised than me!

Sharon understands. She sees this all the time. She says I am suffering from caretaker burn-out. She gives me some good advice, offers some alternatives, suggests senior day-care. She is very helpful.

I stop blubbering, feeling completely foolish. Sharon goes to get Mama's shot (and my chart) and calls Mama back into the room.

"What's wrong with my Katie?" Mama demands as she walks through the door- she apparently heard me crying, or else noticed my red eyes and attractively running nose. "There's nothing wrong, Mama," I lie, "it's just this damn nose of mine," which I blow convincingly into a tissue.

Mama sits down in the chair and looks me straight in the eye. "I know you're lying. Give it to me straight, " she says, "I have cancer, don't I?" and SHE bursts into tears.

"Good God, NO!" Where the hell did THAT come from? "No, Mama, absolutely not, you do NOT have cancer." I rush over to comfort her. Sharon comes back into the room, and I tell her why Mama is crying. She reassures Mama that the only thing wrong with her is her blood pressure, and she can control that. No, she does NOT have cancer. Does she understand? Nod, nod, nod. Sniff. Nod, nod.

Sharon gives Mama her shot. She gives me the charge sheet. The diagnosis for Mama is anti-pneumonia therapy... and dementia.

Imagine my surprise.

My diagnosis? Insomnia-induced depression.

Mama feels so much better. She got a shot and a big dose of sympathy.

I will feel better. I got prescriptions for an anti-depressant and sleeping pills.

Mama has been complaining of a terribly painful arm ever since she got the shot in it. She was looking for her sling for awhile there. She IS taking her pills, though.

If I feed her MINE, can I use caretaker burn-out as a defense?

I JEST! C'mon, people, if I was going to kill the old thing, she'd be dead already!

And we domesticated them WHY?

My neighbors, for the most part, are dog owners. I know this for several reasons:

• despite the fact that there is a leash law in this town- a law more honored in the breach than the observance, apparently- dogs stroll across my yard on a daily basis, leaving little gifts in their wake;
• two years ago, a pack of these strolling dogs mauled my cat Rosabelle to death- but they're just sweet, family pets;
• and nightly, I have to listen to them bark.

Dogs barking in the night. The animals are awake all day long, as am I, but do I hear barking in the day time? No, I do not. Dogs are mostly silent during the day. Something about sunset seems to flip a switch in dogs. Let the sun go down, and they are compelled to bark. Arf arf arf. Woof woof woof. Over and over again for hours on end. Why are these dogs barking?

Is it because someone is trespassing on their territory? Maybe, but at 3 am in the morning, not likely.

Is it because someone is in danger, or hurt, and so, like Lassie, they are calling for help? Maybe, but Lassie used to go get people, and THEN bark.

I think dogs bark because they are terminally confused and maybe even afraid of the dark. They are confused and afraid because they have forgotten they are dogs and think they are human children. Arf arf arf woof woof woof may mean "Tell me a story" or "I want a drink of water". I blame their owners for this entirely. Dogs have forgotten they are dogs because dog lovers have forgotten that dogs are dogs. Owners give dogs human names, like Conrad. (Who names a dog Conrad?!) Or Rex. Or Sadie. It must be very confusing to have to answer to a name like that when you are a dog. At least with a name like Spot or Fido, a dog has an inkling that it isn't a four-legged person. Name it Gigi, and all bets are off.

Then, dog lovers dress their dogs in human clothes. They tie bandanas around their necks. They knit them little sweaters. People, dogs do not need sweaters. They are already wearing fur coats. Dogs don't need clothing, and they CERTAINLY don't need clothing that matches what their owners are wearing.

Many dog lovers feed their dogs human food. Some even let them sleep in human beds. Some even let the dog sleep in THEIR human bed.

Some dog lovers take their dogs with them wherever they go. They take the dog in the car with them. They let the dog ride shotgun.

Some people confide in their dogs, pour out their life story like the dog understands. Sadly, many dogs TRY to understand or at least look like they understand. This gives them snaps with their owners, but once Owner has vented, Dog is left with all those emotions to deal with and no frame of reference to do so. No wonder dogs are confused.

Which may be why they bark in the night. Maybe barking is one way of reminding themselves that they are canines. That, and running in packs to kill innocent cats, are probably the only canine activities left to them after thousands of years of domestication. Well, besides licking themselves and marking their territory,

I grew up with dogs and didn't get them then, either. Why are dogs man's best friend? Shouldn't they be best friends with another dog? Being man's best friend just looks like sucking up to me. I get working dogs, but pet dogs are beyond my comprehension. Dogs stink, they are dirty, they bring fleas and ticks into the house, they are difficult to house-break, and they BARK!

Now, cats... cats are wonderful pets. You bring a kitten into the house, take it to the litter box, and IT'S TRAINED! One introduction to the poo-poo box and they've got it. Cats don't form packs, so there probably haven't been many beloved dogs mauled to death by marauding cats that should be on leashes. Cats are never confused by the names they are given. They ignore entirely the names they are given. Unlike dogs, cats never suck up to humans. To cats, humans are merely warm, mobile furniture. Even if cats could bark in the night, they would not. They have an identity. They have dignity. They have no intention of expending energy on any activity that doesn't get them food, sex, or the lavish praise they deserve and demand. Bark in the night, you say? I think not. Shouldn't be asked.

Cats have a lofty disdain for dogs which I share. Cats rule. Dogs drool. AND BARK!!

I am going to close this now with the thought that it is a damn good thing there are no firearnms handy, or my neighbors would be minus one dog. I'd sleep on it, but DOGS ARE BARKING!

These were taken with my phone...

Somewhere under the snow is my dad's Lincoln Town Car.

What a world we live it, where you can take pictures with a phone and then send them to a computer. I almost believe we will have teleporters before I shuffle off this mortal coil. Just what is a mortal coil, by the way? I have never understood that.

Anyway, here are some shots of the eight inches of snow that fell while I was with my dad in Michigan. My sister called yesterday, and they have had an additional 12 inches bury them.

It's good to be in the South. It may be cold, but there is plenty of sunshine and a wonderful absence of the white stuff.

Speaking of which, check this out!

This is the ornamental crabapple outside my dad's front window.

Only those who have never shoveled the stuff sing "Let it Snow!"

Keep warm.

Does this make me a pusher??!!

So, I have returned from the land of ice and snow...8 inches while I was there, temps in the low 20s... and today I was walking around my yard in my shirt sleeves. What a contrast and a relief. Inspite of that, I am oddly depressed. Maybe it is because Dave isn't home yet. Maybe it was coming home to a NOT empty house. Maybe it's Mama's maniacal babbling since I stepped in the door. Apparently she has been silent for the past two weeks, saving it all up for me. I saw baby Emily yesterday and that didn't even cheer me up. I usually have problems with depression in the winter- they called it SAD, and it is- but this is different.

I had such a good time in Michigan, despite the weather. The snow was actually incredible, and that part of the state is so beautiful. It is full of gorgeous older homes, including an honest to God 114 year old Sears house (yes, the Sears catalog used to offer house kits) and spectacular views.

I had such a great time with my dad. We seem to get along better ever year. He is recovering from a broken hip and making good progress at last, graduating from a walker to a cane, and is feeling pretty good. His little house is cozy and warm, and he has his good buddy, Snoopy the cat, to keep him company. Yeah, I did a lot of cooking and cleaning while I was there, but we had a nice, low key visit and I miss my dad already.

One weekend my cousin Valarie came across state mid-blizzard and she, my sister Sue and I had a great time together. The three sisters. (Yeah, I hear you saying the three weird sisters; knock it off!) I took a lot of my scrapbooking goodies with me, and we spent a very pleasant Saturday creating pages for the scrapbooks I am making for Daddy. It took me two full days to organize the pictures, and I had finished about six pages when the gals and I sat down to work, and we would have gotten a LOT more work done if I could have spent a day just introducing them to my various cutters, scissors,punches, tools, papers, embellishments and sundries. They had to play with everything, just like kids.

Before I left, I had created the most beautiful book I have done to date covering the first 25 years of my Dad's life. I have pages of notes on his life and have identified tons of pictures with archival ink so that even those not used in scrapbooks will have relevant information on them. I also purchased scrapbooks and some papers for a scrapbook on his WWII Navy career, for at least two more on his life, one on Mom's life and one on his parents lives. I plan on going back every three months or so until I get them all finished. It's going to be so much fun!

Daddy really loved the scrapbook, which was very gratifying.

Sue, in the meantime, got the scrapbooking bug. She was completely enthralled with all my stuff and full of ideas. We went to several scrapbook and crafts stores and she was astonished at all the cool stuff that is out there. She showed the finished scrapbook to her hubby and it tickled me to hear her talk about it with such delight and enthusiasm. She was so excited about doing some scrapbooking on her own.

So, I left her a whole bunch of equipment and paper and headed for home.

I think I heard her whoop of joy from the plane.

I may have created a monster. Or a scrapbooking junkie... because scrapbooking IS ADDICTIVE! So, does this make me a pusher? A paper pusher, maybe?

Anyway, home again, home again. And feeling blue. Thanks to Dad and Sue and Andy and Val for showing me such a great time. Wish I was there, snow and all.

WINTER WONDERLAND!

You know, you go away for a lousy 27 years, and things change - including your memory. I was born and raised in the beautiful mitten state and lived there until I was 31. Of course I have returned to Michigan many times, but very seldom in winter- in fact, if I remember correctly, I have returned in winter only twice since the big move South in 1980. So this trip to visit my dear old dad has been an amazing kick-start to my memory.

I cannot remember that last time I went to bed and woke up to five inches of sparkling white snow on the ground but that is exactly what happened here. I felt like a kid again, and seriously considered plopping down to make a snow angel until I realized that I would probably not be able to get up again and Dad wouldn’t be able to help me. I can see the headlines now “Fat fool from Tennessee found spread-eagled in the snow”. News at 11.

Wish my granddaughters were here. They have never seen snow like this. All the trees are groaning under the load, and the tiny prints of birds and small animals break the pristine blanket at irregular intervals. Tuesday Dad and I went out for a drive. The sun was bright, the snow on the trees had started to melt ever so slightly but just enough to catch and fragment the sunlight until the trees looked like they were made of crystal and studded with diamonds. I had forgotten that, aside from being cold, wet, and dangerous, winter in Michigan is also breathtakingly beautiful.

We got another inch or so of the white stuff last night, just a soft dusting by Michigan standards but enough to close the schools in my little hometown in Tennessee. I am off to buy proper boots with my baby sister today. Since I seldom need them at home, I have only one pair more appropriate for rain than sleet and snow. The Michiganians have been sneering at my boots, which are heeled and will certainly kill me if I wear them outside the house. Or so they say. What I will do with those proper boots when I return to Tullahoma is beyond me. Maybe I will have them bronzed to commemorate my winter visit of 2007. Imagine the size the mantle that would be required to display those babies.

Sissie’s here, I’m off! Damn, I wish I had a sled!

Delta, feed your planes! They are WAY too small!

The little Delta connector planes were not meant to contain human beings. Sadly, I needed to use two of them to get to South Bend, Indiana, which is about 40 minutes away from my dad's house. To say I was frazzled when I deplaned would be to understate my condition big time. Still, my little sister Sue and her hubby Andy were there to pick me up and help me wrestle with the luggage, which included my overstuffed scrapbooking cart, and we got to Dad's ahead of the ice storm.

When we pulled into Daddy's driveway, he had turned on the Christmas lights! That was so cool. And when we woke up this morning to five inches of snow, it really felt like Christmas here. Not bad for the middle of January...though more snow is promised, so it may seem more like the North Pole soon. Going down to single digit temps tonight. Suddenly, I am remembering why I moved to Tennessee.

I have spent two days organizing photographs and taking notes while Dad free associates about the past. I am entering all his oral history into the computer for use in journaling. I see at least four scrapbooks in all this. I also see another trip up here in the near future- SPRING!

Daddy's cat Snoopy isn't quite sure how to take me, but he seems to love my suitcase. He has been snubbing Dad until just a minute ago, pissed off that Dad-ums would permit an interloper into their abode. He is now genially attacking Dad, so I'm not sure what that means. At least he is not attacking me. He just drinks out of my water glass every time I set it down.

Tomorrow I begin the fun part of scrapbooking, creating the pages. I am hoping for a break in the weather just long enough for us to get to the grocery store to replenish our larder before the next storm hits, and then it will be scrapbook heaven here.

Well, off to bed, me. Dad's a worse night-owl than I am, which is saying something, but he has provided me with a wonderfully comfortable bed, and unlike him, I don't catch any naps during the day, so I am pooped.

So, who in their right mind goes to Michigan in January?

Tomorrow or the next day, I must go to the credit union to pull out some travel money. My new credit union. Actually, it is my old credit union with a new name- Ascend. My daughter-in-law Becca pointed out that this is a most unfortunate name for a banking institution- "guess I better pull some money out of my Ascend". If only it were that easy!

Dave is heading for Brisbane by way of San Diego and I am headed up to western Michigan. In January. To the banks of Lake Michigan. Where it gets very cold and there is a lot of snow. Okay, it has been unseasonably warm everywhere this winter, but I guaran-damn-tee you that the minute I step on the plane Saturday, en route to visit my dear old Daddy, the weather will change. A blizzard will come off Lake Michigan to make traveling and visiting a nightmare. Bank on it.

I no longer have really warm winter clothes or coats, having lived in Tennessee for 27 years now, so I will have to pack smart. I will be traveling with a huge craft cart filled to overflowing with scrapbooking paraphernalia, all of which is pretty heavy, and none of which I would bother taking if I wasn't going to be there for at least two weeks. I can't wait to see what the little x-ray dudes at the airport think of my dozen pair of scissors and various other pointy stuff. I am checking that bag, of course- I know pinking shears are the weapons of choice of most terrorists, and I am sure both the flight from Nashville to Cincinnati and the flight from Cincinnati to South Bend will be chock-a-block with terrorists. They're everywhere. Imagine the impact on the nation if travel between Ohio and Indiana was sabotaged. The mind boggles.

I am looking forward to a break. Christmas is wonderful but exhausting. Mama had a very good Christmas and was very good company, and the glooms and dooms lifted for several weeks, so I have no complaints on that front. Actually, I have no complaints, really- I just find her little eccentricities wearing after awhile. When she found out I was leaving, I expected a daily and escalating wave of self-pity and guilt inducements, and there have been a few, but I strongly suspect she is looking forward to seeing the back of me. I have eccentricities of my own. Maybe she's weary of mine.

I bought a new microwave and it is wonderful. I picked this one out, rather than Techno-Dave, so it is efficient, simple, and easy to use. Even Mama can read the buttons on it- not that she will touch the damn thing after setting fire to the last one. Got a new toaster oven, too, but will bring in the old toaster from the garage for Mama to use while I am gone.
Friday I will fill up the larder.

Stephanie, my housekeeper/Mama-sitter/collaborator/partner-in crime/good buddy, will be coming every single day I am gone, mainly to make sure Mama is all right and well fed. This is a new arrangement for us, and will last at least until June, at which time, I am given to understand, our travel back and forth between home and San Diego every month will probably come to an end.

I have very mixed feelings about that on several fronts. First, I gave up my career to accommodate that bizarre life pattern- a tenured professorship. Granted, I had come to detest my job (except for the teaching) but I loved having some financial independence, a retirement package, a 401-K and my own medical insurance. I was in my 40s when I purchased my first car that was chosen exclusively by me, and financed based on my income. I liked the feeling of contributing, and had been working very hard to get us debt free and expense limited so that if Dave, who has been working since he was 14, ever wanted to just chuck his high-pressure job and retire, we could live on my income. Even though Dave asked me to do it, my giving up my career trapped David in his job for at least another 5 years when he can retire and collect his pension.

And I love San Diego. I have missed it this fall while I was teaching genetics as an adjunct. I love that part of California and I love our apartment there. As difficult as traveling back and forth has been, I really enjoy my space and my time there. I really don't want it to end.

And yes, it is nice to get away from Mama from time to time. And it is wonderful spending time with my daughter when I get out there. We always have a good time together. I will miss that if we stop the monthly travel.

On the other hand, poor Dave lives in airports as it is, has to look at his itinerary to know where the hell he is, and is exhausted most of the time. All the traveling is taking a toll on him. If dropping the monthly two-week stint in San Diego makes his life easier, who am I to argue?

I bought a wireless card for my new laptop- thanks, adjunct pay- so I should be able to stay in touch while in the mitten state. Speaking of mittens....

Another new year...seems like they come every 12 months or so

It is now officially 2007. I now have to retrain myself to put the correct year on my checks. It's almost as bad as turning back the clocks each fall.

I will miss 2006. It was a pretty good year. We had good weather, I got to teach for a semester, and no one was terribly sick. Emily finally bonded with Dave and I, my hand surgeries went well and we had a very prosperous year. I hope 2007 turns out as well.

We had a wonderful, plentiful Christmas with tons of quality family time. Kelly and Orrick came in the day after Christmas and we have had a terrific time with them. Orrick is such a gentle and courtly man; his only fault, that I can see, is that he is TOO quiet. I am accustomed to noisy people. Emily made more noise in 5 minutes than Orrick made the entire stay.

I am preparing to travel to Michigan to spend a couple of weeks with my Dad while Dave is in Brisbane. I have hired someone to care for Mama full time while we are gone. Next month, I will return to San Diego for the first time since last July. I am looking forward to going antiquing in La Mesa. Hope to plan a Mother's Day return trip to Disneyland as well.

In 25 days, my eldest child will be 35. MY biological clock for her has been ticking for some time but I think I am finally almost resigned to the notion that she will not have children. Come March, my eldest granddaughter will be 12. She is as tall as I am already. I find that astonishing. By the end of 2007, our granddaughters will be 12, 11, 8, and 4. Since 4 year-olds really aren't babies anymore, my life with babies in it will end this year, unless I live long enough to become a great-grandmother. It could happen.

Mama will be 79 this year and has already made it quite clear that she expects a big surprise party for her birthday in May.

Dave and I will be 58 in 2007. How in the hell did we get so old so fast?

Well, I am heading off to bed, now that the new year has begun. Here's hoping that 2007 is the best year ever- no war, no famine; no jihads or vendettas; cures for cancer, diabetes, AIDS and malaria; green fuels replacing fossil ones; absolutely NO Britney Spears news; teachers getting paid at least half of what the average athlete makes... hey, it could happen.