Miz S

Maps? We Don't Need No Stinkin' Maps.

Josh and I drove from DC to Niagara Falls on Thursday WITH NO MAPS! All we took with us was our new Subaru and the lady who lives in the in-dash nav system.

"We should take a map just in case," said silly ol' me.

"Nonsense! We have an in-dash nav system! Maps are practically obsolete!" said some other person I DON'T WANT TO NAME NAMES HERE.

4 hours later we stopped in a darling little town quite a few miles east of where we should have been to buy a Pennsylvania-New York map, just for consultative purposes. We then had a stern chat with the lady in the nav system and got everything all straightened out.

Anyways. We arrived in Niagara Falls in the midst of a snow storm. What a surprise that was. NOT.

Aunt Crazy's health and general state of mind is much improved. I'm not 100% sure we can call her "Aunt Crazy" anymore. Maybe "Aunt Eccentric" would be more accurate. We spent the day with her and her helper/aide, a woman named Marcy who is fucking awesome.

But enough about my aged auntie. Let's get back to me.

Readers who pay attention will remember that I have a thing for Niagara Falls.

I have visited this town pretty much every year of my life since I was a baby. I have always been both terrified and infatuated by the Falls. I remember being about 9 years old and buying a souvenir wooden canoe with a little Indian maiden in it that came with a booklet that described how the Indians would sacrifice a virgin to the River Gods by sending her over the Falls in a canoe (a totally bogus story, by the way, that was concocted by 19th-century business entrepreneurs trying to create buzz and attract tourists). This story stimulated my over-active imagination. I could hardly even bear to look at my little doomed Indian maiden, facing her demise so bravely with her hair neatly braided and a lovely garland of flowers around her tiny little neck. It made me shiver with horror.

Those 19th-century entrepreneurs were full of awesome ideas. Like this: some guy put a bear, a fox, a raccoon, an eagle, a dog, a cat, and 15 geese into a barge and sent it over the Falls. You know, for fun. Woo! It was fun for almost everyone involved!

Tales like those, along with the Roger Woodward story and the old scow story and all the regular suicides (about 25 a year)and then of course the sheer power and grandeur of the mighty Niagara River plummeting 170 feet to the gorge below have combined to make me just a leeeeeetle anxious whenever I am here.

I am terrified that I will lose all sense and step off the riverbank into the water and be swept away. I am afraid a crazed stranger will throw me off the observation deck. I am petrified that I will be standing there watching when suddenly a litter of kittens will appear, mewing helplessly as they are carried to the brink.

Oh, it's classic stuff for the therapist's office I'm quite sure.

Man, you should have seen me at the Falls when Sasha and Evangeline were little. Clutching their little hands so tightly that I bet I cracked the bones.

I'm much better nowadays. Because, you know, MEDICATION. Although it's still slightly stressful because I have to watch everybody else's kids to make sure they don't get swept away due to their own parents' idiotic negligence.

Yesterday afternoon we walked around the Falls a little bit. When we were out on the observation deck I saw a mom with 3 kids. She was clutching the 2 smallest ones and admonishing the older one to STAY AWAY FROM THE GUARDRAIL FOR GOD'S SAKE DON'T GET ANY CLOSER. And I silently applauded her healthy neurotic streak and knew I could relax and not worry that her children would accidentally slip between the steel bars and plummet to their death on the rocks below. Neurotic moms are the best!

Some Stuff.

I run hot and cold about blogging.

On the one hand it's the perfect platform for someone like me who craves interaction, particularly when I can get that interaction without leaving my couch. 

On the other hand, most of us are probably spending too much time sitting around reading blogs.

And I'm not sure blogging brings out the best in me. I find myself feeling unnecessarily annoyed when I read about Bossy's road trip, for example. Why does that annoy me? Because she is pretty and popular and somehow got sponsors and is taking a fun trip? I don't know. It just annoys me. I can't help it. She's probably a very nice person and I am just jealous.

If you have any insight into why the popular, high-profile bloggers are so annoying to me, please feel free to express yourself.

Oh, and if Bossy is your best friend try not to be insulted on her behalf. Like I said, she's probably really nice and I'm just a pathetic wanna-be.

Hey, speaking of bloggers, guess who called me on the phone last night?  No, not Dooce. Nope, not Amalah.

Little blackbird.

She emailed me and demanded my phone number and then called me just for the hell of it.

I think she was flirting with me!

She is one funny little bird. She drops the f-bomb freely, and you know how much I like the f-bomb. She has a sweet, tease-y voice.

I found myself babbling away and telling her all sorts of boring shit about my family. She was probably regretting the phone call about halfway through one of my Uncle Don stories.

Anyways.

I like it that I have friends that I have met through my blog. I like you guys.

In other news, I bought myself a really cute pair of FLARED jeans from Old Navy last night (per Jane's constant admonitions to me about the horrors of boot-cut jeans), and a pair of clogs at DSW. Josh and I are going on a road trip and I want to look nice. We will be visiting Aunt Crazy in Niagara Falls AND going on a wine tour in Canada.

MMMMMMMMM! WINE! At 11:00 in the morning!!!

Easter Wrap-Up.

Look at my handsome Nash.

You guys were really funny with all your comments.

Me, I have no clue if the Subaru is the vehicle of choice for gay women. But I'll tell you this: I ADORE our new car.

If you need me I will be out driving around wearing sensible shoes and a fanny pack.

You know. Like a lesbian.

Have I offended anyone yet?

No? Then let's talk religion.

So...yesterday was Easter, right?

You know, I meant to be more religious this year but it hasn't really worked out. I went to church a few times in December and January and then I did the big fade AS USUAL. Because a) I'm lazy and 2) I don't get how to pray.  Whenever I try and do it, I feel all self-conscious and it always sounds like I'm having some sort of really awkward conversation in my brain. Kind of like a script from Curb Your Enthusiasm.

Hi God, hey how's it going? (Jesus Christ, why did I say that to God? That's so stupid. You don't ask God "How's it going?" Shit, did I just swear while I was trying to pray? GodDAMNit I'm an ass. Oh fuck I did it again. Sorry, God) So anyways, ummm, thank you for all the blessings in my life and thank you for making my father's lung cancer turn out not to be lung cancer. That was really awesome of you! You da man! I mean, you da God!

Etc. It's just embarrassing.

I'm so impaired.

So instead of going to church yesterday I went over to my parents' house and cooked an Easter luncheon for them. Usually my sister Julie is in charge of the fancy meals. But she chose not to spend time with our aged parents on this the holiest day of the year. She was all busy with her "flu" and her "high fever."

Slacker.

So it was all up to me. I made salmon, asparagus, and lemon risotto. Dessert was supposed to be strawberry-rhubarb pie but rhubarb is not be be found in this damn town, not even in the freezer case. So instead I just cut up the strawberries and sprayed some fake whipped cream on top. A culinary genius, that's me!

My parents were very appreciative as usual. You could serve them shredded cardboard and my mom would be all, "You MUST give me this recipe!" Which is funny, because she doesn't cook anymore at all.

Later on, I went out to visit Amanda in the nursing home. Amanda recently pissed me off by sweet-talking someone into buying a pack of cigarettes for her.  Normally I wouldn't really give a crap, but she is fresh off a ventilator after 9 months of being too weak to breathe on her own and Jesus how stupid can a person be? The nurses were also pissed and they yoinked those cigarettes right away from her. HA!

Oh, and we called Evangeline in Russia. She went to the Saturday night vigil mass at a Catholic church in Russia. She sounds so bubbly and happy every time we talk to her. It makes me miss her more than ever but it also makes me happier than I can explain.

And then it was home for an evening of sitting around with Josh and Sasha watching TV and relaxing.

Not a bad Easter, all in all, except for the rhubarb shortage and the lame, awkward prayers and the bad smells in the nursing home.

Thursday.

Sometimes things turn out way better than you think they will. Such was the case on Monday when my father's lung malignancies turned out to be...not. They were granulomas--small nodules formed in response to an infection. Not malignant at all.

He came home from the hospital on Tuesday and is resting comfortably despite having his lungs mucked about with and a huge incision down the right side of his trunk. He is happily ensconced in bed surrounded by teetering piles of paper and books and back copies of Antique Monthly. No place like home, right?

I have a confession.

I'm not very nice.

I'm a little ashamed of myself.

Spending 12 straight hours with my mother at the hospital on Monday did not bring out the best in me.  Thank God my sister was there with me to act as a buffer. Although, by the end of the day even Julie was starting to snap a little.

I don't know why I have such a hard time being tolerant towards the woman who CARRIED ME NINE MONTHS NO CHARGE.

And that's all I'm going to say about that.

*   *   *

I spent the rest of the week recovering from the horrifying thought of my widowed mother moving in with me.

And buying a Subaru, which Sasha informs me is a lesbian car.

And shrieking at 6- and 7-year-olds.

Spring break started today at 3:30 not a moment too soon.

Things Are Good. Better Than We Thought Possible.

No time or energy to give details now. Let's just say that my father will live to shop for many more groceries. Thank you very, very much for all the emails, comments, and text messages. You guys are really sweet. Also, sorry if I owe you an email. I am super behind on everything. More later.

Lymphoma: GOOD. Lung cancer: BAD.

My dad with his youngest grandchild, Hannah. It's an old picture (Hannah is a junior in high school now) but I like it because it's a very typical vignette: Grandaddy, deeply engaged in conversation with a young'un.

Maybe the reason that I was so cranky about my yoga class was that I was getting sick. On Friday morning I felt achy and grumpy. I had to stay late at work that day because I needed to write sub plans for Monday and Tuesday (my dad's surgery is Monday) and my classroom was a nightmare of flotsam and jetsam. At 7pm I left work with the classroom looking clean and organized and most (but not all) of the sub plans written. I'll have to go back in early Monday morning to finish up, damn it.

Anyway, I got home feeling really crappy and took my temperature because I'm a hypochondriac and we hypochondriacs never know when we're going to get lucky. Aaaaaand BINGO! 100 point three! I shivered all night despite two down quilts and by morning my temperature was 102 point four. DOUBLE BINGO! You get extra points for having a high fever in the morning because everyone knows it will climb in the afternoon.

So, yeah, sweet times. 

I slept with Nash all day Saturday but to tell you the truth it was hard to enjoy what with the tortuous body aches.

Readers who pay attention will remember that I was felled with a flu-like virus just about exactly a month ago. What can this mean?  My 50-year-old immune system has developed cracks in the fuselage? More leafy green vegetables? Hand-washing? What?  Feel free to expound on your wacky personal theories I KNOW YOU HAVE THEM.

So, my father goes under the knife tomorrow. I wanted to spend time over there this weekend being jolly and reassuring but thought better of it. That's all he needs, right? Lung cancer AND a flu-like virus. They don't actually know what he has, by the way. They won't know until they go in and get a better look. It's either a spread of the lymphoma or lung cancer. We are rooting for lymphoma because it is very susceptible to treatment and will not necessitate the removal of 1/3 of his lung. Which is what they will do if it's lung cancer.

By the way. I recently learned something through experience which I pass on to you because I love.  When someone says, "My father [or whomever] has malignant nodules on his lungs, the proper response is, "Oh I'm sorry to hear that. How awful."   NOT "Oh I'm sorry to hear that. How awful. Is he a smoker?"

Now, I realize that people mean well and I'm sure I have said way worse things in my time. But, when you ask that, it's kind of like you are looking for a reason that he has it. As if it is somehow his fault. At least that's how it sounds to me, his overly-sensitive daughter.

Just for the record, he doesn't smoke, although he did many years ago.

I Got Your Downward Dog For You Right Here.

I went to my first yoga class last night.

Meh.

Maybe some of you remember that I did a yoga thing at my school a couple of years ago with a really cute little yoga teacher that I had a big crush on. No. Wait. On whom I had a big crush.  I was all prepared to have a big crush on my new yoga teacher but she was sort of stern and un-nurturing. I NEED NURTURING, PEOPLE.

I arrived 15 minutes early for my 7:30pm class because I was all nervous and conscientious. And I didn't want to miss a minute. I told the lady at the front desk that it was my first time there, and she directed me to Studio 1 to wait for class to start. I was joined by another woman who was also new. We waited patiently until 7:31pm. Then, another student came and told us that the class was really meeting in Studio 2, and it had already started. 

So, I scrambled up my yoga mat and went to Studio 2 where there was a sign on the door that said If You Are Late Do Not Enter Until 10-Minute Meditation Period Is Over. 

This pissed me off no end and did not put me in a contemplative, spiritual state of mind where I could breathe deeply and feel connected to the Life Force Of The Universe blah blah blah. Look, I don't want to make fun of you Yoga people (Hi Bonnie! Don't hurt me!) but some of that Yoga patter just begs to be mocked.

Anyway. I should have just barged in during the Meditation period, right? But I waited, then I went in with the other people who had been tricked like me. Then I yoga'd for the next hour. It kicked my ass, I'll tell you whut. I'm a little competitive when it comes to fitness so I kept trying to do stuff that I really wasn't flexible enough or strong enough to do. I'm surprised that I didn't hurt myself.

Oh, and some of you know that I am terrified TERRIFIED of accidentally making a rude noise during a yoga class. Dude, I prepared for this class as if for a colonoscopy.  Anyway, someone else apparently had not prepared as well as me, and she let Fred out, loud and clear. HA! I tried not to titter and make stinky-stink faces like the first-graders do when one of their cohort lets one fly.

I'm very mature, I know.

So then we had the ending relaxation thing. But the teacher didn't play any pretty music or talk in a soothing voice about letting go of tension and the flow of breathing and the flow of rivers and the life-force energy that connects us to the Universe blah blah blah. (Yes, I mock it. But I want it.)

She just told us to close our eyes and lie there and breathe. The studio was chilly. And I could hear the Pilates instructor in another studio yelling, "TEN MORE! NINE MORE! EIGHT MORE..."  which was a little distracting.

I left there feeling annoyed and came home and complained to Josh and went to bed and woke up and now I'm complaining to you.

My stupid enthusiastic nature prompted me to buy a 10-lesson card so now I have to use up 9 more lessons before I can quit this studio and find another one.   

From Russia With Love

Evangeline went to a monastery in Novgorod. She found a snow bear and befriended it. I miss her dimpled smile.

Is it only Thursday? This week has been crazy long. I have been very grouchy with the small people that I work with. Julio got mad at Berhan and pushed him down in the cafeteria. Jennifer made talky-talk faces at me when I told her to stop chatting and do her work. Stephanie will not stop sneaking out of the classroom to conduct first-grade business elsewhere. She's like a character on the Sopranos, holding mafia meetings in the doctor's office. Caleb squabbles over the Legos every goddamned morning and is now sullen and aggrieved because Legos are no longer available to him.  Lauren rolled her eyes at the computer lab teacher and got put in timeout.

Etc.

On the other hand, Melisa tells me every morning in her funny little speech-impaired way, "You look beauty."  Makayla is flying in her reading. Deon is unfailingly cheerful. And Erick (one of my secret favorites) has finally learned his numbers to 20 and can easily make his way through a page of math facts now.

I will try to be more patient today with all their funny little quirks.

Josh and I went out the other night to test drive a Subaru Outback. We are definitely going to get one, possibly within the next couple of days. But not tonight because I am going to my first yoga class. I'm unreasonably excited about it.

I probably should have folded laundry or something this morning instead of writing this post.

Okay, I'll admit it. I have been riveted by the Elliot Spitzer story. Eighty-thou-thou-THOUsand dollars on prostitutes? Are you fucking kidding me? I just hope that during this same time period he wasn't asking his wife to hold off on any purchases. Talk about adding insult to injury.  

This is the part I don't really understand: how was it that he was able to stand up during the press conference? I mean, hadn't his wife broken his kneecaps yet? Or was she waiting to surprise him in his sleep?

Notice how I didn't even TRY to make any sort of graceful segue between topics.

I actually WANTED to go to work this morning. What the hell?

March is an undependable month as far as weather goes, but the time change makes everything okay for me.  I don't care if it's dark in the morning when I go to work because coming home at 5 and having all that glorious light is a huge deal for me no matter how cold or windy it is outside.  I just feel so much better when I have more sunshine time. I used to assume that Seasonal Affective Disorder was one of those made-up conditions,  but now I've decided that it is real  AND I HAVE IT.  That explains why I act crazy in the winter. Now we have to figure out why I act crazy in the summer, fall, and spring. Ha! I'm hilarious!

I didn't do a whole lot this weekend besides chores and family time. I got a haircut which looks kind of good, I think. I would show you a picture of it except that would require some effort, plus I would probably discover some new flaw when I inspected the photo. OH MY GOD MY EYEBROWS ARE LOPSIDED or some shit like that.

On Sunday Josh and I were supposed to go look at Subarus but after we ate lunch we were overcome, yes OVERCOME, with fatigue. So we took us a nice, looooooooong nap. Then I paid bills and sorted paper into piles and then moved the piles of paper from one place to another. This always makes me feel productive.

Hey, guess what? I signed up for a yoga class. I decided that my evenings involve way too much sitting on my ass watching TV and playing that stupid Scramble game (which I've gotten way better at by the way), and I need to do something more stimulating.

If only Bonnie were still blogging. She would be so pleased with me.

That's all I got right now. And no pictures. Lazy, lazy.

Really I should be in bed.

In keeping with my new routine, I arrived home from school exhausted for no particular reason and went straight to bed for a nice, long nap. At 6:15, when the sky was a lovely deep blue-violet color, Sasha came upstairs and sat on my bed to chat. We talked while the sky darkened and Nashie purred in the crook of my knees.

Sasha seems older lately, as befits someone who is 60 days away from college graduation, job hunting, and looking for her first apartment. Not that we plan on booting her out the door this summer, but I sense that she is ready, very ready, to move ahead with her life.

I love that girl.

She is home for spring break, but not for long. It's off to California tomorrow morning with a couple of her girlfriends. YES WE PAID FOR IT GET OFF MY BACK.

My own spring break (still 2 weeks away) plans are in a constant state of flux. The Russia plan gave way to the California plan which gave way to the South Carolina beach plan. Now all those plans have been replaced by the dad-is-having-surgery plan.

So anyway, I chatted with Sasha and then Josh came home and took us out for Vietnamese food because I am lazy and exhausted. And I was so tired, so incredibly fatigued, that I had iced coffee with dinner just so that I would not fall asleep right there in the restaurant.

You'll be amazed to hear that I cannot fall asleep now.

Josh wonders if this exaggerated fatigue is related to worrying about my father. That would not surprise me. I will try and get back to a normal routine this weekend. But wait...Saturday and Sunday are prime napping days.

Just out of curiosity: does anyone else like to nap? I think I like it waaaaay too much.

My sister Sarah is coming down for a visit this weekend, and possibly my brother the Goat Daddy. And Julie, of course. She better cook me something good.

Okay. I'm going to try to go to sleep now.