Apr. 19: School day

I showed up at the school first thing this morning to help with our Rex Reader program. Sunshine’s in charge of it, and she got all bossy and told us what to do and where to go (such a meanie). For the kids who read 200 minutes or more in the last two weeks, we gave them these super-cool pins that say “PAW-some Reader!” around a wildcat (the school mascot) pawprint. Fancy Lori™ and I did the 5/6 grades and got all bossy by making the kids add up their own minutes. It was fun to play hardasses. At least we weren’t like Mean Dina, who wouldn’t give sweet little Alec a button EVEN THOUGH HE READ 200 MINUTES and then she made him cry and then she threw her head back and laughed her evil laugh at him. That’s pure, diabolical wickedness in Mean Dina.

It took just a few minutes to distribute the buttons, and then a bunch of us gathered in the conference room to put special wrappers around the candy bars that were being given to all the volunteers. This is volunteer appreciation week so we’re telling volunteers how much we appreciate them with cheap chocolate.

If it were up to me, about half the volunteers would get squat. I had to go through the database and generate a list of volunteers, and that was easy. But there’s a clipboard sign-in that way too many have been using INSTEAD of the computer—I find this infuriating because I have to enter all those sign-ins manually and it’ll take hours. Hours. Even more of them have not submitted the required paperwork and/or attended the volunteer training session required by the school district. But apparently rules do not apply to those people. They keep leaving me nasty notes that say they don’t have a nametag or aren’t in the computer, but it doesn’t seem to matter how many times I let them know they have to turn in paperwork and/or be trained; they don’t do those things, and they still complain.

I’m not supposed to hate people who willingly work for free, am I? But these people who don’t follow directions are making my life increasingly difficult. I talked to the principal—he’s the guy I have to answer to if I’ve allowed a volunteer to work without being processed properly—and he suggested a kind, firm note. I’m thinking a “P.S. Don’t make me knife you!” would be totally appropriate, too, because if history proves anything, I know this note will have little effect. Parents who ignore the required procedures will still show up to chaperone field trips, facilitate reading groups, and lead pencil sharpening seminars.

I’m just doing what I’ve been told I’m supposed to do. Why won’t they?

School was out by the time I left this afternoon; it was a very, very long volunteering day for me—properly trained, applied, and logged in, of course. Thank goodness I took that Starbucks break with Sunshine late this morning or I mightn’t have accomplished so much. Yay, me! And now I’m gonna strip off this bra and take a nap.

Apr. 18: Pardon me

There are days when life with cancer feels like way too much to handle, when the tears come easily and the weight on my chest feels almost unbearable. I grasp any kind of diversion, any way I can avoid letting the defeat wash over me. I busy myself with tiny tasks but make them time-consuming and pretend they’re vitally important. Does this help? No. But it’s a distraction, and distractions are good because they distract. And that’s how all the bathrooms got cleaned so thoroughly last week.

When I do let the feeling wash over me, it is as overwhelming as you might imagine. Letting my mind go to “that dark place” is so dangerous, and yet I think it’s far better to face it (occasionally) than to completely avoid it. What will happen if the chemo doesn’t work? You can guess the many questions that follow that one. None of them come with answers that make me happy.

There’s no denying that cancer sucks, and in so many ways. One of the things I hate about having cancer—or maybe not so much the cancer as the side effects of my medications—is that I have become so emotional. It’s not just the crying-over-anything-all-the-time thing; it’s a pain-deep-in-my-soul sensitivity. Itty-bitty things hurt me in ways they never would have before. 

Like yesterday? When the dog wouldn’t come to me when I called? I thought I’d collapse in despair. THAT’S the level of un-reason I’m dealing with, people. It makes no sense, but it’s my reality.

I sometimes feel like I’ve lost the ability to see things from someone else’s point of view. That’s what I hate about self-centered people I’ve known, when they don’t seem to have any idea how unreasonable their expectations of others can be… and here I am, leaning toward that same self-centeredness. Some people say I have a good excuse for that right now, that cancer is so life-altering that it’s unfair for others to expect me to be the same person I’ve always been. And I’m OK with letting this experience change me, but I don’t LOVE the idea of it changing me into a big whiny weenie.

Pretty please be patient with me.

Apr. 16: Cirque nightmares

UPDATE: The tickets have been taken.

 Cirque Dreams Illumination is coming to Portland. We have tickets for the show on Thursday, May 27, which were part of our subscription for the season, and we’re not going to use them. Why not? Here’s why not:

That’s not cool or amazing or impressive or any other nice adjectives. That’s gross. That’s creepy and weird and disgusting and did I mention creepy? Icky. Icky icky icky.

Here’s a promo video for the show, which—I’ll warn you—has more of that guy above doing what he apparently does best, which is super frightening unless you like that kind of thing, in which case OMG YOU ARE SUCH A FREAK!

 

We’re selling our tickets at face value—you can have them both for just $22.50. Our seats are on the orchestra level, section E, right on the aisle. Here’s the layout of the auditorium:

These tickets would be $94.20 if you went through Ticketmaster. Let me know if you’re interested in our cheap ones. I won’t judge you for liking quadruple-jointed circus acts. OK, maybe I will. But I’ll try to be quiet about it to your face. And if I can’t, then I’ll try not to blog about you and your disturbing fascination with this freak show.

UPDATE: The tickets have been taken.

Apr. 16: IDCEAYWTPFriday

Time again for I Don’t Care Enough About You to Write in Transitioning Paragraphs Friday.

• I felt like you-know-what most of this week, but yesterday things improved a bit. I don’t hurt when people hug me anymore. I don’t hurt when my back touches the pillow. I still feel low on energy, but at least the constant screaming has stopped.
• My mom came up Wednesday. She was on her way to visit friends in Walla Walla, and she left her giant dog, Gilly, with us until she gets back on Sunday. He’s a great dog—super sweet and well-behaved—but our critters hate him and it changes EVERYTHING about our house when he’s here. The only thing I really mind, though, is the increased toxicity of our home’s air. The dog farts are absolutely intolerable now.
• Last night we saw Dreamgirls. I didn’t watch the movie before we went, but I’m watching it right now and it’s surprisingly similar—not as many plot changes as you often see in the movie version of a stage musical. I thought the stage show was good, and Victor did too, but we agreed that it’s not one of our favorites. One really disappointing part last night was when Effie’s microphone went all wonky during And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going. Couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
• I’m hope-hope-hoping that my chemo on April 27 will be my last one, but we won’t know for sure until we see the results of my scan on May 4. I wish I could really truly celebrate being done, but I know that even if it is my last chemo, I’ll still have to go in for IV meds for a while. My last day in the chemo chair will probably end up being a bit anti-climactic, as it sounds like I’ll taper off over some time. Either way, we’re planning to do some celebrating on the day we’re calling April 27 is Jen’s Last Chemo. To add to the excitement, my sister is going to be there—she’s flying in from Denver that morning, and flying back in the afternoon. Fortunately, my doctor’s office is five minutes from the airport. I’m thrilled that she’ll be here! You should probably drop by too, y’know. Jus’ sayin’…
• The season premiere of The Deadliest Catch was this week. Knowing Captain Phil’s fate makes his scenes so sad! I don’t know how long it’ll be until they cover his hospital stay, but I’m sure they’ll dedicate at least one episode to his death. It’s gonna be a bummer of a season. I remember bawling over last season’s episode when that one deckhand’s little sister died, and we didn’t even know her. Captain Phil was my favorite of all those grizzled dudes.
• Speaking of The Deadliest Catch, here’s Mike Rowe (the narrator) performing a dramatic reading of Tiger Woods’ texts. Ha.
  
  
  
• Darlene is taking Katie and Abby (Katie’s cousin, Ted’s daughter) to the American Girl Fashion Show in Bellevue this weekend. Katie’s been eagerly preparing; this involves putting together the perfect ensemble in which to outfit her American Girl doll, not to mention herself. She even got up early one morning this week to work on it. Oh, the horror if either of them are not properly attired!
• Have you read the Tales of the City series by Armistead Maupin? I’ve mentioned the books many times in the history of my blog because I enjoy them so much. I was thrilled to read the latest, Michael Tolliver Lives, when it came out ‘07, and to hear Maupin announce at his reading that he was working on another book that would mostly be about Mary Ann. This new novel, Mary Ann in Autumn, just popped up on Amazon and is available for pre-order before its release in November. Hooray! Here’s the quickie review I wrote of Michael Tolliver Lives, and this is what I posted after attending Maupin’s reading on his last tour. Love that guy.
• It’s sunny and warm outside right now, but the weekend weather is supposed to be so-so. We’ll see. I’d love some sunbathing time to get some color on my noggin, but it’d probably just burn anyway. I think my wig’s uncomfortable anyway; I can’t imagine if my scalp was peeling underneath it! Itchy itchy itchy. That’d make me bitchy bitchy bitchy.

That’s enough for now.

Apr. 15: Dream come true

I found a new (to me) web site today and was inspired to start a new blog habit. I can’t promise it’ll be done on a regular basis, but maybe instead of yanking out those boring memes when I have nothing else to post, I can try blogging about an Awesome Thing.

The site I happened upon is 1000 Awesome Things. Its description of itself is quite simple:

1000 Awesome Things is just a time-ticking countdown of 1000 awesome things. Launched June, 2008 and updated every weekday. Coming out as 400-page hardcover The Book of Awesome in April, 2010.

Their countdown of 1000 awesome things can be found here. Today’s awesome thing is #526 When Dreams Come True. The author writes about the publication of his book, which I would say definitely fits the “awesome” category, huh?

What is your dream come true?

I didn’t have to think very long about this one; I’ve had lots of my dreams come true. Have I really been aiming too low all this time? Possibly. I don’t like being disappointed, so maybe I don’t let myself dream big. Have I lived a charmed life? I don’t think so… My parents divorced when I was a kid, my dad died too young, my grandmother hates me, I’ve been living the last 20 years with an autoimmune disorder that causes constant pain, I have migraines, there’s that pesky CANCER thing… and yet, I don’t look back on the past 40 years as the suckiest sucking years that ever sucked. And I’m far from being an optimist or always-looking-on-the-bright-side kind o’ gal. Hm.

The first thing that comes to mind when I think about a dream come true is being hired as a full time software trainer at IBM-Catapult in 1996. I had hoped for years of someday being a corporate trainer, and there it was. Every job I’d had up to that point had helped me get this one, yes… but I felt like I was finally at my CAREER. It was what I’d worked for throughout college, the job I’d been promised my education would help me find (my degree is in business education). And suddenly, it was mine. Not too sensational, this dream come true, but it was exactly what I wanted at that time.

To add to the awesomeness, there were things about being a trainer that were better than I had dreamed, besides the free Tazo tea and office supplies:

• I had no inbox; every day I taught a class and then I was done. I loved that.
• Those wretched office politics? Almost non-existent. I rarely saw my coworkers, and most of us understood there was little personal gain in backstabbing, so it was, for the most part, a happy place to work.
• If I hated a student, there was little chance I’d ever have to see him or her again.
• We instructors were looked upon as experts by our students. That’s a good little ego boost right there.
• My skills could not become stagnant; I was encouraged (and helped) to keep up with the latest technology.
• My fellow instructors were a kick—one of the best groups of people with which I’ve ever worked. I still keep in touch with many of them because they were and are <singsong voice> SUPER COOL.
• More than anything—and it always makes me a little bit teary to describe this part—I could leave work almost every day and say I DID SOMETHING GOOD TODAY. Occasionally a student would come to me after class and say, “Thank you. What I learned today is going to help me do my job so much better.” More often, they’d write a nice comment on their evaluation. However they let me know, I could often feel like I’d made a difference, and that’s the appeal that teaching has always held for me.

Don’t get me wrong, there were pretty rotten things about being a trainer, too. But they fit into the “not awesome” category, and we’re talking “awesome” today.

Apr. 14: Crisis averted; thanks, Grandma

My mom just got here, and she came loaded up with Grandma stories! Yay! This is my favorite so far:

Grandma called Mom the other day to say she had some magazines for her.

Mom: “Great! I’ll get them from you the next time I’m over.”

Grandma: “Well, there are six of them and they’re really heavy.”

Mom, trying not to laugh: “That’s fine, Mom. I’ll be able to carry them alright.”

Grandma: “I don’t want you to hurt your back, so I’ll put them in a bag, but they’re still very heavy.”

Mom: “Well, I’ve got my car.”

I suggested Mom could use her Camry’s tow hitch and the problem would be solved.

The next time Mom was at Grandma’s, she picked up the (heavy, heavy) magazines.

Grandma: “Y’know, Jen might also enjoy these.”

Mom: “Oh, good idea! I’ll take them up to her this week.”

Grandma follows Mom to the door with one last assurance: “Now Mary, I’ve read through all the magazines and there’s nothing in there that Jennifer shouldn’t read.”

Sooo glad my reading material has been approved and/or censored by Grandma.

Apr. 13: Post-it Note Tuesday #7

Time again for Post-it Note Tuesday. If you’re not playing along on your own blog, you’re missing out on reading some really great blogs. Here’s the link to the Post-it Note maker, and here’s where you put a link to your blog and visit other Post-it Note Tuesday participants.

Apr. 12: 30 for Monday

Monday’s a good day for a “30 questions” meme, isn’t it? Yes.

1. Do you trust people?
   Yes.
2. Do you forgive or forget?
   Forgive, yes, with a few exceptions—but those people don’t care or deserve forgiveness anyway. I find it harder to forget. I don’t purposely try not to forget; my brain is simply full of useless memories.
3. What do you have on you at all times?
   A cap to cover my big ol’ egg-shaped head. If I’m not wearing it, there’s one in my pocket or stuffed down the front of my shirt. What if the doorbell rings?
4. Do you go out in public without getting all dressed up?
   Yes. Not in jammies, but not always in formalwear.
5. Tell us about the last time you were told you that you have pretty eyes.
   Last week. Not having eye hair makes my eyes more noticeable, I guess.
6. First album you ever went and bought with your own money?
   I’m surprised that I can’t remember. I think one of the first albums I owned—one that was mine, not inherited from my mom or borrowed from my sister—was a gift; it was the soundtrack to the Donny & Marie movie, Goin’ Coconuts. True story.
7. Does it take a lot to make you cry?
   Nope.
8. Have you ever done something while drunk that you still cannot believe you did?
   “I’m sorry, but those records are permanently sealed.”
9. Have you written up a will?
   Yes, but I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t know where it is right now. It pretty much just says who gets the kids (Church of Satan) if something happens to us.
10. If you were trapped in a room with an ex for three days, what would you do?
    Beat him to death with a chair. Or argue a lot.
11. Do you have any superstitions?
    Can’t think of any right now. I prefer to call mine “quirks,” anyway.
12. Go back one year on your blog. Leave us a link to your favorite post.
    It’s not my favorite post, necessarily, but it’s the one I wrote a year ago today: Tidbits of today.
13. Do you know anyone who has the same birthday as you?
    One of our tablemates on our cruise in 2007.
14. You can only drink ONE liquid for the rest of your life, what is it?
    Cherry Coke.
15. What is your favorite kind of cheese?
    Colby-Jack for sandwiches. Brie with a crusty baguette for snackin’.
16. What is the last thing you said out loud?
    Can’t remember, but it was probably profane.
17. Do you talk to yourself?
    Not usually.
18. Do you believe in soul mates?
    Definitely.
19. Do you look like your mom or dad?
    Dad.
20. Who do you just wanna smack?
    A couple of my Facebook “friends” who are not really my friends.
21. Have you ever performed in front of a large crowd?
    Yes. Sang solos all through high school to a variety of crowd sizes.
22. Were you a cheerleader?
    We didn’t have cheerleaders at the high school I attended, but even if we had, I could never have been one. Clumsy, uncoordinated, untalented… I could go on and on.
23. What talent do you wish you had?
    Something that could make me a lot of money with very little effort.
24. Clowns: cute or scary?
    Ew, scary. Hate ‘em.
25. What was your greatest fear as a child?
    Fire.
26. What’s the most dangerous thing you do while driving?
    Drugs.
27. Do you prefer shoes, socks, or bare feet?
    It depends on the setting, but probably bare feet. If I’m not properly pedicured, though, I guess I’d rather hide my piggies.
28. Have you ever gotten stitches?
    Yes, on my eyelid/eyebrow. Wanna see a picture? It’s totally gross and awesome!
29. Have you ever been in an ambulance?
    Only on a field trip.
30. Do you prefer the ocean or a pool?
    Definitely a pool. I’m not a fan of the mysteries of sea life. Also not a fan of pool peepee, but I pretend the chlorine takes care of that. Y’know what? I’m just gonna sit on the deck and sunbathe, mmkay?

Apr. 11: Bzzz.

To understand the magnitude of our accomplishments around the house this weekend, you’d have to also understand how little we normally do around the house most weekends. And I’m too embarrassed to admit that, so just use your imagination, alright? But I will show you photo proof of one accomplishment: I took our Christmas cards off the back of our front door.

I hate taking the Christmas cards off the back of our front door. It makes me sad every year, so I always put it off and put it off, and people point and laugh and I don’t care because I LIKE seeing happy, smiley faces on the people I love! I wrote a whole post about this task last year, in fact. In August. Yes, August. And here we are, not even halfway through April and I’ve already taken the cards down. You could say this is me growing, or maturing, or working my way out of my extreme laziness, or maybe I just grew tired of seeing all the happy, smiley faces of y’all. I don’t think any of those things are true. I just done did took dem cards down.

Before:

After:

So boring, I know.

The other day when I did 17 loads of laundry, I was working off the energy the steroids give me the few days after chemo. I guess I still had a little bit of that energy yesterday and today, because I had a hard time sitting still. I did more laundry, ironed an armload of shirts, cleaned bathrooms, organized cupboards and cabinets and closets, sorted piles of mail and magazines, and TOOK YOUR FRIGGIN’ CHRISTMAS CARDS DOWN.

Victor was even busier. He washed the cars yesterday inside and out—my car actually had algae growing on it. He hung shelves in Jack’s room, installed hooks and a couple towel racks in our vanity area, fixed the deck rail boards that had come loose, worked a bit in the yard, assembled an IKEA table, helped me with some cleaning, and did a ton of recycling.

Busy bees, that’s us.

Earlier this evening, the pain I always get when coming off the steroids started to set in. It’s weird how it begins in my jaw area and I can actually feel it slowly move down my body. Right now it’s just below my shoulders. The next two days will suck with grouchiness and hurting. I hate this stage; this week I will most certainly be praising the scientists who invented the wonder that is Vicodin.

And for the next couple weeks, I’m going to look back on this weekend and be glad that I used the energy while I had it to do things that needed to be done around the house. Because if you expect me to accomplish anything worthwhile before I’m back on the prednisone, you haven’t been paying a bit of attention now, have you?

 

P.S. If Fancy Lori™ or Kim F’n start in about the races they ran today—probably before doing an entire weekend’s worth of chores around the house, knowing them—you have my permission to stab them. Sorry, Girls… I love ya, but I’ll never keep up.

Apr. 10: Bad fashion and grocery memories

When I was in seventh grade, I saved up my pennies for the coolest EVER pair of Lawman painter pants. They were brown corduroy, and went perfectly with several of my acrylic sweaters. I looked everywhere and couldn’t find a picture of the pants, but if you’re anywhere close to my age, I’m sure you can easily remember what they looked like. To finish the perfection of this sweater-pants combo, I had Cherokee Mary Janes—and it took just a quick search to find the exact style on eBay!

Yes, it be true: I was one stylin’ chickie.

OK, so do you remember those days when the only way you could get the brand name clothing you really, really needed to be popular was by buying it yourself? And the process of saving any $$ you could get your grubby little teenage hands on became the sole focus of your entire life? And then that day when Mom finally drove you to the mall—directly to Jean Machine, pro’lly—you could barely contain your excitement? And your head-to-toe attire for the next day was coordinated so perfectly, you were sure it would finally make all those cool kids want to be friends with you?

I remember that feeling more with those Lawman cords than any other article of clothing I ever bought as a kid. I don’t know why—maybe it was my first purchase like that, or it could’ve been my first one Mom didn’t go halfsies on with me; I don’t recall. But I knew for sure that those pants would change my life. The only thing I can compare it to in recent memory is getting my iPhone.

And what’s weird is that I have no memory of the first day I actually wore them to school. Two other kids in junior high had the exact pants, and I don’t know if I knew that before I bought them, but I was embarrassed anyway. Somehow it was okay to have the same jeans, but not the same anything else. Whatev.

Maybe the reason I don’t remember anything about wearing them to school is that what happened AFTER school that day was more memorable. I was helping my mom bring in groceries and accidentally brushed a new bottle of bleach against my leg, and immediately a bright white spot appeared. Who knew bleach bottles sometimes have bleach on the outside of them?

Nowadays something like that would make me say the unclean version of “effity eff eff,” like I did yesterday when I found out that using softener on my moisture-wicking clothes is what ruined their moisture-wicking properties, damn my non-tag-reading self all to hell. But back in seventh grade I probably just cried and cried. (It’s possible I was kind of a wiener.) At first I thought my brand new pants were ruined, but within a few days I discovered the magic of a little brown Magic Marker. Every day I wore those brown Lawman corduroy painter pants, I’d first scribble over that dime-sized bleach spot. It was as close to saving those beloved pants as I would ever get.

I’m quite sure that the bottle of bleach I bought at Target yesterday is the first one I’ve held in 30 years. I’ve never been a big bleach user—could it be something in my past??? Anyway, I noticed with horror that from the time I took it off the shelf, I was completely obsessed with not letting it touch any part of Victor’s or my clothing. When we loaded up the trunk with our purchases, I insisted he put the bleach in a plastic bag in an overturned stepstool we had just gotten at IKEA, so’s not to brush against anything else in the trunk BECAUSE GOD FORBID WE UNINTENTIONALLY BLEACH ANYTHING IN OUR POSSESSION. I was like a freakin’ psycho over it. What is wrong with me?

(Is it possible that I’m still kind of a wiener?)

Let’s call that a rhetorical question.