Tickled to report that the Mister is much much MUCH better today and is probably going to be headed home later this afternoon; if not today, then tomorrow morning for sure.
After adjusting his medications, giving him a blood transfusion and several bags of IV fluids, and doing an echocardiogram, the cardiologist and nephrologist are satisfied that he is out of the woods and ready to return to the wild.
His blood pressure is good and his blood sugar is good; and since having the blood transfusion overnight, his hemoglobin count is also good. He's still a tad anemic, so they're giving him an iron injection and then putting him on additional iron supplements at home. The nephrologist expressed a little concern that he might be dizzy or tired after being upright, and if that was the case, then they might want to keep him one more night.
Therefore, the Mister promptly put on his shorts and Nikes and we did two laps around the fifth floor - resulting in zero dizziness (and if he's tired, he ain't saying so).
Looks like he's dodging the stolen-oscopy too, at least for today, so no insult being added to injury.
Unless we hear something to the contrary, I expect to take him home this afternoon or evening. Thank you for the prayers and support!
28 December 2012
27 December 2012
Deja Vu All Over Again
Here is a loose transcript of some of my thoughts from this morning:
"The Mister sure has been napping a lot lately. I mean, the man is pretty fond of naps in general, but seems like he's been especially snoozy in the last week or two. I wonder if...YES, YOU CAN HAVE SOME CHEESE FOR BREAKFAST...
Now, where was I...something about naps...no, I'm not tired, so that's not it, WAIT now I remember I was thinking about how tired my man has been in the last few weeks. Come to think of it, he's also seemed a little 'off', maybe more off than usual..."
Fast forward to around 2 p.m. where I got tired of talking to myself and decided to call his doctor instead. Long story short, we were back in the emergency room by 3 p.m.
Because we found ourselves in something of a hurry, I didn't have time to find somewhere for the Girl to go. And there isn't a snowball's chance in Hades that she would stay with the Boy alone for an indeterminate period of time, so she came along for the ride.
Big mistake. I couldn't very well leave her alone in the ER waiting area, but it was also rough on her to see her daddy sick and flat on his back with lots of people in scrubs fussing over him. Thankfully some good friends from the Girl's school were willing to come take her home with them. (You know who you are and I am eternally grateful.)
After labwork and a chest xray, the ER doc ruled out a second heart attack, but there are other weird things going on now. His hemoglobin (red blood cell) count is too low and is indicative of internal bleeding. He is very dehydrated, and his blood pressure is also too low, which explains the dizzy spells. And his creatinine is too high, meaning that his kidneys aren't doing their job very well either.
In an effort to protect what little remains of his dignity, I won't tell you where they think the internal bleeding is happening, but suffice to say that tomorrow he will probably have something that ends in "-oscopy" and the first part rhymes with "stolen". He is having a blood transfusion first thing in the morning, and he'll also have an echocardiogram just to triple-check his heart.
So I suspect we will know a lot more tomorrow, and I will pass along updates and/or silly observations as they become available.
TTFN -
"The Mister sure has been napping a lot lately. I mean, the man is pretty fond of naps in general, but seems like he's been especially snoozy in the last week or two. I wonder if...YES, YOU CAN HAVE SOME CHEESE FOR BREAKFAST...
Now, where was I...something about naps...no, I'm not tired, so that's not it, WAIT now I remember I was thinking about how tired my man has been in the last few weeks. Come to think of it, he's also seemed a little 'off', maybe more off than usual..."
Fast forward to around 2 p.m. where I got tired of talking to myself and decided to call his doctor instead. Long story short, we were back in the emergency room by 3 p.m.
Because we found ourselves in something of a hurry, I didn't have time to find somewhere for the Girl to go. And there isn't a snowball's chance in Hades that she would stay with the Boy alone for an indeterminate period of time, so she came along for the ride.
Big mistake. I couldn't very well leave her alone in the ER waiting area, but it was also rough on her to see her daddy sick and flat on his back with lots of people in scrubs fussing over him. Thankfully some good friends from the Girl's school were willing to come take her home with them. (You know who you are and I am eternally grateful.)
After labwork and a chest xray, the ER doc ruled out a second heart attack, but there are other weird things going on now. His hemoglobin (red blood cell) count is too low and is indicative of internal bleeding. He is very dehydrated, and his blood pressure is also too low, which explains the dizzy spells. And his creatinine is too high, meaning that his kidneys aren't doing their job very well either.
In an effort to protect what little remains of his dignity, I won't tell you where they think the internal bleeding is happening, but suffice to say that tomorrow he will probably have something that ends in "-oscopy" and the first part rhymes with "stolen". He is having a blood transfusion first thing in the morning, and he'll also have an echocardiogram just to triple-check his heart.
So I suspect we will know a lot more tomorrow, and I will pass along updates and/or silly observations as they become available.
TTFN -
20 December 2012
Drawers
Back where my mama's family comes from, the word "drawers" can mean those slide-out boxes in a dresser or chest where you keep your clothes or maybe random junk, OR it can mean your underpants. I think northerners exchange "bloomers" for drawers, but I digress.
This post is not about underpants.
The Mister will tell you that my drawers are terrifying. (please refer once more to the above disclaimer re: drawers not being underpants.) They are terrifying because I collect junk in every single drawer that will open wide enough for me to slide something else into it.
The kitchen drawer:
Random mixed candles
A small hammer
Nine assorted playing cards from two different decks
Scotch, duct, painter's, masking and electrical tape
Rusty scissors that wouldn't cut warm butter
Warranty for the toaster
Four pens with no ink left
The rolltop desk:
Old checkbooks from closed accounts
Ornaments marked down December 28th last year that I forgot about until Easter
Eight copies of each child's school portrait for the past five years (need to send those out one of these days...)
My late grandmother's business cards
More tape
Teeth (yes, I keep my children's baby teeth. So what.)
My bathroom drawers:
Haircare products
Skincare products
Failed lipsticks
Ugly hairbands
Seven tubes of my favorite toothpaste (it was on SALE, for pete's sake)
Dresser drawers:
T-shirts
Jeans
Drawers (yes, underpants)
Gloves
Socks
Old zoom lens for a Pentax camera I sold in '93
My brain has hundreds of different drawers as well, with labels to identify their contents. The majority of them overflow with memories of one kind or another; some joyful, some horrific, some just random snapshots of insignificance like my third grade desk or a long-gone favorite hairbrush.
Other drawers contain opinions, assessments, learned lessons, failed lessons, habits, desires, tastes, distastes, conclusions and questions unasked and/or unanswered. There's an entire section devoted to faith, and I like adding to it most of all. I already have more than I ever imagined I would.
But.
Every now and then, someone or something happens and I don't know where to put it. It doesn't line up with any of my hundreds of existing drawer labels - so I don't know what to do with it. So I just stand there inside my head, hopping from foot to foot like a kindergartner with a full bladder....wondering what to do with this thing that must be put somewhere, for crying out loud, just put it SOMEWHERE because it hurts and it smells bad.
So it is with Sandy Hook Elementary on December 14th, 2012. I do have a drawer labeled "To Think About Later", and I've tried to shove it in there a number of times, but it won't stay. "Evil" seemed appropriate at first, but then "Heroes", "Community" and "Stupid Cable News Shows" confused the issue further.
All the while, the Faith section has been sitting undisturbed against the back wall, in the warm part where all the good stuff is. It occurs to me to put Sandy Hook in Faith's top drawer...but what if that's not where it belongs?? What if it leaks on all my other faith things and then they all get ruined?
Oh my goodness.
Faith.
That is where this needs to go, because it's the only place it can possibly fit.
This post is not about underpants.
The Mister will tell you that my drawers are terrifying. (please refer once more to the above disclaimer re: drawers not being underpants.) They are terrifying because I collect junk in every single drawer that will open wide enough for me to slide something else into it.
The kitchen drawer:
Random mixed candles
A small hammer
Nine assorted playing cards from two different decks
Scotch, duct, painter's, masking and electrical tape
Rusty scissors that wouldn't cut warm butter
Warranty for the toaster
Four pens with no ink left
The rolltop desk:
Old checkbooks from closed accounts
Ornaments marked down December 28th last year that I forgot about until Easter
Eight copies of each child's school portrait for the past five years (need to send those out one of these days...)
My late grandmother's business cards
More tape
Teeth (yes, I keep my children's baby teeth. So what.)
My bathroom drawers:
Haircare products
Skincare products
Failed lipsticks
Ugly hairbands
Seven tubes of my favorite toothpaste (it was on SALE, for pete's sake)
Dresser drawers:
T-shirts
Jeans
Drawers (yes, underpants)
Gloves
Socks
Old zoom lens for a Pentax camera I sold in '93
My brain has hundreds of different drawers as well, with labels to identify their contents. The majority of them overflow with memories of one kind or another; some joyful, some horrific, some just random snapshots of insignificance like my third grade desk or a long-gone favorite hairbrush.
Other drawers contain opinions, assessments, learned lessons, failed lessons, habits, desires, tastes, distastes, conclusions and questions unasked and/or unanswered. There's an entire section devoted to faith, and I like adding to it most of all. I already have more than I ever imagined I would.
But.
Every now and then, someone or something happens and I don't know where to put it. It doesn't line up with any of my hundreds of existing drawer labels - so I don't know what to do with it. So I just stand there inside my head, hopping from foot to foot like a kindergartner with a full bladder....wondering what to do with this thing that must be put somewhere, for crying out loud, just put it SOMEWHERE because it hurts and it smells bad.
So it is with Sandy Hook Elementary on December 14th, 2012. I do have a drawer labeled "To Think About Later", and I've tried to shove it in there a number of times, but it won't stay. "Evil" seemed appropriate at first, but then "Heroes", "Community" and "Stupid Cable News Shows" confused the issue further.
All the while, the Faith section has been sitting undisturbed against the back wall, in the warm part where all the good stuff is. It occurs to me to put Sandy Hook in Faith's top drawer...but what if that's not where it belongs?? What if it leaks on all my other faith things and then they all get ruined?
Oh my goodness.
Faith.
That is where this needs to go, because it's the only place it can possibly fit.
22 November 2012
Giving Thanks.
For the last few days, I've been attempting to capture the depth of my gratitude in a handful of late November Facebook posts. I've watched all month as many of my friends post daily reflections of those people and things for which they are most grateful.
The sweet sincerity of love for spouses, children, friends...
The gratitude for material comfort, warm/dry shelter, an abundance of clothing...
The appreciation for our country as well as our communities...
...these posts make me smile with the assurance that I am firmly planted in a garden full of God's most beautiful children as my friends.
For the first 30+ years of my life, though, I couldn't see that. I generally parked my heart in a dark muddy place, where glimmers of God's light would filter through from time to time, but I often sat in grumpy loathing of you, Him, and most of all myself. Things weren't fair, you see. If things were fair (according to my definition at the time), I would've been thinner, funnier, prettier, richer, smarter...just plain BETTER. I would have more stuff and less trouble, and then I would finally be happy.
Chasing "better" is exhausting and frankly foolish. Do I mean we shouldn't pursue our best selves? Heavens no...but the pursuit should not outrank the sufficience of today, of living in the present and seeing all the joy therein.
Simple examples -
-- I've learned how to meditate over the past several years, and the foundation of entering a meditative state is breathing - slowly, deeply and with concentration on each breath. The comfort of taking a good deep breath is among my simple pleasures.
-- I think about the feeling of being sick at my stomach, awash in nausea and trying desperately to hold still. The impatient plea to feel better yet the sweaty misery of waiting to be sick...now I think about that moment of relief where I realize it has subsided, that the storm in my gut is over and I can rest.
-- I remember sitting in a cold, lonely dark house - dark and cold because of my own irresponsibility in setting priorities, foregoing the light bill in exchange for happy hour. Lonely by subconscious design. This morning, I am listening to little girl giggles and Spongebob in the next room, with the scent of turkey roasting in the oven and the brilliant cool sunshine splashing on my kitchen floor - I am wearing a robe that feels like a hug and wondering what time I should get the boys up for a long day of nothing much other than food and football.
-- I think about being angry and resentful and wishing everyone would adequately apologize for making my life awful. If (blank) would just (blank), then I would be happy. If I could just have (blank), then everything would be ok. I remember coming to the understanding that I am the problem, not you...and that He has the answer, not me. Oh what a delight to find Him and come to understand how very very much He loves me!
And so it is that I give thanks. Thanks to the family and friends who have loved me each day of this abundant life - and profound thanks to the one who literally loved me enough to die for me, to take all my selfish nastiness to the cross and make me clean and new.
In 2 Corinthians 12, the Lord tells Paul that "my grace is sufficient for you". How very thankful I am today for His grace - and that all I have to do is give myself to Him and get out of His way.
The sweet sincerity of love for spouses, children, friends...
The gratitude for material comfort, warm/dry shelter, an abundance of clothing...
The appreciation for our country as well as our communities...
...these posts make me smile with the assurance that I am firmly planted in a garden full of God's most beautiful children as my friends.
For the first 30+ years of my life, though, I couldn't see that. I generally parked my heart in a dark muddy place, where glimmers of God's light would filter through from time to time, but I often sat in grumpy loathing of you, Him, and most of all myself. Things weren't fair, you see. If things were fair (according to my definition at the time), I would've been thinner, funnier, prettier, richer, smarter...just plain BETTER. I would have more stuff and less trouble, and then I would finally be happy.
Chasing "better" is exhausting and frankly foolish. Do I mean we shouldn't pursue our best selves? Heavens no...but the pursuit should not outrank the sufficience of today, of living in the present and seeing all the joy therein.
Simple examples -
-- I've learned how to meditate over the past several years, and the foundation of entering a meditative state is breathing - slowly, deeply and with concentration on each breath. The comfort of taking a good deep breath is among my simple pleasures.
-- I think about the feeling of being sick at my stomach, awash in nausea and trying desperately to hold still. The impatient plea to feel better yet the sweaty misery of waiting to be sick...now I think about that moment of relief where I realize it has subsided, that the storm in my gut is over and I can rest.
-- I remember sitting in a cold, lonely dark house - dark and cold because of my own irresponsibility in setting priorities, foregoing the light bill in exchange for happy hour. Lonely by subconscious design. This morning, I am listening to little girl giggles and Spongebob in the next room, with the scent of turkey roasting in the oven and the brilliant cool sunshine splashing on my kitchen floor - I am wearing a robe that feels like a hug and wondering what time I should get the boys up for a long day of nothing much other than food and football.
-- I think about being angry and resentful and wishing everyone would adequately apologize for making my life awful. If (blank) would just (blank), then I would be happy. If I could just have (blank), then everything would be ok. I remember coming to the understanding that I am the problem, not you...and that He has the answer, not me. Oh what a delight to find Him and come to understand how very very much He loves me!
And so it is that I give thanks. Thanks to the family and friends who have loved me each day of this abundant life - and profound thanks to the one who literally loved me enough to die for me, to take all my selfish nastiness to the cross and make me clean and new.
In 2 Corinthians 12, the Lord tells Paul that "my grace is sufficient for you". How very thankful I am today for His grace - and that all I have to do is give myself to Him and get out of His way.
03 November 2012
At Home With The Mister
Although the cardiologist turned him loose at 8:30 a.m., and the nephrologist followed suit shortly before lunch, it was nearly 3 p.m. when the Mister and I pulled into our driveway yesterday afternoon.
Approaching our house, I noticed that our mailbox didn't look right. My eyesight isn't what it once was, and all I could see in the distance was that there was something big on the mailbox.
As we got closer, I let out one of my signature, "awwwww!" noises, usually prompted by something that moves my heart.
For there on our mailbox was a huge white posterboard sign on our mailbox to welcome him home, complete with balloons and ribbons. The Mister turned and thanked me, saying, "you didn't have to do that, sweetie".
Aghast and amused, I said, "don't worry, I didn't!"
I am a little annoyed that I didn't think of it myself, but I am eternally grateful to the person who did.
So, to the anonymous do-gooder who made the Mister's homecoming that much more special - we love you and thank you.
***************************
He is home. HOME. You just don't know how much you miss it until you can't go there. It's one thing to electively vacate, say to the beach or on a business trip, but to be restricted by health is altogether different.
Not sure much has changed in the nine days since he went to the ER, but he was elated to climb the stairs, survey the messy living room and crawl between his own sheets with Olivia (his body pillow - yes, we name our pillows. Like you don't.)
He is a tad weak and tires easily; but he is HOME.
Approaching our house, I noticed that our mailbox didn't look right. My eyesight isn't what it once was, and all I could see in the distance was that there was something big on the mailbox.
As we got closer, I let out one of my signature, "awwwww!" noises, usually prompted by something that moves my heart.
For there on our mailbox was a huge white posterboard sign on our mailbox to welcome him home, complete with balloons and ribbons. The Mister turned and thanked me, saying, "you didn't have to do that, sweetie".
Aghast and amused, I said, "don't worry, I didn't!"
I am a little annoyed that I didn't think of it myself, but I am eternally grateful to the person who did.
So, to the anonymous do-gooder who made the Mister's homecoming that much more special - we love you and thank you.
***************************
He is home. HOME. You just don't know how much you miss it until you can't go there. It's one thing to electively vacate, say to the beach or on a business trip, but to be restricted by health is altogether different.
Not sure much has changed in the nine days since he went to the ER, but he was elated to climb the stairs, survey the messy living room and crawl between his own sheets with Olivia (his body pillow - yes, we name our pillows. Like you don't.)
He is a tad weak and tires easily; but he is HOME.
May I Help You?
I have been pondering this topic for a while now, even before Dave's recent health crises. The thing I want to talk about stretches back to when my mother died in 2007.
Let me begin with gratitude. The fact that we have dozens of friends and family who love us is a miracle in itself. The Mister and I have been unloveable on a number of occasions (but then again, who hasn't...), yet when the rubber meets the road, when life gets sloppy and painful, we are covered in love and prayer from all fronts.
Just as when my mom passed away, I've recently received a humbling number of offers of assistance which usually sound something like this:
"How can I help you?"
"What do you need?"
"Tell me what I can do for you".
"No matter what, I am here for you and will do whatever I can to help out".
Beautiful, bountiful, generous and sincere extensions - I know I have made every single one of these comments myself. When I say them, I mean it with all my heart - when a friend is suffering from pain or grief or loss, I really would do nearly anything they asked me to do. All they have to do is ask. Just ask me, and I'm there.
But you'll have to ask me. If you don't tell me what you need, then I am going to assume that a) you don't need/want my help, or b) you are ok. The proverbial ball is in your court.
**************
In recent days, when people have said things like, "just let me know what you need", I have responded with blank stares, confusion and either speechlessness or garbled stammering. The best I could come up with was a half-hearted, "I sure will - thanks for offering".
You see, I have no idea what I need.
I need to keep putting one foot in front of the other...I know that much. I need to pray and stay strong in my faith...this is unequivocally the best thing I can do in ANY situation.
But what do I need that others can help with? I feel awkward when someone asks me how they can help me. What if I ask for something that they really don't want to do, or maybe they really can't do it? What if they're not all that sincere in their offer and then I decide to take them up on it? What if I ask for help with something that I really ought to be able to do for myself?
For people like me who spend a ridiculous amount of time between their own ears, it's very difficult to ask for help.
While I am profoundly grateful for every single offer of assistance I've received during the Mister's ordeal, I must confess weepy appreciation for those people who approached me with specifics.
"We are bringing you meals for the next two weeks. Do you have any diet restrictions?"
"OK if I take the kids to my house today?"
"My husband would like to mow your lawn next week."
"Can we feed the dog for you?"
"I would like to come sit with you at the hospital for a while."
By proposing something specific, you've eliminated 99% of my mental gymnastics. You've told me what you are willing to do, and all that's expected of me is to accept your offer or graciously decline.
Next time I'm given the opportunity to offer support to someone, I'm going to be specific by offering something I know I would be pleased and available to do. I don't want them to have to think about anything more than a yes-or-no answer.
Let me begin with gratitude. The fact that we have dozens of friends and family who love us is a miracle in itself. The Mister and I have been unloveable on a number of occasions (but then again, who hasn't...), yet when the rubber meets the road, when life gets sloppy and painful, we are covered in love and prayer from all fronts.
Just as when my mom passed away, I've recently received a humbling number of offers of assistance which usually sound something like this:
"How can I help you?"
"What do you need?"
"Tell me what I can do for you".
"No matter what, I am here for you and will do whatever I can to help out".
Beautiful, bountiful, generous and sincere extensions - I know I have made every single one of these comments myself. When I say them, I mean it with all my heart - when a friend is suffering from pain or grief or loss, I really would do nearly anything they asked me to do. All they have to do is ask. Just ask me, and I'm there.
But you'll have to ask me. If you don't tell me what you need, then I am going to assume that a) you don't need/want my help, or b) you are ok. The proverbial ball is in your court.
**************
In recent days, when people have said things like, "just let me know what you need", I have responded with blank stares, confusion and either speechlessness or garbled stammering. The best I could come up with was a half-hearted, "I sure will - thanks for offering".
You see, I have no idea what I need.
I need to keep putting one foot in front of the other...I know that much. I need to pray and stay strong in my faith...this is unequivocally the best thing I can do in ANY situation.
But what do I need that others can help with? I feel awkward when someone asks me how they can help me. What if I ask for something that they really don't want to do, or maybe they really can't do it? What if they're not all that sincere in their offer and then I decide to take them up on it? What if I ask for help with something that I really ought to be able to do for myself?
For people like me who spend a ridiculous amount of time between their own ears, it's very difficult to ask for help.
While I am profoundly grateful for every single offer of assistance I've received during the Mister's ordeal, I must confess weepy appreciation for those people who approached me with specifics.
"We are bringing you meals for the next two weeks. Do you have any diet restrictions?"
"OK if I take the kids to my house today?"
"My husband would like to mow your lawn next week."
"Can we feed the dog for you?"
"I would like to come sit with you at the hospital for a while."
By proposing something specific, you've eliminated 99% of my mental gymnastics. You've told me what you are willing to do, and all that's expected of me is to accept your offer or graciously decline.
I know beyond doubt that each person offering help over these past weeks
would have done absolutely anything I asked them to do -
that's just who they are.
It's my own mental state that kept me from asking.
Next time I'm given the opportunity to offer support to someone, I'm going to be specific by offering something I know I would be pleased and available to do. I don't want them to have to think about anything more than a yes-or-no answer.
01 November 2012
Docking Procedure Complete
In honor of the nuclear aircraft carrier U.S.S. Carl Vinson and the starship Enterprise, my Navy veteran and Trekkie husband named this post.
We also kicked the tires on "the eagle has landed" or "the package has been delivered", but Navy-speak is always his preference.
Having taken the children to their respective schools this morning, I stopped at Starbucks (aka "Fivebucks", per the Mister) on my way to the hospital. After all, it was 8:05, and his procedure wasn't scheduled until 10. I got my skinny caramel latte and was just putting the key in the ignition when he called and said, "they're running ahead of schedule and are going to take me down at 9. What's your ETA?"
I advised that I was on my way and should be there by 8:30. Got on the highway and headed to the hospital; upon arriving in the parking lot, my phone rang again - the Mister said, "where are you, they are taking me now." What the heck?! So I busted my tail getting in and up to his room so I could grab his iStuff before his room was pillaged - thankfully he hadn't gone to the cath lab yet, so I got a smooch and rode down the elevator with him.
At 10 a.m., he was finished and we got to speak with Dr. Yen (the cardiologist du jour from Northeast Georgia Heart Center) who did the procedure.
Tuesday's diagnostic heart cath showed two major blockages; 95% and 80% respectively in the Mister's left anterior descending artery, or LAD (I am getting really good at cardiovascular lingo).
Today's placement of a balloon and a single stent has opened the entire LAD to 100%. How about them apples?!
Dr. Yen is really good; he patiently answered my amateur, WebMD-based questions and gave the Mister an enthusiastic thumbs-up for Friday discharge from the hospital.
One possible but unlikely hurdle - the nephrologist has to give the green light as well. Now that you are also an expert in kidney function as demonstrated by creatinine levels, you will understand why we are so happy with this morning's reading of 1.9. Best it's been since this party started on October 24th, so we are optimistic that the Mister will be comfortably squared away in his recliner for the Alabama-LSU game on Saturday night.
Have to share a quick funny with you that I meant to post yesterday. The Mister had several beloved visitors yesterday morning, but he was wiped out by mid-afternoon. We pulled the blinds and turned off all the lights so he could get some rest, and I read quietly in the corner. The door opened, and in walked a little man from the business office.
Now it's important to point out that both the Mister and I have worked in healthcare business operations for many, many years. We understand more than most the importance of getting all the insurance information correct before the patient flies the coop; too much healthcare $$ gets written off because it's impossible to collect. What are they going to do, re-po a stent? I think not.
Anyway, this little guy goes over our benefits with us, and while it's been a terrible year from the health status perspective, we met our deductible and out-of-pocket max several weeks ago. This $50k hospital visit is going to cost us about $400 or less. We smiled with the little man, and I shook his hand, and we waited on him to leave.
Only he didn't.
Instead, he proceeded to share way too much information about heart disease as experienced by random members of his family. We learned about his drug-addicted cousin in Mumbai and his cocaine-induced arrhythmia; his own difficult divorce and how that crazy wench broke his heart; his father's hypertension and its response to high sodium intake...and after about ten minutes of his soliloquy, we started giving increasingly rude signals that we were ready for him to leave. The Mister turned away and went back to sleep. I broke eye contact and began typing away on my laptop. I glanced at the clock a couple of times...yet he apparently has difficulty interpreting social signals because he continued to yammer on. I finally had to say, "I think we're done here, don't you?", at which point his eyebrows went up and he came to the realization that he'd worn out his welcome.
It's now a few minutes after noon, and the Mister is snoozing peacefully, no doubt dreaming of his own bed and wearing warm flannel jammie pants straight from the dryer. Looking forward to having him back there this time tomorrow, or shortly thereafter.
We also kicked the tires on "the eagle has landed" or "the package has been delivered", but Navy-speak is always his preference.
Having taken the children to their respective schools this morning, I stopped at Starbucks (aka "Fivebucks", per the Mister) on my way to the hospital. After all, it was 8:05, and his procedure wasn't scheduled until 10. I got my skinny caramel latte and was just putting the key in the ignition when he called and said, "they're running ahead of schedule and are going to take me down at 9. What's your ETA?"
I advised that I was on my way and should be there by 8:30. Got on the highway and headed to the hospital; upon arriving in the parking lot, my phone rang again - the Mister said, "where are you, they are taking me now." What the heck?! So I busted my tail getting in and up to his room so I could grab his iStuff before his room was pillaged - thankfully he hadn't gone to the cath lab yet, so I got a smooch and rode down the elevator with him.
At 10 a.m., he was finished and we got to speak with Dr. Yen (the cardiologist du jour from Northeast Georgia Heart Center) who did the procedure.
Tuesday's diagnostic heart cath showed two major blockages; 95% and 80% respectively in the Mister's left anterior descending artery, or LAD (I am getting really good at cardiovascular lingo).
Today's placement of a balloon and a single stent has opened the entire LAD to 100%. How about them apples?!
Dr. Yen is really good; he patiently answered my amateur, WebMD-based questions and gave the Mister an enthusiastic thumbs-up for Friday discharge from the hospital.
One possible but unlikely hurdle - the nephrologist has to give the green light as well. Now that you are also an expert in kidney function as demonstrated by creatinine levels, you will understand why we are so happy with this morning's reading of 1.9. Best it's been since this party started on October 24th, so we are optimistic that the Mister will be comfortably squared away in his recliner for the Alabama-LSU game on Saturday night.
Have to share a quick funny with you that I meant to post yesterday. The Mister had several beloved visitors yesterday morning, but he was wiped out by mid-afternoon. We pulled the blinds and turned off all the lights so he could get some rest, and I read quietly in the corner. The door opened, and in walked a little man from the business office.
Now it's important to point out that both the Mister and I have worked in healthcare business operations for many, many years. We understand more than most the importance of getting all the insurance information correct before the patient flies the coop; too much healthcare $$ gets written off because it's impossible to collect. What are they going to do, re-po a stent? I think not.
Anyway, this little guy goes over our benefits with us, and while it's been a terrible year from the health status perspective, we met our deductible and out-of-pocket max several weeks ago. This $50k hospital visit is going to cost us about $400 or less. We smiled with the little man, and I shook his hand, and we waited on him to leave.
Only he didn't.
Instead, he proceeded to share way too much information about heart disease as experienced by random members of his family. We learned about his drug-addicted cousin in Mumbai and his cocaine-induced arrhythmia; his own difficult divorce and how that crazy wench broke his heart; his father's hypertension and its response to high sodium intake...and after about ten minutes of his soliloquy, we started giving increasingly rude signals that we were ready for him to leave. The Mister turned away and went back to sleep. I broke eye contact and began typing away on my laptop. I glanced at the clock a couple of times...yet he apparently has difficulty interpreting social signals because he continued to yammer on. I finally had to say, "I think we're done here, don't you?", at which point his eyebrows went up and he came to the realization that he'd worn out his welcome.
It's now a few minutes after noon, and the Mister is snoozing peacefully, no doubt dreaming of his own bed and wearing warm flannel jammie pants straight from the dryer. Looking forward to having him back there this time tomorrow, or shortly thereafter.
31 October 2012
The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow
(sung to the tune of "Tomorrow" from the hit Broadway show, "Annie")
The stents will go in
Tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow
Dave is done
Just thinking about
Tomorrow
Makes him feel so happy that tomorrow
Is the one
(chorus)
Tomorrow, tomorrow
We'll leave here, but not tomorrow
But leaving's only 2 more days away.
Yes, I'm getting a little more slap-happy and goofy as the days wear on. I am blessed with an intellect that would've taken me through law school or med school or maybe even into space...instead I use it to rewrite show tunes and create crass poems for friends' birthdays.
As you've inferred from the above foolishness, Dave's second heart cath (with stent placement this time) is scheduled for tomorrow at 10 a.m. His kidneys are about as good as they're going to get, from the creatinine perspective. He has to drink this horrid medication called MucoMist to protect the kidneys from the contrast dye; it is apparently a cross between rotten eggs and cow manure. The nurses even apologize for having to give it to him.
Assuming the stent placement goes well, it is very likely he can go home on Friday, or Saturday morning at the latest. WOOOO HOOOO!!! Before they'll discharge him, though, he and I have to attend "Heart School" together. Apparently this is where they will indoctrinate him with the diet, exercise and medication regimen necessary for stabilization of his heart and kidney disease. I'm told I will also receive carte blanche authorization to nag the stew out of him whenever I feel he has gone astray. So that'll be fun.
Leaving shortly to pick up children from school then bring them back to the hospital for a visit with Dad. Then it's back home to hand out candy to neighborhood Spidermen, Batmen, Cinderellas, hippies and hobos. And to keep an eye out for any miscreants with eggs or toilet paper - my man may not be at the house right now, but actually I'm the one they should be scared of. I am one mean motorscooter. Just ask my kids.
The stents will go in
Tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow
Dave is done
Just thinking about
Tomorrow
Makes him feel so happy that tomorrow
Is the one
(chorus)
Tomorrow, tomorrow
We'll leave here, but not tomorrow
But leaving's only 2 more days away.
Yes, I'm getting a little more slap-happy and goofy as the days wear on. I am blessed with an intellect that would've taken me through law school or med school or maybe even into space...instead I use it to rewrite show tunes and create crass poems for friends' birthdays.
As you've inferred from the above foolishness, Dave's second heart cath (with stent placement this time) is scheduled for tomorrow at 10 a.m. His kidneys are about as good as they're going to get, from the creatinine perspective. He has to drink this horrid medication called MucoMist to protect the kidneys from the contrast dye; it is apparently a cross between rotten eggs and cow manure. The nurses even apologize for having to give it to him.
Assuming the stent placement goes well, it is very likely he can go home on Friday, or Saturday morning at the latest. WOOOO HOOOO!!! Before they'll discharge him, though, he and I have to attend "Heart School" together. Apparently this is where they will indoctrinate him with the diet, exercise and medication regimen necessary for stabilization of his heart and kidney disease. I'm told I will also receive carte blanche authorization to nag the stew out of him whenever I feel he has gone astray. So that'll be fun.
Leaving shortly to pick up children from school then bring them back to the hospital for a visit with Dad. Then it's back home to hand out candy to neighborhood Spidermen, Batmen, Cinderellas, hippies and hobos. And to keep an eye out for any miscreants with eggs or toilet paper - my man may not be at the house right now, but actually I'm the one they should be scared of. I am one mean motorscooter. Just ask my kids.
30 October 2012
Impatient In-patient
A wise friend once told me that it isn't a good idea to pray for patience. Unlike other prayer requests, prayers for patience aren't usually answered with a yes or a no. Instead, they are answered with ridiculously challenging opportunities to practice. God doesn't just strike you with patience...
The Mister was admitted through the emergency room last Wednesday, October 24th, six days ago. He has never been in the hospital for more than outpatient surgery or diagnostics, so he is becoming increasingly irritable and discouraged with each passing inpatient day.
I went out a while ago to cast my early vote for next Tuesday's election and to request an absentee ballot for him. When I returned, I got a surly "welcome back" and a smattering of curse words, amidst which he informed me that he will be here until at least Friday. The cardiologist stopped back by while I was out and explained that they cannot inject him with contrast dye two days in a row.
So regardless of whatever his creatinine looks like in the morning, the soonest they can do the stents will be Thursday. As previously mentioned, they will not discharge him until 24-48 hours after the stents have been placed.
We went for a little walk around the 5th floor, where he half-jokingly identified the locations of all emergency exits and the elevators. I'm thinking I should take his street clothes back home with me to discourage any attempt to escape. In the event that you come across a goateed, bare-bottomed man in socks and a blue hospital gown making his way towards the nearest Subway, give me a jingle.
The Mister was admitted through the emergency room last Wednesday, October 24th, six days ago. He has never been in the hospital for more than outpatient surgery or diagnostics, so he is becoming increasingly irritable and discouraged with each passing inpatient day.
I went out a while ago to cast my early vote for next Tuesday's election and to request an absentee ballot for him. When I returned, I got a surly "welcome back" and a smattering of curse words, amidst which he informed me that he will be here until at least Friday. The cardiologist stopped back by while I was out and explained that they cannot inject him with contrast dye two days in a row.
So regardless of whatever his creatinine looks like in the morning, the soonest they can do the stents will be Thursday. As previously mentioned, they will not discharge him until 24-48 hours after the stents have been placed.
We went for a little walk around the 5th floor, where he half-jokingly identified the locations of all emergency exits and the elevators. I'm thinking I should take his street clothes back home with me to discourage any attempt to escape. In the event that you come across a goateed, bare-bottomed man in socks and a blue hospital gown making his way towards the nearest Subway, give me a jingle.
Not So Good News.
A friend recently told me that, when you are waiting for a loved one who is having cardiac catheterization, you can project the general outcome by the amount of time you are left sitting in the family waiting room. The longer the wait, the greater the likelihood of a good outcome - it takes longer to give a fully confident opinion that there is little or no blockage.
The Mister went in at 7:50 a.m.
They came to get me at 8:20.
The good news is that the cardiologist was able to go in through the radial artery in his right wrist - no groin puncture, which is a bright shiny silver lining.
When they brought me back to the recovery area, the Mister was resting quietly but awake. We waited together for the cardiologist to come tell us his findings. I held my husband's hand for a few minutes, then noticed a restroom right across from his bedside. Having had two large cups of coffee to jumpstart my morning, I succumbed to the biological call and said, "I will be RIGHT back, do not talk to the doctor without me."
Ninety seconds later, I returned to the bedside, where the Mister informed me that the doctor had already come and gone. As my frustration mounted, he said, "yes, and he told me that I am in urgent need of custom intervention from Five Guys Burgers and Fries." It was then that I smacked him.
The cardiologist came shortly thereafter and gave us the not so good news. The Mister has cardiac disease throughout his heart, with two major areas of significant arterial blockage (one is 95% blocked, the other 80%). Because his kidneys are still underperforming, today's cath was limited to diagnostic purposes only - the cardiologist did not do any stenting because it would've required more dye than his kidneys could safely process today.
In other circumstances, a bypass would be a preferable option but because of his kidney issues and combined with the location of the blockages, the MD thinks that the stents in those two areas are the best option with a very high likelihood of successful restoration of open arterial flow.
Unfortunately, they cannot place the stents until his kidneys can flush today's round of contrast dye, then recover enough to process a larger quantity of dye so they can pinpoint where the stents should go. We would be most grateful if you praying types out there would pray for healing of his kidneys as well as his heart; he can't go home until 24-48 hours after the stents are placed, and they can't place the stents until his kidneys can handle the dye. Tomorrow will be one full week as an inpatient; while I may be disappointed, he is extremely discouraged.
In a half-hearted effort to practice what I preach, I am working hard to find some gratitude at the moment. But I am working on it...
1. My husband is alive and alert and loves his life and his family and his Savior.
2. There are things to do to help improve his other blockages (medicines, cardiac rehab, more weight loss).
3. Everything about Northside Forsyth Hospital is fantastic - nurses, doctors, room and facilities, housekeeping, food, parking...you name it, it has been awesome.
4. We have health insurance. (worth repeating frequently)
5. God is in charge, not me, and His plan for our lives is always perfect. You'd think I would be clear on that fact by now.
He respectfully and lovingly asks that we keep visitors and calls to a minimum today and tomorrow; he knows how very much his friends love him, and it is absolutely not because he doesn't want to see anyone. But he is very tired and doesn't feel particularly well.
I may well blog again this afternoon just to purge some of the gunk in my own head at the moment but am signing off for now. Thanks again for your prayers and affection.
The Mister went in at 7:50 a.m.
They came to get me at 8:20.
The good news is that the cardiologist was able to go in through the radial artery in his right wrist - no groin puncture, which is a bright shiny silver lining.
When they brought me back to the recovery area, the Mister was resting quietly but awake. We waited together for the cardiologist to come tell us his findings. I held my husband's hand for a few minutes, then noticed a restroom right across from his bedside. Having had two large cups of coffee to jumpstart my morning, I succumbed to the biological call and said, "I will be RIGHT back, do not talk to the doctor without me."
Ninety seconds later, I returned to the bedside, where the Mister informed me that the doctor had already come and gone. As my frustration mounted, he said, "yes, and he told me that I am in urgent need of custom intervention from Five Guys Burgers and Fries." It was then that I smacked him.
The cardiologist came shortly thereafter and gave us the not so good news. The Mister has cardiac disease throughout his heart, with two major areas of significant arterial blockage (one is 95% blocked, the other 80%). Because his kidneys are still underperforming, today's cath was limited to diagnostic purposes only - the cardiologist did not do any stenting because it would've required more dye than his kidneys could safely process today.
In other circumstances, a bypass would be a preferable option but because of his kidney issues and combined with the location of the blockages, the MD thinks that the stents in those two areas are the best option with a very high likelihood of successful restoration of open arterial flow.
Unfortunately, they cannot place the stents until his kidneys can flush today's round of contrast dye, then recover enough to process a larger quantity of dye so they can pinpoint where the stents should go. We would be most grateful if you praying types out there would pray for healing of his kidneys as well as his heart; he can't go home until 24-48 hours after the stents are placed, and they can't place the stents until his kidneys can handle the dye. Tomorrow will be one full week as an inpatient; while I may be disappointed, he is extremely discouraged.
In a half-hearted effort to practice what I preach, I am working hard to find some gratitude at the moment. But I am working on it...
1. My husband is alive and alert and loves his life and his family and his Savior.
2. There are things to do to help improve his other blockages (medicines, cardiac rehab, more weight loss).
3. Everything about Northside Forsyth Hospital is fantastic - nurses, doctors, room and facilities, housekeeping, food, parking...you name it, it has been awesome.
4. We have health insurance. (worth repeating frequently)
5. God is in charge, not me, and His plan for our lives is always perfect. You'd think I would be clear on that fact by now.
He respectfully and lovingly asks that we keep visitors and calls to a minimum today and tomorrow; he knows how very much his friends love him, and it is absolutely not because he doesn't want to see anyone. But he is very tired and doesn't feel particularly well.
I may well blog again this afternoon just to purge some of the gunk in my own head at the moment but am signing off for now. Thanks again for your prayers and affection.
Houston, We Have A Problem
It may not be a big problem, but it's a tad unnerving to say the least.
The Mister's creatinine went up last night (2.3 from yesterday's 2), meaning that his kidneys may have problems processing the contrast dye necessary to do the heart catheterization this morning.
However, the cardiologist and nephrologist decided to move forward with the diagnostic element of the heart cath. They will use a very light amount of dye in order to evaluate the location and degree of blockage, but they are not going to do anything in the way of angioplasty/stent today. Today's procedure is diagnostic only; in order to do any repair work, it would require more contrast dye than his kidneys could handle.
To say he is disappointed is an understatement. He was expecting to go home later today or tomorrow; the cardiologist reset his expectations to be at least 48 hours, depending on what they find. He did say that, if they find nothing at all, then he could possibly go home tomorrow, but he felt that was highly unlikely.
Those who know him will agree that the Mister is one hairy bear, and they had to shave a good portion of his arm and groin (not sure which they will use for the cath entry). Grump factor escalated to DEFCON 3. Yet he didn't seem scared when they took him back; quite frankly, he appeared more concerned about my impending flood of tears. Somehow or another I manage to make every doggone situation all about me. Selfish.
I'm in the family waiting area as I write this; my dad is on his way from Knoxville to wait with me, which is a pretty good egg thing to do. I could use a little company right about now.
Will follow up with an update after the procedure. Prayers appreciated.
The Mister's creatinine went up last night (2.3 from yesterday's 2), meaning that his kidneys may have problems processing the contrast dye necessary to do the heart catheterization this morning.
However, the cardiologist and nephrologist decided to move forward with the diagnostic element of the heart cath. They will use a very light amount of dye in order to evaluate the location and degree of blockage, but they are not going to do anything in the way of angioplasty/stent today. Today's procedure is diagnostic only; in order to do any repair work, it would require more contrast dye than his kidneys could handle.
To say he is disappointed is an understatement. He was expecting to go home later today or tomorrow; the cardiologist reset his expectations to be at least 48 hours, depending on what they find. He did say that, if they find nothing at all, then he could possibly go home tomorrow, but he felt that was highly unlikely.
Those who know him will agree that the Mister is one hairy bear, and they had to shave a good portion of his arm and groin (not sure which they will use for the cath entry). Grump factor escalated to DEFCON 3. Yet he didn't seem scared when they took him back; quite frankly, he appeared more concerned about my impending flood of tears. Somehow or another I manage to make every doggone situation all about me. Selfish.
I'm in the family waiting area as I write this; my dad is on his way from Knoxville to wait with me, which is a pretty good egg thing to do. I could use a little company right about now.
Will follow up with an update after the procedure. Prayers appreciated.
29 October 2012
No-Go. Rats and Phooey.
Good news and less good news.
The good news is that the Mister's creatinine level has fallen again today (which is a very good thing); this morning he is at a 2. The goal was to get him down to a 2 before the physicians felt it was safe enough to move forward with heart catheterization.
The less good news: both the cardiologist and nephrologist agree that, since he does not seem to be in immediate danger of another heart event, they are going to wait another day to do the heart cath. If his creatinine has been decreasing every day, then it stands to reason that it will probably stabilize at 2 or maybe even go down again tomorrow. The thinking is that if it's safe today, then it should be even safer tomorrow. Last thing he needs is to mess up his kidneys while they're trying to fix his heart.
But the discouragement in this room right now is palpable - this being his sixth day in the hospital. He has never been an inpatient before (well, except a pneumonia stay when he was a baby), and he is beyond ready to go home.
The kids and I are ready for him to come home too - the three of us have concluded that I would be a disastrous single mother. The Mister spoils me with hot and regular meals, clean laundry, balanced checkbook, lawn mowed, lightbulbs changed, homework done, discipline doled out...while I'd like to think that I haven't taken him for granted, I'm getting a crash course in understanding how much that I have done just that - for years.
Not kicking myself too hard - my contributions to the health and operations of our household are also of value - but I have a new appreciation for all that he does to keep us solvent and hygienic.
With the cardiologist's blessing, today we are going for a walk around the 5th floor both for a little exercise as well as a change of scenery. There is only so much t.v. a person can watch before they go completely crazy.
More news and/or general blather forthcoming. TTFN.
The good news is that the Mister's creatinine level has fallen again today (which is a very good thing); this morning he is at a 2. The goal was to get him down to a 2 before the physicians felt it was safe enough to move forward with heart catheterization.
The less good news: both the cardiologist and nephrologist agree that, since he does not seem to be in immediate danger of another heart event, they are going to wait another day to do the heart cath. If his creatinine has been decreasing every day, then it stands to reason that it will probably stabilize at 2 or maybe even go down again tomorrow. The thinking is that if it's safe today, then it should be even safer tomorrow. Last thing he needs is to mess up his kidneys while they're trying to fix his heart.
But the discouragement in this room right now is palpable - this being his sixth day in the hospital. He has never been an inpatient before (well, except a pneumonia stay when he was a baby), and he is beyond ready to go home.
The kids and I are ready for him to come home too - the three of us have concluded that I would be a disastrous single mother. The Mister spoils me with hot and regular meals, clean laundry, balanced checkbook, lawn mowed, lightbulbs changed, homework done, discipline doled out...while I'd like to think that I haven't taken him for granted, I'm getting a crash course in understanding how much that I have done just that - for years.
Not kicking myself too hard - my contributions to the health and operations of our household are also of value - but I have a new appreciation for all that he does to keep us solvent and hygienic.
With the cardiologist's blessing, today we are going for a walk around the 5th floor both for a little exercise as well as a change of scenery. There is only so much t.v. a person can watch before they go completely crazy.
More news and/or general blather forthcoming. TTFN.
28 October 2012
Go / No-go...We're a GO!
It's a GO; Dave's cardiac catheterization is going to happen tomorrow. The cardiologist and nephrologist agree that he's probably not going to go a whole lot lower than 2.3 or 2.2 (especially since he was at 1.9 a couple of months ago), and it's becoming more important to find out what's going on with my sweetheart's heart.
Apparently cardiologists like to stay nimble from the scheduling perspective. I need to know what time the procedure will occur so I can be sure to pack the kids off to school and get to the hospital. Just like Comcast or Ashley Furniture, it will be sometime between 7 a.m. and 3 p.m.
As soon as I know, you'll know. Let's plan on praying for him the whole day, just to be safe...
Apparently cardiologists like to stay nimble from the scheduling perspective. I need to know what time the procedure will occur so I can be sure to pack the kids off to school and get to the hospital. Just like Comcast or Ashley Furniture, it will be sometime between 7 a.m. and 3 p.m.
As soon as I know, you'll know. Let's plan on praying for him the whole day, just to be safe...
Big News from the Front Lines
This just in:
The Mister's creatinine level is
2.3
this morning, down from 2.8 yesterday! Praise the LORD!
Heart catheterization tomorrow we hope. Sounds kind of funny to be excited about somebody running a camera wire up through his artery, but what can I say. We're twisted, even on a good day.
Gratitude List - October 28
I gave a good friend some unsolicited but well-meant advice yesterday, and the hypocrisy is hard to miss.
I was told several years ago that the best way to find relief from the gerbil wheel of worry and self-pity is to make a gratitude list. Doesn't have to be fancy or complex; sometimes the simple things are the most valuable...as my friend often says, the main things are the plain things.
Since it annoys me to bump into my own hypocrisy, I'll be periodically using the blog to examine those things for which I'm grateful - feel free to hold me accountable if you see more of the gerbil wheel than the gratitude. (I am probably going to regret that last comment.)
1. Dave's health crisis could have been SO much worse; he is hugging us, laughing with us, cutting up with us...and though the heart muscle itself is weakened at the moment, the contents have never been more treasured.
2. We have health insurance. (see number 1.)
3. We have the kinds of family and friends who will drop everything they are doing and come running when the house is on fire, or even when I just think I smell smoke. Some drive fifteen hours across seven states for a 2-day visit; some come get the kids at 3 a.m.; some bring meals; some pray fervently; some cut us a lot of slack; some gently nudge me towards truth, some not so gently - more like a good hard shove; and some who offer to do anything, be anywhere, and just love us until we call.
4. I have good coffee this morning.
5. Last but probably most important of all: I have absolute certainty of the truth and grace of Jesus Christ. Paul says that his grace is sufficient for me. Lord, how I love that word, "sufficient". I don't usually feel sufficient - and, the truth is that I am not sufficient without his grace, patience and unconditional love.
An attitude of gratitude is what I'm choosing to take with me into the day - Lord, please help me to remember the power of gratitude.
I was told several years ago that the best way to find relief from the gerbil wheel of worry and self-pity is to make a gratitude list. Doesn't have to be fancy or complex; sometimes the simple things are the most valuable...as my friend often says, the main things are the plain things.
Since it annoys me to bump into my own hypocrisy, I'll be periodically using the blog to examine those things for which I'm grateful - feel free to hold me accountable if you see more of the gerbil wheel than the gratitude. (I am probably going to regret that last comment.)
1. Dave's health crisis could have been SO much worse; he is hugging us, laughing with us, cutting up with us...and though the heart muscle itself is weakened at the moment, the contents have never been more treasured.
2. We have health insurance. (see number 1.)
3. We have the kinds of family and friends who will drop everything they are doing and come running when the house is on fire, or even when I just think I smell smoke. Some drive fifteen hours across seven states for a 2-day visit; some come get the kids at 3 a.m.; some bring meals; some pray fervently; some cut us a lot of slack; some gently nudge me towards truth, some not so gently - more like a good hard shove; and some who offer to do anything, be anywhere, and just love us until we call.
4. I have good coffee this morning.
5. Last but probably most important of all: I have absolute certainty of the truth and grace of Jesus Christ. Paul says that his grace is sufficient for me. Lord, how I love that word, "sufficient". I don't usually feel sufficient - and, the truth is that I am not sufficient without his grace, patience and unconditional love.
An attitude of gratitude is what I'm choosing to take with me into the day - Lord, please help me to remember the power of gratitude.
27 October 2012
Dave Watch - Saturday afternoon update
Saturdays have got to be the most boring day of the week in a hospital. Not that any other day is all that thrilling when you're just waiting around to get better, but apparently time stands completely still on Saturday.
However, the Mister and I are watching our Tennessee Volunteers give South Carolina a run for their money. Given the fact that his heart is weak right now, we may have to change the channel in the fourth quarter if the Vols stay consistent with this season's nail-biting heartbreakers.
About the Mister: he is about the same as yesterday. Creatinine went up another point (2.8 today), so the nephrologist told us a little while ago that the heart cath is more likely to happen on Tuesday than Monday. It needs to be more stable - although the goal is to get him down below 2, if he got it to 2.2 and it stays there for a couple of days, they will probably go ahead and do the procedure.
On a happy note, his sisters arrived last night and he has been smiling ever since. They don't see each other often, especially since they live fifteen hours away. Wonderful women - not only have they driven across the country to see their big brother, but they also took the Boy and the Girl for a Saturday afternoon outing, giving the Mister and me some quiet private time just to sit and be together. Well, and to watch Tennessee football...
He is tired...very tired. Just doesn't seem to be his usual fractious curmudgeonly self.
Treasured visits from our pastor and our deacon this afternoon gave him the warm fuzzies (although he probably wouldn't use that exact phrase).
On a humorous note: apparently patients dealing with kidney issues sometimes undergo a test requiring them to save and freeze their pee over a full 24-hour cycle. Dave's frozen pee, sitting in an ice bucket in the bathroom, was cracking me up and horrifying the Girl. Thankfully the cycle is now over and he can return to standard waste disposal protocols.
OH MY GOSH, TENNESSEE JUST SCORED! Scoot over, sweetie, my heart can't take it, either!
However, the Mister and I are watching our Tennessee Volunteers give South Carolina a run for their money. Given the fact that his heart is weak right now, we may have to change the channel in the fourth quarter if the Vols stay consistent with this season's nail-biting heartbreakers.
About the Mister: he is about the same as yesterday. Creatinine went up another point (2.8 today), so the nephrologist told us a little while ago that the heart cath is more likely to happen on Tuesday than Monday. It needs to be more stable - although the goal is to get him down below 2, if he got it to 2.2 and it stays there for a couple of days, they will probably go ahead and do the procedure.
On a happy note, his sisters arrived last night and he has been smiling ever since. They don't see each other often, especially since they live fifteen hours away. Wonderful women - not only have they driven across the country to see their big brother, but they also took the Boy and the Girl for a Saturday afternoon outing, giving the Mister and me some quiet private time just to sit and be together. Well, and to watch Tennessee football...
He is tired...very tired. Just doesn't seem to be his usual fractious curmudgeonly self.
Treasured visits from our pastor and our deacon this afternoon gave him the warm fuzzies (although he probably wouldn't use that exact phrase).
On a humorous note: apparently patients dealing with kidney issues sometimes undergo a test requiring them to save and freeze their pee over a full 24-hour cycle. Dave's frozen pee, sitting in an ice bucket in the bathroom, was cracking me up and horrifying the Girl. Thankfully the cycle is now over and he can return to standard waste disposal protocols.
OH MY GOSH, TENNESSEE JUST SCORED! Scoot over, sweetie, my heart can't take it, either!
26 October 2012
Hot off the presses...
News flash - apparently somebody up on the cardiac floor has vacated, so the Mister is moving out of ICU up to room 5077 within the next hour or two. HALLELUJAH!!!!!
More news tomorrow -- or sooner if I get a nudge.
More news tomorrow -- or sooner if I get a nudge.
Room and Bored
Three-thirty p.m.
Despite earlier statements to the contrary, it appears that the Mister will not be leaving ICU today after all. Not due to any deterioration in health status but because there are no beds open on the cardiac unit...they are actually sending their overflow patients to ICU. Personally, I think it is very selfish of all those other people with heart attacks to be hogging the good beds.
He's sound asleep at the moment and I don't want to wake him with news that will just make him grumpy, so let's keep this between us for now, ok?
Despite earlier statements to the contrary, it appears that the Mister will not be leaving ICU today after all. Not due to any deterioration in health status but because there are no beds open on the cardiac unit...they are actually sending their overflow patients to ICU. Personally, I think it is very selfish of all those other people with heart attacks to be hogging the good beds.
He's sound asleep at the moment and I don't want to wake him with news that will just make him grumpy, so let's keep this between us for now, ok?
A Heart-y Good Morning
Howdy all - it's a new day in the ICU, and the Mister is entirely ready to make like a tree and leave. He reports being a bit crabby upon awakening early this morning - I missed it, thank goodness. When I arrived, two of his buddies were already here and cheering him up. Thanks guys!
The cardiologist and the nephrologist have both been by to see him this morning, and there is much to celebrate. He has been pretty stable ever since being admitted on Wednesday, so they are moving him out of ICU later today and up to the cardiac care floor. Still a lot of hovering and monitoring and stabbing with sharp objects, but at least he will be allowed to get up and walk around and make use of standard plumbing apparatus. Enough said.
More good news - his lungs are clearing, meaning that the fluid buildup associated with congestive heart failure is subsiding. He is able to lie down now - while not completely flat just yet, certainly more horizontal than he's been in at least a week.
Now the less good news. His creatinine level is increasing which is not a good thing (see earlier post). It is 2.7 today, whereas it was 2.3 yesterday. It has to be under 2.0 before they will do the heart cath - too much concern about further kidney damage. The very nice nephrologist said that she isn't surprised by the increase and she is confident that it will peak today or tomorrow then start coming back down by Monday or Tuesday. Until it's below 2, they can't do squat.
The dietitian came by a little while ago to go over his new "heart-healthy" diet that he is expected to follow, from now and forever, right up until the Rapture.
I must pause here to share a word of irritating irony. For the last six months, we have been zealous about elimination of all gluten, processed foods, sugar, faux sugar, inks, dyes - if God didn't make it, we ain't eating it.
But God DID make salt, and by gum, that's got to go too. As the dietitian rattled of the list of no-no foods, it became increasingly clear that future meals at our house will consist of a wide range of lettuce and cucumber varieties. The children will be so pleased.
I think he is discouraged that this adventure is stretching out into a longer stay than he'd hoped, but he is also slowly coming to the realization that this wasn't just an episode of bronchitis or bad gas.
I will give an "end-of-day" report before I turn in tonight, assuming that nothing exciting happens between now and then. Happy Friday, y'all -
The cardiologist and the nephrologist have both been by to see him this morning, and there is much to celebrate. He has been pretty stable ever since being admitted on Wednesday, so they are moving him out of ICU later today and up to the cardiac care floor. Still a lot of hovering and monitoring and stabbing with sharp objects, but at least he will be allowed to get up and walk around and make use of standard plumbing apparatus. Enough said.
More good news - his lungs are clearing, meaning that the fluid buildup associated with congestive heart failure is subsiding. He is able to lie down now - while not completely flat just yet, certainly more horizontal than he's been in at least a week.
Now the less good news. His creatinine level is increasing which is not a good thing (see earlier post). It is 2.7 today, whereas it was 2.3 yesterday. It has to be under 2.0 before they will do the heart cath - too much concern about further kidney damage. The very nice nephrologist said that she isn't surprised by the increase and she is confident that it will peak today or tomorrow then start coming back down by Monday or Tuesday. Until it's below 2, they can't do squat.
The dietitian came by a little while ago to go over his new "heart-healthy" diet that he is expected to follow, from now and forever, right up until the Rapture.
I must pause here to share a word of irritating irony. For the last six months, we have been zealous about elimination of all gluten, processed foods, sugar, faux sugar, inks, dyes - if God didn't make it, we ain't eating it.
But God DID make salt, and by gum, that's got to go too. As the dietitian rattled of the list of no-no foods, it became increasingly clear that future meals at our house will consist of a wide range of lettuce and cucumber varieties. The children will be so pleased.
I think he is discouraged that this adventure is stretching out into a longer stay than he'd hoped, but he is also slowly coming to the realization that this wasn't just an episode of bronchitis or bad gas.
I will give an "end-of-day" report before I turn in tonight, assuming that nothing exciting happens between now and then. Happy Friday, y'all -
25 October 2012
I Heart You Very Much
Hey - those of you looking for updates on the Mister will be able to find them here for the foreseeable future. Facebook just isn't the right place to give all the details.
How we got here: as you probably know, the Mister is type II diabetic. Neither one of us took very good care of ourselves over the last 20 years, but we've both cleaned up our act in the last 6-8 months. His hemoglobin A1C (cheat-proof blood sugar test) is better than its ever been, and he looks downright hawt.
But also in the last few months, other health issues have been cropping up. He developed a severe infection in his right foot in early August which resulted in six weeks of IV antibiotics and amputation of his pinkie toe. About three weeks ago, he was complaining that he felt tired all the time - well, who wouldn't after all that?
Then, last Thursday, he started wheezing and complaining of shortness of breath. He went to our family doctor who diagnosed bronchitis and sent him home with antibiotics and cough syrup, but also sent him to have a chest x-ray on Friday morning.
From Friday until Monday morning, he only slept maybe 4 hours. The rest of the time he spent trying to get comfortable...everytime he would lie down, he would gag and cough horribly and have to sit back up to catch his breath.
I nagged him to go back to the doctor on Monday, where he learned from the x-ray results that he had fluid in his lungs. The doctor gave him a diuretic called Lasix to help get rid of the fluid but also told him to go to the ER if anything got worse.
On Tuesday morning, he woke up with sharp neck and shoulder pain. By 11 a.m. I had nagged him into the ER (do you see a pattern here?), where they did an EKG and a bunch of blood work. And that is when we learned that he had suffered a major heart attack sometime within the previous 4-5 days.
The crazy thing is that neither of us know when it happened. When I think "heart attack", I think of Fred Sanford clutching his chest with one hand and holding the other one up to heaven, hollering, "I'm comin Elizabeth - it's the big one!"
The Mister did no such thing. He coughed a lot and couldn't sleep and used all my good asthma drugs, but there was no chest-clutching at all.
Another irritating byproduct of type II diabetes is diminished kidney function (some of you may recall with fondness his kidney stone surgery 2 years ago). Why is this relevant? you are asking yourself. Well, I will tell you. Heart attack victims need to undergo a heart catheterization to figure out why the heart attack occurred and what needs to be done to fix it. A heart catheterization involves shooting contrast dye throughout the cardiovascular system, then shoving a camera tube up through an artery in the groin and into the heart to see what's what.
Kidneys don't like the taste of contrast dye, even on a good day, and they really really don't like it when they're not working well. It might even make them shut down the office and call it quits.
Everyone's kidneys put out this protein called creatinine; normal creatinine level for fine folks such as yourself is around 1.1 or 1.2. The Mister's creatinine has been 1.7 for the last couple of years; yesterday it was 1.9 and today it is 2.3. It has to go below a 2 before anybody will even think of shooting him up with contrast dye.
So...right now we wait and let the good people in the intensive care unit get his kidneys to straighten up and fly right so he can have a heart cath. Once he has the heart cath, we will know for sure the extent of damage to his heart from the attack and what needs to be done to help him get better. According to the cardiologist, and based on the echocardiogram (aka heart ultrasound), about 50% of the Mister's heart is not working at the moment. There is also something called an EF, or ejection fraction, that tells the MD how well his heart is pumping. I think the phrase ejection fraction sounds a tad suggestive, but then again, my mind is generally somewhere near the gutter at any given point during the day.
At a minimum, he will have an angioplasty (aka, the balloon thingie) in the next few days...but it is also possible that he may need stent(s) and even perhaps bypass surgery. Won't know until they can do that doggone heart cath.
Check back here for updates tomorrow and through the weekend. Love from the Missus.
How we got here: as you probably know, the Mister is type II diabetic. Neither one of us took very good care of ourselves over the last 20 years, but we've both cleaned up our act in the last 6-8 months. His hemoglobin A1C (cheat-proof blood sugar test) is better than its ever been, and he looks downright hawt.
But also in the last few months, other health issues have been cropping up. He developed a severe infection in his right foot in early August which resulted in six weeks of IV antibiotics and amputation of his pinkie toe. About three weeks ago, he was complaining that he felt tired all the time - well, who wouldn't after all that?
Then, last Thursday, he started wheezing and complaining of shortness of breath. He went to our family doctor who diagnosed bronchitis and sent him home with antibiotics and cough syrup, but also sent him to have a chest x-ray on Friday morning.
From Friday until Monday morning, he only slept maybe 4 hours. The rest of the time he spent trying to get comfortable...everytime he would lie down, he would gag and cough horribly and have to sit back up to catch his breath.
I nagged him to go back to the doctor on Monday, where he learned from the x-ray results that he had fluid in his lungs. The doctor gave him a diuretic called Lasix to help get rid of the fluid but also told him to go to the ER if anything got worse.
On Tuesday morning, he woke up with sharp neck and shoulder pain. By 11 a.m. I had nagged him into the ER (do you see a pattern here?), where they did an EKG and a bunch of blood work. And that is when we learned that he had suffered a major heart attack sometime within the previous 4-5 days.
The crazy thing is that neither of us know when it happened. When I think "heart attack", I think of Fred Sanford clutching his chest with one hand and holding the other one up to heaven, hollering, "I'm comin Elizabeth - it's the big one!"
The Mister did no such thing. He coughed a lot and couldn't sleep and used all my good asthma drugs, but there was no chest-clutching at all.
Another irritating byproduct of type II diabetes is diminished kidney function (some of you may recall with fondness his kidney stone surgery 2 years ago). Why is this relevant? you are asking yourself. Well, I will tell you. Heart attack victims need to undergo a heart catheterization to figure out why the heart attack occurred and what needs to be done to fix it. A heart catheterization involves shooting contrast dye throughout the cardiovascular system, then shoving a camera tube up through an artery in the groin and into the heart to see what's what.
Kidneys don't like the taste of contrast dye, even on a good day, and they really really don't like it when they're not working well. It might even make them shut down the office and call it quits.
Everyone's kidneys put out this protein called creatinine; normal creatinine level for fine folks such as yourself is around 1.1 or 1.2. The Mister's creatinine has been 1.7 for the last couple of years; yesterday it was 1.9 and today it is 2.3. It has to go below a 2 before anybody will even think of shooting him up with contrast dye.
So...right now we wait and let the good people in the intensive care unit get his kidneys to straighten up and fly right so he can have a heart cath. Once he has the heart cath, we will know for sure the extent of damage to his heart from the attack and what needs to be done to help him get better. According to the cardiologist, and based on the echocardiogram (aka heart ultrasound), about 50% of the Mister's heart is not working at the moment. There is also something called an EF, or ejection fraction, that tells the MD how well his heart is pumping. I think the phrase ejection fraction sounds a tad suggestive, but then again, my mind is generally somewhere near the gutter at any given point during the day.
At a minimum, he will have an angioplasty (aka, the balloon thingie) in the next few days...but it is also possible that he may need stent(s) and even perhaps bypass surgery. Won't know until they can do that doggone heart cath.
Check back here for updates tomorrow and through the weekend. Love from the Missus.
08 October 2012
Sabbatical
I last blogged on May 28th.
Today is October 8th.
I thought about making up an excuse about why it's been four months since I wrote anything - exile to a leper colony? Amnesia after a horrifying cruise ship accident? Early onset Alzheimers, with no memory of my blog address or password?
Nah. Good old fashioned laziness is pretty much the truth, and the truth just set me free.
Maybe "lazy" isn't the best word for it, because the last four months have been wild. The Mister has been very ill with diabetes-related issues for a few months; the Girl had pneumonia for a couple of weeks; the Boy remains mostly naughty and quarrelsome; and I have been on extended pity parades into Caregiverland.
Work is, well, it's work - otherwise they would call it something else. When I try to answer my daughter's question about what do I do at work, it comes out all lame and boring.
More next time, which won't be four months from now.
Today is October 8th.
I thought about making up an excuse about why it's been four months since I wrote anything - exile to a leper colony? Amnesia after a horrifying cruise ship accident? Early onset Alzheimers, with no memory of my blog address or password?
Nah. Good old fashioned laziness is pretty much the truth, and the truth just set me free.
Maybe "lazy" isn't the best word for it, because the last four months have been wild. The Mister has been very ill with diabetes-related issues for a few months; the Girl had pneumonia for a couple of weeks; the Boy remains mostly naughty and quarrelsome; and I have been on extended pity parades into Caregiverland.
Work is, well, it's work - otherwise they would call it something else. When I try to answer my daughter's question about what do I do at work, it comes out all lame and boring.
"Well, sweetie, I talk on the phone a lot and go to several meetings,
and I use the computer for most of the day, and I.."
"Mommy, do you make stuff?"
"Um, well, no."
"Do you sell stuff?"
"Not exactly."
"Do you take care of people like a doctor or a nurse?"
"No, baby. Mommy works for an insurance company."
"Oh. I see."
More next time, which won't be four months from now.
28 May 2012
Hits the Spot
As usual, I am a little late to the party in discovering a new app or website or other digital medium that brings me to the next level of electronic literacy. I'm too busy/lazy to use the ones I have.
Ah, but I recently decided to venture out for a trial run of Spotify. It is a digital music streaming service based in Sweden that boasts an inventory which makes iTunes seem like an 8th grader's playlist. The difference, of course, is that you can actually purchase mp3s from iTunes, whereas Spotify is a monthly subscription service. After just a few hours, I signed up for the monthly service, and I have been smitten ever since.
You see, music is...well, how do I put this...it's the next best thing to breathing. It is therapy, it is anguish, it is happiness on steroids.
I have a 48-year-old tapestry of my life, woven by of hundreds (thousands?) of hours of soundtrack and comprised of the wildest and widest variety of compositions imaginable. Every single piece has a memory attached to it - maybe several memories - that are as clear as any photograph. Yet better than a photograph, a song evokes the feelings of the memory.
Tupelo Honey (Van Morrison) - sitting in the backseat of the family car and pulling onto A1A on the way to Daytona Beach; I am wedging myself up in the space between my parents with my elbows over the front seat, badgering "arewethereyet, arewethereyet, AREWETHEREYET??!" One of many incidents where the threat of "don't make me stop this car" nearly came to fruition.
House at Pooh Corner (original Loggins and Messina version only) - being a kid and looking for something cheerful and innocent while my family shredded itself.
Seasons of Wither - listening to early Aerosmith through headphones with the volume as high as I could stand it. I requested this song at one of our 8th grade dances and awkwardly asked a boy to dance with me; the beat doesn't lend itself to dancing and my ears still burn remembering how long that damn song is.
Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft (Klaatu) - before I discovered Genesis, Rush, Yes and Queen, Klaatu introduced me to the longplay fantasy, where you can get totally lost in a filigreed story told by strings and horns and something called a Moog. Another headphone memory laying on my back on the floor of my room.
September (Earth, Wind and Fire) - a more pleasant high school dance memory with a boy who really liked me but was too nice.
Hold the Line (Toto) and Crazy Love (Poco) - two entirely ironic songs that played on the radio the night I unsuccessfully tried to lose my virginity after sneaking out to meet a much older boy. Cried like a baby all the way home, with these songs on the radio and my paramour driving the car, completely disgusted that I wimped out at the last second.
Honestly, this is a little bit hard to write, so I'm taking a break. But I like the idea of blogging my music memories, so perhaps I'll pick up again next time. Can't wait to tell you about Pachelbel's Canon in D on April 18, 1998. My soundtrack really does have an overabundance of pure joy.
Anyway, go try Spotify.
Ah, but I recently decided to venture out for a trial run of Spotify. It is a digital music streaming service based in Sweden that boasts an inventory which makes iTunes seem like an 8th grader's playlist. The difference, of course, is that you can actually purchase mp3s from iTunes, whereas Spotify is a monthly subscription service. After just a few hours, I signed up for the monthly service, and I have been smitten ever since.
You see, music is...well, how do I put this...it's the next best thing to breathing. It is therapy, it is anguish, it is happiness on steroids.
I have a 48-year-old tapestry of my life, woven by of hundreds (thousands?) of hours of soundtrack and comprised of the wildest and widest variety of compositions imaginable. Every single piece has a memory attached to it - maybe several memories - that are as clear as any photograph. Yet better than a photograph, a song evokes the feelings of the memory.
Tupelo Honey (Van Morrison) - sitting in the backseat of the family car and pulling onto A1A on the way to Daytona Beach; I am wedging myself up in the space between my parents with my elbows over the front seat, badgering "arewethereyet, arewethereyet, AREWETHEREYET??!" One of many incidents where the threat of "don't make me stop this car" nearly came to fruition.
House at Pooh Corner (original Loggins and Messina version only) - being a kid and looking for something cheerful and innocent while my family shredded itself.
Seasons of Wither - listening to early Aerosmith through headphones with the volume as high as I could stand it. I requested this song at one of our 8th grade dances and awkwardly asked a boy to dance with me; the beat doesn't lend itself to dancing and my ears still burn remembering how long that damn song is.
Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft (Klaatu) - before I discovered Genesis, Rush, Yes and Queen, Klaatu introduced me to the longplay fantasy, where you can get totally lost in a filigreed story told by strings and horns and something called a Moog. Another headphone memory laying on my back on the floor of my room.
September (Earth, Wind and Fire) - a more pleasant high school dance memory with a boy who really liked me but was too nice.
Hold the Line (Toto) and Crazy Love (Poco) - two entirely ironic songs that played on the radio the night I unsuccessfully tried to lose my virginity after sneaking out to meet a much older boy. Cried like a baby all the way home, with these songs on the radio and my paramour driving the car, completely disgusted that I wimped out at the last second.
Honestly, this is a little bit hard to write, so I'm taking a break. But I like the idea of blogging my music memories, so perhaps I'll pick up again next time. Can't wait to tell you about Pachelbel's Canon in D on April 18, 1998. My soundtrack really does have an overabundance of pure joy.
Anyway, go try Spotify.
04 May 2012
Malibu Barbie and the Tube of Golden Tans
Last weekend I worked in our yard and garage for several hours and found myself sporting a mottled sunburn. Heaven knows I'm committed to being evenly colored; I was therefore intrigued when I found my business accommodations the following evening were situated next to a Sun Tan City.
I gave up tanning beds a while back on account of I am closing in on 50 and have just now developed a healthy fear of skin cancer. Better late than never, I suppose, although I may be closing the barn door after a long-departed horse.
Anyhoo, I decided to investigate the process by which one receives sunless, or "spray" tanning. What could be the harm? I thought. As luck would have it, they were having a City Special on sunless tanning...since I was a business traveler, far from home, I decided to take the leap and go for it.
I was a tad ill-informed on the front end, although in retrospect it all seems pretty obvious. After the bubbly teenager locked my money away in the register, THEN she proceeded to show me the tanning booth and give me instructions.
I'm not sure why it hadn't occurred to me that I would be buck naked inside this plastic tube, but when she told me I would need to take off my clothes and put on a hair net, I began to have misgivings. She then walked me through the various poses one must hold during their session in order to gain the most even tan possible and avoid unsightly, tell-tale paint lines.
Perhaps one day she will recover from the shock of me laughing loudly in her face that I was supposed to hold an Egyptian princess pose in my birthday suit. Worse, I had to do it twice - once facing left and then again facing right. When not walking like an Egyptian, I was to stand with my legs shoulder-width apart and palms facing down, as if to launch myself like a rocket towards the heavens.
I was literally wiping tears of laughter while she explained the application of barrier cream to all nooks and crannies that I didn't want to have tanned - palms, knuckles, soles of my feet, crevices between fingers and toes. Just the name "barrier cream" made me giggle.
Yet despite the hilarity of the whole thing, I was undaunted. I had paid my money and by golly, I was going to get me a tan!
She closed the door on her way out, and I dropped trou. Having slathered my hands and feet in barrier cream, I donned my head covering and stepped into the tanning cylinder. With great trepidation, I pressed the "start" button and prepared for...
OH MY GOOD LORD THAT'S COLD AND YOU JUST SPRAYED IT IN MY FACE!!! AAAAACK! THAT'S SO COLD!!! COLD!!! WET!!! COLD!!!
Then some hateful remote voice told me to turn and do the first pose. I felt like an idiot, but I followed instructions...all the while keeping an eye out for the hidden camera that HAS to be in there somewhere.
What felt like 30 minutes later (but was probably more like 3), I stepped out of the Tube of Tan and inspected the fruits of my efforts. Meh. Kind of slimy and smelly, but not particularly tan. Malibu Barbie had told me at the outset that my "color" wouldn't develop for a few hours, so I reserved judgment, donned my clothing and returned to the hotel.
Throughout the night, I was awakened on several occasions by an awful smell - only to realize that it was my own flesh.
The following morning, I approached the bathroom mirror with caution...but...TA-DA!!! I was TAN! And not in an awful way at all! I smelled like a chemical plant, but dang I looked GOOD. I showered and proceeded to get dressed for work, and then I noticed IT. Oh no. No, No, NO!
I had a horribly defined, perfectly straight line running from the outside of my wrist to the outside of my elbow. The only way it would've been more obvious was if I took a Sharpie and traced it. There was nothing defensible or potentially natural about it - I couldn't pass it off as just having been still in the sun too long - so I did what any sane woman would do.
I put on long sleeves.
It has taken a few days, but the line and my golden color have faded now and all I have left is a sense of utter humiliation and a really great story. Plus I smell a lot better.
I gave up tanning beds a while back on account of I am closing in on 50 and have just now developed a healthy fear of skin cancer. Better late than never, I suppose, although I may be closing the barn door after a long-departed horse.
Anyhoo, I decided to investigate the process by which one receives sunless, or "spray" tanning. What could be the harm? I thought. As luck would have it, they were having a City Special on sunless tanning...since I was a business traveler, far from home, I decided to take the leap and go for it.
I was a tad ill-informed on the front end, although in retrospect it all seems pretty obvious. After the bubbly teenager locked my money away in the register, THEN she proceeded to show me the tanning booth and give me instructions.
I'm not sure why it hadn't occurred to me that I would be buck naked inside this plastic tube, but when she told me I would need to take off my clothes and put on a hair net, I began to have misgivings. She then walked me through the various poses one must hold during their session in order to gain the most even tan possible and avoid unsightly, tell-tale paint lines.
Perhaps one day she will recover from the shock of me laughing loudly in her face that I was supposed to hold an Egyptian princess pose in my birthday suit. Worse, I had to do it twice - once facing left and then again facing right. When not walking like an Egyptian, I was to stand with my legs shoulder-width apart and palms facing down, as if to launch myself like a rocket towards the heavens.
I was literally wiping tears of laughter while she explained the application of barrier cream to all nooks and crannies that I didn't want to have tanned - palms, knuckles, soles of my feet, crevices between fingers and toes. Just the name "barrier cream" made me giggle.
Yet despite the hilarity of the whole thing, I was undaunted. I had paid my money and by golly, I was going to get me a tan!
She closed the door on her way out, and I dropped trou. Having slathered my hands and feet in barrier cream, I donned my head covering and stepped into the tanning cylinder. With great trepidation, I pressed the "start" button and prepared for...
OH MY GOOD LORD THAT'S COLD AND YOU JUST SPRAYED IT IN MY FACE!!! AAAAACK! THAT'S SO COLD!!! COLD!!! WET!!! COLD!!!
Then some hateful remote voice told me to turn and do the first pose. I felt like an idiot, but I followed instructions...all the while keeping an eye out for the hidden camera that HAS to be in there somewhere.
What felt like 30 minutes later (but was probably more like 3), I stepped out of the Tube of Tan and inspected the fruits of my efforts. Meh. Kind of slimy and smelly, but not particularly tan. Malibu Barbie had told me at the outset that my "color" wouldn't develop for a few hours, so I reserved judgment, donned my clothing and returned to the hotel.
Throughout the night, I was awakened on several occasions by an awful smell - only to realize that it was my own flesh.
The following morning, I approached the bathroom mirror with caution...but...TA-DA!!! I was TAN! And not in an awful way at all! I smelled like a chemical plant, but dang I looked GOOD. I showered and proceeded to get dressed for work, and then I noticed IT. Oh no. No, No, NO!
I had a horribly defined, perfectly straight line running from the outside of my wrist to the outside of my elbow. The only way it would've been more obvious was if I took a Sharpie and traced it. There was nothing defensible or potentially natural about it - I couldn't pass it off as just having been still in the sun too long - so I did what any sane woman would do.
I put on long sleeves.
It has taken a few days, but the line and my golden color have faded now and all I have left is a sense of utter humiliation and a really great story. Plus I smell a lot better.
27 April 2012
Professionalism
Wonder what the rules are when it comes to establishing the boundaries of "professionalism"? Who made them up? Are they one-size-fits-all? Or is it a subjective assessment based on the preferences of whoever's in charge?
I've been wondering about my own professionalism or the lack thereof. There are many questionable behaviors which comprise my demeanor, but for the most part, I'd characterize myself as professional.
Pros for Professionalism
Cons
Hmmm. Maybe not so professional. But definitely me.
I've been wondering about my own professionalism or the lack thereof. There are many questionable behaviors which comprise my demeanor, but for the most part, I'd characterize myself as professional.
Pros for Professionalism
- I do not fart in public.
- I do my best to call my superiors "sir" and "ma'am". Most of the time, anyway.
- I have acceptable hygiene practices.
- I listen respectfully to others' opinions in meetings and refrain from remarking on the dumb ones.
- My clothes are usually clean and pressed or at least haven't been wadded up lately.
- I accept and admit my mistakes and make sure to take responsibility for them.
- I don't take credit for other people's work.
Cons
- I would rather wear old garbage than pantyhose. Whoever thought those up is a cruel, cruel MAN.
- I call everybody honey or sweetie.
- I'm a serial hugger, and have been known to kiss people on the cheek.
- I can easily slip into redneck slang as it is my native tongue. Y'all can just get over it.
- I cry, in front of bosses, co-workers, my own team members. I hate it and do my best to not do it, but once my nose gets red and my chin starts wiggling, it's all downhill from there.
Hmmm. Maybe not so professional. But definitely me.
15 April 2012
Travelers Envy
I travel for work. A lot. Not as much as some people, though, and for that I'm grateful.
When I transitioned into the job I now occupy, I was intrigued and excited by the prospect of being an official business traveler. I would look smart and professional as I strode through the various concourses in my heels and suit, giving confident direction to my colleagues via BlackBerry and Bluetooth. I would breeze through security and into my first class seating without a thought or a care.
HA.
Most trips I am lucky to keep up with all of my personal belongings, much less look professional or even pause long enough to smell first class. Yes I travel a lot, but most trips are just a few hundred miles - too far to drive, but barely worth all the time and effort it takes to travel via Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson airport.
You see, it takes me an hour to get to the airport, plus getting there early enough to fool with security, plus the probable delay... which means that I could've driven to Lexington and had a sandwich before the doggone plane leaves the ground in ATL.
But I digress.
It's become a great source of interest to me to ascertain people's "frequent flyer" designation. I'm a personal fan of Delta (no, really!) and so I'm in their SkyMiles program. I thought I had hit the jackpot last fall when I was "awarded" SILVER MEDALLION status. I won Silver! Woo hoo! This must mean I'm an Official Business Traveler!
Again, expectations significantly outpaced reality, and it turns out that the Silver status basically means that I can check one "free" bag (which used to be free in the first place) and I might luck into a first class seat if everybody else in first class has a car wreck on the way to the airport. I love watching the "Upgrade List", just for fun...when I first check in, I'm like #2 out of 3 people vying for those 2 open spots left in the First Class cabin. Yet I mysteriously drop to #25 out of 30 in very short order.
Similarly, I thought I would get an automatic invitation for the pleasure of my company in the Delta Sky Club. I'm a Silver member after all -- don't these people know who I am? Again, it seems that Silver status basically means that you can buy a day pass for ten bucks cheaper than the average joe. Meh.
And what's the real benefit of the SkyClub anyway? Free booze just doesn't hold the same appeal for me that it once did, and I've got wi-fi pretty much anywhere. Ok, the chairs are more comfy and you might spot a minor celebrity that can't afford their own private jet (I saw The Captain and Tenille once in the Sky Club. When I was 20. On a trip with my family. I knew it was them because of her hair and his glasses. Yes, I got The Captain's autograph. No, I didn't ask them to sing Muskrat Love.)
The Sky Club is also somewhat appealing when you take into account the number of bums that occupy an airport toilet on any given day. Hygiene odds are better when the herd is thinner. Just saying.
For a while there, I thought it would really be cool if I can one day be a Platinum or Diamond member -forget this amateur Silver level. I'm going to run with the big dogs!
But today it occurred to me that people pay an awful lot for those cards. Not so much the price of air fare...which is ridiculous anyway..but instead the priceless commodity of TIME. Time with family, time with friends, time spent doing something other than waiting to go to the next somewhere.
So I'm OK with my Silver status, although it is about to turn Gold. Until today, I didn't consider the sad side of frequent flyer milestones.
But if I have to travel for work, which I do, I'm pretty happy about the Sky Club toilets.
When I transitioned into the job I now occupy, I was intrigued and excited by the prospect of being an official business traveler. I would look smart and professional as I strode through the various concourses in my heels and suit, giving confident direction to my colleagues via BlackBerry and Bluetooth. I would breeze through security and into my first class seating without a thought or a care.
HA.
Most trips I am lucky to keep up with all of my personal belongings, much less look professional or even pause long enough to smell first class. Yes I travel a lot, but most trips are just a few hundred miles - too far to drive, but barely worth all the time and effort it takes to travel via Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson airport.
You see, it takes me an hour to get to the airport, plus getting there early enough to fool with security, plus the probable delay... which means that I could've driven to Lexington and had a sandwich before the doggone plane leaves the ground in ATL.
But I digress.
It's become a great source of interest to me to ascertain people's "frequent flyer" designation. I'm a personal fan of Delta (no, really!) and so I'm in their SkyMiles program. I thought I had hit the jackpot last fall when I was "awarded" SILVER MEDALLION status. I won Silver! Woo hoo! This must mean I'm an Official Business Traveler!
Again, expectations significantly outpaced reality, and it turns out that the Silver status basically means that I can check one "free" bag (which used to be free in the first place) and I might luck into a first class seat if everybody else in first class has a car wreck on the way to the airport. I love watching the "Upgrade List", just for fun...when I first check in, I'm like #2 out of 3 people vying for those 2 open spots left in the First Class cabin. Yet I mysteriously drop to #25 out of 30 in very short order.
Similarly, I thought I would get an automatic invitation for the pleasure of my company in the Delta Sky Club. I'm a Silver member after all -- don't these people know who I am? Again, it seems that Silver status basically means that you can buy a day pass for ten bucks cheaper than the average joe. Meh.
And what's the real benefit of the SkyClub anyway? Free booze just doesn't hold the same appeal for me that it once did, and I've got wi-fi pretty much anywhere. Ok, the chairs are more comfy and you might spot a minor celebrity that can't afford their own private jet (I saw The Captain and Tenille once in the Sky Club. When I was 20. On a trip with my family. I knew it was them because of her hair and his glasses. Yes, I got The Captain's autograph. No, I didn't ask them to sing Muskrat Love.)
The Sky Club is also somewhat appealing when you take into account the number of bums that occupy an airport toilet on any given day. Hygiene odds are better when the herd is thinner. Just saying.
For a while there, I thought it would really be cool if I can one day be a Platinum or Diamond member -forget this amateur Silver level. I'm going to run with the big dogs!
But today it occurred to me that people pay an awful lot for those cards. Not so much the price of air fare...which is ridiculous anyway..but instead the priceless commodity of TIME. Time with family, time with friends, time spent doing something other than waiting to go to the next somewhere.
So I'm OK with my Silver status, although it is about to turn Gold. Until today, I didn't consider the sad side of frequent flyer milestones.
But if I have to travel for work, which I do, I'm pretty happy about the Sky Club toilets.
12 April 2012
A Woman of Few Words
Thats what I want to be when I grow up. A woman of few words. Those darn things can HURT people.
08 April 2012
Spring Break 2012 - Epilogue
It is Easter Sunday and I am relieved.
-- Relieved because our spring break trip is over. Maybe ours is the only one, but this family doesn't do well with that much togetherness. Don't get me wrong - we loved our trip and we love each other. Our vacation gave us a hundred new memories; a few yucky ones, but most are wonderful. See prior posts for details.
It's just that we are four very sensitive people (even though they think I'm the only one.) The nice thing about being sensitive is that you can easily enjoy all the bright beauty and joy and goodness around you; the bad thing is that your feelings get hurt even when others don't mean to hurt them. Anyway, you can't cram 4 sensitive people into a minivan and a series of hotel rooms and not expect there to be some drama.
-- Relieved because our friends that kept our dog are still speaking to us. Plus the dog lost some weight at their house.
-- Relieved to see my daddy in good health and good spirits yesterday.
-- Relieved that we came home from a vacation without going into the red.
-- Relieved that I can now log back into Facebook and drink a diet Coke.
But most importantly, and far outside my ability to describe it in words, is the relief I feel from believing in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. See, even though I've said I believed in him for more than 30 years, I thought it was up to me - to do good, to be good, to do more, to do better, to try harder, to...to... to make myself acceptable enough to earn peace and get forgiven for the mess I've made of my life.
I recently heard a teacher explaining the difference between calling myself a "Christian" versus calling myself a disciple and follower of Jesus Christ. Maybe it's semantics, but it really stuck with me. All kinds of nastiness throughout history has been perpetrated by people who called themselves Christians, and when I see the judgmental and critical nature of many churchgoers today, I don't particularly want to be associated with that either.
If I can be honest, there aren't a lot of "Christians" who have anything that I want. Looks like a lot of work and unhappiness to me.
But, oh the peace of being a follower of Jesus Christ. Just accepting him, without arguing or questioning or trying to be good enough. I don't need to know why he did what he did - I just know that he did, and scripture is explicitly clear that he did it for me and for you.
To fully believe and accept that he took all my black-hearted, selfish and nasty sin to the grave 2000 years ago, and then came back to life three days later without it...
Now that's what I call relief! Happy Easter!
-- Relieved because our spring break trip is over. Maybe ours is the only one, but this family doesn't do well with that much togetherness. Don't get me wrong - we loved our trip and we love each other. Our vacation gave us a hundred new memories; a few yucky ones, but most are wonderful. See prior posts for details.
It's just that we are four very sensitive people (even though they think I'm the only one.) The nice thing about being sensitive is that you can easily enjoy all the bright beauty and joy and goodness around you; the bad thing is that your feelings get hurt even when others don't mean to hurt them. Anyway, you can't cram 4 sensitive people into a minivan and a series of hotel rooms and not expect there to be some drama.
-- Relieved because our friends that kept our dog are still speaking to us. Plus the dog lost some weight at their house.
-- Relieved to see my daddy in good health and good spirits yesterday.
-- Relieved that we came home from a vacation without going into the red.
-- Relieved that I can now log back into Facebook and drink a diet Coke.
But most importantly, and far outside my ability to describe it in words, is the relief I feel from believing in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. See, even though I've said I believed in him for more than 30 years, I thought it was up to me - to do good, to be good, to do more, to do better, to try harder, to...to... to make myself acceptable enough to earn peace and get forgiven for the mess I've made of my life.
I recently heard a teacher explaining the difference between calling myself a "Christian" versus calling myself a disciple and follower of Jesus Christ. Maybe it's semantics, but it really stuck with me. All kinds of nastiness throughout history has been perpetrated by people who called themselves Christians, and when I see the judgmental and critical nature of many churchgoers today, I don't particularly want to be associated with that either.
If I can be honest, there aren't a lot of "Christians" who have anything that I want. Looks like a lot of work and unhappiness to me.
But, oh the peace of being a follower of Jesus Christ. Just accepting him, without arguing or questioning or trying to be good enough. I don't need to know why he did what he did - I just know that he did, and scripture is explicitly clear that he did it for me and for you.
To fully believe and accept that he took all my black-hearted, selfish and nasty sin to the grave 2000 years ago, and then came back to life three days later without it...
Now that's what I call relief! Happy Easter!
07 April 2012
HC Tour 2012 - Homeward Bound
Upon awakening yesterday morning in Williamsburg, we made the decision to blow off Gatlinburg altogether and just head home. I've been to Gatlinburg hundreds of times, and in retrospect, it seems kind of dumb that I would prolong a really long vacation just to stop there and spend the night, when I have a perfectly good place stay right down the road from there on the Tennessee River - my dad's house.
So I called ahead and booked a room at our favorite Knoxville destination, and down the road we went. I-64 on the west side of Richmond is breathtaking, as is I-81 down through the Shenandoah Valley. Perhaps if our timing had been better, we could've planned to stick around in the area for a few days - but we were more than ready to be home.
Although I go to Knoxville at least twice a year, I am always approaching from the south. Yesterday was the first time I've come in from Virginia since...well, it's been so long that I don't know how long it's been. Talk about gorgeous countryside; the mountains and hills of southwest Virginia and northeast Tennessee are pretty enough to make your heart hurt. I have little vignette memories associated with most of the exits up through there -
Bulls Gap - as the esteemed national committeewoman for the Tennessee Young Republicans, I was once invited to serve on the panel of judges for the annual Bulls Gap Christmas lighting competition. Clark Griswold has NOTHING on the good people of Bulls Gap, Tennessee.
Jonesborough - world's greatest destination for antiquing and junk-shopping. There are little stores lining the main drag in Jboro full of treasures like old Marlboro signs, random dishware and ancient stacks of vinyl record albums. And election buttons from campaigns long past. I love election paraphernalia.
Fall Branch - not particularly noteworthy except this is the home of the Tennessee Highway Patrol in that area and I always feel compelled to turn down the radio and carefully observe the speed limit. THP in Knoxville never made me particularly nervous, but them boys up the mountain ain't fooling around.
Morristown - in another opportunity to serve in a dignitary capacity, I was the lead judge for the chicken category in a barbecue fundraiser to save the old Princess Theatre in downtown Morristown.
Douglas Dam - did my open-water checkout dives in the murky waters around Douglas Dam. Some people earn their scuba certificate in the crystal waters of the Caribbean or in the Florida Keys -- I got mine diving around tires and a sunken car in a muddy Tennessee lake.
Sevierville/Gatlinburg - well, there's just too much associated with exit 407 to put in a paragraph, so this will have to be another post for another time. It does make me smile to see that this is now referred to as the "Dollywood" exit. God love her for pouring all that money back into these mountains.
We got to Dad's around suppertime last night and enjoyed a great visit with him; my sister came in later last night from Texas, and I got to spend some good time with her too. Breakfast with Dad and then back on the road this morning by 11; we stopped in Canton for a late lunch then pulled into our driveway around 3.
Not a moment too soon - we were extremely ready to be HOME.
So I called ahead and booked a room at our favorite Knoxville destination, and down the road we went. I-64 on the west side of Richmond is breathtaking, as is I-81 down through the Shenandoah Valley. Perhaps if our timing had been better, we could've planned to stick around in the area for a few days - but we were more than ready to be home.
Although I go to Knoxville at least twice a year, I am always approaching from the south. Yesterday was the first time I've come in from Virginia since...well, it's been so long that I don't know how long it's been. Talk about gorgeous countryside; the mountains and hills of southwest Virginia and northeast Tennessee are pretty enough to make your heart hurt. I have little vignette memories associated with most of the exits up through there -
Bulls Gap - as the esteemed national committeewoman for the Tennessee Young Republicans, I was once invited to serve on the panel of judges for the annual Bulls Gap Christmas lighting competition. Clark Griswold has NOTHING on the good people of Bulls Gap, Tennessee.
Jonesborough - world's greatest destination for antiquing and junk-shopping. There are little stores lining the main drag in Jboro full of treasures like old Marlboro signs, random dishware and ancient stacks of vinyl record albums. And election buttons from campaigns long past. I love election paraphernalia.
Fall Branch - not particularly noteworthy except this is the home of the Tennessee Highway Patrol in that area and I always feel compelled to turn down the radio and carefully observe the speed limit. THP in Knoxville never made me particularly nervous, but them boys up the mountain ain't fooling around.
Morristown - in another opportunity to serve in a dignitary capacity, I was the lead judge for the chicken category in a barbecue fundraiser to save the old Princess Theatre in downtown Morristown.
Douglas Dam - did my open-water checkout dives in the murky waters around Douglas Dam. Some people earn their scuba certificate in the crystal waters of the Caribbean or in the Florida Keys -- I got mine diving around tires and a sunken car in a muddy Tennessee lake.
Sevierville/Gatlinburg - well, there's just too much associated with exit 407 to put in a paragraph, so this will have to be another post for another time. It does make me smile to see that this is now referred to as the "Dollywood" exit. God love her for pouring all that money back into these mountains.
We got to Dad's around suppertime last night and enjoyed a great visit with him; my sister came in later last night from Texas, and I got to spend some good time with her too. Breakfast with Dad and then back on the road this morning by 11; we stopped in Canton for a late lunch then pulled into our driveway around 3.
Not a moment too soon - we were extremely ready to be HOME.
05 April 2012
HC Tour 2012 - Day Seven
Much much much cooler weather today - it even sprinkled on us a while this morning while we were walking in the colonial area.
Yesterday was at least twenty degrees warmer; I forgot to mention that we got a couple of hours at the pool yesterday. Like most of the amenities here, "the pool" is an understated misnomer. There are actually several pools - an indoor lap pool, a huge hot tub, a large family pool and also a specifically-named quiet pool.
I was splashing around in the family pool with Jamie and Grace and enjoying the sunshine, when Jamie yelled, "Mom, DUCK!"
So I ducked, and he pointed and said, "no, Mom, DUCK!" I turned just in time to see a beautiful mallard land in the swimming pool right next to us. (Thus far at Williamsburg, we've seen horses drawing carriages, and several new spring lambs, but a duck in the pool?) Of course, Jamie tried to approach the duck, who was not interested in being approached and quickly took wing.
Today we walked around the upper end of the colonial area near the Governor's Palace; we also toured the Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Museum. My favorite part of the museum was the map exhibit; it was fun to look at original maps of the colonies and picking out my old stomping grounds based on the location of the "Tenefse River".
We also toured the "Public Hospital for Persons of Insane and Disordered Minds". It broke my heart to see the cruel ignorance of a prison cell as the place of "confinement" for those suffering from mental illness in colonial America. (Not sure they had much choice, but I guess that's fodder for a future blog post.)
Completely unrelated to anything else - I thought I should mention that we saw a young father who had the longest hair of any human being I've ever seen, literally down past his calves, and twisted in matted dreads. His wife's hair was comparatively short, ending at her hips, and their small son had a regular, little-boy haircut. The sight got stuck in my mind for several minutes...how does he wash it and comb it? How does he sleep without getting tangled up and choking himself? How many years has it been since his last haircut? I didn't feel particularly judgmental - just curious.
The Mister gave me the gift of time to myself this afternoon to go enjoy the spa. I got a "reflexology" massage, where they focus just on your hands and feet - it was amazing. Even more amazing were the extras associated with receiving services at the Colonial Williamsburg spa - a relaxation room with crazy-soft blankets; a steam room with optional menthol mist; a huge jacuzzi that would easily seat a couple dozen folks; one of those giant showers with a showerhead as big as a hula-hoop; lavender-infused shampoo, conditioner, body wash and lotion; every personal hygiene item you could possibly want; and use of a silk-and-terry robe that felt a lot like wearing a cloud. The massage was great - but the additional amenities made it an incredible experience.
So basically, I am spoiled rotten at the moment, but so grateful to my better half for such a wonderful gift.
Tonight we're thinking about room service and taking it easy. Since we've cut Roanoke out of our itinerary, we will have a long day's drive tomorrow to Gatlinburg. Getting excited at the thought of being home!
Yesterday was at least twenty degrees warmer; I forgot to mention that we got a couple of hours at the pool yesterday. Like most of the amenities here, "the pool" is an understated misnomer. There are actually several pools - an indoor lap pool, a huge hot tub, a large family pool and also a specifically-named quiet pool.
I was splashing around in the family pool with Jamie and Grace and enjoying the sunshine, when Jamie yelled, "Mom, DUCK!"
So I ducked, and he pointed and said, "no, Mom, DUCK!" I turned just in time to see a beautiful mallard land in the swimming pool right next to us. (Thus far at Williamsburg, we've seen horses drawing carriages, and several new spring lambs, but a duck in the pool?) Of course, Jamie tried to approach the duck, who was not interested in being approached and quickly took wing.
Today we walked around the upper end of the colonial area near the Governor's Palace; we also toured the Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Museum. My favorite part of the museum was the map exhibit; it was fun to look at original maps of the colonies and picking out my old stomping grounds based on the location of the "Tenefse River".
We also toured the "Public Hospital for Persons of Insane and Disordered Minds". It broke my heart to see the cruel ignorance of a prison cell as the place of "confinement" for those suffering from mental illness in colonial America. (Not sure they had much choice, but I guess that's fodder for a future blog post.)
Completely unrelated to anything else - I thought I should mention that we saw a young father who had the longest hair of any human being I've ever seen, literally down past his calves, and twisted in matted dreads. His wife's hair was comparatively short, ending at her hips, and their small son had a regular, little-boy haircut. The sight got stuck in my mind for several minutes...how does he wash it and comb it? How does he sleep without getting tangled up and choking himself? How many years has it been since his last haircut? I didn't feel particularly judgmental - just curious.
The Mister gave me the gift of time to myself this afternoon to go enjoy the spa. I got a "reflexology" massage, where they focus just on your hands and feet - it was amazing. Even more amazing were the extras associated with receiving services at the Colonial Williamsburg spa - a relaxation room with crazy-soft blankets; a steam room with optional menthol mist; a huge jacuzzi that would easily seat a couple dozen folks; one of those giant showers with a showerhead as big as a hula-hoop; lavender-infused shampoo, conditioner, body wash and lotion; every personal hygiene item you could possibly want; and use of a silk-and-terry robe that felt a lot like wearing a cloud. The massage was great - but the additional amenities made it an incredible experience.
So basically, I am spoiled rotten at the moment, but so grateful to my better half for such a wonderful gift.
Tonight we're thinking about room service and taking it easy. Since we've cut Roanoke out of our itinerary, we will have a long day's drive tomorrow to Gatlinburg. Getting excited at the thought of being home!
04 April 2012
HC Tour 2012 - Day Six
Williamsburg. What a wonderful place!
Our colonial adventure began last night with supper at Shields Tavern. Our simple but delicious supper of pork and beef was complemented by balladeers who conducted sing-alongs throughout the dining rooms. Sounds cheesy, I know, but it was actually quite fun. Afterwards, we had a lovely stroll back to the lodge. The town was all but empty, with just a few fellow guests meandering the quiet streets.
I've been here once before, on a class trip when I was 16, but I didn't have much recollection of it. My preconception, therefore, was that this week's visit would be something like a colonial theme park or an upscale Dollywood. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but gosh, this is so much more!
The proprietors of this area have gone to great lengths to preserve and present an accurate replication of 18th-century America. From the costumes to the menus to the activities to the architecture and even the floors, everything works together to create a colonial atmosphere. I was delighted to overhear a couple of costumed characters on the street having a spirited discussion about the Stamp Act and British taxation which didn't appear to be scripted at all.
We went to the courthouse and saw two civil disputes being heard by the court; while it was light and silly, we also learned about pre-revolutionary court proceedings. (We were even prompted to say, "God Save the King" at the open and close of court.) We visited a couple of shops and enjoyed cool drinks with ginger cakes out on the lawn. It has been a gorgeous and unseasonably warm day.
The only "downer" about our visit to Williamsburg is that it is also jam-packed here with students and families on spring break. It was quiet last night, but today Duke of Gloucester Street was thick with people in t-shirts and sunscreen.
Unlike D.C., however, most of our fellow tourists are well-mannered and cheerful. Also unlike D.C., all of the Williamsburg personnel we've encountered have been unusually gracious and accommodating, despite the crowds. They chat with us and seem sincerely interested in making sure we enjoy ourselves.
We've had such a good time thus far that we're cancelling our Thursday night reservation at the Hotel Roanoke and are staying on an extra day here instead. There's still so much we want to see and do here, plus we may try and squeeze in a side-trip to Jamestown. It just didn't make any sense to throw all of our stuff back into the suitcases tomorrow and drive to Roanoke for a one-night stay there.
Between D.C. and Arlington and now Williamsburg, I have walked more in the last six days than I have in the last six months. It's a good thing because there is no shortage of outstanding food here, and my barely-existent willpower is no match for it. But my feet and back and hips are so dang sore from all this walking - getting out of bed in the morning is almost comical. If you're old enough to remember Sanford and Son, then just imagine Fred Sanford walking around the junk shop - that's what I look like first thing. The Mister is kind enough not to make fun of me, although I'm sure it must be tempting.
Our colonial adventure began last night with supper at Shields Tavern. Our simple but delicious supper of pork and beef was complemented by balladeers who conducted sing-alongs throughout the dining rooms. Sounds cheesy, I know, but it was actually quite fun. Afterwards, we had a lovely stroll back to the lodge. The town was all but empty, with just a few fellow guests meandering the quiet streets.
I've been here once before, on a class trip when I was 16, but I didn't have much recollection of it. My preconception, therefore, was that this week's visit would be something like a colonial theme park or an upscale Dollywood. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but gosh, this is so much more!
The proprietors of this area have gone to great lengths to preserve and present an accurate replication of 18th-century America. From the costumes to the menus to the activities to the architecture and even the floors, everything works together to create a colonial atmosphere. I was delighted to overhear a couple of costumed characters on the street having a spirited discussion about the Stamp Act and British taxation which didn't appear to be scripted at all.
We went to the courthouse and saw two civil disputes being heard by the court; while it was light and silly, we also learned about pre-revolutionary court proceedings. (We were even prompted to say, "God Save the King" at the open and close of court.) We visited a couple of shops and enjoyed cool drinks with ginger cakes out on the lawn. It has been a gorgeous and unseasonably warm day.
The only "downer" about our visit to Williamsburg is that it is also jam-packed here with students and families on spring break. It was quiet last night, but today Duke of Gloucester Street was thick with people in t-shirts and sunscreen.
Unlike D.C., however, most of our fellow tourists are well-mannered and cheerful. Also unlike D.C., all of the Williamsburg personnel we've encountered have been unusually gracious and accommodating, despite the crowds. They chat with us and seem sincerely interested in making sure we enjoy ourselves.
We've had such a good time thus far that we're cancelling our Thursday night reservation at the Hotel Roanoke and are staying on an extra day here instead. There's still so much we want to see and do here, plus we may try and squeeze in a side-trip to Jamestown. It just didn't make any sense to throw all of our stuff back into the suitcases tomorrow and drive to Roanoke for a one-night stay there.
Between D.C. and Arlington and now Williamsburg, I have walked more in the last six days than I have in the last six months. It's a good thing because there is no shortage of outstanding food here, and my barely-existent willpower is no match for it. But my feet and back and hips are so dang sore from all this walking - getting out of bed in the morning is almost comical. If you're old enough to remember Sanford and Son, then just imagine Fred Sanford walking around the junk shop - that's what I look like first thing. The Mister is kind enough not to make fun of me, although I'm sure it must be tempting.
03 April 2012
HC Tour 2012 - Day Five
It was with little hesitation this morning that we unanimously chose to skip the International Spy Museum and get on out of Dodge. Maybe we'll come back to D.C. again one day, but it probably won't be anytime soon, and it definitely won't coincide with spring break.
The Girl said that she would like to see the Iwo Jima Memorial before we left (she is studying WWII in school), so we checked out of the hotel and made our way over to Arlington National Cemetery.
Oh, my. What an experience.
I've seen images of it all my life, but nothing compares to standing at the foot of that monument, looking up at the giant flag whipping against a clear blue sky. The Girl observed the fine detail in the Marines' uniforms, their weapons, even their fingernails...she has an artist's appreciation for such precision.
We then decided to spend some more time at Arlington today. We went over to the main entrance and parked at the visitors' center, then skipped the tour bus and instead walked up the hill to the Tomb of the Unknowns. It was a beautiful day today, with perfect temperatures and cherry blossoms still fresh throughout the cemetery, along with tulips of every conceivable color. Signs posted along the way politely reminded us that these were hallowed grounds and that quiet reverence was in order.
I don't have quite the right words to capture the feelings I had while standing in this gorgeous garden full of generations of dead servicemen and women, overlooking the Pentagon next door. I am all about national defense, and I am proud as I can be of my husband's Navy career, but something about the proximity between the war engine and the cemetery made me feel ill and inexplicably sad. The ceremonial "walking the mat" by the tomb guard of course made me cry; the solemn symbolism of 21 steps and 21 seconds, plus the tomb caption that the occupant is "known only to God", sent tears running down my face. It's all so beautiful and horrible and sad.
It was shocking then, and infuriating to see the casual disregard that many people displayed - a woman chatting away on her cell phone while standing next to the Tomb of the Unknown; teenagers shouting and shoving and running down the hill; people smoking surreptitiously on the hillside...I felt a surge of righteous anger at the overwhelming thoughtlessness. And then the Boy said, "Mom, don't these people know this is a cemetery?" and I realized that a lot of folks just don't know any better. It wasn't that they were trying to be rude or disrespectful - they just don't know better, and it is absolutely not my place to judge them for it.
We had the unexpected privilege of bearing witness to a naval military funeral while we were there today, complete with a band and horse-drawn caisson and cannon fire. I now have a deeper appreciation for being buried with "full military honors." It was an honor to have witnessed it.
Finally left the D.C. area in early afternoon and arrived here in Williamsburg around 4ish. What a difference a couple hundred miles (and a couple hundred years) can make! We left behind the hustle and bustle of a massive metropolitan political center and arrived a short while later in this clean and quiet little hamlet where the fight for all that political freedom began in the first place.
Be careful what you fight for...you may not know what to do with it once you have it.
The Girl said that she would like to see the Iwo Jima Memorial before we left (she is studying WWII in school), so we checked out of the hotel and made our way over to Arlington National Cemetery.
Oh, my. What an experience.
I've seen images of it all my life, but nothing compares to standing at the foot of that monument, looking up at the giant flag whipping against a clear blue sky. The Girl observed the fine detail in the Marines' uniforms, their weapons, even their fingernails...she has an artist's appreciation for such precision.
We then decided to spend some more time at Arlington today. We went over to the main entrance and parked at the visitors' center, then skipped the tour bus and instead walked up the hill to the Tomb of the Unknowns. It was a beautiful day today, with perfect temperatures and cherry blossoms still fresh throughout the cemetery, along with tulips of every conceivable color. Signs posted along the way politely reminded us that these were hallowed grounds and that quiet reverence was in order.
I don't have quite the right words to capture the feelings I had while standing in this gorgeous garden full of generations of dead servicemen and women, overlooking the Pentagon next door. I am all about national defense, and I am proud as I can be of my husband's Navy career, but something about the proximity between the war engine and the cemetery made me feel ill and inexplicably sad. The ceremonial "walking the mat" by the tomb guard of course made me cry; the solemn symbolism of 21 steps and 21 seconds, plus the tomb caption that the occupant is "known only to God", sent tears running down my face. It's all so beautiful and horrible and sad.
It was shocking then, and infuriating to see the casual disregard that many people displayed - a woman chatting away on her cell phone while standing next to the Tomb of the Unknown; teenagers shouting and shoving and running down the hill; people smoking surreptitiously on the hillside...I felt a surge of righteous anger at the overwhelming thoughtlessness. And then the Boy said, "Mom, don't these people know this is a cemetery?" and I realized that a lot of folks just don't know any better. It wasn't that they were trying to be rude or disrespectful - they just don't know better, and it is absolutely not my place to judge them for it.
We had the unexpected privilege of bearing witness to a naval military funeral while we were there today, complete with a band and horse-drawn caisson and cannon fire. I now have a deeper appreciation for being buried with "full military honors." It was an honor to have witnessed it.
Finally left the D.C. area in early afternoon and arrived here in Williamsburg around 4ish. What a difference a couple hundred miles (and a couple hundred years) can make! We left behind the hustle and bustle of a massive metropolitan political center and arrived a short while later in this clean and quiet little hamlet where the fight for all that political freedom began in the first place.
Be careful what you fight for...you may not know what to do with it once you have it.
02 April 2012
HC Tour 2012 - Day Four
What a DAY.
I will never regret our decision to bring the family to our nation's Capital this week, but I am so disappointed in the events of our day today.
Breakfast was a repeat of yesterday, with dozens of families competing for microwave privileges and a handful of open seats. Two little girls trying to find the spoons were falsely accused of cutting in the microwave line by a crabby old man with a sharp NY accent -- basically, civility was sorely lacking in the entire affair.
Today's itinerary was to consist primarily of several hours at the National Air and Space Museum. The Mister's ten-year naval aviation career, combined with his affinity for science and science fiction, made this a "must-see" destination on our HC tour.
Sadly, it was also apparently a must-see for approximately a quarter-million other people. It was miserably crowded to the point of unpleasantness, with ceaseless jostling and elbowing and shoving. Nobody in the building knew how to walk in a straight line; scores of poorly-supervised field trip students ran rampant throughout the entire museum; and the phrases "excuse me", "thank you" and "you're welcome" were all left outside on the front steps next to the pretzel vendor.
Now, I will be the first to admit that our children aren't angels, and that the Mister and I are not always the most courteous people in a crowd, but doggone it, we try. I felt my own composure crumbling with every exhibit we tried to see; although we stood patiently in line to see each item (moonrocks and newspaper clippings and space memorabilia, etc.), there was inevitably some yahoo that would shove his family in front of the Girl and push us out of the way.
I get that it's Spring Break and that families from around the globe have also chosen this week to visit Washington and that my family is just one of thousands who have the privilege of being here. I'm not so naive that I expected it to be quiet and empty and just waiting for the four of us to enjoy all the city has to offer. But I guess it was a tad unrealistic to assume that the throngs would be reasonably well-mannered and respectful to each other.
Knowing my own temperament and that of The Mister, we knew that things would only deteriorate as the crowds continued to increase, so we gave up at Air and Space around 1 p.m. and went to look for lunch. We ended up at Carmine's on 7th where we enjoyed pasta and salad and each other's company.
One of the best things about our little family is that we are averse to rigorous scheduling; it's good to have a plan, but it's also OK if the plan falls apart. We were worn out from museum combat, so after lunch we meandered around and back to the hotel for a nap. (A nap! I actually took a nap! On a weekday! And I didn't feel one bit guilty! Ok, well maybe just a little bit...but not much.)
After our rest, we went back out to see the National Portrait Gallery and the Museum of American Art. We saw so many beautiful pieces, it would be hard to choose which was my favorite...but again I found myself leaning towards things political in nature. The presidential portraits were magnificent, with an entire section dedicated to Ronald Reagan and including some of his doodles on White House stationery. Turns out he was quite an artist himself. Portraits of war heroes from across the centuries were also amazing - I was happy to meet Admiral Farragut up close and personal.
Unfortunately, I again allowed strangers to spoil my enjoyment...beginning with the rabid and hyper-empowered security personnel in the portrait gallery. A particularly hostile woman with an earpiece told me to stop my son from leaning on the plexiglas display cases, gesturing towards some kid that wasn't mine. The kid pointed at his own mother across the room, and the security woman went over to chastise her for neglecting her duty.
A few minutes later, though, it was my son who was closely inspecting a portrait - not touching it, but certainly peering at it closely. Another security guard barked at the Boy to step back at least one foot away from the painting. I felt bad for my boy at that point - he really was trying to engage with the notion that art is something you can experience and not just look at.
Some time later, the Boy and the Girl were sitting on a cushion in an upstairs hallway while the Mister and I perused one of the adjacent galleries. Another member of the museum militia snapped at the Boy for reclining on the cushion, telling him to sit up straight. Really? He wasn't hurting anything, he wasn't touching a display and honestly it wasn't a particularly nice cushion.
So...our last full day in DC has been something of a bust, but we remain happy to be together and even happier to be leaving tomorrow. I don't remember it being this way on my numerous prior pilgrimages; yes, it's been crowded and yes I'm easily frustrated...but there is a new tension and unpleasantness in the air here that I just want to leave behind.
The Mister and the Boy will head down to the International Spy Museum first thing in the morning while the Girl and I pack up our belongings and prepare to depart. Around midday, we will drive down to Williamsburg to spend the next few days learning more about colonial life. I don't anticipate that it will be particularly calm and quiet there either, but hopefully there will be a greater degree of common courtesy and general respect.
Or I am going to have to kick SOMEBODY'S butt. Not sure whose butt it will be just yet, but woe to the next person who shoves my daughter out of the way or chastises my son for being thirteen. Heaven help them.
I will never regret our decision to bring the family to our nation's Capital this week, but I am so disappointed in the events of our day today.
Breakfast was a repeat of yesterday, with dozens of families competing for microwave privileges and a handful of open seats. Two little girls trying to find the spoons were falsely accused of cutting in the microwave line by a crabby old man with a sharp NY accent -- basically, civility was sorely lacking in the entire affair.
Today's itinerary was to consist primarily of several hours at the National Air and Space Museum. The Mister's ten-year naval aviation career, combined with his affinity for science and science fiction, made this a "must-see" destination on our HC tour.
Sadly, it was also apparently a must-see for approximately a quarter-million other people. It was miserably crowded to the point of unpleasantness, with ceaseless jostling and elbowing and shoving. Nobody in the building knew how to walk in a straight line; scores of poorly-supervised field trip students ran rampant throughout the entire museum; and the phrases "excuse me", "thank you" and "you're welcome" were all left outside on the front steps next to the pretzel vendor.
Now, I will be the first to admit that our children aren't angels, and that the Mister and I are not always the most courteous people in a crowd, but doggone it, we try. I felt my own composure crumbling with every exhibit we tried to see; although we stood patiently in line to see each item (moonrocks and newspaper clippings and space memorabilia, etc.), there was inevitably some yahoo that would shove his family in front of the Girl and push us out of the way.
I get that it's Spring Break and that families from around the globe have also chosen this week to visit Washington and that my family is just one of thousands who have the privilege of being here. I'm not so naive that I expected it to be quiet and empty and just waiting for the four of us to enjoy all the city has to offer. But I guess it was a tad unrealistic to assume that the throngs would be reasonably well-mannered and respectful to each other.
Knowing my own temperament and that of The Mister, we knew that things would only deteriorate as the crowds continued to increase, so we gave up at Air and Space around 1 p.m. and went to look for lunch. We ended up at Carmine's on 7th where we enjoyed pasta and salad and each other's company.
One of the best things about our little family is that we are averse to rigorous scheduling; it's good to have a plan, but it's also OK if the plan falls apart. We were worn out from museum combat, so after lunch we meandered around and back to the hotel for a nap. (A nap! I actually took a nap! On a weekday! And I didn't feel one bit guilty! Ok, well maybe just a little bit...but not much.)
After our rest, we went back out to see the National Portrait Gallery and the Museum of American Art. We saw so many beautiful pieces, it would be hard to choose which was my favorite...but again I found myself leaning towards things political in nature. The presidential portraits were magnificent, with an entire section dedicated to Ronald Reagan and including some of his doodles on White House stationery. Turns out he was quite an artist himself. Portraits of war heroes from across the centuries were also amazing - I was happy to meet Admiral Farragut up close and personal.
Unfortunately, I again allowed strangers to spoil my enjoyment...beginning with the rabid and hyper-empowered security personnel in the portrait gallery. A particularly hostile woman with an earpiece told me to stop my son from leaning on the plexiglas display cases, gesturing towards some kid that wasn't mine. The kid pointed at his own mother across the room, and the security woman went over to chastise her for neglecting her duty.
A few minutes later, though, it was my son who was closely inspecting a portrait - not touching it, but certainly peering at it closely. Another security guard barked at the Boy to step back at least one foot away from the painting. I felt bad for my boy at that point - he really was trying to engage with the notion that art is something you can experience and not just look at.
Some time later, the Boy and the Girl were sitting on a cushion in an upstairs hallway while the Mister and I perused one of the adjacent galleries. Another member of the museum militia snapped at the Boy for reclining on the cushion, telling him to sit up straight. Really? He wasn't hurting anything, he wasn't touching a display and honestly it wasn't a particularly nice cushion.
So...our last full day in DC has been something of a bust, but we remain happy to be together and even happier to be leaving tomorrow. I don't remember it being this way on my numerous prior pilgrimages; yes, it's been crowded and yes I'm easily frustrated...but there is a new tension and unpleasantness in the air here that I just want to leave behind.
The Mister and the Boy will head down to the International Spy Museum first thing in the morning while the Girl and I pack up our belongings and prepare to depart. Around midday, we will drive down to Williamsburg to spend the next few days learning more about colonial life. I don't anticipate that it will be particularly calm and quiet there either, but hopefully there will be a greater degree of common courtesy and general respect.
Or I am going to have to kick SOMEBODY'S butt. Not sure whose butt it will be just yet, but woe to the next person who shoves my daughter out of the way or chastises my son for being thirteen. Heaven help them.
01 April 2012
HC Tour 2012 - Day Three
We began Day Three with breakfast in the hotel lobby with what felt like three hundred other hotel guests, all clamoring for the waffle iron and forgetting their manners.
The view from our window looks down on St. Mary Mother of God parish - it is a beautiful gothic cathedral, small but impressive. As we sat down to breakfast, we were moved to see a Palm Sunday processional - each congregant holding a palm frond and walking slowly down Fifth Street then into the church. Sigh; I miss my church family today.
We then took a brisk walk from the hotel to the U.S. Navy Memorial - one of The Mister's favorite places in D.C., and now mine as well. The flags and fountains are magnificent, and it makes me slightly weepy to see The Navy Hymn ("Eternal father, strong to save...") inscribed in the circular stone steps.
From there, we made our way down towards the main Smithsonian compound. While waiting for the signal to cross at 10th and Constitution, we were amused to happen upon a cluster of tourists riding Segway scooters. I'm sure it's a great way to see the city, but watching them roll around in a herd like that was hilarious. The Boy nicknamed them "The Mild Ones".
We spent most of the day visiting the Museum of American History. So much to see!
Immediately upon arrival, The Boy and I were eager to try the ride simulators downstairs (I love rollercoasters), so that was our first stop. What. A. Rip-off. Fourteen bucks later, I was crabby and mildly nauseated and not the least bit entertained.
From there, we decided to go up to the top floor and then work our way down. If I had to name my favorite exhibit from the entire day, it would have to be The American Presidency on the Third Floor East. I must admit to becoming more cynical about the executive branch in recent years, but this collection of presidential artifacts stirred my old enthusiasm. Something about seeing Lincoln's stovepipe hat, along with Reagan campaign paraphernalia and the Jefferson Bible just made it seem a lot bigger than any one man.
Around 3ish, we decided we were getting tired and hungry, so we made our way to The Stars and Stripes Cafe on the bottom floor. While admission to all Smithsonian museums is free, you apparently need a second mortgage if you're also planning to have lunch. Two cheeseburgers, a slice of cheese pizza and a salad later, we were $55 lighter than when we came in. FIFTY-FIVE dollars for lunch in a museum. My cynicism quickly returned.
After we ate, we decided to make use of our 48-hour "hop on, hop off" tour bus passes, mostly because we were too tired to start another museum. Let me go on record here by saying that I am usually embarrassed to be a tourist; in general, tourists are rude and boorish and loud and poorly-dressed. Tourists wear black socks with sandals and look lost a lot. I hate to look lost.
After all, it doesn't seem all that long ago that I was here in D.C. with a group of other regional healthplan leaders, working the halls in the Dirksen and Hart buildings in opposition to the Medicare Modernization Act and having dinner at The Monocle with our lobbyist. I was extremely cool and was happy to tell you about my coolness in case you hadn't sensed it on your own.
Yet today I found myself perched atop a "SEE D.C." double-decker sardine tin, filled to the brim with tourist families pointing and taking pictures. And I was the chief pointer and picture-taker, and doggone happy about it too. (No black socks though.)
After making the loop around the Tidal Basin and the Jefferson and Lincoln Memorials, our bus wound its way back around and up towards our hotel. The nearest stop to our hotel is near the International Spy Museum and the National Portrait Gallery; as we stepped off the bus, we were dismayed to see large crowds milling about in apparent anticipation of some kind of event.
Then some dude asked me if I had any tickets I wanted to sell. Tickets? Oh no, please tell me it's not going to be another "big game" crush of people like last night. The Girl and I suffer from mild agoraphobia, and I shared her alarm at envisioning a replay of last night's attempts to find dinner amid throngs of crazed sports fans. Worse still was the fact that tonight's crowds seemed to have a higher percentage of smokers among their ranks; the Girl cannot bear public smoking and will overtly demonstrate her disgust by pulling her t-shirt up over her nose and coughing dramatically.
Things went downhill as we sought out our supper venue. Clyde's? A 90-minute wait. Legal Sea Foods was estimated to be an hour, but the hostess offered to take my cell number and call us if a table opened up sooner. In weary resignation, we decided to just go back to the hotel and order room service.
It was on our way back to the hotel that we learned the nature of tonight's big attraction...turns out that Bruuuuuce is playing the Verizon Center tonight, and Springsteen fans have come from all over the country to see him and tour D.C. at the same time. Within fifteen minutes of our return to our hotel room and collectively kicking off our shoes, my cell phone rang and Ashley from Legal Sea Foods said that our table was ready...three blocks away, and back through throngs of E-Street wannabes.
Suffice to say that was some mighty fine crab dip and clam chowder - worth every bit of the hassle factor involved in getting back to it.
After dinner, we walked back in the dark and decided to go up the extra block past our hotel to CVS. We wanted to get a couple of toiletries we'd forgotten, along with some reasonably priced sodas for the room.
It was here that the Girl witnessed her first street crime; an unpleasantly fragrant man tried to leave the store without paying for his snacks, and the clerk chased him out onto the street. He came back in, cursing about how he'd paid for these "**** chips" and this was a bunch of "f***ing bull****". Having concluded our own purchases, we quietly made our way out the door, only to have the Chip Thief follow us out as he muttered obscenities.
As soon as he passed by us, the Girl grabbed her daddy's hand, and with huge saucer eyes she announced that she would never ever EVER live in a city.
Nice place to visit - but not sure that I blame her.
The view from our window looks down on St. Mary Mother of God parish - it is a beautiful gothic cathedral, small but impressive. As we sat down to breakfast, we were moved to see a Palm Sunday processional - each congregant holding a palm frond and walking slowly down Fifth Street then into the church. Sigh; I miss my church family today.
We then took a brisk walk from the hotel to the U.S. Navy Memorial - one of The Mister's favorite places in D.C., and now mine as well. The flags and fountains are magnificent, and it makes me slightly weepy to see The Navy Hymn ("Eternal father, strong to save...") inscribed in the circular stone steps.
From there, we made our way down towards the main Smithsonian compound. While waiting for the signal to cross at 10th and Constitution, we were amused to happen upon a cluster of tourists riding Segway scooters. I'm sure it's a great way to see the city, but watching them roll around in a herd like that was hilarious. The Boy nicknamed them "The Mild Ones".
We spent most of the day visiting the Museum of American History. So much to see!
Immediately upon arrival, The Boy and I were eager to try the ride simulators downstairs (I love rollercoasters), so that was our first stop. What. A. Rip-off. Fourteen bucks later, I was crabby and mildly nauseated and not the least bit entertained.
From there, we decided to go up to the top floor and then work our way down. If I had to name my favorite exhibit from the entire day, it would have to be The American Presidency on the Third Floor East. I must admit to becoming more cynical about the executive branch in recent years, but this collection of presidential artifacts stirred my old enthusiasm. Something about seeing Lincoln's stovepipe hat, along with Reagan campaign paraphernalia and the Jefferson Bible just made it seem a lot bigger than any one man.
Around 3ish, we decided we were getting tired and hungry, so we made our way to The Stars and Stripes Cafe on the bottom floor. While admission to all Smithsonian museums is free, you apparently need a second mortgage if you're also planning to have lunch. Two cheeseburgers, a slice of cheese pizza and a salad later, we were $55 lighter than when we came in. FIFTY-FIVE dollars for lunch in a museum. My cynicism quickly returned.
After we ate, we decided to make use of our 48-hour "hop on, hop off" tour bus passes, mostly because we were too tired to start another museum. Let me go on record here by saying that I am usually embarrassed to be a tourist; in general, tourists are rude and boorish and loud and poorly-dressed. Tourists wear black socks with sandals and look lost a lot. I hate to look lost.
After all, it doesn't seem all that long ago that I was here in D.C. with a group of other regional healthplan leaders, working the halls in the Dirksen and Hart buildings in opposition to the Medicare Modernization Act and having dinner at The Monocle with our lobbyist. I was extremely cool and was happy to tell you about my coolness in case you hadn't sensed it on your own.
Yet today I found myself perched atop a "SEE D.C." double-decker sardine tin, filled to the brim with tourist families pointing and taking pictures. And I was the chief pointer and picture-taker, and doggone happy about it too. (No black socks though.)
After making the loop around the Tidal Basin and the Jefferson and Lincoln Memorials, our bus wound its way back around and up towards our hotel. The nearest stop to our hotel is near the International Spy Museum and the National Portrait Gallery; as we stepped off the bus, we were dismayed to see large crowds milling about in apparent anticipation of some kind of event.
Then some dude asked me if I had any tickets I wanted to sell. Tickets? Oh no, please tell me it's not going to be another "big game" crush of people like last night. The Girl and I suffer from mild agoraphobia, and I shared her alarm at envisioning a replay of last night's attempts to find dinner amid throngs of crazed sports fans. Worse still was the fact that tonight's crowds seemed to have a higher percentage of smokers among their ranks; the Girl cannot bear public smoking and will overtly demonstrate her disgust by pulling her t-shirt up over her nose and coughing dramatically.
Things went downhill as we sought out our supper venue. Clyde's? A 90-minute wait. Legal Sea Foods was estimated to be an hour, but the hostess offered to take my cell number and call us if a table opened up sooner. In weary resignation, we decided to just go back to the hotel and order room service.
It was on our way back to the hotel that we learned the nature of tonight's big attraction...turns out that Bruuuuuce is playing the Verizon Center tonight, and Springsteen fans have come from all over the country to see him and tour D.C. at the same time. Within fifteen minutes of our return to our hotel room and collectively kicking off our shoes, my cell phone rang and Ashley from Legal Sea Foods said that our table was ready...three blocks away, and back through throngs of E-Street wannabes.
Suffice to say that was some mighty fine crab dip and clam chowder - worth every bit of the hassle factor involved in getting back to it.
After dinner, we walked back in the dark and decided to go up the extra block past our hotel to CVS. We wanted to get a couple of toiletries we'd forgotten, along with some reasonably priced sodas for the room.
It was here that the Girl witnessed her first street crime; an unpleasantly fragrant man tried to leave the store without paying for his snacks, and the clerk chased him out onto the street. He came back in, cursing about how he'd paid for these "**** chips" and this was a bunch of "f***ing bull****". Having concluded our own purchases, we quietly made our way out the door, only to have the Chip Thief follow us out as he muttered obscenities.
As soon as he passed by us, the Girl grabbed her daddy's hand, and with huge saucer eyes she announced that she would never ever EVER live in a city.
Nice place to visit - but not sure that I blame her.
31 March 2012
HC Tour 2012 - Day Two
Lovely drive today, arriving at our D.C. hotel around 4:30. We found a series of oldies stations all the way from Greensboro, up through Richmond and into the District, so the Mister and I cranked it up and sang along with the likes of Manfred Mann and Kansas and Queen for hours. The children seemed especially grateful for their earphones.
Immediately upon our arrival, we realized that we've chosen a particularly popular weekend to visit Washington.
If you've ever driven in from I-395 up from Arlington, you'll remember that the first thing you see is the tip of the Washington Monument looming majestically in the distance. Even more remarkable, today was the official Cherry Blossom Kite Festival, right on the monument's grounds. Imagine the famous structure surrounded by literally hundreds of gorgeous kites - some with the patriotic stars-and-stripes, some with breathtaking butterfly wings and ribbons...it really was an amazing sight, and I can't do it justice with words. And of course I don't have pictures, because I had insisted on driving the car into the city on account of being a ginormous control freak.
The other main attraction in D.C. tonight is "the big game". I had no idea which big game, but when we checked in this afternoon, we commented on the crowds, and the front desk clerk informed us that everyone was here for the big game. Our hotel is around the corner from the Verizon Center, and apparently the big game is being held over there.
What game? I know this is the Final Four weekend, but those loons are all in New Orleans. Football season is months away, and it's still too early in the season for anybody to be spun up about soccer or baseball. Gymnastics? No, that's not really a game, although it's fun to watch and imitate flatulence when they stick a hard landing. I racked my brain trying to figure out what else it could be - maybe NBA?
We tried to have dinner in the hotel restaurant, but we could barely elbow our way into the side door, and it was packed with loud drunk people in red jerseys. As I studied the crowd and their silly face paint and get-ups, it dawned on me - these people are hockey fans! Our hotel - and actually most of the District - is full of people here to watch the Washington Capitals play the Montreal Canadiens - based on the fervor of the fan base, this is apparently an important match-up.
I know next to nothing about hockey, so I was initially annoyed and feeling rather superior to these scores of maroons full of beer and bad words. Then it occurred to me that bellowing "Rocky Top" while choosing to wear prison orange and white every weekend from August until Christmas probably doesn't give me much room to scoff.
We made our way around the corner to an Asian restaurant called Wok 'N Roll, which too was jam-packed with red jerseys but we went ahead and grabbed the first table available. Dinner was great, and we were pleasantly surprised to learn that the establishment is situated in the former Surratt boarding house - the place where Lincoln's assassin(s) allegedly plotted their crime.
They make really great sushi there too.
Immediately upon our arrival, we realized that we've chosen a particularly popular weekend to visit Washington.
If you've ever driven in from I-395 up from Arlington, you'll remember that the first thing you see is the tip of the Washington Monument looming majestically in the distance. Even more remarkable, today was the official Cherry Blossom Kite Festival, right on the monument's grounds. Imagine the famous structure surrounded by literally hundreds of gorgeous kites - some with the patriotic stars-and-stripes, some with breathtaking butterfly wings and ribbons...it really was an amazing sight, and I can't do it justice with words. And of course I don't have pictures, because I had insisted on driving the car into the city on account of being a ginormous control freak.
The other main attraction in D.C. tonight is "the big game". I had no idea which big game, but when we checked in this afternoon, we commented on the crowds, and the front desk clerk informed us that everyone was here for the big game. Our hotel is around the corner from the Verizon Center, and apparently the big game is being held over there.
What game? I know this is the Final Four weekend, but those loons are all in New Orleans. Football season is months away, and it's still too early in the season for anybody to be spun up about soccer or baseball. Gymnastics? No, that's not really a game, although it's fun to watch and imitate flatulence when they stick a hard landing. I racked my brain trying to figure out what else it could be - maybe NBA?
We tried to have dinner in the hotel restaurant, but we could barely elbow our way into the side door, and it was packed with loud drunk people in red jerseys. As I studied the crowd and their silly face paint and get-ups, it dawned on me - these people are hockey fans! Our hotel - and actually most of the District - is full of people here to watch the Washington Capitals play the Montreal Canadiens - based on the fervor of the fan base, this is apparently an important match-up.
I know next to nothing about hockey, so I was initially annoyed and feeling rather superior to these scores of maroons full of beer and bad words. Then it occurred to me that bellowing "Rocky Top" while choosing to wear prison orange and white every weekend from August until Christmas probably doesn't give me much room to scoff.
We made our way around the corner to an Asian restaurant called Wok 'N Roll, which too was jam-packed with red jerseys but we went ahead and grabbed the first table available. Dinner was great, and we were pleasantly surprised to learn that the establishment is situated in the former Surratt boarding house - the place where Lincoln's assassin(s) allegedly plotted their crime.
They make really great sushi there too.
30 March 2012
HC Tour 2012 - Day One
Herein you will find the first entry regarding our American History and Culture Tour 2012. Daily entries are the goal, but I'm not making promises.
After a busy morning of last-minute prep, we made it onto the highway by early afternoon. We've rented a crossover vehicle with 3rd row seating so as to avoid having to flog the children on the side of the road for bickering. So far so good. But we did happen upon a less-fortunate family whose mother had just pulled off onto the emergency lane and was in the process of yanking a child out as we passed by. I suspect that our kids previously thought that "don't make me stop this car" was an empty idle threat, but they got kind of bug-eyed and somber when they saw it is a viable option.
We made three stops today; two times for caffeine and bathrooms, and then the other for dinner. While many people opt for McDonald's or a tidy BP station for their road trip bio breaks, I myself have an affinity for truck stops. You know, the kind where the cashier announces via PA system that Linda B. can now use Shower 12. The kind where you can buy Tammy Wynette CDs for $4.99, along with beef jerky and Goody's headache powders and random little glass figurines of unicorns and hummingbirds.
Truck stops have certainly evolved in recent years. I was surprised to see that one could purchase a wide array of high-tech audio/video equipment, hunting supplies and a decent wardrobe all in one spot. Given the fact that our second stop was just north of Charlotte, they also offered a wide array of NASCAR attire and memorabilia. I would have given anything to have my camera with me when the Mister tried on a knockoff driver jacket with a bunch of sponsor logos all over it.
(Speaking of NASCAR, our GPS took us off of I-85 and up U.S. 29 for about 15 miles, where we had the unexpected treat of seeing Charlotte Motor Speedway up close. I felt my redneck genes twitch happily as we drove by - I think the Coca-Cola 500 just went on my bucket list.)
At my insistence, we had an early supper at Daddy Joe's BBQ Beach House in Gaffney, S.C. I found this place a couple of years ago while traveling for work; as a formally trained and official Memphis-in-May barbecue judge, I always feel compelled to try out new places. Especially in the Carolinas, where they use extra vinegar and not that icky sweet ketchupy stuff. So anyhow, I dragged my family off of the highway to Daddy Joe's tonight, and it was as good as I remembered. If you're ever near Gaffney and you're looking for a fine pulled pork sandwich, get off at exit 92 and go about a mile; Daddy Joe's is in a crappy shack on the left, next to the Rite Aid.
One last observation; we have booked rooms with 2 double beds in each hotel where we will be staying over the next 9 days. I am disheartened to see how awfully big the Boy has gotten; he literally just fell out of the bed he is sharing with his daddy a minute ago while he was dozing off. I should probably call ahead to our next destination and see about getting a rollaway...
After a busy morning of last-minute prep, we made it onto the highway by early afternoon. We've rented a crossover vehicle with 3rd row seating so as to avoid having to flog the children on the side of the road for bickering. So far so good. But we did happen upon a less-fortunate family whose mother had just pulled off onto the emergency lane and was in the process of yanking a child out as we passed by. I suspect that our kids previously thought that "don't make me stop this car" was an empty idle threat, but they got kind of bug-eyed and somber when they saw it is a viable option.
We made three stops today; two times for caffeine and bathrooms, and then the other for dinner. While many people opt for McDonald's or a tidy BP station for their road trip bio breaks, I myself have an affinity for truck stops. You know, the kind where the cashier announces via PA system that Linda B. can now use Shower 12. The kind where you can buy Tammy Wynette CDs for $4.99, along with beef jerky and Goody's headache powders and random little glass figurines of unicorns and hummingbirds.
Truck stops have certainly evolved in recent years. I was surprised to see that one could purchase a wide array of high-tech audio/video equipment, hunting supplies and a decent wardrobe all in one spot. Given the fact that our second stop was just north of Charlotte, they also offered a wide array of NASCAR attire and memorabilia. I would have given anything to have my camera with me when the Mister tried on a knockoff driver jacket with a bunch of sponsor logos all over it.
(Speaking of NASCAR, our GPS took us off of I-85 and up U.S. 29 for about 15 miles, where we had the unexpected treat of seeing Charlotte Motor Speedway up close. I felt my redneck genes twitch happily as we drove by - I think the Coca-Cola 500 just went on my bucket list.)
At my insistence, we had an early supper at Daddy Joe's BBQ Beach House in Gaffney, S.C. I found this place a couple of years ago while traveling for work; as a formally trained and official Memphis-in-May barbecue judge, I always feel compelled to try out new places. Especially in the Carolinas, where they use extra vinegar and not that icky sweet ketchupy stuff. So anyhow, I dragged my family off of the highway to Daddy Joe's tonight, and it was as good as I remembered. If you're ever near Gaffney and you're looking for a fine pulled pork sandwich, get off at exit 92 and go about a mile; Daddy Joe's is in a crappy shack on the left, next to the Rite Aid.
One last observation; we have booked rooms with 2 double beds in each hotel where we will be staying over the next 9 days. I am disheartened to see how awfully big the Boy has gotten; he literally just fell out of the bed he is sharing with his daddy a minute ago while he was dozing off. I should probably call ahead to our next destination and see about getting a rollaway...
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