My dear Joon...

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shireling
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Wed Oct 18, 2017 12:47 am

The Honey and I went through the whole DVR and removed a bunch of shows.

I was really surprised by his choices because he'd watched some of these for years - ones like Criminal Minds, Madame Secretary, Blacklist and Hawaii 5-0 - but I'm glad. When I saw that Mandy Patinkin was leaving CM because he found all the serial killing depressing, I thought, why is Duane still watching when the actor in charge finds it disgusting? But, I didn't ask. Anyway, we went through the whole series manager and removed Alfred Hitchcock. After so many episodes, they all seemed the same. I let go of The Outer Limits - all of the ones I love have already played. We kept Have Gun, Will Travel, but I like Gotham. I enjoyed the comics when I was a kid, and that's the only one he's given up that I haven't.

Madame Secretary struck the Honey as being too fantastic to follow anymore. I've never seen it, but apparently, from what Duane says, she knows how to solve each and every crisis that comes down the pike, single-handedly (he's not saying that now.)
Designated Survivor might seem like a stretch, too, but I love Keifer. I want Keifer in the Oval Office so bad. I want that particular staff, and only that particular staff, serving him. I find myself weeping at the end of each episode *sigh*... (He changed his mind about Blacklist and Madame Secretary - figured he would.)

We both had a hard time sleeping last night. I was up at 3:45 with this weird mewling sound rolling above my head. It's my upstairs neighbor's wakey-wakey alarm. Somebody - and it ain't gonna be me - has got to tell her that it's waking up other people, but not her - apparently. It ran until I noticed not hearing it, just before 5 AM, and it's particularly loud in the hallway just outside her door. Anyway, why not just get up and do the laundry? I asked myself. There was no sleeping with that going on. And, when I noticed that the Honey was up as well, we watched the final two recordings of Hitchcock we had, between loads. He made himself waffles with yogurt, and by 9 o'clock, the wash was done, and we totally gave up on sleep.

Tomorrow is the last get together for the crafting, and I'll bring all my goodies that I've finished with me. I'm rather pleased as how things look - this being my second year of making these particular items. There are a few sewing items to do and then that's it. Just set up and sales; I hope I can get away to help with that, like last year.

I have other things I want to write about but I'm not up for it yet. Once this month is through, I'll be more available.


sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Fri Oct 20, 2017 12:53 pm

The doctor's office called yesterday to tell me that the echo was good.

I figured, since nobody had called, but I cancelled my next appointment with her. It's easy to understand that maybe your initial visit might be a couple of hours. At first, I thought that would be once I was back in examining room. You sit out in the waiting for at least that long before you go back, then the appointment is two hours. My last time with her was just shy of five, and she was convinced that I had been there this past January. Well, Duane had his surgery that month, after a couple of weeks of hospitalization on antibiotics and heart monitoring. My calendar says nothing about a visit to her office for me, and we argued back and forth. I still think she's convinced I was there.

Anyway, I won't have a doctor now. I can't sit there all that time, and I've been in waiting rooms for long periods with conscientious docs before, with both of my guys. My ob/gyn comes to right to mind. But never four to five hours - I may as well go to the emergency room. So, I don't know what I'm going to do. I'll be 63 on Saturday - just two more years to Medicare, if the powers that be don't end it. My God, I don't know how people younger are going to manage - I don't know how they've managed so far. But it's trumpcare now - he bought it, he owns it. And if he breaks it, he still owns it. If Senator Clinton had won, she would have pushed for people as young as 55 buying into Medicare; that was my hope. Medicare's not perfect either, but it covers 80%. My deductible is 7,000 dollars; it's late October and I'm nowhere near reaching it, not even with the echocardiogram, even if I could pay it off before the first of the year. *sigh*

And that's the main reason I'm done. I didn't want the procedure, but she scared me, so I did it. There's a whole bunch of things that there's software for that will now show up on your physicians paperwork (vet's offices, too, that why cats are now being checked for heartworm.) There are two things which are depressing me: this and the White House. Otherwise I'm okay. I'm more than managing. All I want are my meds so that I can do what needs to be done, why can't I just have that?

I really thought that having insurance was what I wanted, because I didn't have it. What I didn't realize was that you pay these expensive premiums, and you may still be denied coverage. Before 2013, I paid out of pocket for when I was ill. Get sick, make appointment, pay for everything connected to that. I could afford it, but I didn't appreciate it, because I didn't know any else. Now, I rue the whole thing! I'm laughing here - it's so ridiculous.

Well, Duane's doctor - maybe he can get me through these next couple of years? I just want my prescriptions. I have them written out for this next year from my current GP. My pharmacist said that as long as they aren't controlled, I will have them for as long as she wrote them for; otherwise, six months is all I'll have, but none of my stuff is DEA scheduled.

Okay for now. Take care, my joons.

love
sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Sat Oct 21, 2017 2:22 am

Well, I'll be 63 tomorrow.

I'm hoping that my former doctor will give me a year's worth of scripts, enough to get me to the age 64. Then I'll figure out how to get to 65 and Medicare. Already, I'm seeing that they're messing with that - the people we didn't vote for, you know, insurance companies. It appears that Duane won't be able to have his doctor if these folks don't come up with a deal for reimbursement. We don't want to change, there's no reason why we would except that these guys don't want to work with each other. I'm still going to need trumpcare for the future; it's the only way I can afford my meds.

The way that I've been operating over the past couple of years is to tell the Marketplace that I like what I have and how do I keep that. Now it takes some tweaking, and I've always stayed with Just For Me, but if it's too much more than the 156.55 I pay monthly, then I'm going to have to make another choice. Even with the inheritance, in order to protect it, the trustee maintains control, and he will tell us no if he thinks it's too much. Well, that's what his job is, as fiduciary, to protect us. I'll never forget all those years I was told to get a divorce in order to get Medicaid. But I don't want Medicaid, I said - I wanted affordable insurance, and I didn't think that was a stupid thing. I still don't. Why can't I have what I first got in 2014? Easy. Because the people who won't listen to reason, keep voting in the same individuals, who embrace a cruel economic philosophy, based on a perversion of Christianity. This is caused by cherry-picking through the Gospels, and having a half-baked appreciation of 1st & 2cd Samuel. King David is not my idea of a role model, not once I could read it for myself - frankly, shouldn't be anybody's idea of one. And he hung out with King Saul, nutter supreme, so you'd think he would have known better. Anyway...

63. How in hell did I get here? I wouldn't mind it so much if I was still the same as I was at 36. But I shake, I stumble, I have to hold onto stuff so that I don't fall head over heels. It's okay, I mean, better now than thirty years ago, but I find myself envying older people who can park anywhere they like, who don't need the handicapped spaces. It's no fun not having enough hands to carry an umbrella and a cane at the same time. So tomorrow's my birthday, and Sunday, we'll be married 35 years.

The Honey just walked in and said, let's go to Red Lobster tomorrow. How I love that man. Here's to another 35 years with him :D :cheers: (that's root beer in those glasses, just so you know.)


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Mon Oct 23, 2017 3:02 pm

Thank God that's over.

Spent most of my birthday weeping, and stuffing my face with fried clams and devilishly, devilish chocolate cake. What day of the hostage crisis is this? It wasn't all bad. My sister sent me an email promising to call, Nan did call and sang 'Happy Birthday'. Two of my Secular Frankies sent me cards, and I bent the wheel cover on Girlfriend's right rear hoof while parking at Barnes & Noble. Well, that was the only way I was going to get my present, my annual purchase of The American Cat Calendar, paintings by Lowell Herrero.

It's all I want. It has nice big illustrations and plenty of space for writing in stuff. I used to buy two, one for Lloyd. In fact, I bought it early that year, in August, 2010. He died in September, and I gave his copy to Colette.

I was crying because I'm 63 and what I expected isn't here. And I'm not just talking about my personal jet pack. I really thought that we'd be further along, that we would have built on all of the advances of the past thirty-odd years. Last November disabused me of that right quick; it's only continued to beat me down since.

Amy's sleeping. I love her snoring. I do it, too, and someday I know, all of those CPAPers will be told that snoring is healthy - the best thing for you; that science has advanced to the point where non-snorers will be told they don't know what they're missing. There will be a deluge of products on the market to make it possible to lift the roof off your home and blow your window glass from their frames.

And they'll be on the same page as the jet packs from Amazon.


tootles,
sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Tue Oct 24, 2017 12:59 am

I went to the last Affiliation class today. I don't think I can do it.

I'm to meet with the Franciscan Council and they will decide if I can still continue to come to the meetings. Trying to find out how this works, just what sort of allegiance is expected of me, has been like pulling teeth. All along I thought, I assumed, I figured, that I was agreeing to live according to the Gospels as understood by Saint Francis of Assisi. Now, I'm not so sure. I'm not so sure that I'm not going to be expected to obey the Catholic Church - which, if I did, would mean that my reverence for all of the Manifestations of God which came after Jesus Christ, must be curtailed. Not to mention that I'd be expected to believe in a triune god, and all that that entails. Well, that for sure ain't happening. If that's what becoming an Affiliate means.

It's only good for two years - which gives me pause because it means it's not serious on my part. It may not be so, in the case of the Council, but that's how it reads to me. My initial attraction was the courage and strength of this man, and his determination to travel as far away as to the Sultan Malik-al-Kamil, in the hope of achieving peace through the Gospels ...Ultimately, they (the Saint & the Sultan) found they had a deep respect for one another. The sultan respected Francis' commitment to the Gospel life and his scorn of earthly goods, recognizing Francis was "anxious only for the salvation of souls."(St. Bonaventure) Francis came to admire the reverence and prayer the Muslim people incorporated into their everyday lives. Inspired by their example Francis came to implore his followers, both past and present, to observe daily devotions to Christ... - from the Secular Franciscan Order brochure.

There's a lot of legends, myths and miracles attributed to him, no different than other saints. But he loved creation - unlike some other halo-wearers who seemed too detached from this world, at least for my taste - and while keeping to a vow of poverty, knew to appreciate the good things in those rare times when he had them. I don't know, but maybe in the back of his mind was the thought that by showing love for birds, say, things might improve for them. Birds right up until modern times, songbirds, were caught and blinded, so that they wouldn't know whether it was day or night. They would sing, no matter when - at least that was the theory. There aren't many other tales - the one about the wolf is one - but animals were expendable in his time. And people, scores of people living in poverty, were unable to afford the kindness most of us spend on our children and pets, without a thought. And Francis made plenty of mistakes. Begging was how he figured Christ and His Disciples survived. I don't know, I don't think so. Imagine these strapping guys coming through your village with their hands out and you don't have enough peas on the vine to divide between your kids. I assume they worked. Most of them had trades - carpenter, masonry, fishermen; Matthew, the tax collector, probably handled the funds, such as they were. Anyway, the bishop hauled in Francis and told him that the people were upset. So, the brothers worked. Skilled or not, they worked. Sometimes they were cheated and had to go hungry, but that's the way of things.

Francis loved almond cookies, and singing - he had a troubadour's spirit. He wished he'd been more considerate of his dad, that he'd taken better care of Brother Ass, which is what he wryly called his body. What grownup worth their salt, hasn't done those last two...

As I was typing, Joan called and we had a wonderful conversation. I was able to explain that the Baha'i Faith is related to Islam, just as Christianity is related to Judaism. She asked me, was I there to convert people to Islam or Baha'i, and I said no. My beliefs have led me to want to contribute socially to the services that the Secular Franciscans embrace. Reading out loud paragraphs from the brochure helped, and Joan suggested that I bring it with me.

Okay. I'm better now.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Fri Oct 27, 2017 1:10 am

It's been a busy week.

So many appointments, all doctors, all the Honey's. The only thing that got away from me was the laundry. But first thing tomorrow, 4:30 AM, I will tackle it. The beds all have stored sheets on them; I'll wash the summer ones and put them in the drawer. I'm so behind that he doesn't have clean drawers. So I gave him a pair of mine :) . Back when we were trying to get pregnant, we both wore the boxers. He hated them, so did I, and once we had a positive test, out they went.

The elder of my two brothers stopped by yesterday and took me out to dinner. It was a wonderful visit. His company has been bought by a German corporation, and he had tons of pictures on his phone. There's different outlets scattered throughout, so some of the guys from England came over for Oktoberfest. He and my sister-in-law took tours through Italy (they love Tuscany - that's what I always hear from anybody that's been there.) Apparently Rome was disappointing, especially after Germany. It's not as well kept, lots of graffiti, cigarette butts everywhere, and they were more impressed with the Cathedrals in other places, too. It was upsetting to hear that people took photos where they were specifically asked not to.

We went to Olive Garden. Oh, eggplant parmigiana! I love it so! I hadn't had it since the last time he was in town; I cannot do spaghetti. Angel hair pasta maybe - it wraps easier around the fork - but this was the regular and it defied me at every turn. Lovely salad, bread sticks - I stuffed my face and took home two slices of Sicilian Cheesecake with Strawberries per Steven's generosity. When we got back, I gave him my little box with the blessed rosary from Pope Francis. They didn't get to see him, and he was tickled to get it. I'll miss it, but I only use the Crown one anyway - Bernie will love it (she's my sister-in-law.)

I told him about the stuff I'm going through with the Secular Franciscans, and he got it right away. He knows, why make such a brouhaha about Gospels, and then as soon as the opportunity to mirror them presents itself, people freak out. I told him that they're worried about me converting them. He rolled his eyes - only the Holy Spirit can do that! Yep! Geeze, I'm flattered I am, but as somebody who's been a Baha'i all of my adult life, the ability to cause mass enlightenment would certainly have been appreciated.

Anyway, I've spent the last couple of days trying to find out as much as I can about Brother Jacoba.

Blessed Jacoba of Settesoli (Italian: Giacoma de Settesoli; 1190–1273) was a follower of the Italian saint, Francis of Assisi. She is also called Jacqueline de Settesoli, or Brother Jacoba, as Francis himself had named her. (Wikipedia) She wanted to join up in the convent, but the saint told her not to abandon her family, so she did what she could. She turned stuff over to her two sons to handle - family things - and became friends with Francis, as a member of the Third Order. Lepers were cared for with her contributions of money and property.

When Francis lay dying, he asked for some of her almond cookies, and she brought them with a big retinue of family and enough for the entire bunch. There's different recipes; in one they're more like cannoli, with slivers of almonds scattered over them. Of course, some folks were horrified (A woman in the men's monastery! Scandalous!) But Francis told them to knock it off - spiritually speaking - and granted her access. He's the one who named her Brother, on account of her fortitude (Wikipedia, again). He died on October 3rd, 1226, and his Roman friend passed away on February 8th, 1273 in Assisi. She's buried not far from him in that same basilica.

I like her. I bet she had a great sense of humor. I wish I knew more. She's Blessed, not a saint, but that's such a small thing anyway. Jacoba made this sweet little man happy, and I'm glad she was there for him.

I cleaned off a whole bunch of medication bottles, so they're ready for Africa. I don't use plastic bags in any great numbers; there's a few to put the pill bottle in for shipment is all. Amy's curled up with her catnip toy - she is so cute! I wuv her so much! I hope she's with me for a long, long time. I'm off to watch Rachel Maddow and Lawrence O'Donnell, and then right to sleep. Got a date with the laundry room in the wee hours.



'night my joons
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Fri Nov 03, 2017 4:32 am

There's been a bunch that's happened.

There was a change in Duane's meds, and he developed serotonin syndrome. It was very scary. He was spouting all kinds of talk, pacing - he was as high as a kite. But, you know, he was cognizant enough to know that something was wrong and asked to go to the hospital. The trouble was he was so agitated that I was afraid to try to drive him myself, so I called 911. They took him and after 2 Am, he was transferred to the downtown branch of that same hospital.

Two days, and about a liter and half of sodium chloride later, plus a dose of Ativan, he was himself again. He blamed himself, but this stuff happens. You get too much of a good thing, and sometimes it blows up your brain. He was bored something fierce; he had his reading glasses with him so he couldn't see the TV. Oh, and that was some of the problem. He was going on about Trump blowing up North Korea, and I'm going nonono - there's indictments, Manafort and two other guys have been charged, and the one has already pled guilty, and Duane's saying, "Oh, yeah? Really?"

"Yeah," I said.
"When?"
"Last Friday. People've been speculating all weekend who it would be, and they said who this morning."
"What's today?"
"Monday."
"Why didn't I know this?"
"I have no idea."

I got his correct glasses, and his library book; they took his rings and watch, but didn't tell us they put them in with his clothes :roll: (I'm so glad they didn't cut them off!) He haggled with the kitchen over his menu (if he wanted fruit cocktail, then he couldn't have orange sherbert on a diabetic diet.) It was just around 3 o'clock Tuesday when he went home. I really wanted to beat the darkness - it's time change this weekend - because I'm having trouble driving after sunset. All the headlights look too bright, and there's virtually no street lamps anywhere.

Anyway, I told the staff about my vision, and we were halfway to Chop Suey by 4 PM. He ordered sweet and sour shrimp, to make up for his carb deficit, and we came home. Sleep was the one thing he was really having trouble with. He just couldn't settle down from about 8 AM Sunday to just after 9 Monday evening; he was awake all that time. We got home just in time to make sure our geek could work out what was wrong with Duane's computer (we're losing him; he's going where the money is - corporate - and December 31st is his last day.)

Duane didn't sleep that night, but I woke up early Wednesday (had to make GP and NP appointments for the Honey), and decided to go to Hospice to say goodbye to our friend Gail. It was just after 6 AM and the roads were difficult to see, but we both got there. Didn't stay long; she's so frail; they were giving her breathing treatments - I hope that helped her sleep better. She's not expected to finish out the week... :cry: It sucks, it's not fair, or just, and I don't care. I don't want to hear any platitudes from anybody. Cancer is a bastard, and no respecter of persons. If it was, she wouldn't be dying.

Last night Duane fell getting out of the bathtub, hurting his right wrist. I had an appointment with the Family Doc arranged, and he sent us for an x-ray (it was so swollen.) He also had us head out for a creatine kinase level. It'd been checked in the hospital, and we weren't told what the numbers were. I've always worried about the hereditary paraparesis; the complicated versions took Lloyd and Philip at ages 54 and 68. Duane has always had this odd gait - my mother-in-law commented on it once when we were walking behind him - but I didn't think it might affect us. So now we've got those results to wait for, and the wrist from radiology. It suddenly dawned on me that they do CK checks in Parkinson's. And Duane's the image of his dad - taller and less verbose, I'll grant you - but that's what carried him off...

It's after midnight. I haven't taken my meds, and I'm not the least bit tired. Too much on my mind. My insurance premiums are looking to go from $157 to $449, estimated. Should be fun figuring this out.

Well, I need to go to bed. I'll take my pills and try to finish a puzzle. Staying up won't solve any of this. Good night, joons of mine.


sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Sat Nov 04, 2017 5:38 pm

Duane was fine for about 36 hours, and then...

He saw the Nurse Practitioner yesterday, and that's how we found out that the discharge instructions were muddled. He was given Haldol in the hospital, and Remeron, but they told us not to give them to him. Well, as soon as that day and a half ended, he went nutty again because he should have gotten them. He's still home - he's watching TV right now - but every time he looks at me, he says something depressing. He's turning into his brothers.

If I took a shot of Seagrams for every time he's used the word insane, I'd be flammable. That's what I keep hearing - that he's insane.

I went over to Saint Francis this morning (he insisted he'd be okay), but I had the set-up day wrong (it's next Thursday-Friday), and I soon came home. I took down the Christmas stores and decorated the place yesterday, hanging up the ornaments from hooks embedded under the shelf in the dining room. I've got seven hooks and the longest pieces on the longest cords go on first. Then I hang seven of the rest just over and above them, trying to mix them up as much as possible. It looks nice. They're all either wood, cloth or tin; angels, santas or snowmen (unless they're reindeer, teddy bears or Christmas trees), and the remaining festoon the kitchen board, the pegs across from the front door, or the hook above my bed. All of the flameless candles have new batteries and are set on timers; I'm bumping them back three hours this afternoon. Nobody's in the living room after 10 PM - unless you count Amy.

And speaking of her, she's in season. Twice a year, every March and November - I get these nasty looks and nips. "I want outside!" she meows, menacingly. "I want boyfriend! Give me boyfriend! Give me boyfriend now!" She can't have kittens, she's got no place to put them. But the joker, who did the spaying, left enough reproductive tissue behind to rouse up the animal in her. It's to him I owe all the shedding and stains. Not that I wouldn't have loved a litter from her, years ago, but it's irresponsible to bring children into this world, in the hopes that somebody will adopt them. Anyway, I figure a couple of more days and she'll be my baby again. I hope.

Michael will be here tomorrow. I hope that'll bring a smile to his daddy. I filled the car's CD player with Christmas music - oh, and I found a copy of SEAL, to replace the one I gave to Mike :D . It was three bucks, but at the counter of the used book and music shop, they were also selling items for kids, to be given at Christmas. I thought it a lovely idea, and picked up a gently-used copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince as a donation. You're actually donating twice - the items go to the children, and the money to buy them, is for food or other stuff a family would appreciate. Brilliant! I'll be back there for DVDs for Mike and his homies. I would have bought some today, but I wanted to go to 2cd & Charles, and, anyway, I can't remember if the house needs Blu-Ray or not (I called the house; they do.)

I make them gift bags - usually gloves, knit hats, DVDs, an extra ornament for the tree, a little toy or book depending on the boy, and candy or chips. For the staff, they get a big box of Esther Price (they put it in a lockable cabinet on the outside wall; Jacob would devour the whole thing if they didn't...)

Duane just walked in and tried to clarify something he said earlier (I thought it was about the 'annihilation' of the animal spirit upon an animal's death; it's not, but he won't say what.) I don't know how to react anymore. If I say, that's okay, it's wrong. If I say, I don't disagree, I just figure that's where he's coming from - he says that I don't understand. He just flung himself on the bed, like Juliet hearing of Romeo's banishment, and promptly left the room. Now he's back, saying he wants to cancel his Willamet Institute Course, and leaves again. Comes back, says that he believes - when this morning he said he'd lost his faith - leaves again.

I don't know what to do.

Anyway, I'll stop here in case he wants to say anymore.


sara

Our Gail died last night.
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Sun Nov 05, 2017 2:26 am

Well, the rest of the day has gone very much like the start.

All afternoon and evening, Duane walks in, says something cryptic, and leaves. Sometimes he just stands next to me, looks at me, and goes away. Sometimes he just stands in the doorway, and goes away. So, I'm asking,

how can I help?
You can't.
Do you want to go back to the hospital?
No.
Okay. Then let me help...


We both listened to a podcast about sleep. He thought it was great - for somebody else, and he immediately emailed that person. I don't have any trouble falling or staying asleep, but I remembered stuff in it for him. So, since he slept so little last night, at 8:45 this evening, Duane turned off his computer, took all of his bedtime meds - including Haldol and Remeron - ate supper, took a shower and, while he was doing that, I turned back the clocks (Daylight Savings Time :roll: .) If he listened, he may be reading his book from the library and listening to soft music - no computer, no TV, no screens. I really think that Michael is the motivation, if he's doing this right now (I don't know because I'm in my room and can't tell what's going on in his.) Anyway, that kid loves his daddy; he simply adores Duane and I don't want to call off tomorrow's visit.

And Gail died. It was last night, between 11 and midnight. The funeral is a week away, and there's another scheduled for Monday. I want to go - my friend Debbie's mother is the deceased - but with Duane so fragile right now, and nobody else to step in, I just don't see how. But I will send cards out, either tomorrow or Monday, in case I can't make either and then do my best to get there.

I hate this. Just when I think that we are going to have a quiet life, a soft landing, that bitch of a DNA sequence in his family's dweebie genes, acts up again! A few weeks ago I came across a portrait of Spain's Charles II, the poor kid - an orthodontist's nightmare. He's the best example for not going to family reunions to meet women. A couple of the others are so that you don't sprinkle hemophilia and mental illness all across the royal houses of Europe - not to mention degenerative neurological stuff among the peasants...

I need to try to hang up this last clock, and get to bed myself. We'll be fine - I know we will. It's always become manageable in the end. No reason why it shouldn't now. So, have a good rest to your weekend. I'm glad I can always come here and kvetch :) .


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Mon Nov 06, 2017 2:13 pm

Sunday was great.

The Honey slept eleven full hours, which included the fall-back, and off we all went to the farmer's market for cider. And fudge. And apple fritters, the size of and resembling cowpies. We were trapped into that last purchase. The lady brought a full plate, fresh from the oven, and set them on the counter. Imagine the toothsome smells of the industrial kitchen of a Krispy Kreme, made up to look like a barn at a square dance, with side tables loaded to groaning with assorted farm goods. We bought four, to accompany the cider gallon and the two eight ounce fudges.

I left the fritters on a plate, sitting on top of the microwave. By evening, there was one left - Duane ate two for supper, and I had one.
He was originally going for three, but thought better of it. So, it's in a tupperware, in the fridge, and when 6 PM rolls around, I'll nuke it for 30 seconds and have it with some bacon and a glass of milk. The trick for me, at least, is to eat carbishery with protein BUT no earlier than 6 PM. That's when cereals are my best bet - never for breakfast - and I love hot grits or oatmeal on cold nights.

I haven't said anything about my hair, I don't think. I've been getting the top, front and sides cut and Missy has been leaving the back alone. Well, as of today, it's just barely touching my nape, and because of the cold, I'm going to be able to let it go and it'll make nice lengthy pig/pony tails come summer. Now, she wants to trim it,
...so that It doesn't look funny...

She says this to me. Me - a woman who has worn her hair like Charlton Heston in The Warlord, and has been mistaken for Moe Howard. Really? Like I care?

Anyway, it's after 9 AM, the Honey needs to wake up, and the ladies are coming today to clean. There's the three cards I want to check the postage on, and then we're off to Chop Suey for lunch. Talk later.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Sat Nov 11, 2017 12:08 pm

Gail's funeral was Thursday. On Friday, I took care of business.

While we were waiting for the service to begin, Jack Hat (otherwise known as the Bane, in past posts), came up behind my favorite couple and started grabbing on the wife's shoulders. I didn't know who it was at first - I should have, because he's the only one I know who acts like a drunken satyr on such solemn occasions - and, as soon as I turned around, he said 'hi' to me, and left.

It just built from there. So yesterday afternoon, I called him. And he knew it was me; he named me, in spite of the private number. So I named him a "motherfuckin', ape-shit bastard", told him to stay away from me (his spontaneous torture of Kelly was done solely to make me look), and that I hoped he died, with another bastard thrown in for good measure.

Am I sorry? Now, that I've had time to think about it? Now, that I've had the chance to mull over my actions? Yes.

I'm sorry that I didn't do it sooner. I'm sorry that I didn't stand up for Gail while she was alive, any of those times he challenged her facilitation in LSA meetings. I'm sorry that I didn't slap his face when he sexualized one of her daughters - right in front of her, when she was too stunned to do it herself (trust the kid though. She just said,"Whatever," walking away and leaving him to sputter and fume that he had
just paid her a compliment.


I'm sorry that I didn't stand up for Liz, when he taunted her during consultation. And Kathy, for her teaching efforts. And Rose, and Colette, whenever he felt like it. And his wife, while she was driving, him being a prick behind her back. I might be forgiven for that, though. I was very busy standing up for myself, to no avail - but hey, I tried. You see, he never, ever would do that to women of color. That would be racist, to belittle them, and like other privileged white guys of his ilk, he segregates his sexism. I'm sorry that I didn't say more during that brief call. I'm sorry that I, at last, didn't call him the spot on descriptions that have come to mind while in my alone and reflective moments. And I'm sorry that I didn't call him out for mocking my husband and child.

Will there be fallout? It depends on just how angry and vengeful it makes him. But, do I care? Nope. Not at all. The Honey of mine knows I did this because he heard me make the call. And you, my joons, know this because I'm telling you. I will be very surprised if there isn't backlash. Very surprised indeed.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Sun Nov 12, 2017 3:08 pm

Amy is worrying me. Duane is worrying me, too, and he's much more concerning. When I go out to other parts of our home - which isn't that big - I never know what I'm going to find.

Like this morning, they seemed to team up. It's just after 3 AM, and I'm up to nature's call. For a process that should only take seconds, it becomes minutes, lots of minutes. On the way back to bed, I step in something cold and wet. Turning on the light, I find three splotches of undigested cat kibble - two round piles on the comforter, and one cascading down the side, hitting every single shred of bed clothes before landing on the Berber where my feet found it. So I'm under the sink, getting cleaning cloths and Lysol, because I'm not changing these now. Sometime later, all is blotted up and sprayed, removing every trace and leaving only clean cold and wet remains, I'm off to toss all into the kitchen bin, when I spy all of our prescription bottles, scattered over the dining room table.

Some are open, some are closed; there's a pill on the carpet, one on the tablecloth, both his and mine. Okay. I throw away the used wipes, wash my hands and go back to the bedroom to get the meds drawer. It's one of the drawers in my dresser, that I started appropriating back when I was first diagnosed with Type II. Setting it on a chair, I begin closing the opens and putting them back in their proper places, using a long white envelope, stiff with old order forms, as a divider. Checking the Honey's pill cup (he pours his meds into this little red toddler cup of Mike's; it's safer and wiser), I find a Remeron stuck to the bottom.

Was he looking for this? He'd asked for one earlier, and I showed him where I'm keeping the PRNs. I gave it to him, to put into the pill cup, and he put it in his mouth instead. You're taking that at bedtime, right? He promptly removes it, dumps it into said cup, and leaves the kitchen. That was at about 4 PM yesterday. It must have been damp enough with saliva to dry to the bottom, and he missed it. I made sure Amy had enough fresh water, cleaned up the remnants of his last snack, and went back to bed.

This morning he said he couldn't find the dose, stuck there, and didn't look where he saw me keep them to get one fresh. He didn't remember that. Yesterday, he filled the ice cube keeper and left it on the counter to melt. He used up the cold water from the fridge and left out the empty bottle. He'd made himself 'breakfast' of bacon Ritz crackers and crunchy peanut butter. It was all sitting open and out when I got up.

I don't know what to do. Currently, he's obsessing about the Holy Spirit, and the founding of the Jewish people (he's convinced that Abraham was an Arab.) It seems harmless enough, he's so enthused. Jews and Arabs are Semites; when you get right down to it, it's all a spat between cousins, and you'd think that, by now, somebody would have put the kibosh on it. I mean, what's a few millennium, more or less, among family? But I digress.

Like I said, I don't know what to do except to take it as it comes. I wanted to go to the Holiday Bazaar today, it's the last day for it, but I'm not sure I should leave him alone at all. Maybe when he's watching football later, I can step out. We'll see.


later, joon-ams
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Tue Nov 14, 2017 12:31 am

I stayed home yesterday.

Duane was up all night, again. He'd had breakfast, and said he wanted to wait until noon before we went to Chop Suey. It's our Monday do, and after, we bought some cold cereal and yogurt for him. He was much calmer today - still going on about the Holy Spirit, etc., but he didn't seem as obsessed. He needs the Remeron something fierce. All this pacing and starting into one room, then leaving for another, and not remembering why he's there. Two of his shows that he took out of the DVR line-up, haven't been recording when he insists that he put them back. I don't know, maybe he did. Anyway, there's a CAT scan scheduled for his right wrist tomorrow. I hope it's okay, because he's been insisting on carrying stuff in spite of my trying to stop him.

Michael's Renee called yesterday evening to say that he's sick. He's my boy, alright. Every spring and fall, like clockwork, runny nose and chest congestion, coughs and sneezes. His birthday is Wednesday, and we were going to take him out for dinner. But if he's like I remember, when he was home, I would rather he just took it easy and came to visit us his regular time on Sunday. I've got him a ViewMaster for a present. It's got some really cool space reels - planets, the Moon, galaxies, nebula, just awesome stuff. It's funny because these were for adults when they first came out. Now, if you can find them at all, they're in the toddler toy section.

He's going to be 29. Christ. My baby boy.

Twenty-nine years ago today, I was hooked up to a pitocin drip, and I spent the whole day, trying to birth him. He was big - near ten pounds - which is why we all wanted this over with. I was pre-pre-eclamptic and we all hoped to avoid a section. By 9 PM, I was exhausted, the baby had hiccups, and the uterus wanted a divorce. All three of us were hungry, because I wasn't allowed to eat from the moment they put in the drip. So, I get unhooked, and we go to Red Lobster (the Honey included.) I was so huge :lol: that I had to sit with my feet up on the booth bench, and facing out into the aisle. We ordered deep-fried shrimp, baked potatoes, salad and those sinful cheddar biscuits. I had never eaten such wonderful fare as those shrimp. They were so sweet, and crunchy, and just the loveliest little curly cues I'd ever had. No cocktail sauce ever had it that good as with those itty bitty morsels that night.

It's hard to believe it's been that long ago. I just want him to get better; I hope he stays home from daycare - oh, Renee did say she was taking him to the doctor today.

Well, it's 7:30 PM, and I've got The Durrells of Corfu & Poldark to watch. Have a good evening, joons. A little at a time.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Wed Nov 15, 2017 11:01 am

We went for the CAT Scan of Duane's wrist, and it went really quick. I dropped him at the door, and parked. The guy who was behind me dropping off his wife, looked annoyed. I can't blame him - I couldn't get Duane out of the car. He kept asking me 'what?' But I was able to read the newspaper and organize it for the next person by the time he came out. They had him lay on his stomach so that the arm was at the right angle. Going back to the car, he went really fast ahead of me, and walked into this man with a cane. The guy looked back at him, I guess, expecting some kind of acknowledgment of this, and I apologized. He's mine. I said. He's autistic and he doesn't always realize there's other people about. The man said, it was okay. I don't know when we'll hear the results of the scan.

When it comes to it, Duane never seems to know there are other people in his path, and it's gotten worse over the years. Women, and this is interesting to me, women tend to recognize that there's something wrong and I get these kindly, sort of pitiful smiles from them. Michael fairly oozes autism, whenever we're out, it's like an aura. But since he's half me, he has more of an awareness of personal space then his daddy.

Yesterday evening, Duane came into my room in a panic. He had made himself his usual supper, three slices of cheese sandwiched and nuked on two pieces of toast, with a handful of walnuts. Instead of waiting for the bread to pop up, he arranged the cheese on the plate and put that into the microwave for 40 seconds. Out to the kitchen I go, and find that the cheese is still pretty much in slice mode. Grabbing the spatula, I lift it off the plate and get it between the two toasts. There was a bit of clearing up to do, no harm done, but he's scaring me.

This morning, I didn't find anything untoward in the kitchen. I took care of Amy's needs, took my meds - except for the diabetic ones, I take them at lunch - and washed them down with water and Glucerna. Duane was awake at least part of the night. His light's off now; I hope he sleeps well. I'm going out later to pick up some vegetable pasta for lunch. He really loves the alfredo and mac'n cheese ones with broccoli on the side; those will be for lunch today and tomorrow.

Today is Michael's birthday. I hope he feels better. We really want to see him Sunday.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Fri Nov 17, 2017 3:48 pm

Good news - Michael's better. Bad - all of his coats are at daycare. *sigh*

For cryin' out loud. How, how, how do you let a person like this go out to the bus without the proper outerwear? Nobody sees he's without a coat? Not the busdriver either? It's a school bus, not public transport - you'd think, maybe? Renee says she's going out to buy him another, because those are probably all gone. This is the first I've heard that the house doesn't write his name inside of them :/ :wtf: So we may or may not see him Sunday. The high is expected to be 2 C, and that'll be around 5 o'clock, hours after he's gone home. We may not see him for the cold, and I don't want to if he's not dressed for the weather.

Anyway, I went grocery shopping this morning and just got everything to fill the fridge and freezer. This plan of dividing things up into three groups is working out well. I've got House, Pantry and Food. Some stuff will overlap, like Amy's stuff is either House or Pantry. But today, almost everything was food, except for Duane's respiratory masks. He's coughing like mad again.

We're back to square one with his meds, only he's become very absent-minded, which is not part of what I'm used to. For instance, he forgot how to turn on the water in the bathroom sink. He was only getting cold, insisting that the hot didn't work. Well, he wasn't pushing it back in the right direction; I showed him, and he still did it wrong. Just take it from there. If it can be forgotten, he eventually will. Just one day at a time, I figure. Or per incident.

It was hard bringing everything in. Rosemary from upstairs happened to be going out, and offered help. I was planning on doing three trips, a bag at a time. After she left, God bless her, I decided to bring in the pop as well, and not leave it for Duane. It took another three trips on my own, with time in between to rest, and now it's all done :) . This morning the Honey got up, got partly dressed, and went back to bed in his flannel shirt and underwear. It was 9:25 AM; he was atop the covers, so I worked them over him and turned off his light. If he's not up by 11, I'll go get him. We've been going out to lunch on Fridays for, idk, decades, at least from the time we were first married. Sort of our kickoff to the weekend, if you will. He's depressed, and I'm hoping that getting him out will perk him up - at least it seems to when we do, and it sticks with him for a while after we get back home.

Getting him away from that computer, is tough. He can't stay out of the forums for long. There's one called Heretics, Believers and Unbelievers, at least I think that's the name of it, which sounds like one-stop shopping for the Spanish Inquisition. I really think that some of the biggest offenders online are not individuals with a particular set of beliefs, which are upsetting him, but trolls with entirely too much time on their hands. Baha'u'llah said,
“If ye be aware of a certain truth, if ye possess a jewel, of which others are deprived, share it with them in a language of utmost kindliness and goodwill. If it be accepted, if it fulfill its purpose, your object is attained. If anyone should refuse it, leave him unto himself, and beseech God to guide him.”

I do wish he'd do that. God knows it's worked for me, when it comes to teaching the Faith. It's not personal if folks don't take what you're laying down, but sometimes it's hard to see it that way.

Okay. He's getting up. Have a good Friday, joons.


with crossed fingers,
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