All I've Got

"The will of God will never take you where the grace of God cannot keep you..."

Oh, how time passes us so quickly without permission or recognition. It seems as if the months have piled up above my head and have left me lost in a landslide of days and weeks that are scattered carelessly about. I am easily distracted and ask your forgiveness for allowing myself to be so inaccessible and unresponsive. In other words, sorry for taking so long to respond to you and write back. My intentions have always been to let you know that we are happy, healthy, and doing well, but life so easily diverts my attention to another matter that is inevitably seemingly more pressing, more urgent, or more necessary. (Not that it always is, just that that is how it seems.)

To catch you up with California happenings, I would most likely begin with the health and decline of my step-father Greg, who is dying of cancer. He’s been fighting colon cancer for the last seven years, so his condition is not surprising, simply sad. Unable to continue with chemotherapy, the cancer quickly spread from his colon to liver, lungs, and now brain. My mother and sister, who had been living in San Diego, have temporarily moved up to Los Angeles to care for him until his death, which is likely to occur within the next few weeks. Perhaps he might have the wherewithal to hold on until after the holidays, so as not to leave the association of death and holidays so easily transmutable into unpleasant feelings and memories.

Just this last weekend, we went to visit him in his home. Opening the door to his room, he lay deflated against his pillows, his ashen face marked only by dark circles that looked like bruises beneath both eyes. With barely enough strength to sit up, I lean forward to kiss his forehead and greet him hello. He reaches up his arm and hooks it around my neck, breathlessly whispering into my ear, “I love you.” It made me uncomfortable to hear him greet me like that, because his “hello” really meant “goodbye.” Twenty minutes when my mother asked if Gregory and Ashley (my brother and sister) could come in to talk to him, he asked, “Who are they? Do I know them?”

Brain cancer is a funny thing. The brain is such a delicate tissue, the slightest increase in intracranial pressure or abnormal growth within certain areas of the brain can cause a drastic array of symptoms, among which he has experienced: severe migraines, blurred vision, periodic blindness, memory loss, inability to recall the names of people or things, dizziness, loss of balance, generalized weakness, bizarre speech pattern, and the list goes on. Seemingly on the verge of dying, my mother called hospice care who came in to assess his condition and swift deterioration and determined that a particular steroid may help reduce swelling and alleviate the symptoms that had so swiftly swept over him. To everyone’s shock and relief, the steroids improved his condition enough for him to be able to leave his bed and shuffle around the house, albeit for short periods of time. He is not always coherent, (seeing as how he asked my mother, “If I die in the jewelry box, will you bury me with my rings?”), but to compare him to how he looked just a few days ago, you would never have guessed that he was practically on his death bed. For that, I suppose we ought to be grateful, but some small part of me wonders if it is right to prolong the inevitable. Today, as my mother was administering his pain meds, he accused her of trying to kill him. We are now adding paranoia and severe agitation to the list of symptoms. The nurse said the tumor is causing some sort of brain psychosis and doctor has added Haldol to his list of drugs, which also include, but are not limited to: Morphine, Ativan, Oxycontin, and Ambien that he takes each day/night to help manage pain and help him sleep.

Death brings perspective, and with perspective comes reflection; reflection brings insight, and insight moves the heart. Once the heart is moved, we can never be the same - and this is what I'm learning.

Already posted this on Facebook, but not everyone in this world lives in Facebook land.
I'm drowning myself in music and it feels so good.
Here's some of my latest and greatest finds:

Bon Iver - Blindsided, Skinny Love
The XX - Crystalised
Band of Horses - No one's gonna love you
The National - Start a war
The Troggs - A Girl like you (I actually like the cover version made by Yo La Tengo better)
Yo La Tengo - Our way to fall in love
Eagle Seagull - Death Could Be at the Door
William Fitzsimmons - Everything has Changed...and any other song that man writes
Brooke Fraser - Love is Waiting, Albertine
A Fine Frenzy - Almost Lover, Hope for the Hopeless
Alexi Murdoch - Song For You, All Of my Days

and for a little kick, anything by DJ Tiesto!

As if work and school weren't enough, the littlest one has come down with a nasty case of croup. She hasn't slept in 2 days and coughs like a barking seal. This is going on the third night - her fever came back and now she's choking on all the congestion in her chest.
Poor baby. I don't know what to do.
I have her on Robitussin, Tylenol, and Prednisolone (a steroid used to open up her airways).
So far I haven't seen much of an improvement.
This may prove to be a long night, folks.

a retard.
Although, I can't really be at fault for that. Who blames a retard for anything?
So I've decided to make my life miserable and overwhelm myself yet again by jumping into server training at work.
I've been a waitress before. I know the schtick.
But does my manager know that?
Rewind to this afternoon.
I knew it was an ominous sign that the weather was cloudy, windy, and it actually sprinkled.
(I know. Gasp! This is southern California, land of perpetual and eternal sunshine. It doesn't sprinkle here! What gives?)
I'm stationed out on the patio - a hot commodity for the dinner crowd. People wait for an hour and a half on weekends just to get a chance to eat at Casa de Bandini, and even longer if they want the patio.
Sorry.
Back to the story...
.dniweR
Tony Hawk comes in with his wife and baby girl. No big deal 'cause he comes in often.
He sits on the patio - where he always sits.
(Why does he always sit there?)
We get him situated, drinks out, food ordered, all is well and happy in the world.
And then his wife asks me for a coat.
"A coke?" I clarified.
"A co.." she mumbled and pointed to her left.
I looked over and saw that Tony was rubbing his daughters bare legs.
"Oh, a coat?" I clarified again.
She nodded yes.
Fine.
Get the woman a coat.
It's windy and her baby is cold.
It's southern California.
Nobody knows what to do when water begins to leak from the sky.
Cars start braking like it was a downpout from a tropical storm.
I would know because last year working at the CRC i had to drive home in tropical storm weather.
People brake.
Often.
Damn the rain, we'll sit outside anyway, is the kind of attitude some people have.
So she's cold.
Don't ask questions.
Just get the woman a coat.
A coat.
Where to get a...coat.
Manager.
Aha.
I've seen you with a reboso before. (Spanish word for this warm scarf like piece of warm fabric.)Manager wants to keep woman happy because woman is married to rich man.
He scrambles to find one he's hidden away in the shed, (it's a Mexican restaurant, of course they have a shed), and insists on handing it to her himself
at which point she looks up at him and says, "I wanted a coke."
Really.
The coke I asked you if you wanted?
Twice??
Needless to say I looked ridiculous to my manager.
What a great impression to make.
Look, I wanted to say to him but didn't get an opportunity to explain, I'm not in the habit of handing out blankets and coats to random tables.
Besides - we don't even carry coke.
We carry Pepsi.
I don't give someone ice when they ask for rice or give them a lime when they ask for the time.
Although if i did any of those things, in my defense, those mariachis sing pretty damn loud and it's not uncommon to have to read lips and yell over them.
Not that the mariachis were playing at the time of the incident I just described.
But that is beside the point.
The point is,
the point is...
it's late.
And I'm tired.
My eyes hurt.
I have two essays due tomorrow and I have completed 0% of them.
I am tired.

ps - i am not going to proof read this email for grammatical errors, spelling mistakes, or correct any stray points I may have intended to make but got off track from. You will have to make your own inferences if I began to ramble. I absolve myself, as I do with most things.

This morning I let David wake up to get the kids ready for school and drop them off. I laid there, pretending to be asleep, for about an hour. It was glorious. And then he came home and asked me if I would do Pilates with him. In the spirit of good sportsmanship, and in an effort to support his newly obsessive exercise routine he has created to begin training for a marathon next year, I dragged myself out of bed, crawled down the stairs and laid on my yoga mat while he set up the video. I was hoping my disheveled just-got-dragged-out-of-bed-by-my-husband look would inspire some sympathy and prompt him to suggest I return to bed. He smiled at me and pushed "Play". 30 minutes of intense abdominal training is exactly the kind of wake up I look forward to on a Monday morning. What a sweetheart.

Dear Note, thanks for the heads up on the plants. I did as you instructed and planted them in the terra cotta bowl out front. I think they'll be happy there in the sun. Good call.
In the meantime, I've ducktaped my checkcard to prevent any further unauthorized purchases without my prior approval...although not before you went out and bought 2 packets containing seeds for carrots and green beans. I'm not sure where you planned on growing them, seeing as the dirt around here is as hard as baked clay and not conducive to vegetable gardening.
My instinct tells me you had somehow delusionally planned to grow them in raised beds. How you planned on achieving this is beyond me as I have just told you I drastically cut my hours at work, to which you replied, "How wonderful." My impression is that you were sincere. If so, I would greatly appreciate your cooperation by not sabotaging any efforts on my part to save money.

There's no need to remind me of your joy for playing in the dirt. Need I remind you I share your enthusiasm for plants? For the record, I'm not traumatized by the horrific death of my zuchinis, pumpkin, cucumber, corn, or greenbeans. I'm just reluctant to invest the time and money into another garden until I have the adequate resources to provide for it (time and money-wise). Sharing your vision of a winter garden was thoughtful, but highly ambitious and impractical. You'll have to forgive me if I don't jump on board. I've barely begun my time at home and already you're planning away my days. What gives?

Dear Self, how wonderful that you have decided to cut back on work to spend more time at home. I know, I know. You're stressed about money. Who, in this world, isn't stressing about something? Might as well be stressed and enjoy your children and husband than to be working all the time and never having time for them or your homework, right?
I'm glad you think so. In the meantime, I've got a little project that's been turning 'round and 'round in my head and I've been anxiously awaiting to share with you...I want you to plant a winter garden! The thought hit me quite randomly the other day as I was pouting about the fact that I don't get to play in the dirt anymore. So today, in honor of being broke and while you weren't paying attention, I bought a small cherry tomato plant and a strawberry plant.
You're going to plant them in the terra cotta container out front that used to house the basil that you so unecessarily let die. (Remember, the basil you stopped watering for no reason right after the damn plants started to grow - something you had complained they weren't doing all summer - remember that?)
Don't give me that crap about being traumatized by your expereince with the zuccini's.
That was exactly 14 months and 5 days ago. I'm over it and you're over it too. You just don't know it yet. Just because your garden was unexplainably devastated by a mysterious disease does not mean you should never attempt to garden again. I see you're half hearted attempts. You planted jasmine and sweetbroom. Those were two very successful choices and I'm happy that you're happy about that. But please, can we go back to the basics? There is something so very satisfying about the idea of a productive garden giving back to the family. Besides, I miss playing in the dirt.
Here. i found this list on Suite101.com. (just in case you wanted some reference on what to plant:)

A list of wonderful winter / cool season vegetables
Snap peas and snow peas -Frost-hardy peas may be planted whenever the soil temperature is at least 45°F or plant heat-tolerant varieties in midsummer to late summer for a fall crop. Plant peas at least 1 to 1-1/2 inches deep and one inch apart. Approximately 60 days to harvest.

Cole crops: broccoli, cabbage, collards (frost hardy- can tolerate more cold weather in the late fall than other cole crops - 60-75 days to harvest), cauliflower, brussels sprouts, bok choy...

Carrots - Hardy, cool season biennial. Plant about 1/2 deep (no more than two or three seeds per inch). Takes 2 weeks to germinate and approximately 60+ days to mature.

Parsnips - Plant seeds 1/2 to 3/4 " deep. They are slow germinating. You can keep them in the ground over winter and harvest in spring for what most consider to be the best flavor!

Beets - Fairly frost hardy. Thin seedlings to 1-3 inches apart. Start successive plantings at 3 to 4 week intervals until midsummer. Takes approximately 60 days to maturity.

Onions - Winter onions are planted from sets formed at the tops of the plant in place of flowers. You must get a winter variety such as walking onion/Egyptian onion, and these are perennials so give them a permanent home. In August, plant the sets 1 inch deep. Space sets 4 inches apart.

Lettuce - Can be planted early spring or late summer. You may want to start lettuce seedlings in the shade and transplant when temperatures cool. Plant 1/2 inch deep, 12 inches apart.

Mesclun - A mixture of young, leafy greens including lettuce.

Spinach - Seed spinach in late summer for fall and winter harvest. Chill your spinach seeds in the refrigerator for 1-2 weeks before planting.

Rutabagas/Turnips - A rutabaga is a cross between a cabbage and turnip. Turnips grow wild in Siberia. Turnips mature in two months and may be planted either in the spring, late summer or fall. You can eat the roots or leaves. Rutabagas mature in 3 months.

Chard - Plant seeds 1/2 to 3/4 inches deepRead more: http://vegetablegardens.suite101.com/article.cfm/plant_a_fall_and_winter_garden#ixzz0RFJYzbOp



I do so miss playing in the dirt. It'll be therapuetic. C'mon!
I'll check back with you in a week and see what you have to say.

these days are filled with
living
that flows between
the nonexistent points
of good or bad

this movement is continuous,
constant in its certainty
deliberate
in its spontaneity
and fixed for no one

the illusion
is that we are
what we feel
we are
instead of what lies
beneath the ebb and flow
of this fluid dream
of"me"

Writing the five page essay last class was an unexpected but enjoyable assignment. I can’t remember what led me to write about God, but it felt like a topic worthy of introspection and seemed challenging enough. If I’m going to write five paragraphs about something, the last thing I want to do is bore myself writing about something of relative unimportance. That’s one thing that I recognize about myself – the compulsive need to do everything perfectly. It’s not always a good thing. There are just some tasks in life that aren’t worth the additional time that I spend on them. Like laundry, for example. Do the shirts really need to be hung according to color? Do the hangers really need to be spaced two finger widths apart? No. But I’m aware of this and have the rational capacity to maintain a measurement of embarrassment over admitting such things, whereas a truly neurotic person does not. At least, that’s what I tell myself in consolation. So as a compromise, I only take the time to perform such detail oriented tasks if I’m aware that I’m choosing to perform them and never perform them out of compulsiveness. This is an important distinction in my book. And since I have a need to manage myself in such ways, making “rules” and such, it ends up being a pretty big book. Sigh.
You can only escape your insanity for so long; it always finds you in the end.

I walk along the moist wedge of sand where the edge of the ocean rests.
Leaving footprints behind like a trail of breadcrumbs, I turn to look in my wake.
The water glides along the sand in thin sheets, smoothing over every mark that bore witness to my being there. The shoreline stretches endlessly in either direction, with no point of reference or indication that where I’m going is any different than where I’ve been. Rocks lay glistening in the sun, little pieces of the earth that serve as silent witnesses of my passing. They carry within them stories older than the ages, as old as the grains of sand and the salt in the sea. Their smooth curves and restful nature appeal to me and I stoop down to pick one up before water rushes to bury it beneath another fine layer of sand. It is sparkling white and about the size of an egg; and I marvel at how it fits perfectly into the palm of my hand. I look at the grey veins that are spread across its pitted surface and am convinced of its perfection. Uncertainty suddenly finds me – do I replace the rock where I found it, move it to a place where it can be admired by all, or take it home? Something similar to guilt forces me to remove it from my pocket and return it to its place in the sand. Everything in this life has its place, I suppose. Who am I to interfere with the journey that rock was on? My husband, who looks at me from afar, sees nothing but his wife silhouetted against the setting sun. She stands there with her head tilted slightly to one side and pulls something out of her pocket to place it in the sand. I turn and begin my walk back towards him. He knows better than to ask what I was doing. My explanations are usually met with raised eyebrows. “It’s a rock,” he would say, and I would quietly smile.