With A Little Help From My Friends

I have a little problem and I need your help.  Keep in mind that I have a touch pad and not a mouse.  But I have been playing this game and I can’t get a score higher than “You Suck.”  I am intensely curious what other scores are possible.  Can you play it and let me know how you do?  I hope you have fun!

Cheney’s Fury

How’s It Going To Be

I got an email from a friend today.  He’d had some news that knocked him off his feet.  He said “My life is such a do-over, with extreme baggage attached.”  It made my heart feel heavy that he would feel that way.  This wonderful man who gives so much.  And he said this to me.  The self-professed poster child for do-overs.  I know he is talking about bigger things, but to share just a tip of the iceberg with you, dear blog reader, I said “What the hell was that?!” in church during the opening hymn on Sunday morning.  I saw some arms flying several people down my row and it was clear that one of my boys was pounding on the other.  All of us exhibiting inappropriate church behavior.  And with me, it is often black and white.  I say “hell” in church loudly enough for a three row radius to hear and I immediately think my only option is to move to a remote corner of Texas.  Were I not punishing myself, I would choose to move to a remote corner of Montana.  But the Unibomber picked it for a reason and I am not entirely clear that I will fit in.

I hope I get do-overs.  I hope every day provides an opportunity for a Muligan.  Kathleen used to say “Treat others today the way you want to be treated tomorrow.”  The truth is, I just want to treat people with dignity and respect and help them feel valued.  I have come to believe that no one can love someone else enough to fill up the hole.  Happiness is an inside job.  But we can hold hands and help each other through when things get a little tough.

That Smell

I love my house.  But, as with everything that I love, it isn’t perfect.  There have been things over the years that have been fixed or replaced as we polish in our quest for perfection – like the painted wrought iron railings that have been replaced with wood ones.  One thing about my house that I would change if I knew how is the smell.  It has a slightly musty smell that has bugged me for years.  When we bought it, I thought it was just because it hadn’t been lived in for a year and that would change.  Over the years, I have tried duct cleaning, replacing the flooring, and a wide array of air fresheners.

Last week we had a big rain and after the rain, I noticed that the smell got worse.  Not the same smell exactly, but certainly a wet, mildewy smell.  Out came the insence.  I gave serious thought to ripping up the last remaining carpet regardless of the fact that I don’t have the money to replace it.  But slowly, clues started seeping into my consciousness like water from under the door when the toilet overflows.  There was that drain outside near the front door that in seven years has never drained anything.  Yet, there has been a persistent trickle the last few days.  And the smell.  I thought I would change the air conditioner filter to see if that would help.  I opened up the cabinet to get out the filter and there it was.  Water.  Lots of water.  The closet companion of the air handler is the water heater.

Although it was a Sunday afternoon, I grabbed the phone and called Gary.  His cell phone was off, so I called his home.  With profuse apologies to his wife, I asked for Gary.  He told me to shut off the valve, but I couldn’t get it to budge.  He said with a resigned voice “I’ll be right there.”  I felt badly to disturb him on a Sunday but I was so comforted that he was coming.  My knight in shining armour riding up in a white van.  The news isn’t good.  He’ll have to rebuild the cabinet in addition to replacing the hot water heater.  But the good news is that while he has it all torn apart, he will put in that extra outlet I have been wanting and perhaps I will finally be able to find the source of the smell and get rid of it.  Ooo, that smell.

Be

Pre says “Dedication: You have to be dedicated because your (sic) the only person that can do the work – No one else can do it for you.”  There is no satisfaction in hard work unless you do it yourself.  That’s why I like to run.  I am the one who has to put in the miles.  No one else can do it for me.  I think that’s true of most things in life.  Except laundry.

A Note on Apathy

I got an email today about a TLT session in Second Life to talk to educators about what could be done in SL.  It stressed that it was not a “how to” and you betterknow SL before getting there.  Good idea!  SL takes a bit of getting used to and it can be maddening to try to bring a noob (newbie – someone who just got started in SL) along when you are conducting a session.  Not to mention how maddening it might be for the noob! At any rate, I wanted to see what they had to say so, even though I had a conflict at the same time, I signed up right away.  It was full!  They had reached capacity at 100 people.  Educators sure are hungry for this stuff.

A friend sent the proceedings to the last SL conference.  I can’t read lots of text online, so I have printed them to read later but it described a place called Casablanca and I visited today.  It’s amazing what can be done with time, enthusiasm and talent!  They have these little Moroccan hats that you wear for information.  I recommend a look around.  I expect to go back and meet Humphrey Bogart.

Another friend is anxious to get “in world.”  That’s what we call being in Second Life.  “In world.” She wants to find a SL boyfriend.  I assured her there was plenty of that available!  I didn’t go on to say “You have no idea when the person on the other end of the keyboard took a bath.” But that’s what I was thinking.  Or something like that.

Mother’s Little Helper

On Wednesday I had another procedure on my face to try to excise all the cancer cells.  The deal is, they will keep coming back.  There is no permanent fix.  I keep trying the latest thing I can.  This procedure is not covered by insurance.  Actually, it would be if they spot treated it.  But given the nature of my damage, spot treating isn’t terribly effective.  I pay out of pocket… Which I think is the point.  It’s better than the last treatment with Efudex.  What a great name for that product! “F U dex”  This is equally as painful, but hopefully will be short lived in comparison.  And with Efudex, after several weeks, the skin is raw and painful, much like it is now.  But the treatment regimen calls for repeated applications of the product to continue to make it more raw and more painful.  Rubbing anything over torn and burned oozing flesh is not fun.  Rubbing something that you know will make it worse is even less fun.  I never once made it all the way through the treatment.  I couldn’t stand it.  I was losing my mind.  The last time, the Efudex was followed by a skin infection.  The treatment for the skin infection exacerbated other conditions and it was like a big avalanche rolling downhill cutting a swath of destruction.  This time the treatment itself wasn’t painful.  It’s the aftermath.  Good golly, the aftermath!  What has really surprised me, however, is all the women who are giving me some very potent drugs.  It’s like everyone has their own pharmacy!  Instead of bringing over a casserole, they come bearing vicadin and oxycotin. I worry about becoming the next Rush Limbaugh.

My Opening Farewell

Sitting in the airport again, I am thinking it is a great day.  Even though the big sign said my favorite long term parking lot was full, I pulled in because I knew if I parked elsewhere, I might never find my car.  There was a spot right next to the shuttle stop.  The bus was at the stop and waited for me.  I hurried for it, but once settled in my seat and we pulled away, I started worrying that I had forgotten to lock my car.  I considered my options and finally said something to the driver.  She looped back so I could check. 

A boy sat in my lap this morning after sketching out some music of his own creation.  He studiously played his fingers on my face and neck while quietly singing his little ditty that reminded me of something Ella Fitzgerald would sing.  I wished the moment would never end.  It made me think of love.  Watching a mother spoon baby food into the open mouth of her child in the restaurant tonight as the child leaned out of the arms of her father to get closer to the food, I thought of love.  At the end of the day, I hope those I love know I love them.  I hope they feel valued to their core. 

Wild Honey

This morning I woke up kind of early (5 AM San Francisco time) and lay around answering emails thinking about whether or not I was up to a run.  I have been burning the candle at both ends and I am tired.  I thought of Sissy and decided that I just had to lace up my shoes and get out the door.  I shoved my cell phone and room key in my pocket and carried my iPod.  I had told a friend this week that I wouldn’t wear my iPod in the city because I wanted to be extra vigilant.  Today, however, I needed the tunes.  It started out with “Life Uncommon” by Jewel.  I was feeling pretty good about my uncommon common life as I ran through the streets exploring the city.  Then I ran by the Mexican Consulate and saw the long line of people waiting.  It was only 7:30. 

I ran around the business people and saw another jogger up ahead.  I sprinted to catch her, but a bus ran a red light and I had to stop for it.  When it passed, I could no longer find Her.  Down at the Embarcadero, I found some stairs in an oval pattern.  I sprinted up one side and jogged down the other.  I did this several times.  I was feeling strong.  Not a smidge of hip trouble.  This was a good run.  Down by the water, I saw ferry boats and charter boats.  I saw a poem engraved in plaques set one line at a time a few paces apart.  I wish I could remember what it said.  I liked it.

The next thing I knew, I was at Pier 39 where we were on Sunday night looking at the Sea Lions.  I wished them a good morning as I sprinted by.  I had been running for just about half an hour and suddenly, I had a crushing headache.  I knew this was dehydration.  Why hadn’t I brought money? I felt a kinship with the panhandlers.  I plotted what I could do.  After running through Chintatown, up another big hill, up and down another staircase, and past the landslide area, I spotted a firehouse.  They would have to help me… Wouldn’t they?  The door was open so I walked up to a man in a truck.  “Excuse me,” I said “I am a tourist and I came away from my hotel without any water.  I have a terrible headache and could really use some water.  Do you have a drinking fountain?”  He brought me inside, gave me some water and introduced me to the crowd of people dressed like firefighters sitting around a very large conference table.  They offered to fix me some breakfast.  I declined.  The water was wonderful.

I continued running and I wish I could remember exactly where I went.  The streets were more crowded and it was getting difficult to get something going.  I enjoyed sprinting across streets as the light counted down.  After over an hour of running, I still wasn’t ready to stop.  But, given that I had work to do, I thought it was for the best.  Today was a magic run.  I haven’t had one of those in a long time.

Stay With You

I got scared tonight.  Walking back to my hotel, I got a little lost.  For all it’s quaint, funky charm, San Francisco is still a large city and the homeless population is evident and panhandling with entrepreneurial zeal.  (Funny thing is, they all seem pretty polite about it.)  My sense of direction is usually pretty good – and I had scoped out this area while on my run Sunday, so I was even more alarmed to be in unfamiliar territory. 

Reflecting on this fear, I thought about Second Life.  It is true that there is a lot of creepy stuff going on there.  It seems that in the anonymity of a virtual world, people’s fantasies or deviant behavior can come to the surface.  But, thanks to terms of service agreements, any truely troublesome deviant can be expelled.  If you stay in the quiet security of a swanky hotel, everything is fine.

God Bless The Child

Yesterday my sister told me about a run she’d had earlier in the week.  She went out for a run with her buddy, but then decided to add some extra miles.  One thing and another, the next thing she knew, she’d run 21 miles.  I remember those!  Magic runs.  I have been spinning on my wind trainer almost every day and trying to stretch more regularly to rehab my hip.  My weight is up and I am feeling very out of shape.  Inspired by my sister, I laced up my shoes in the afternoon unsure of how far I would go.  I wanted to be smart.  It wasn’t a magic run, but it was a run.  I went 5.6 miles (6 Newman Miles).  I am glad I did it.  My hip feels ok.  I might get back in good shape after all.  It’s hard to climb the hill again.  It’s hard to not wallow in self-pity, fueled by a seemingly limitless supply of Girl Scout Cookies.

I’ve been thinking of a paradox this morning.  Self-sufficiency is good.  Bill Tucker always said “Trust God and love others.  The others will let you down but God never will.”  If one places too many expectations on another person, disappointment will follow.  And yet, when I see people paint smaller and smaller circles around themselves, isolating themselves from others, they just end up sad and lonely.  I need to be self-supporting through my own contributions, which includes living within my means.  I was discussing buying a new coat this week with a friend.  She said “You deserve it.” as justification for my spending the money.  What does that have to do with it?  I deserve a personal chef, masseuse, and personal assistant.  Oh, and someone else to fold the laundry.  I deserve a house on the beach.  This is a paradox for another day. 

I want to have people in my life.  I enjoy having people in my life.  But I can stand on my own two feet.  I can carry my own bags.  I can take care of it, whatever it is.  It’s like running.  I prefer to run with a buddy.  But if my buddy can’t make it, I will go anyway.