Sometimes It's Tough

Inspirational song: Love Shack (B-52s)

There was a break in the weather this morning, allowing last night's snow to melt into mud. Mr S-P took advantage of that little window of acceptable weather (it was cool and overcast, but I was told it was still shorts weather) to finish putting together the shed, or at least get it close enough to done to be weather-tight. He got most of the shell in place, put some scraps up as stop-gap roof decking so the plastic doesn't fall in with this week's snow, and lastly he hung up the door. As soon as the door was secured, he looked at the mismatched exterior and exclaimed, "Boy, that's a whole lot of ugly." We're fairly certain half (or more) of the reason our young neighbor disliked the shed and was enthusiastic about it being torn down and moved to our yard, was that it was such a hideous pink and white color scheme. The guys agreed to hang a sign on it, dubbing it "Tyler's Love Shack," in honor of how much he hated it. I think once it's finished, with new siding painted in a dark raisin color, covered in the vertical herb and lettuce garden I plan to install next spring, it will be transformed. Beautiful, even. Just you wait and see.

I wasn't the only one having a crappy week last week. A family friend lost her job, and then the very next day had to take her fiancee to the emergency room. I've had bad news pile on me like that, and sometimes I've had friends around to provide comfort. In times like that, what you need is someone to come by with food, a hug, acknowledgement that yes, life sucks, and a promise that it won't suck forever. Today I had a chance to give a little of that back, and I when we dropped by with green chile and chocolate (packaged separately), I said exactly those things to her. She seemed to be in a pretty good place, all things considered, but I'm still glad we went by to show her that we're there for her.

And finally, I have solemn news from the family. My mother had to admit it was time to say goodbye to one of her dogs this weekend. When we first moved back to Oklahoma in the winter of 2001, my mother made one of her many dog rescues. We were considering adopting this young, black female dog (no, not Elsa--she came many years later, wandering down the very same road near the Motherpark). Molly (the dog) came down for an introduction when we all gathered at my grandfather's house for that year's Christmas. It did not go well. She did not like Mr S-P or our older daughter at all, which is weird, because most dogs love both of them. In all of the years since, Molly expressed her displeasure every time we came to visit the Motherpark. We never said a bad word to her, but as far as I can tell, she didn't like anyone but my parents in the whole world. She knew who had rescued her, and she was determined to protect them for her entire life. In the last few years, her health declined, but she stuck in there. By this past Friday, she could no longer stand, and my parents agreed that it was time to assist her exit. Today she breathed her last, and my family gave her a beautiful marker in their Park. I can't be sad about it. My parents gave her time and space to be herself, and they recognized when she needed help to say goodbye. Thank you, Molly, for all you did to keep the family safe. No one who heard your scary bark and growl would have ever dared break into that house.

Before the Storm

Inspirational song: Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You (Led Zeppelin)

We enjoyed the last day of warm weather while we had it. It was gorgeous until late afternoon, and while I ran around stocking up ahead of the looming snowpocalypse, Mr S-P worked in the back yard. We had a few good hours where the ground was visible, for the first time since mid-December. We've had the skeleton of our neighbor's shed in a messy pile against our fence for months, and the man couldn't stand looking at it another moment. The basic structure is up, but the first wave of snow chased him off before he could finish. We're going to paint it and all the fascia on our house in a deep, dark brown, although that will be weeks away now.

I feel bad for wasting two hours that he could have been working on his project this morning by asking him to drive me on a wild goose chase. One would think that when the doctor's office called me late yesterday to give me the phone number of the lab my health insurance demands I use for tests, that the specific test orders would have been entered into the lab's computer system already. We went to the only location of this lab open on a Saturday, thirty miles north of here. They had no record of me, under any version of my name that the receptionist and I could think of. So much for getting this done ahead of the blizzard. I guess it can wait until the middle of next week. It will have to. Apparently I'm going to have to wait that long for my back to improve as well. How long do I have to limp around with my spine bent sideways, shouting in sudden pain every so often, before this gets escalated to a real emergency? The new muscle relaxers and anti-inflammatories aren't doing a damned thing, exactly the same as the ones I had before. I guess if it's still like this after the snowstorm, I'll go back to the doc and ask whether we can progress to taking images of my spine and see what we can learn that way.

The longer this nonsense goes on, the more it turns into a real drag. I haven't felt like an adult for a week and a half. I'm neglecting work. I'm struggling to write. I just want to feel normal again. I don't need to be superwoman. I just need to function at average capacity. Can I have that now?

Slow Hand

Inspirational song: The Wind Cries Mary (Jimi Hendrix)

Wow. I've had better days. I wish I could more easily add sound effects here, to accurately reflect what I'm doing, which amounts to Lamaze breathing and saying, "Nnngggggyyeaahh... (pant pant) dontbarfdontbarfdontbarf..." I love knowing that we just paid twenty bucks for a steak that will most likely end up being violently propelled from my body against gravity. I noticed how pasty white my face is, as I stared in my own reflection in the bathroom mirror, coaching myself not to throw up. I can't tell what's going to happen for sure tonight, but I know it won't involve much activity on my part.

I made concrete plans for that open house I'm going to offer, and I am pleased to report that it won't be until next weekend. I'll worry about it in the next few days. Now is not the time.

The most fortunate part of my day was calling at noon to ask for an appointment for a massage, and finding that my new favorite therapist had a cancellation this afternoon. I needed him so desperately, and he knew exactly how to bring my jacked up spinal muscles back from the edge of disaster. He started very slowly, just barely moving his flat hand along my back. He promised that he could trick my muscles into relaxing that way, and for the most part he was right. I had a lot of damage to repair, so I'm not magically cured, but I am far more flexible and aligned than I was at about 2 o'clock this afternoon. Plus, I learned some things about my new therapist. As a child he once snuck into a concert hall and hid where he could listen to Jimi Hendrix do a sound check, and as a teenager he once jammed with Arlo Guthrie. I told him I already liked him, but that just made his cool points go through the roof. I can't wait to know him better. I think I've only begun to hear about a very fascinating life.

Best Foot Forward

Inspirational song: Right Here Right Now (Jesus Jones)

I have to stop standing on the sidelines. I've let an awful lot of the world go whizzing past me over the last few years, and I think my best chance for jumping on this freight train is right now. I am certain some of the cars have already passed me by, but there's still a lot of train left to catch, to stick with my metaphor. I'm lined up and ready to roll, but I've still been moving slowly toward my goals. I haven't been putting enough hours toward them every day. Time to shake off the lethargy and GO.

The next week may well be the busiest week I've had since I came to Colorado. Tomorrow I am meeting with a fellow agent, and I will be setting up an open house on one of her listings this weekend. I'm still a little nervous about the whole process, and I want to ask for a lot of hand-holding, but if I remind myself that I learn best in trial-by-fire situations, I'll push past the fear and just do it. There will be a lot of prep work involved, including some door knocking and internet advertising. The door knocking is the scariest part, but I will do what the job entails. I have to.

I went to the Chamber of Commerce mixer as planned tonight. I don't know why I imagined for weeks that this would be an insular crowd, not willing to accept new faces. The reality was the exact opposite. From the moment I walked up, I was welcomed and encouraged to talk and meet new people. I felt like I had known some of these people for years, not just minutes. I didn't talk to everyone, because there were over two hundred people in the room. But I had meaningful conversations with probably ten people, maybe a little more. Most of them were people I honestly hope I get to see again. This evening served to further my feeling that this place is really a small town in the middle of a metropolis, and that given the chance, I can find a great sense of community here.

I finally made it in to the doctor today, to whine to someone about my back who can actually help me get better. I've got some new anti-inflammatory meds and muscle relaxers that I've never heard of before. And for the first time since that chiropractor I saw in the 90s, someone used the "arthritis" word about my back. Apparently there will be some testing in the upcoming days and weeks. I had a couple tiny moments of hope that things were getting better, when I stood up nearly straight this afternoon, but then I spent two hours standing on my feet tonight, and it was all I could do to limp to the car after. I saved the new muscle relaxer for after I got home, since that one had "may cause dizziness" in all caps on the label, as well as the "may cause drowsiness" sticker that both bottles had. I haven't moved since I got home, so my evaluation may be skewed, but best I can tell, I can sit more comfortably. That's enough of a win for now.

This evening's mixer was at the humane society building, the same place where we collected Zoe after she was hit by a car last fall. I worried that I'd be haunted by those memories, but instead I recalled how understanding and caring they were in our time of crisis, and I was impressed by the facility on the adoption side (which I hadn't seen before). The cages all have windows that face out into the central atrium, so that the humans who are looking to adopt can see everyone, and all the animals get a sense of being in a much bigger space than they really are. I walked around and saw a lot of beautiful faces tonight, human, canine, feline, and leporine. (There were two adorable rabbits, including a white one with a wonky foot, but she was hiding by the time I got out my camera.) I did not come home with a kitten in my pocket. Nor even one of the giant adult cats who looked at me seductively through the glass. When the right time comes, there may be another member of my Pride. But right now is not that time.

Gift of the Gods

Inspirational song: Lazer Team (Bare Naked Ladies)

Generally I would say that people know when something significant has happened to them. There are those moments in life when you feel like a miracle has fallen out of the sky, and a deus ex machina has provided you with the tools you need for success. I had such a gift from the gods today. I set up my work-dedicated bank account based on the bank our brokerage uses, so that when my commission checks do start rolling in, my share can be transferred electronically in an instant by the boss. It was convenient for me that there was a branch 8 or 9 blocks from my house (and after living half a country away from my home bank for twenty years, believe me, that was important). The young woman who helped me set up my accounts really went the extra mile to secure my loyal business, calling me twice to follow up and make sure I got what I needed (checks, online access, etc.) I was impressed with her thoroughness. The second time she called, I told her how we have been encouraged to meet with professionals who work closely with our field, like bankers, title companies, home inspectors, and so on. She gave my name to the mortgage specialist at the other branch of this bank in our town, at my request. And today, that messenger of the gods took me out for coffee.

I had expected a simple educational conversation about loan packages that this bank specializes in, and maybe a little extra about the changes to the mortgage process that started January 1st. This was much more than that. I haven't seen my grandmother's face in thirty-five years, but I recognized it when it was worn by this angel who took me under her wing this morning. From the moment we ordered our coffee, she told me who I needed to know in town and where I needed to be to join the right groups and network with the right people. In fact the people in line at the coffee counter ahead of us were the very first people she was going to tell me to approach, from the Chamber of Commerce. So she introduced me, learned when the next mixer would be (tomorrow), and sent an email to the gentleman I met to sign me up as her guest. We then spent an hour getting to know each other, this banker and I, and I knew without a doubt that this was one of the most fortunate days of my fledgling career.

By the time we parted, I had also been introduced to another realtor who came in for coffee (this was seriously the hotspot in town), and she helped me decide which Rotary meeting was the right one for me. I will go as her guest next week, and I am fairly certain I will be joining in my own right. I'm still processing all this in my mind, how significant that one coffee date will be as I go forward. When I look back to when things took off for me (and I will look back, scrolling through old blog posts to find out when the pivotal moment was), this date will be circled with stars drawn in the margins. Today was a very good day.

No photos today. I didn't take any, and can't post them from my phone anyway. I'm riding back from south Denver, and don't plan to be awake when we reach the house. So if you knew my grandmother, picture her face smiling at me, coaching me and promising to introduce me to everyone I need to know. Trust me, it's a pretty picture.

Putting Myself Out There

Inspirational song: Volunteers (Jefferson Airplane)

Sometimes one has to do things that are utterly unwise. I had no business driving today, but I had a place to be, so there I was, driving on the highway when I could barely hold my arms out from my body. I had the seat heater on high, and the electric muscle relaxer adhered and ready to go. Neither of those things helped a lick when I tried to clean a smudge off my glasses and saw how easily the car could have gotten entirely out of control (as opposed to the hint of a swerve and realization that I wouldn't have been able to straighten up anything worse than that.) It made me drive much more slowly to my meeting. I still wish I hadn't been there at all. I should have been home and stretched out flat, not moving at all. I'm about to do exactly that, and the world should celebrate.

I sat through a training that made me realize just how valuable my volunteer experience has been to date. The presentation tonight was for people who are new to non-profit boards, I think. It was a discussion about the structure, mission, and legal responsibilities of boards. After serving as the treasurer, vice president, and president of those ladies' charitable groups, fundraising through auctions and thrift shops to fund scholarships and community projects, I had a pretty good idea how these things work. Most of the material tonight was just review, and a chance to assure myself that my previous boards really had their acts together. The only entirely novel bit of information for me tonight was the individualized charts matching each of us to charitable agencies, based on boxes we checked on the registration forms. That, and I made a contact tonight with someone on one animal rescue board who is hooking me up with another charity devoted just to cats. That sounds like something I can really get behind. I might even volunteer to serve on their board of directors.

I'm sure several of my close friends are wondering why I haven't quoted a doctor yet about my back. I finally went digging through old emails and found the name of the doc and her clinic that our insurance says we are to use. I tried to call this afternoon for an appointment. The phone rang about eight times, and then a very long, rambling auto-answer system picked up. It gave me the option of hitting the pound key to leave a message, but I really couldn't tell whether I was supposed to leave a message if all I wanted to do was make an appointment. I was sore and tired and easily confused. I ended up just hanging up the phone and pouting. If I still can't move tomorrow, I'll try again to face down the evil robo-secretary. I really hope I don't have to.

Shopping Mishaps

Inspirational song: Shock Treatment (Shock Treatment)

I wanted to be a good community citizen. I wanted to purchase my latest device from the locally owned pharmacy that is three blocks from my house. We were there last Wednesday, at their official grand opening, and in between the ribbon cutting and our conversation with our town's mayor, I asked the staff to order for me a TENS system, a home version of the electrical muscle stimulation machines I've used under the supervision of chiropractors and physical therapists. When I walked in today to ask them about it, there was a woman who was on the phone with the supplier at that very moment. They couldn't have it available for me right away, and unfortunately, I was no longer in a position to wait. I told them that I felt bad for not buying from them, but I needed it right away, and was going to get one from Target so I could start using it immediately. I'm glad I did. It made it possible for me to get out and about today. I'm not suddenly healed or anything, but I stood up almost straight for the first time since Friday, as opposed to my shoulders cocked to the left, while my right hip thrust out at an awkward angle in front of me. I looked like someone wadded me up like a straw wrapper.

Less than a month ago, I posted pictures of my daughter's new fishtank that I'd bought her for Christmas, with the glowfish she put in it. Somewhere along the way, she didn't believe me that she needed flake food for those little fish, and she tried to feed them betta pellets. The food ended up sinking to the bottom, getting fuzzy, and turning the water cloudy. Last week all five fish died within about 48 hours of each other. I hated hearing that. Today we went back and got more fish. Unfortunately, she thought the 30 day guarantee for fish was actually 14 days, and she buried them and dumped out the water to thoroughly clean the tank and gravel. She could have gotten a refund or replacements at no additional cost. They were expensive fish, so this was a painful lesson. This time around, she got two each of albino barbs and glow-compatible tiger barbs. We couldn't pass them up. One of the tiger barbs was chasing all the other fish around the tank at the pet store, being a total a-hole. We tried to catch that specific one, just for fun. Not sure we got the right one, but it was still amusing to us to try. She also got a tiny baby female betta, to go in the little tank on her desk. We picked out a pink one, and I told her no matter what she calls her, I'm naming her Rizzo (she's a Pink Lady, amiright?). I will be holding my breath for the next few weeks, to see whether this round of fish takes.

I don't have much else to add. Just that I got to snuggle with Athena and you didn't. Is that gloating too much? (It helped that I had a faux fur blanket to lure her in.)

Not Doing the Trick

Inspirational song: Little By Little (Robert Plant)

Several times in the last 24 hours, I thought I'd found the trick to putting my spine back in order. I had the Mister give me a couple bear hugs that made loud pops along my vertebrae, but it never seemed to be the right one. I tried a couple different pain killers, thinking they would allow the muscles to stretch out a little. I've had several fabulous naps, but they were only temporary escapes from the pain. Menthol cream has opened up my sinuses, but only given me marginal relief. Bit by bit, I'm gaining mobility. It is creeping along, but ever so slowly. I was adventurous enough to go down the stairs to the television room, to watch the divisional playoff games. I'd wanted to watch the Broncos play in a bar again, but I was proud of myself for managing to watch them in my own basement.

As I lay down for my last nap, my hips rotated and snapped louder than before. I thought perhaps that was going to be the magic adjustment, but then Rabbit pinned me down and slept on my right side, pressing me down into the bed for an hour. It's possible she undid the progress that the pop had set in motion. I'm moving a little better after that last event, but I'm not about to get up and play yet.

I'm not without hope. One more night of rest might do it. The trick will be sleeping through the night when I've spent so much of the day knocked out. Maybe if I snuggle up with those cats again.

Nope

Inspirational song: Comfortably Numb (Pink Floyd)

Why is it always on a weekend that this crap gets bad? My choices are to torture myself riding in a car to go to an emergency room, where I will be given Flexeril or Tylenol with codeine, and told to go to my regular doctor on Monday, or to sit at home and dip into my reserves of Flexeril and enhanced Tylenol products that I've kept from past events for emergencies such as this, and wait for Monday to roll around so I can meet the doctor I've been assigned and not yet seen. The main two differences are cost and the car ride. Guess which one I'm choosing. I wish I had a chiropractor or physical therapist on call, as a neighbor or friend of the family, who would come over on a weekend and who could shove my hips back into place properly while I wait for the spasms and inflammation to die down. They are visibly rotated and I can tell whenever I shift or try to stand that they aren't lined up where they belong. The radiating pain and muscle spasms have shortened the reach of my arms too. I can't extend either arm far enough to pick up items that lie sixteen inches on either side of me, like coffee cups or phones, without a five minute long production to lift myself up and rebalance on my sit bones. I took a long winter's nap this afternoon, under the influence of muscle relaxants, and stretched out on one side, the pain actually went away. More accurately, it went dormant, because when I woke, I forgot and stretched and twisted gently to one side. It was like being stabbed just below one kidney. I learned that the smell of menthol rub interferes greatly with the enjoyment of kielbasa and Earl Grey tea, but does little to soften severely knotted muscles.

My one big accomplishment today was actually a rather good one. We had an abundance of eggs (forgot to ask the delivery man to skip a week) and cream cheese (giant brick from Costco), so I made plans to bake an egg-rich dessert. I made a crustless cheesecake over which I layered a flourless chocolate cake, and I found a bright spot on an otherwise dismal day. I didn't measure a single thing. I just dropped a couple big globs of cream cheese into the stand mixer (had to have help getting that out of the pantry), poured in sugar until it seemed to be worked in to the cheese, scooped in a couple spoonfuls of sour cream, two eggs, and a splash of cherry brandy. I let that bake in a cool oven (300), without a water bath for half an hour, and then I started the chocolate layer. Three fifths of a big package of semisweet chocolate, and about three quarters of a bar of Kerrygold butter melted in the microwave, while four eggs whisked in the stand mixer. I blended them, along with a single pack of instant coffee (Starbucks dark roast), until the whole thing started to get firm in the bowl. I gently spooned it over the cheesecake, and returned it to the oven for another half hour. Once done, still a little jiggly in the center, I let it cool on the stovetop for a while, and then chill in the refrigerator for several hours. I made a soft whipped cream with a little more cherry brandy, and that was it. No measuring, no fuss. It was comfort food when I needed it. And boy, did I need it.

Back Again

Inspirational song: Mother's Little Helper (Rolling Stones)

Oh, seriously. Three days in a row, I'm complaining. And it's not the only time in the last week or two either. I much prefer to tell happy stories, but my story-telling mechanisms are on the fritz right now. Somewhere in the last day of belly cramps, I must have twirled myself into an unwise knot. I pulled a muscle in my low back, enough to send me to the secret stash of post-surgical pain remedies. I had a precious few muscle relaxants left from last February's recovery, and I went digging through a bin of expired antihistamines and unwanted statins to find them. I tried cutting one in half, in the hopes that it would be enough, but it wasn't up to the challenge. So now I've had the second one and the pain has dulled almost a third as much as my senses have.

I forced myself to run errands before slipping into my jammies and indulging in Flexeril. I discovered I was capable of lifting a gallon of paint from the shopping cart to the car, but that was the absolute limit of my abilities. I had to have store employees lift a bag of dog food for me twice, in the aisle and into my car. No way I was going to try to move it into the house. I felt so helpless, needing help to lift 30 pounds.

So now I find myself with my faculties swirling, fluctuating, failing. If I'm still, my low back doesn't spasm. But no amount of stillness keeps my head from swimming. I'm writing early so that I can spend the rest of the night with old episodes of Dr Who and a great muscle relaxant buzz. I have just enough brain power left to attach my early morning jealous cat face picture, before I zip out of consciousness. Whee....

Shared Plate

Inspirational song: If (Bread)

When I first figured out that I could no longer consume oatmeal, or for that matter, anything that had ever brushed up against an oat, I doubted my self-diagnosis for years. I'd pretend that maybe it was my imagination, that I was blowing things out of proportion, or seeing connections that were really just coincidences. I'd try to eat things that I wanted, and damn the consequences. And thus, I would wake up in the middle of the night, pulled out of deep sleep by knifing pain in my belly, and I'd suffer for days for my little acts of rebellion. Finally I had to admit to myself that there was never going to be another bowl of Cap'n Crunch in my future, that I couldn't just pick the topping off of someone's homemade apple brown Betty and be okay.

I have treated my problems with wheat in a very similar fashion. I wondered whether I was just going along with the fashionable gluten free movement, and that I didn't really have any true reaction other than a psychosomatic one, as if I could will my waistline to swell four or five inches in an hour, like a weird, attention-seeking magic trick. A few times when I'd had bad days, I used to say stupid things like, "F it. I don't care anymore. I'm going to eat sopapillas and no one can stop me." These days always ended badly. I never avoided the pain and the week-long gut reactions. But every six or eight months or so, I'd forget or doubt myself, and go through it all over again.

I have been a hard-liner at my house, and it has caused a bit of strife in our relationship. Mr S-P does not like it when I pitch a fit and say no, he can't bring home his leftovers from Lucile's, because I know he'll drop biscuit crumbs all over the kitchen. He thinks I'm being condescending or reactionary. I'm really just trying to protect myself. I had to be the bad guy at Christmas when the message didn't get out to all my in-laws and children that I really can't have crumbly cookies in the house, and I segregated all gluten-eaters to one side of the dining setup. I felt awful for having to say anything. So with all that guilt riding on my head, I wondered just how picky I have to be in restaurants. I hate being the high maintenance weirdo who says to put the garlic bread that comes with my dinner on a separate plate and give it to my dining companions, or the one who makes wait staff run back to the kitchen and check menu items for me. Yesterday I did the bread thing, intending just to eat a salad, but when the Mr ordered fries to accompany his sandwich "so we could share" (since I was giving up my bread), I went along with it. I ate maybe ten or fifteen of the fries, pulled from his plate that was covered in tiny bread crumbs from his sandwich. I couldn't have consumed as much wheat as would cover the head of a pin. But I barely made it home from the restaurant that is three blocks from our house before I started having trouble. This morning, before I'd ever made it out of bed I knew I was wrecked. I spent all day feeling like I had a stomach bug. I slept away the morning, and limped around all afternoon. Yes, I'm sure it was a digestive issue. You can imagine the rest from there.

I have days when I hate being like this. I want to believe that it's not real, that I'm just going along with the fad. My doctor in Charleston did run a blood test to see whether I have some genetic marker for Celiac, which I did not have. But obviously there's something working against me here. I'd love to return to the simpler days when I could enjoy sourdough slathered in butter, or oatmeal raisin cookies, or extra crispy fried chicken from KFC. All that is lost to me now. It would be so much easier if it were just me following a fad. I'd rather be merely pretentious than stuck forever without a hope of a cheat day. Why couldn't I just be wrong?

I Need the Wisdom of the Crowd

Inspirational song: Lump (The Presidents of the United States of America)

I would like to make a lot of clever jokes about Planet 9 from Outer Space. Or maybe tell you all about how I accidentally met the mayor of my new hometown this afternoon, and how the Mr and I chatted with him for a while in a drugstore. (Yep, really happened.) But I'm a little distracted, and I wonder whether it might not be time to crowdsource some theories as to what is going on with me.

Two or three years ago, I started having this weird lump in my throat, that never seemed to go away. It was low down, close to my collarbone, and it provided near constant pressure that didn't truly restrict my ability to breathe or swallow, but made it damned freaky to do either. Sometimes, this lump would snap and click, and the sensation was that of air bubbles popping or moist tissue sticking together and then releasing (repeatedly). I started going down the road of talking to a doctor about it at the time, and then all of a sudden, the diverticulitis jumped up and slapped me across the face, and demanded that I devote all of my attention to it. All discussion of what caused this weird lump in my throat went on hold until the digestive system problems were sorted out. Lately, I've noticed the lump is back. I honestly don't know that it ever went away, but it has started bugging me again and I can't escape it anymore. It's bad these days, and I feel like I have been strangled. Sitting still is bad enough, but riding in the pickup truck, with the seat belt that always rides too high on my chest (practically at the junction of my neck and collarbone) moving against it, is like torture. I don't even like lying on my side anymore when I sleep, because I tend to push my shoulders forward too much and it aggravates it.

I'd like to blame my thyroid, because it would be the easiest answer. But I've had my basic thyroid numbers checked many times over the years, and while they aren't perfect anymore, that last time (a couple years ago when this started) there wasn't anything to indicate a real problem. Okay, so there is a little extra fragility with my hair and nails, but I suspect I can blame my dry skin on the fact that it's winter in an arid part of the country. Other than a complete inability to lose weight ever, under any circumstances, I really don't have typical thyroid indicators. So, if you need to talk amongst yourselves first, go ahead, and then get back to me. What else might this be? Or should I go ahead and introduce myself to the new primary care manager by asking for a blood test?

Valuable Feedback

Inspirational song: Time (Alan Parsons Project)

Tonight was one of the most successful attempts to get to know people I've had since I moved back here. I quashed my usual shyness and social awkwardness, and boldly walked into the weekly meeting of the writers group at the local library. I gave myself permission ahead of time to sneak into the back and be quiet the whole night, but I never needed or wanted to do that once I arrived. A woman who was about twenty years older than I acted as ambassador. She introduced herself the moment I arrived, and then she introduced me to at least five other people before the event began. She sat at the same table as I, and she encouraged two other women to join us. I felt like one of the family before the meeting started. I already can't wait to go back, although I have to wait two weeks, since I have a training scheduled next Tuesday.

Every other week, this group reads things that they have written aloud to the other attendees. They were given a prompt last week, and those who "wrote to the prompt" were asked to read first. I didn't know about this going in, but I had prepared myself emotionally to offer up my flash fiction The Seat ahead of time. I told myself that it fit the theme well enough, and the group seemed to agree. I didn't have a printed copy with me, but it was still available on the front page of AntVsWhale.com, so I read from my phone. I was surprised to realize this was the first time I'd ever read it aloud, and here I was standing before 13 strangers to do it. I probably rushed a little in the reading, but I tried to breathe calmly and project my voice. At the end, the crowd seemed to accept it well, and they gave me positive comments, easily finding the spot that was my favorite detail, and the image that spawned the entire story. I felt welcomed and initiated into the group almost immediately, especially once they gave me feedback on my tale. I learned at the end that I was the first new member they remember giving a recitation on the very first night. Win!

Today felt like a gorgeous spring day rather than a bleak January one. It smelled of rain this morning, and it was warm enough by afternoon to run my car through the touchless wash. (Note to self: next time skip the touchless part. It didn't get all the pollution junk off the back, where the hatchback lip shadowed the spray.) I had a big training with the company that runs the local MLS (multiple listing service), and there I ran into another of my classmates who now works at the local brokerage we've used for our own real estate deals for years. Everything about this day felt like emergence, from weather, from shyness, from a lack of skill or knowledge. I can retire tonight feeling like I took several steps forward. It was about time.

Face the Fear

Inspirational song: Lay It On the Line (Triumph)

Today was my weekly motivational call with the boss. I admitted to him that I'm dealing with a lot of uncertainty about whether I'm doing the right things, making all the right steps, and progressing at the right pace. He swears to me that I'm feeling all the same fears that he has heard from every new agent he has ever mentored. While I'm still a little fearful, it really did help to hear I'm not going through anything unusual compared to almost every other person in my position. It lessons my sense of panic to know that I'm really not as behind the power curve as I thought I was. I did have a little disadvantage having just moved back here last year, and allowing myself the unwise indulgence of being a total hermit while we resettled. I probably shouldn't have. But I needed the quiet time to deal with myself first. Now I am playing catch-up, and only hoping that I'm building the network I need.

There are two main reasons that this feels so scary. First, it doesn't feel like any job most of us have ever done in our lives. We don't sit at a desk. We don't have set hours. We don't sit in a central location and wait for business to come to us. I feel like I'm playing hooky all the time. I find myself looking over my shoulder, thinking that I'm going to be reprimanded for not being on task, doing computer work, writing reports, or any other administrative task I've always had to do on a regular schedule. The second source of fear is the astronomical cost of getting set up. It was an even grand to go to school, not counting books, and almost half that to pay for the license. Testing cost money. Signing up for the MLS was a bundle, and it's a recurring monthly fee. There are a zillion expensive things to sign up for yet to come. And all of this before I have any hope of money coming back in. I don't have any pending contracts yet, so it will be months yet (at least one and a half, if a miracle happened tomorrow) before I can ever see any income. I'm traveling through our savings at light speed, and I can only hope that real business will come my way soon. My only consolation is that much of what I spent last year on all of this is tax deductible.

Yesterday before my fellow agents and I did a broker preview tour of houses, we met for brunch with a house inspector from the area. One of the things we are to do is keep a list of names of professionals to provide to our clients, to include inspectors, bankers, title companies, attorneys, electricians, and so on. We should have at least three of each to suggest, so there's no whiff of favoritism or the slightest suggestion of kickbacks, especially when it comes to bankers. This home inspector we met yesterday said that he has been in business for about three years, but we were the first brokerage to reach out and really get to know him and his methods in all that time. We got a chance to tell him a little about our own business model, particularly to tell him about our brokerage's commitment to volunteerism. He really perked up when we told him that we would be contacting him about joining us for our next volunteer project. Maybe that should be a lesson to me. When I'm freaking out about how to build my business, I should just focus instead on my first agent volunteer project. People like being asked to get involved with community building activities. It will be a whole lot more fun to build a network that way anyway.

And on that note, what did I see hanging on my daughter's wall today? See for yourself...

Home Team

Inspirational song: Sports Song (Weird Al Yankovic)

The man on the radio said today is a very good day to be a sports fan in Colorado. I am certainly feeling that way. Of course, I am an unrepentant sports fan, and I freely admit it. A large percentage of my circle of friends are not, and they scoff at people like me, and insinuate that there is something lacking in our intellect, just for finding enjoyment in spectator sports. I refuse to be baited by these things. I enjoy hanging out with the guys, watching games, indulging in the occasional adult beverage, and loudly exclaiming obscenities when things don't go my way on the field of play. Not going to be shy about any of that. I cheered at the Broncos game (in the fourth quarter) and then I came home to listen to the end of the CU basketball game, and I cheered then too in the privacy of my own basement.

I have decided the best plan of action to start to meet people is to go places where they congregate, and tend to chat with strangers. Today, that was watching the Broncos' playoff game at a nice bar downtown. It was slow to fill, surprisingly so. But by the third quarter, there were at least six of us discussing the play, and cheering gleefully by the end. Unfortunately for me, I still haven't got the skills to turn that conviviality into conversation that includes exchanging of names and contact information. I'll keep at it until it's natural to me. I made plans with the girls to start going to more happy hours, and maybe some karaoke. One way or another, people will learn who we are. (I quoted Marillion to my coworkers at one point today, not that they recognized the source. "I shout my name in the public places. No one seems to notice. No one understands.") It will happen, eventually.

We did a house tour this morning, two of my fellow agents and I. There's a lovely little town north of here that I still picture as being made of early 20th century houses. There are several in the quaint downtown, but that is not the whole of this community anymore. We saw four houses before I split off to go watch the football game. There was a gorgeous, almost 4000 square foot, two year old house that was listed for half the price of the place I showed for clients just before New Years, and it was comparable in features and quality, if slightly smaller. It's amazing how much more house people can get for the price by crossing the county border. It all comes down to where people want to call home.

It's Curtains for Me

Inspirational song: Wasted On the Way (Crosby, Stills, & Nash)

I think I have successfully made it through an entire day without a single deep thought. Seriously. The most profound experience of my entire day was cuddling with cats. I should be ashamed of myself, and I suppose at some level I am. But it's hard to feel shame when you've spent a whole day not giving two shits. It was freeing, I guess. Relaxing, maybe. Noteworthy, not at all.

It took me five months to complete two windows' worth of curtains for my bedroom. With an example like that, I wonder how long it will take to assemble the curtains for my dressing room. I started the ball rolling today by purchasing fabric. The clock is running now, and this project will be measured in geologic time. The fabric is pretty, though. I didn't expect to select something so supremely girly, but I guess it was the right choice for the frilliest room I've made since the girls were preschool age, and insisted on frosted pink walls for their bedroom.

Am I really the cranky old woman I sounded like in the fabric store? I kept looking at all of the bolts of fabric, and thought, these are small. Really, really small. So I checked. Yes, they are smaller than they used to be. Most fabrics were sold in 44/45 inch widths, for as long as I can remember back to the 1970s. Now everything I saw was 42/43 inches. It is exactly like toilet paper rolls, that kept getting narrower and narrower in small increments, like we wouldn't notice. Or ice cream containers, but once they got as small as we would tolerate, they just frothed the ice cream and sold us sugared air. I swear, I'm about to start making my own ice cream and weaving my own textiles. Please don't make me create my own toilet paper.

Follow Up

Inspirational song: Invisible Sun (The Police)

On a whim, we checked back in on an art project tonight. Remember a few months ago, when we happened upon a glass artist who was in the process of creating a "public art project" in a local brewery? Back then, we were thrilled to have a chance to play along, and place a handful of mosaic tiles in this audience-participation piece of art. On the way home from an auto parts store (still dealing with the issues from yesterday), we stopped in to that brewery, to see the finished product. It was complete, and hanging in the window between the bar and the back room where the magic happens. The bartender said that normally it had a light behind it, but it was burned out at present. A little later, someone went back into the area with the brewing vats, so I got a lit photo too. And naturally I got a cider while a certain someone tried a couple different beers.

I got a little lesson about catalytic converters today. I'm sure at some point in my teenage years I was told how these things work, but that knowledge has long since been dumped. So today, with the fresh cap and rotor on the truck, which now starts without protest, the Mr went back to the emissions testing station where our day went sideways yesterday. This time, there was no trouble starting the engine, massive shuddering at high RPMs, stalling, or backfiring (yeah, that entertained the testing station employees, but not in a good way). But what did happen was a massive fail on emissions. The man took the truck to a shop, and then sent me a photo of the catalytic converter that was removed. Apparently these things are supposed to be filled with a honeycomb of platinum-coated steel in order to work as directed. The one in the truck was just a hollow cylinder, with all of the key bits completely rusted out or burned up. Once a brand new one was installed, the truck passed emissions with room to spare, and now it wears the personalized tag we've had on a half-dozen cars over the years. I'm so glad that bit of bookkeeping has been completed. One more thing off the check list.

I was in charge of the office phone for part of this afternoon. Had only one call, and it took me by surprise. My thoughts totally scattered, and I stuttered and tripped on my tongue for the first full minute of the call. By the time I gathered myself in, I couldn't pry a phone number or email out of the caller to save my life. So I shan't be following up with this person. No client, no lead. Damn. I need to get better at this, and fast.

The Gray and the Green Together

Inspirational song: It Ain't That Pretty At All (Warren Zevon)

I should have known my day was going to be awful when the very first word out of my mouth was my favorite old Anglo-Saxon epithet. I opened my phone after I dismissed my alarm, and saw a lovely photo of Alan Rickman, with no explanation. I didn't think anything of it. Two posts farther down the page, and Eddie Izzard was the first to announce to me that yet another of my untouchable crushes has now departed this plane of existence. It's so hard to lose another one, so soon after the first this week. No other actor played villains with such finesse, turning them into complex, interesting characters. No matter what his characters did on film, I never stopped wanting to burrow inside their brains, to pick them apart, and find the thread of redemptive value. Or at least I wanted to be Marianne Dashwood just for a little while, to give Colonel Brandon the attention he deserved. Today I wore silver, green, and black. Today we were all Slytherin, just for a moment.

I was nearly run off the road today on my way home from work. Or rather, I was successfully pushed out of my lane and I was very fortunate that there was a center turn lane before I met oncoming traffic at 65 miles an hour. And the person who decided to pass a truck towing a trailer on a hill never seemed to realize that I had previously been occupying the spot he moved into. The more I'm in my car, which I will be now that I've taken the job I have, the more chances I have for close calls. One of these days, it might be even closer. Like close enough to swap paint, or worse. So I didn't win the Powerball last night, but I still used up a lot of my luck for the week.

We tried to run an important errand in the fickle pickup truck today. We left the house at 2:30, thinking we'd be done in an hour, tops. Instead, the truck decided not to restart when we needed to move it, and it proved persistently crappy for the next five and a half hours, stranding us on the opposite side of town, requiring a rescue by one of our daughter's friends and three--count 'em, three--trips to AutoZone for parts. The cam shaft position sensor that the truck's brain claimed was the problem was actually a red herring. It came down to a simple distributor rotor that had its necessary bit of metal ripped off of it, and we didn't know this until it was full dark and dreadfully cold and windy. I had wanted to get a lot of things accomplished today. Instead, I sat in a truck and listened to every curse in the book, including the one I started my day with, over and over and over.

Learning Library

Inspirational song: I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) (The Proclaimers)

I was proud to have made one journey of a thousand steps yesterday, but today starts the next thousand. There is no quit in this girl yet.

Yesterday I corrected an oversight, and went to get a library card in town. I haven't done that in a few years, and I really don't know why. I spent seven years of my young adulthood working behind the library information desk. You'd think that I'd never be without a card again after that. I always said that my world revolved around the written word, cutting my teeth in the publishing world, working for years as a non-MLS holding librarian, spending the last three years writing nightly, and having more abandoned, unfinished manuscripts than I care to admit to. I had to renew my association with the library. It was going against my nature not to do so. Once registered, I went looking for groups and events, and found ways to get involved. There's a writers group that meets on Tuesdays, and the Friends of the Library holds book sales monthly and needs regular volunteers for those. I think I have finally found the right avenue to meet like-minded people.

I think back to the first couple house deals we ever made, how little I knew of the closing process. We got a contract, then over the course of a month some magic happened, and we showed up one day to transfer possession of keys. I really had no idea what needed to happen between contract and closing. Over the years, I started paying attention more, so that by the time we bought this house I had a much better handle on the necessary steps, but it still felt like we were just following directions from a checklist. The schedule was prepared for us. We called professionals when we were supposed to, signed forms sent to us, but we didn't have to figure it out on our own. Ever since school last fall, I've been a little nervous about slipping behind the curtain and being responsible for setting all those deadlines myself. There was still some mystery about the process even once I had passed my exams. Today I was granted access to a closer who talked me through every page in the closing documents, how it's prepared and who orders it. Many of these things were covered in class, but when it's all coming at you at once, a few important stacks of information never reach the right memory slots in your brain. Having it filtered out and focused on in a one-on-one situation was incredibly beneficial. Although I did get a little distracted halfway through when we discovered that we had both lived in Charleston, at different times. "Homesickness" aside, I learned volumes from this very patient woman.

Anne of 1000 Days

Inspirational song: Man of a Thousand Faces (Marillion)

Think about something you have worked on over an extended time period, something that made you proud. What made it feel like an accomplishment? The result or the amount of effort that went into it? Some level of both? Today is a big milestone day for me, and I am feeling an outsized sense of pride for it. Tonight is the one thousandth blog post since its inception. I have posted every single night except the night of the big surgery a year ago (and I enlisted a guest author that night to chime in for me to say I was okay, just drugged out of my mind and unable to string together words into sentences). At first the schedule was just about the discipline of doing it every night. The purpose of my writing was to share my home life with the man while he was living abroad, able only to come home for the one vacation about halfway through the 19 months he was gone. I took a lot of pictures of the garden and the pets, and every attempt to share the inner workings of the Park was a year-long public love letter to my man, in the hopes that he'd continue to feel connected from the other side of the world. The longer he was gone, and the more my world went to shit with disasters, spider infestations, illnesses, and deaths, the more I needed the nightly confessions to keep my own head together. I clung to it as my lifeline, my tiny shred of sanity while the world around me burned.

I took many opportunities to plumb the deepest recesses of my memory, to document my personal history for my children before it was lost forever. I admitted to many weaknesses and mistakes. I made a point of finding silver linings when I could, and constructive lessons when I couldn't. I never missed the chance to make fun of myself. I indulged in oversharing, especially when I could pair that with cat pictures. I opened every door and window to my life, and I don't regret doing that.

I've had plenty of nights I didn't want to write at all, but I made myself do it without fail. Occasionally I ran really late, not getting published until well past midnight (and the tardiness is sometimes reflected in the dates on those posts). Some times I didn't know what I was going to say until I was halfway through the first paragraph, and for every time it seemed random and rambling to me, there were at least two times that I surprised myself at how everything seemed related and coherent. I'm so proud of the work I've done, and I freely admit to being hopelessly addicted to this nightly reflection. I wonder how the next thousand posts will go. Tune in tomorrow to see where they start.