Pulling a Donna Moss

So, like I told you, I don't get to go home to vote today, so instead I'm trying to convince my brother that he should vote my ticket for me. Even though this is not in exchange for my actual vote, I explained it by using this example from The West Wing, with Donna trying to get somebody to use their vote to count for hers, as she'd mistakenly voted for the other candidate on her absentee ballot.
This is torturous for my "I can't believe how liberal you are, are you freaking kidding me" somehow (I don't even know how, because seriously?) Republican brother, but I think I'm going to get him to do it. Apparently Martha Coakley needs all the help she can get today (again: I do not understand how it can be close, but according to the news it is), so I'm just glad I'll get 'my' say.

Sacked out on the couch

listening to the oxygen machine and my niece read me William's Doll; waiting for my nephew to come in and finish his homework, too. The kids have the day off tomorrow, and they're working to make it a really free day, to finish all their work so they don't have anything required of them tomorrow.

Their parents are in bed - SisterNc had a bad pain day, and her meds are kicking her butt. She's mostly sleeping her days away, and getting her to eat anything is like UGH. And tomorrow she starts the chemo again. So, joy of joys. Big/Only Brother is in bed too, since he has to be up in four hours or so to head off to work. And the littles are being adorable, and not little at all, and I'm leaving spaces in my conversations for the words I know need to come out, but I'm also typing with my eyes closed half the time, so there's that.

Well: off to a few final hours of math and reading and not getting up early in the morning.

Don't forget to vote tomorrow, if there's voting near you: I won't get to (since home is 25 minutes away and getting someone to come down, take me home to vote for 6 minutes, then drive me back, and then drive home again? Absurd), so if you can, make sure you do!

Night all.

This post may only be interesting to sociology/history/word nerds: I apologize in advance.

I somehow made it through our (granted unseasonably cool) summer months without putting in my air conditioner, and now that it's September, I want it with all of my soul.

Hi ho, internet friends ~ I don't know about you, but September has brought with it all that is muggy and unbearable up here in Massachusetts: We had some thunderstorms tonight that I was hoping would bring some relief, but no such luck. My asthma is so unsure of what to make of this, because some fall pollen is already out, so it's doing double duty battle, and there's some telltale rattling happening.

Calling the fall and the cooler weather, please, since I guess this doesn't even technically count as Indian Summer, as summer hasn't even officially ended yet. But September should be cooler than this.

So, I had this big check-in post planned, originally, with those first couple of paragraphs leading into some stuff that's going on here (besides the weather), when, in the course of typing out the words Indian Summer, it occurred to me that I have no idea how offensive a term that might be, and maybe I shouldn't be using it. And so, a whole new fascinating post (and at least three hours worth of rabbit-holing with Google) were born.

I had to start with the assumption that if it made it into the lexicon as something Indian, it probably didn't start out as a huge compliment, given both the word (Indian vs Native American) and the time period during which it would have emerged (which I was just guessing on, but I figured to be pre Industrial Revolution). Given those, I was not startled to find that there are many opposing viewpoints on its origin, its meaning, and its potential offensiveness.

After a (by no means exhaustive) search, it seems likely that it means "false summer", a kind of fake-out, reminiscent (to me) of Indian Giving, only this time, on behalf of Mother Nature. There are other explanations, sure - Fools summer, maybe; named after Indian Gods who sent the wind, perhaps; or (in a highly unlikely, but poetically, stunning turn of events) having to do with the actual Indian Ocean and its famed shipping, but most of the sources I found seemed to agree that there's a degree of dishonesty or falseness to it.  The majority of the other suggested definitions aren't particularly positive either - Indians burning things, or trickery of some sort - so they're not really helpful in terms of judging its offensiveness.

 Most interesting to me, however, was this blog post from the humorous news site, PTSOTL (whose author also writes for the Boston Globe and other major publications, and who did as good a job Googling as I did, since we came up with many similar sources {even if he is completely wrong about Tumblr, but that's another post}) which talks about what Indian Summer is referred to in other countries, and makes some pretty clear inferences as to its meaning:

Almanac.com has another guess for the meaning. 

The most probable origin of the term, in our view, goes back to the very early settlers in New England. Each year they would welcome the arrival of a cold wintry weather in late October when they could leave their stockades unarmed. But then came a time when it would suddenly turn warm again, and the Native Americans would decide to have one more go at the settlers. "Indian summer," the settlers called it.

 Sneaky bastards, right?  Surprisingly, the American term for the weather singularity may not actually be the most offensive one. Check out a list of all the different terms for the return of unseasonably warm weather from throughout the world in the Wiki entry here, including more info on my Russian friend from above.

In many Slavic-speaking countries, the season is called Old Ladies' Summer...

Only thing worse than a back-stabbing heathen Indian, of course, is a woman, right? Women are the Indians of regular people. 

In Bulgaria, the phenomenon is sometimes called "Gypsy Summer" and in some places "Gypsy Christmas"....

Gypsies are the Indians of Europe, right? Native American European Non-Europeans. Surprisingly, Germany and Austria, always known for their mannered approach toward cultural differences, may have the most reasonable expression:

In Germany and Austria, it is called "Altweibersommer", or if referring to mild sunny weather during October in particular, simply "Goldener Oktober" ("Golden October").

It gets worse though. 

In Hungary, it's "vénasszonyok nyara" (Old Ladies' Summer or Crone's Summer) because the many white spiders seen at this time of the year have been associated with the norns of Norse folklore or medieval witches.

Maybe, or maybe because you can't trust a spider anymore than you can an old lady.

Women, Gypsies, Old-Women, Spiders, Indians - So, it's basically "Outcast Summer"? "Persecuted Peoples (and assorted arachnids that help witches)" Summer? Yeah... I'm thinking perhaps that's not the most stigma-free term I've ever used.

And yet, I've never heard/read/found someone say they were offended by it, so I don't want to just assume it's offensive, but I also don't know many Native Americans people personally (and the one lady I could ask would probably just laugh hysterically in my face, and then roll her eyes at me, because that's the kind of relationship we have: I love her to pieces, but I'm pretty sure she thinks I am the Liberalest Liberal who Ever Liberalled, and, since she loves me back, she just pretends that's not true.).

I'm already anticipating the eye-rolls I will get if I mention any of this to members of my family, because I constantly get crap from them about being "too PC" and "going overboard". I honestly don't believe there is such a thing, but whatever - that's not what I'm trying to do here: It's more checking my terminology and adjusting for how people want to be spoken to/about. Nobody has every mentioned this to me, and I'm not reading some large scale (or even minor scale) treatises about it online, so... I'm not making a huge deal about it because it's not my place to.

It's just one of those phrases that's slipped into our vocabulary over time that I wanted to know more about. And now that I know more about it, I'm troubled. I'm left wondering if it wouldn't be nice if there were a different term we could use here, and if I saw a story tomorrow about how Native Americans found the term Indian Summer to be racists, I wouldn't be surprised.

At least now I know. At least now, if someone asks me to not use the term, I'd have a way to explain it to the eye-rolling people, even if that wouldn't be good enough for them and their "PC monitoring". It's enough for me to know. Maybe I'll start using the German word, that was pretty.

No, actually, Wikipedia has some better ideas: Latvia calls it re/summer ("atvasara") and China calls the period autumn tiger (qiū lǎohǔ (秋老虎), which ROCKS ---> either of these are obviously better vocabulary choices, popular lexicon. Get with the program and let's just start calling it ReSummer - a brief period of summer again after frost/cold -, alright ?

That way nobody gets hurt, no one's culture is ridiculed or appropriated, and it makes literal sense. Problem solved.

Also of scientific note -

• Some countries have very specific ReSummer criteria (such as dates and temperatures that must be met before it can be declared as such). I did not know this until I started writing this post, and I'm pretty sure the weather people on TV are also not aware of this, because I have heard them say it already, and even I know that it can't be Indian Summer until after the end of Meterological Summer, which is September 22. 
• According to The Phrase Finder,  "The incidence of Indian summers has increased significantly over the past decade or so (in the UK at least - I can't speak for other countries) as one symptom of the unstable weather caused by global warming."
• Apparently, haze is also required, according to Almanac.com: "As well as being warm, the atmosphere during Indian summer is hazy or smoky, there is no wind, the barometer is standing high, and the nights are clear and chilly." (Then today DEFINITELY doesn't count, because while we have haze, there is no chilly night happening here.)  

So that's what I learned today, and now I've shared it with you. More stuff you didn't know was racist until you put a little bit of thought into it and realized, "Of course, that seems likely!" This, by the way, describes basically my entire sophomore year of college, if you also include sexist/abelist/ageist/homophobic/etc. Liberal Arts educations are very eye opening, and also make you feel like you have not been paying attention to anything, ever, in your entire life (at least, for privileged people, that is).

 Now back to our regularly scheduled sweating.

Seriously, with the heat: Stop. 

*But literally: just enough.

God it has been a shitty, shitty day. Week. Couple of months. Couple of years. (Peppered with just enough non-crap and actual happiness to make it worthwhile, I suppose.*)

"Say what? She's going to near disappear for most of two months and then come back with this complaint-clusterfuck?" Yes: yes, she is.

You may have noticed that I have been largely absent, and that is because the part of my brain that writes the words (at least the words that make sense) has been taking a sabbatical ~ unscheduled and unapproved, I assure you ~ and every time some words make an appearance, I feel like they're not good enough, or sensible enough, or long enough, or enough enough for posting, and so... radio silence. (Here, at least. My tumblr, what with it's gifs and reblogging and queue never-ending is still going strong, and you are welcome to find me there anytime.)

But I'm breaking my word-fast today because my brain is boiling over and I can't rant about it on Facebook without getting a whole lot of well-meaning, but completely ridiculous faux-advice; Twitter's out of the question because 140 characters just wasn't cutting it; and honestly I would like to start writing here again and coming back and admitting I suck at consistency is sometimes the hardest part.

So, yeah: it's been a tough little while for me, and I'm having a hard time making my brain act like a reasonable adult brain, when all it wants to do is stress-eat (or never-eat), read (mostly Avengers' fanfiction, which, WTF: Now I have a lot of feelings about JARVIS, which ... is probably unreasonable? Seems unreasonable when I am not actively reading about a personified Dummy named DJ** who is super adorable and has to be reminded to wear pants), and move as little as humanly possible because everything hurts.

And I guess people say that a lot "everything hurts," and probably I say it even more often, because I feel like it has lost ALL meaning to people, including myself, because the reality of it is so freaking overwhelming that you can't really think about it all that much without overloading your brain. At least I can't. But I've been realizing just how much Everything and Hurts and All The Time is truly limiting me, and so, I made an appointment with a new pain clinic.

Even though my last three experiences with pain clinics were - in reverse chronological order - useless; 'hey everything you're already doing is exactly the stuff we'd tell you to do, so you're kind of shit out of luck'; and 'hey, i don't think it will really help, but i could try to stick this really big needle in the base of your skull and see it if will numb things for a while, wanna try that?' And I'll note here that I am kind of pissed that I didn't try the big, probably won't help but who knows needle in the skull, at this point, because fuck: did I mention that everything hurts???

My skin hurts. It hurts to wear clothes. It hurts to have the fan blow freaking air at me, even if it's 90 degrees and I'm dripping with sweat. Sitting in a chair hurts, sitting on my bed hurts, laying on every pillow I own (and I own a LOT of pillows) hurts. I've been spending my painsomnia nights designing suspended animation machines that make me float, where literally nothing is touching me, and they sound like the most wonderful things ever to exist. (Except that they don't and I can't design things, so basically, I lay around being jealous of cartoon cupids who can lounge on clouds, because damn, I bet that doesn't hurt.)

But: Pain clinic #4. First appointment: Really nice nurse, excellent office staff. Doctor's kind of an insensitive ass who didn't understand POTS or the wheelchair or why I wouldn't at least attempt to give him a urine sample in the bathroom that was too small to fit my wheelchair (so I'd have to try to walk, which: no.), but not a complete idiot or anything, and usually nobody gets the POTS, so I shrugged it off.  We did a mouth swab and he poked me all over, because taking my word for how much it hurts is never going to happen, I am aware of this by now. And then he comments on my hyperalgesia, which: duh - I just got finished telling you that I almost cried when I put my bra on that morning, but by all means, please rest your hand on my shoulder while you're talking. Also took not of my shading skills  - because you KNOW they all have that little naked generic human form and tell you color in the areas where you have pain, and, well, they mailed me my form, so I had plenty of time to be VERY SPECIFIC about where the pain was the worst (darkest) and where it was just tingles (lighter) and where if you touch me, I most likely will be unable to control myself and will want to punch you in your face (those were red. I like to issue clear warnings. Which he clearly did not heed because shoulders are RED.)  "Do you have enough pain meds to tide you over for a month?" "Yup." "Okay, see you then."

So, today was appointment #2, and the nurse is still nice and the office staff is still excellent, and the doctor walks in the room and says "The mouth swab we did last time didn't show any traces of DRUG I AM TAKING, so we're not going to be able to prescribe any additional medications for you from here on out." Literally, the first sentence out of his mouth.

And I... didn't understand what the heck he was trying to say? Like... "I don't get it." I must have said that a few times, because he started to get impatient with me a little. And I was still trying to process the whole "not going to be able to prescribe medications" bit, because: I'm sorry, that's the whole reason I'm coming here??? So, then he starts talking about "Well we have a few ways to measure compliance with medications, and your drugs didn't show up in your swab, like we would have expected them to if you were taking them..." and he blathers on a little bit before it actually unscrambles enough in my brain for me to blurt out

"You think I'm selling them or something - that I'm not taking them?"

Which: probably not the best response, but I was gobsmacked. I mean... It still is sitting there in the part of my brain that is trying to make sense of the whole thing and ...

Now he's looking at me: "No, I'm obviously not saying that. I would have no way of knowing that. It's just that IF you were taking them, as you say you are, then we'd expect that it would show up in the swab, and the fact that it didn't...." And his face tells me very clearly that yes, yes he is saying that but he is not allowed to say that aloud.

And here I'm going to have to give 6-hours-ago-me a little slack, because I have thought of A HUNDRED MILLION BETTER RESPONSES than getting choked up and almost bursting into tears, but that is, in fact, what happened. I just... couldn't process it. So I tried to to get him to explain it to me like I was five: "If my prescription says take as needed, and I'm trying to keep from becoming, I don't know addicted or completely tuned out of my life, and I freaking PUSH THROUGH THE EXTREME PAIN OF MY EVERY DAY LIFE to save those pills for flares and really bad days and the like, you're telling me that that's a bad thing? And now you won't give me anymore of the stuff that gets me through those really bad days? This.. makes zero sense."

And now, tears are slipping out, and I. Hate. Crying. During. Arguments. Because it makes me feel weak and it feels like playing a dirty card, and the other person obviously sees it as a sign of a lesser argument or something, but I DON'T KNOW HOW TO STOP DOING IT!!! Granted (and again, with the slack-cutting) I held back the sobs that were sitting right there, clustered in my sinuses, clogging in my throat, but some tears definitely slipped out and he knew it, and he was all "Well, if you're not taking it as prescribed then it's non-compliance, and we can't give you anymore meds, in that situation."

And I'm still trying to understand the whole "AS NEEDED" part, and he's still rambling, but what it basically boils down to is "If you hurt as much as you say you do, you would obviously be taking this every minute of every day, like the doctor told you to, so No: I don't believe you, and No: I won't give you anymore."

And at that point, my brain, so GOD DAMN FUCKING SICK OF NOT BEING BELIEVED ABOUT MY OWN GOD DAMN BODY, just refused to accept anymore input. He said more things about "maybe another clinic will see you, but I doubt they'll prescribe for you either. Or take your non-insurance." and I knew I had about 2 minutes before every sob I was holding back just burst out of my throat (possibly with this morning's breakfast), so I just said screw it. Fine. Nodded while he told me how glad he was to meet me, nodded at the very nice nurse who looked at me and knew I was going to explode and didn't try to stop me as I just rushed past her desk and into the waiting room where I told my mother that we had to leave Right. Now.

And I didn't make it 3 seconds out into the corridor before the dam burst, and my poor mom looked like someone had shot her and kept asking what she could do, and all I could say was just "Go. Just go."

Super-fun-happy-awesome-times!

So now it's some hours later, but I'm still angry. I'm angry about - and so unbelievably weary of - not being believed. Not, for one single moment of this entire 20 years of being sick having everybody on my side. And, usually? Having almost nobody.

I'm so tired of having to fight with doctors in addition to fighting whatever the hell is going on in my body. Of having to explain to and make excuses for and prevaricate with and never fully trust the people who are SUPPOSED TO BE HELPING ME. Of having to do so much of this on my own, and knowing that I am messing it up but not knowing how to fix it. And having nowhere to turn.

I just.... don't want to do THIS anymore.

I am so sick of fighting for every minute of every day. Of being punished, or paying the high price, for any moments of happiness, because my body is just ...  the way it is.

And the more I think I've accepted that, that this is me and my body is not my enemy and I have to find SOME WAY to live as much of a life as I can? The minute I start to think I've got a handle on this shit? Everything blows up in my face, and I'm suddenly a newb again, and all I want to do is hide my head in the sand till it all goes away.

And it never goes away.

And time still passes.

I don't know. This is a super depressing post, and I'm sorry for it, but ... I thought I was doing the right thing! That's the worst part. I literally thought that NOT taking a very potent pain medicine three times a day, every day, and... suffering, yes: but... I'm used to that! And, at least I'm there! And... at least I'm present in my mind when I'm there! and then I take the full doses after, because Flare! Of course flares! Because that's what I know, and that's how I live, and that's what I thought was the right thing - save the big drugs for the worst days (or even the slightly almost worst days, because we have other drugs for the worst, worst days), and muddle through - THAT IS BASICALLY MY WHOLE GODDAMN LIFE AND NOW YOU'RE TELLING ME: NOPE, YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG.

Nope: you're not taking ENOUGH of the medicine, so I'm not going to help you at all.

Well, that's a mind-scramble, if you don't mind me saying so. Because half of my doctors say I take TOO MANY meds, and now you're telling me I'm not taking enough AND you're not even going to give me a chance to try it your way, just 'don't bother coming back.' Yup: Mind. Fucked.

So, here I am, reevaluating ... pretty much everything - which has been happening a lot lately, and part of the reason this was so shattering today, because I THOUGHT at least this was something I had a good handle on, but it turns out that Nope: this is a screwed up as the rest of my life and now... FIX IT ALL RIGHT NOW.


So, you know: no pressure or anything.

God I need a nap.

That's me, for today ~ How are all of you? (Are there any of you?) I'm mostly keeping tabs on my regulars via Twitter/Tumblr/Your Blogs that You Sometimes Actually Write Words At Because You Are Magicians or Something, but

Hi! If I haven't seen you in a while. Hope you are well!

Probably your brain is not as scrambled as mine, in which case, I'm giving you a sticker, because you're awesome. (I'm giving myself a sticker too, though, because I'm at least TRYING to be awesome, scrambled brains and all.)

Talk again soon, I hope? In a less ranty, less "oh god oh god why" kind of mood, we can all hope.

---                               ----                                                                           ---

**Seriously: You should read this series. If you want to have Bot-feels (which I didn't, but Oh Well.) And because DJ. I'm sorry, only because you might get sucked in. Fanfiction is like a vortex or something, and NOBODY WARNED ME. I'm not going to warn you either, but... good luck!

I confess: I totally made up more than one science fair set of data. It's too late to do anything about it now, Mr. Lindstrom!*

Because I am currently in a measuring cycle of illness (wherein the doctors want me to record everysinglepiece of information about my illness numerous times during the day, and I hate it, and then I forget, or I am too sick, or I am too sore, or I just do not care at all, and I am tempted to just fill in all the blanks the way you would if you forgot to do your science fair homework and needed to some extra research done), I am going to hit you with a by-the-numbers post:

• 17 - The number of prescription medications I am currently taking
•  2.5  - The approximate number I think are actually doing something, maybe? Who can tell?
• 0 of those are new drugs and 
• 2 of them are for breathing, so that's good, anyways.

• 86 - My average resting heart rate for the past month
• 139 - My average standing (or post-standing) heart rate for the past month - That's just standing: God forbid I try and do anything over that because then
• 175 - My average "I attempted to also stand for longer than it took for the pulse ox to read my pulse" rate for the last month 

• 1 - Number of times I have left the house since the calendar read March
• 0 - Number of times I have left the house since the calendar read March that were not doctors' appointments  

• 3 - How many different strengths of antibiotics it took to kick this last sinus infection, probably because of
• 5 - The number of sinus infections I have had to treat since Christmas

• 17 - Books I've read in the past week
• 1 - Books I've written a review of for Cannonball Reads in the past week
• 0 - Reviews I've actually posted on Cannonball Reads in the past week
•  17,000 - Number of excuses I've given to myself for not writing/posting any of the others

• 14  - Number of people who have promised to come over/said "we should come over"/attempted to/said they would like to see me since the New Year
• 4 - Number of people who have actually come over (and one of them is an infant, and the other a husband, so neither of them had much say in the matter)

• 2 - Number of times I've watched the Veronica Mars movie already (Yay Kickstarter! Yay for getting first run movies delivered to your computer! Boo to computers freezing at P I V I T O L moments in the movie! (If you have seen it, think 'cars', fellow Marshmallows, and you will understand why I was so unhappy.) 
•  1.5 - Number of days it took me to watch all 3 seasons of VM on Amazon Prime in preperation for the movie 

• 6 - Number of draft posts I have written since I've published a post here, all incomplete
• 5 - Number of Tumblr posts I have published for the whatshouldwecallfibro.tumblr.com I am a co-admin of, in the same space of time (because giffing is easier than writing, people)
• (Currently most popular, by the way: For all of you chronically ill Whovians out there)

• 63 million (approx.) - Number of times I have wanted to throw the computer and it's stupid Excel spreadsheet of numbers out the window since I have been symptom tracking
• 3 - Different websites I signed up for because I thought they would help with the symptom tracking, only to bail because it was easier to Excel it myself 

• 2 - Separate weeks my dad has been on vacation already this year, and I have been stuck in the house with him
• 0 - Clues that he has that there is anything 'off' in our 'relationship' even though I have spent the better part of 
• 2 - Separate weeks ignoring him as much as possible (When I had the sinus infection it was 0% possible, because I could not even find the kitchen, let alone make food.) 
 

• 39 - Average number of hours a week my mom has been working at the retirement home for the past month
• 100% - How exhausted this is making her & how much it sucks to still be the one who can't work, even though I'm 
• 200% proud of her for kicking ass and doing so awesome (The old people love her, of course: They all request her and one woman told her she was an "angel on earth." But it's also seriously depressing, and even the stories she comes home with bring up all sorts of Grandmother-y related feels for me, so I know how tough it is on her.)

• 16 - Other things I've got on my to-do list for tonight
• 2 - Realistic count of how many of those things I might accomplish (eat/shower)
• 0 - Cares I give that my to-do list will be carrying over to tomorrow
• 100% - Realization that I should rename the to-do list the "Carried over from before" list, because it's more honest.

And finally:

• 6:00 - The time, and that means more numbers to mark, more foods to eat, more pills to take, more things to cross of the list. 

*And I usually NEVER cheated, but ... I'm not going to watch this stupid thing for three months: I'm going to put it together a few weeks ahead of time - IF you're lucky.  My brother and sisters were all "do it the night-before-ers", so I think me occasionally fudging the data on whether or not cats and dogs are right and left pawed is not, so much, the end of the world.

Oh, so much, so manyies.

So what's going on in your brain these days, NTE?
Oh, so much, so manyies.

For example - I had a doctor's appointment yesterday (after taking a little doctor free time over the holidays, except for emergencies), and my new-ish primary care doctor - who I don't particularly like but originally signed up with because of his being in the same hospital as Zach, but is now pointless, because Zach moved to a new hospital - started things off on a lot of wrong feet. 

First, he and his nurse totally ignored my POTS diagnoses and commented positively on my low BP reading, even though my pulse was still sky-rocketing from the effort of getting to his office. Newsflash, doc: low blood pressure is not great for everybody, and it's particularly not great when your pulse is up near 145. 
Next, he started talking about somebody else's blood work, because he was looking at the wrong file on the computer. And his nurse tried to stick me with a needle AFTER she told me that she's been having a 'day when I drop everything'.  I'm sorry: no? No needles now, thank you, drops-things-a-lot.

 Then he started to extol the virtues of exercise - even 'any little bit I could manage' - while I was explaining how I didn't think my POTS issues were improving. Right, because all I need is yet another person telling me how I'm not trying hard enough. Particularly a person with a medical degree who should be able to read the report there on his computer (if he's even looking at the right one) from the cardiologist last month that warned that my heart issue were 'potentially life threatening if left unchecked,' and recommended 'one step above complete bed rest.' So, maybe starting a conversation about bench pressing (even if you are only talking about cans of soup or vegetables) is a tiny bit premature. Just saying.

Needless to say, it was quite frustrating to leave there with very little actual help, BUT - silver lining time - I have an appt with Zach next week that is sure to go better. (And by 'sure', I mean, please Dieties let it go better, because it will be my 1st appt at Zach's new hospital, and we all know that new people aren't always great.)

Continuing in the silver lining vein, however: My mom got a job! (Aside from her PCA-ing for me job, I mean) She completed a CNA course during the fall, and rocked the state licensing exam, and now she's got her first non-me job in I want to say 20 (?) years.  She'll be doing CNA/PCA stuff at a group home & in individual houses in a neighboring city ~ her orientation is Thursday, so she's not sure what her days/hours and stuff will be, and while that will be an interesting complication to have to work around re: doctor's appointments,  I am SUPER proud of her and I know she's going to be great.

Hopefully this will be more than just a money making opportunity for her (although, that's definitely not going to hurt) - I'm hoping it will help her feel more confident about herself and her skills, and really give her something that she feels proud about as well. These last couple of years/months have been difficult, and the next few months don't look to be conflict-lite either, so I'm glad she's got something to give her a much needed boost, right about now.

She also started telling people what's going on here - mostly the basics, that they're splitting up and we'll all be moving to separate places, at some point in the near future. There's a lot still that people don't know (mostly because even people who should care to ask have not thought to ask, and I know that that has hurt her as well), but I think just getting it out there to a few crucial people has been a relief for her. Some of the responses were unexpected - one sister started to ask if that meant that she would be dating, immediately squicked herself out and told her not to answer; UJ has offered for both of us to stay with him for as long as necessary, while my mom's sister told her that she was unable to loan her the money for a lawyer - even as she started talking about how they were going to remodel their house, so that stung more than a little bit. My brother, on the other hand, seems as clueless as usual: "I do not know what to do with that information" was his response. SMH - never change, Big/Only Brother.  But, aside from the kids, who don't need to know until it's actually starting to happen, I think most everybody knows, so some of the uncomfortable 'who knows/who doesn't' tension is at least drained from our (already preternaturally tense) conversations.

So those are two of my mind's trending topics. Others include: Sister who reads my blog, I love you, please call me;  What the hell do you mean it's already February this week;Oh My God, Gmail: Don't eat my e-mails and Seriously: I'm probably going to have to get rid of a lot of things if we're moving.

 Super fun!

What's on your mind, this gloomy Tuesday?

Pie Day Mission -

Accomplished! (Everyone came and ate and left safe and sound. Excellent all around. Except remind me to tell you how I should never play Cards Against Humanity.)

No spoilers, sweeties

I am a Dr. Who newbie (I mean... I could watch all the episodes of 10, 11 & 12 in order on Netflix, but life keeps getting in my way) - I admit that with no reservations.  I am partway through 10's run (I think: I don't know how many more episodes he has), but you also can't exist on Tumblr, Twitter, or the Internet in general without knowing a whole bunch of what comes after - I literally hadn't seen an episode with Tennant in it's whole state (because I like to go in order: I can't help it) until today, even though I've been watching 12's new episodes ever since I fell into the Whovian trap (about a year ago?). 

Lemme just say this, to people who say that 11 is their doctor: I am definitely understanding your love.

So watching The Day of The Doctor today, live, with all the other internet peoples abuzz (although some of my favorite Whovians have given up cable! and couldn't watch live! which made me wish that you could share cable via Internet, I was so sad) - It was an experience.  Tumblr was on the case, filling me in on all the little inside things I had missed: And apparently there were quite a few of them.

(But I did get some! When that happened, I nearly threw myself a party - I definitely felt like Captain America, that's for sure :

For anybody who couldn't watch & wanted to: I hope you get to see it ASAP, and that you are avoiding all other places on the Internets until then. (Why you would be here, I can't imagine, but let's just go with it.)

For anybody who has not fallen into a Whovian hole - I am (not really) sorry that the Internet is talking about the only Doctor I don't want to murder on a regular basis.  And Sherlock. Because the BBC likes to taunt us and knows its audience.


(Side note: if Blogger's spellcheck could recognize that both Blogger and I(i)nternet are words - never mind Tumblr and Whovian, which I know is a bit of a stretch, that'd be great.)

Nine more days

I've been saving a picture (a really good picture) of Baby D to post for a day when no words will come. And every day, nearly, when I open up this window I think "Well: nope - no words today." But so far - to both my surprise and delight - I have been wrong.  Even if it's just the daily word tally (37,695, thank you very much) (although only about 1000 of those were written today) - at least I think of something.

So, hopefully I'll make it through the next nine days without running out of brain cells capable of creating words, and then you'll have a picture of the Dashman as your December 1st reward, for sticking through this whole month (especially all the world count updates).  Or, if you're like me, you'll have about 7,000 blogs in your feed to sort through that day, and you'll be really glad that there aren't any more words to read.

Every single time

I swear to god ... I don't know why I bother with doctor's appointments, really.  Every time I leave with a plan, or a set of actions that I think are coming next, and then the test results come in and... nope! Let's do something completely different.

Talked to Zack today... apparently my Holter monitor did not go well.  I  thought I did super well - I did r e l a x i n g things that day so as not to screw with the bp too much - I rocked the new baby for hours! I... had tea and cookies and chats.  I also apparently had multiple "concerning episodes".  That "did not match up with your reported activities."  Well... duh. 

But... what's 'concerning', exactly, Zach?  "Oh, well you threw a lot of PVCs - 275 in less than a couple of hours"  Now, you may not know it, but PVCs in and of themselves aren't that huge of a deal, always - most everybody has some irregular heartbeat type things every now and then! (I did not know that ~ did you?) But.."that's kind of a lot of them, especially if you weren't ... exercising or something."  Insert loooong hilarious laugh at the idea that I could be exercising, and then, take a moment to think about what could happen if I tried to exercise, which is what I have been telling people for years: My heart feels like it will literally explode, because that is how it feels when I try to stand up, or sit down, or move at all. Except - Hey, look at this; these number say that if rocking a baby and drinking (decaffeinated, btw) tea is causing your heart to race and you to have palpitations, probably exercising would not be wise right now.

Color me shocked.

So I have to go get that looked at 'more in depth', which he did not explain  - Zach is very good at saying things like that and then leaving it to his nurse to call me three days later with an appointment booked and I'll be like "but... what's this for?" and she'll say "Didn't he tell you he wanted you to see the XYZologist?" "No, no he did not."

PLUS, in other awesome (read: unawesome) news, my Rheumatoid "pattern" has "completely reversed itself." Literally, from one blood test to the next - something about which proteins are elevated, the big ones or the little ones, blah blah something I don't know... But what he says next is "So you know how Dr. House is always saying it's not Lupus?"

 "And you've always told me it's not Lupus?"

 "Right; It might be Lupus."

"Or..."

 "Probably, more like lupus AND you know, whatever else is already wrong with you"

 "Zack I do not like these answers."

 "Well, it could also be Rheumatoid Arthritis, because that titer or panel" (honestly, at this point all my notes are just arrows and question marks) "is high as well." 

"Zack, how does that sound better?"

  "No, it doesn't, but... you should definitely see an infectious Rheumatologist."

"Why are there even such things as infectious rheumatologists?"

  "Because of people like you."

(And I swear I can hear him smiling, which, even though I love him, makes me kind of want to kill him.)

"So... which of these should I be the most worried about right now?" I ask him, before he can scurry off to another patient or phone call or the fifty million things he can seem to do at one time.

"Let's just say that if the rheumys can't see you in the next 2 weeks, call me back and I'll try to convince them otherwise."

He talks a little bit more about drugs and anemia (I need to take iron, and that might be contributing to the POTS, which could be adding to the stupid PVCs thing) and then gave me doctors to call and blah blah blah.  BUT we never even talked about my thyroid which was the reason I went to the goddamn appointment in the first place.

So now I'm going to have to call him back and ask him about that, too.  Only I don't even want to know, at this point.  Just sent me the test results with a big SNAFU stamp across the top (Situation Normal, All Fucked Up) - I'll be happy with that.


I do not understand bodies. Or doctors. Or life.

Food stuffs (but not the fun kind)

 I tried making gluten free practice pies for the first time today -

Other people in my family are trying to go gluten free for their health; I am following along because, at this point, I really have no idea what causes anything in my body, and the food in my house is the food I am going to eat.

I have done gluten free before, so I'm not holding out a ton of hope - I have, in fact, gone everything free - literally, for a time I was almost hospitalized because everything I ate caused a reaction. One summer I lived on Gatorade and Saltines. Another, while I was supposedly 'clearing' my allergies with a very sketchy acupuncturist, I lived on fruit and french fries, because I was apparently allergic to every other food in creation. I've been allergy tested for everything - but my test results - as always - come back in some form of completely screwy "I can't decipher this" gobbledygook that the allergist generally just throw up their hands and say "I'm not really sure what to tell you to avoid, because ... well... you have to eat food." Whatever; I'm used to it.  I can only say that the reason I started drinking bottled water in college was that the allergist said to me - "You are so allergic to so many things, I wouldn't be surprised if unfiltered water was causing half of your problems." I don't know if it was or not (obviously not because I have developed 65,000 other problems since then), but I still drink bottled water.  Tap tastes funny.

Anyways, the point of this post was supposed to be about making GF-pie crust for the first time, and how, really, pie crust is my baking nemesis in the first place - It's so... temperamental. And the butter has to be chilled and the real rolling pin is too heavy* and why can't the crust be as easy as the filling!!! Also: note to GF-companies: you start producing some of that ready made pie crust and you might as well be printing cash come Christmas, I promise you. Because pie crust is hard, man.

I made two mini-pies, one for here, one for my sister's house, just to see how they came out... I'm going to try it in a few minutes, but it's not as pretty as normal crust (not quite as golden colored or flaky, somehow).  As long as it doesn't taste like sand, I'm going to go with it. 

If you guys are GF and want to share some of your favorite recipes, please, feel free.  And if you're not, that's ok too, I'll take them (my brother is so not going to go for this, so I'm going to have to stick to some of the regulars).

Also, I did not know that turkeys could have gluten in them - that is very strange and makes my brain hurt.  Apparently, they can inject gluten-y substances into the birds for... flavor? I don't know; looking at it made my brain go, whaaa? Just a little something I learned today that I'm passing on to you.

(Insert The More You Know star and ding here)


*Spoonie tip - I use a pretend-play rolling pin now; It used to belong to the kid's playdough/pretend kitchen sets, but it is the right size and weight for me, so now it's mine.

Let's see if you can decipher this bit:

Sometimes it's really hard to write things because you are so busy not writing other things. It's like the things you are specifically not writing take up so much space in your brain there is no room for any other words to be created, let alone come out.

And other times, all the stuff you are busy not writing shuts its big fat mouth long enough for you to carve out the two thousand words you needed to reach today's goal.

Luckily, I chose to NaNoWriMo this morning, when paragraph two was an option.

Unfortunately, I am trying to write this post this evening, when my only option seems to be paragraph A.

So all you get is some blather about stuff I can't/don't want/know how to talk about, and a note that I previously today have written well (Honestly, it's a historical dream sequence and so far I like it better than the entire rest of the novel. So, come December I might decide that my actual book takes place in Boston circa the fall of 1918, just in time for the Spanish Flu pandemic. But for right now, that's just my ghosts' back story. Yes: ghosts is supposed to be plural, because, better than halfway through the month I have suddenly decided that there wasn't enough peril in my plot and added a bad ghost to antagonize the good ghost and her friends. Don't even ask me. I think my brain is rebelling. The story is never going to end.)

OK, I'm going to go now, that I ... just said a lot of things and didn't say other things.  Happy Monday, everybody.  Less than two weeks to go here. 

Left the house again today

and, while I was out, took two text messages from two different sisters; both of them expressed surprised that I was actually out of the house.  "What is this???" one sister said; the other simply wondered where I was.  Both of them got over their confusion quickly when I told them I was at the library, however.  Even though I was there for an unusual reason - to meet up with a NaNo writing group  - our local chapter had an intermission today; I played Apples to Apples with some very nice strangers, some of whom were still in high school & made me feel very old because they didn't know who Eddie Murphy was, but other than that, it was a lovely time. I put my raffle winning prowess to good use*, watched a bit of Stranger Than Fiction, when it wasn't skipping in the library's DVD player, posed for a group picture (blech) and then wandered the stacks a while until Mom swung back to pick me up.

All in all, a pretty good day, even if I didn't get terribly far NaNo-word count wise.  I met the goal and all, but after such a rock star day yesterday, it was kind of a let down.

Oh well,

 There's always tomorrow.








*Have I not mentioned my raffle winning prowess? I am good at winning things you have to put your name on the back of a ticket for, particularly if you then have to put that ticket into a bucket. It has not extended into lottery winning, unfortunately, but I have won all sorts of things over the years; turkeys, a china doll, a picnic basket, various edible goodies, a basket full of books once, and a whole bunch of rather random things I can't recall right now.  Tonight's haul included a NaNo poster, NaNoBoston stickers, cookies and a travel mug.

Today was

our local NaNo chapter's writing marathon (technically, it still is) - the Boston chapter travels all over Boston/Cambridge/Medford area and writes at all sorts of different places - they even camp out somewhere (this year a church basement, I think) and type the night away: I had hoped to hook up with them tonight at the Starbucks in Harvard Square, but it was not to be.

Which is not to say it was a completely wasted day - I did, in fact, NaNo my fingers off, completing just under 5000 actual words (you know, the ones that wind up in the story), 2 hours of research, and a pretty good outline of where the rest of the book is going.  Except for how it ends, of course.  I mean, I know that it does end, I'm just not 100% sure how I get from where I'm at to where it needs to be (and I highly doubt that I will be able to do that in the remaining 19,995 words, but that's another story). 

So yes: Yay!  Novel is mostly plotted - I've done some course correction, I think I have ways to fill in the plot holes, and I know where I want to end up, eventually. I just have to write the rest of the words to get me (or, rather, my characters) from here to there.

I actually took some time today and worked out some character backgrounds, fleshed them out a little, even though it wasn't stuff I could include in my word count, or stuff that will make it into the writing - I found that knowing them a little bit better on paper (because I already had the beginnings of most of these ideas somewhere in my brain) really helped me focus and speed through.  Hence the 1 hour, almost 2 thousand words with which I am closing out my day.

So, I'm disappointed I didn't get to play with the rest of the Boston WriMos, but I'm going to try again tomorrow - they're meeting at the Boston Public Library for an 'intermission' - a little movie and some games and chit chat and things to clear your head space as we hit the final two weeks.  I'm hoping, now that I've got some scenes in mind and a broad sketch of where to wind up, they won't be that hard on me.

I know for some people, it's hard at this point to keep the momentum coming, but last year week 2 was my toughest - sloughing through all the rough and random edges of a story, trying to figure out how all the scenes should cram together to create some sort of puzzle, gnawing off the pieces that don't fit, and hoping you didn't lose anything too important. I'm hoping that I just cleared that difficult mess of my plate, and the rest will be "oh yeah, I know what needs to go here," or "Clearly I am a genius, because this is the best story ever!!"

Neither of those things are anywhere close to the reality of what will be happening in the next 14 days, but just having the numbers - both days on the calendar and word count numbers - on my side makes me feel good.  So when I am pulling my hair out next Wednesday (because Wednesday is pie-day, and I hope to be finished by then hahahahahahaha), you can all remind me how I said the worst was probably over, and I promise not to curse at you too much.

Of course, as previously discussed, my cursing is currently at Scooby Doo levels, so you have nothing to worry about either way.

NaNo used up all my brain cell spoons

After a long-ish weekend - what with kiddos sleeping over, dinner & games yesterday, and then actually leaving the house to do a thing last night - I am exhausted and flaring; Surprise! Fibro just dialed the pain up a few notches for me today, is all, and the accompanying brain fog has been lighter the last hour or two, so I'm trying to sneak in some words. 

In the course of hitting today's NaNo goal, a plot point came up and hit me between the eyes with a 2x4, which I find very inconvenient.  I seriously have no idea if it's just my scrambled egg brain today, or if some characters are starting to...do things I didn't think they would do, but I might be in trouble, sub-plot wise.  That's ok, though, because I don't have to fix it today! (Another post might be upcoming on the subject of writing and denial, because I feel so strongly on this subject.)  

Last year, I did NaNo completely last minute, as a means of distracting myself from my grief, and told nobody (in my real life) about it at all while I was toiling away.  When I passed the 50,000 words, I did tell my mom, and although I skirted the issue a bit with a few other people - my sister, who's a poet, and I were talking about writing through the parts you feel stuck on, even if what you are writing is complete crap and you know it's not going to stay, for example - I think that was it.

This year, not only did I mention it here and on Twitter, I told Mom before the month started that I would be quarantining with quiet in the mornings, and not to be worried if I didn't poke my head out until noon (because - for the most part - my rule is to get the writing done, or at least get some writing done, first thing in the morning: if I do that, even if I go back to add more during the course of the day, at least I'll have something.) (Also, if I go out and have breakfast and talk and whatever, then turning on the TV or scrolling through Facebook while I'm drinking my tea is too easily done and too attractive to me - If I give myself the opportunity to be distracted, I will be distracted.).  And over the weekend, I chatted with the kids about it - about how I would need some time to myself (which, when they're here I hardly ever take), and how I was stuck on specific parts of the story, and how, no, I didn't know how it would end yet.

It was really nice to talk to them about it, knowing that I had a NaNo under my belt, and that I was capable of finishing this one - even if I don't finish it in time, even if it winds up being National Novel Writing Year for me: I'm going to be able to finish this piece of work at some point, and so I could talk a little bit about it.  They wanted to read it, which was hilarious, because: NO.  Nobody reads it, which was a whole thing that they did not get at all, which is great because I love it that they're comfortable and confident enough to share whatever they're making, and I hate it that sometimes I am not, but right now? No.  Mine; Don't even bother asking.

And I got some bad news from my 13-yr-old nephew, on the 12-yr-old girls and swearing front: "Schnikes!" and "Zoinks!" are definitely not  making a comeback.  In fact, he blushingly and under the promise of not getting in trouble, told me that he and his friends curse much more than ... well, anybody.  Especially if they are playing X-Box (My brother concurs; said nephew has had to be reprimanded more than once for his use of foul language on that foul machine). 

Now I knew that Scooby-Doo cursing was more than likely not in vogue, but I admit I'm disappointed that my angel-faced-gentleman nephew has a sailor's mouth - and apparently so do his lady friends.  (Although he did say that he doesn't hang out with girls all that often, so he's just basing it on what he has heard in "like school (?!) and recess and things".) I guess that makes us equal though, since said angel-faced-young gentleman nephew gave me such a disappointed look when I explained to him that not only did I not curse when I was 12, I barely cursed at all until I was in my 20s, and even now, I just... don't like to.  (Most times: Sometimes, a Sunavabitch just needs to get called a Sunavabitch.)

Besides, I really think it's time for a "Scnikes!" renaissance.

Tonight I went out of the house

and did a grown up thing, with, like other adults!  That did not require me being poked with any needles. Shocking, I know. 

SisterCh & I decided, last minute, to jump on a Groupon deal and head out to one of those Paint Nite adventures that are probably popping up all over your Facebook feed (if my Facebook feed is any indication). 

So, in lieu of a lengthy post, here's a thing I painted (I would've included my sister's but she wrote her name on hers):

Today I had the most free time I've had all month

and the smallest word count. I don't even know ~ writing is hard. 

You guys, I'm afraid my 'novel' has no plot. I'm afraid it is just witty banter between a bunch of random 12 year olds and a ghost, at this point; and (in all honestly) the ghost is not holding up her end of these conversations. Of course, that's what half the banter is about - "stupid ghosts and their cryptic, ridiculous, non-clue-ish clues" .  The other half of the banter is between two 12 year old girls who used to be best friends and then something happened.

 I am not being coy by writing 'something happened'; I legitimately do not know yet. Mostly they're just aiming little poison barbs at each other, with the kind of precision that only (pre)teen girls -and particularly girls who know each other very well - can manage.

I'm trying to decide whether it'll be more awesome if their friendship just sort of... dissolved or if it completely blew up. There's certainly going to be blowing up somewhere, but I think, from my own experiences, that it's more realistic that friendships just kind of... break up, piece by tiny piece, in such dribs *and drabs, so slowly that you hardly notice it, you just feel little twinges along the way, and all of the sudden .... everything's different.

Especially when you're twelve.  I feel like twelve/thirteen/fourteen was a whole 'how the hell did the earth shift out from underneath me' kind of experience, and that's the feeling I'm going for with their friendship.  Of course, people handle that kind of thing in very different ways, and one of those ways (at least in my experience/in this book) is to be super sarcastic to each other.  My main character is a snarky little demon, and the other girl - who was dealing with the same things, but dealt with it by just... moving on, instead of being hurt -  is, now that they're thrown together again (courtesy of aforementioned ghost) is now surprised and hurt by the main character's reaction, and trying to hold her own.

This sounds so ridiculous, trying to explain it like this.  My whole point was... seriously, plot: wouldn't you like to make yourself a little bit clearer, because we still have 33,000+ words to write, and - as much fun as it is to write the sniping scenes - I have a feeling they'll get old pretty quickly. 

Also - I don't know how many of you others are writing mysteries, but how hard is it to write a mystery that is hard enough not to be instantly solvable via Google, but still easy enough for your characters to eventually figure out?  I am having the hardest time, but I've never attempted to write a mystery before. I hope that I'm getting a little bit of slack since they're, you know, 12, but Dang: Google, you are making mysteries very difficult to write!

*isn't drib a word? at this point I might as well be inventing my own language, and we're only  nine days into NaNo!, but I could have sworn 'dribs and drabs' was a saying - Google agrees, Blogger, so you lose!

Given my post

yesterday, you can imagine my curmudgeonly reaction to our local channel preempting Jeopardy! every Friday night for a sports show. Because, you all know how much I enjoy the sports.

I

It's just not the same, watching it the next day. Have a good weekend, everybody! If you're NaNo-ing, write your little fingers off! If you're not, find somebody who is and bring them a cup of tea, quietly, without interrupting: just leave it on the desk and back away slowly. We might be dangerous. (Maybe that's just me?)

So this happened...

For a serious Jeopardy geek like me, that's a big deal.  In my family? We're not just game players, we're game show players - always have been. (Not all of us - half of my sisters, for example, roll their eyes when I turn it on, used to say "I don't need to watch school stuff after school." But that's OK. I still love them.)  But for those of us who are game show players? Jeopardy is it.

I started watching Jeopardy at my grandparents house sometime before I was 8 years old: I only know that because the first time I beat my Grandfather at a game, I was eight, and by then we'd been watching for years. Every night we were at their house, at 7:30 (except for the unfortunate years that the local channel decided to switch up the routine and but it on at 7:00, before Wheel of Fortune, which - if my Grandmother was any judge - was tantamount to trying to put the New Testament before the Old), everybody who wasn't currently doing the dishes or putting a baby to sleep would congregate in my grandparents living room and watch the show. Over the course of the last twenty-however-many or so years, that specific combination of people has included - at various different and/or overlapping points:

My brother and I - fresh from baths, tucked into our pajamas and with backs eager for scratching - sitting at my grandmother's feet; my Uncle Mark,  who had Down Syndrome, sitting in his rocking chair, thumping along to the music and waiting for the end of the show when someone would tell him it was time to get ready for bed, at which point he'd stand in the doorway and say "Good. Night. Mum. Good. Night. Jack." and so on, until each of us had been properly bid farewell; any number of my other uncles, usually found stretched across the floor, one pillow propped underneath their head, quiet enough so that you'd think they weren't paying attention, until the game started and the answers questions would pop lazily out of their mouths; my grandfather, always at his end of the couch, tucked into his corner, probably also listening to either the ballgame or classical music, and most likely working on an embroidery project or crossword puzzle at the same time - he was another one you didn't think would be much competition - with all that noise, how could anybody concentrate? - but he beat me 4 nights out of 5; various cousins on various holidays or school trips or summer vacations, nights when we'd file in from the front porch only long enough to watch the game, laugh about the sports questions I missed or the ballet questions my cousin and I had smoked everyone else on, and then file back out to sit with the mosquitoes until it was time for bed; and, of course, my grandmother - especially during those later years when I would stay with her and it would be just she and I, it seemed Jeopardy, Judge Judy, & NCIS were the only shows that she could tolerate - and both Judy and Gibbs were questionable.

I can think of a million different configurations of my Grandmother's living room, and a million different Jeopardy games we watched from any of them. We watched in the summer, with the windows open and the screens down, so that you could still hear kids playing outside on the street, or all bundled up under blankets or hovering over her heating vents in the winter.  We were watching one Friday night when the house across the street burned down - although, to be fair, we did also, you know, pay attention to the fire. We watched last September, after we lost her, when that room was as cold as I've ever felt it, and that house was as empty as is has ever been - I sat with my sister and my aunts, none of us really paying much attention, but it was enough to have it on, enough that every now and then, we were distracted enough to give an answer.  I've watched with my uncle since then, in the new quiet, the new normal of the house, at least Jeopardy, and a cup of tea and a couple of cookies seems familiar.  I watched by myself, there and here, in tears, more than once, thinking about her and how something so ridiculous as a game of answers and questions can bring her back to me so clearly, how I can almost hear her still sighing over the loss of Alex's mustache, or some 'doofus's' incorrect response.

And it wasn't just there - I played Jeopardy with my mom and my other grandmother the summer I was in the hospital, and then bed bound - we'd keep score and add our tallies, spent the whole summer trying to beat each other, and I have no idea who actually one, but I know my Nana - one of the smartest people I knew - was a horrible wagerer and came in last.  I played with the girls in my dorm at college, my roommate and I would watch while we gobbled down Chinese food or macaroni and cheese from the hot pot in between our day classes and our night classes. And now I have to schedule my phone calls with my 13-yr-old nephew so as not to run over into Jeopardy time, because he plays with the boy down the street (although he plays with an ap somehow? and that makes me feel very old).

Anyways. I can you could see that this would be important to me.  And - of course - because I used my blog twitter instead of my personal twitter, I can't tell my family about it... but I figured you guys would understand.  I mean if you can't talk about being a total quiz show nerd on the Internet, where can you talk about it?

By the way; the poem that they quoted? My Grandmother's favorite (and not coincidentally one of the last things she remembered almost to the very end)?  From the category Lit-Tree-Ture : This self-described "fool" wrote, "a tree that looks at God all day / and lifts her leafy arms to pray".  The contestant answered incorrectly.  Here's the correct answer, and the complete poem:

119. Trees

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,	5
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.	10
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

                                                                                        Joyce Kilmer. 1886–1918