With the election only one week away, I feel as if I should be commenting on the two campaigns, the polls, and prognosticating the outcome. I can say it in a sentence. I'm tired of the negative ads (McCain); I'm pleased by the polls (Obama leads); and I'm surprised that Sarah Palin thinks she will play a role in future national Republican affairs. That's it. I'm equally tired of alleged friends who send me Obama smear material, hoping I will .....what, rise to the bait? Disprove the information? Still believe they are my friend? Fuggetaboutit.
No, my attention has been on my mother who has been in the hospital since last Wednesday, with apparent kidney failure and possible pneumonia. Without going into the whole episode, I would like to make a few observations about healthcare in our country, or at least in my local area. If you are reading this blog entry, you may wish to start stockpiling drugs, so that you can avoid this scenario in your future.
I took mom to her primary care physician on Oct. 12, to seek treatment for a bad cough which seemed to be getting worse. He prescribed Robitussin D and scheduled her for a kidney ultrasound 3 days later because her blood chemistry was bad i.e. she was building up toxins in her blood which meant the kidneys weren't fully functional.
We go to the ultrasound and mom confesses to total exhaustion and is unable to eat lunch upon return to Langdon Place.
I purchase juice boxes and try to get her to drink one morning and afternoon. Mom does worse and worse, eats little and drinks less.
By last Wed., she can't get out of bed, can't eat, and has bad pain in her back in addition to her worsening cough. We're waiting for an appt. with the kidney specialist, and numerous contacts with the nurse at her primary care office and the kidney specialist doesn't produce anything. The staff at Langdon Place is happy to wheel her into the dining room where she sits and can't eat her food.
On Wed. morning I take over applesauce and bouillon cubes for some broth, but I find her in such bad shape that I insist she go to the ER by ambulance.
My most favorite moment occurs when the ambulance driver arrives and asks if I am her sister. WOW! Time for me to get more rest, dye my hair, go to the gym, or SOMETHING.
My second favorite moment occurs when the ER physician pronounces that she can go back to LP, and I go off to fill prescriptions, somewhat incredulous that they think she can go back to the lack of care at Assisted Living. I go off to fill prescriptions (which may be sitting at Hannaford's as we speak), get a coat for mom to wear, and return to the ER, to find that mom has vomited the food they tried to feed her, and they have decided to admit her.
She has an acute bronchial infection, and failing kidneys. Not in her favor is the fact that she is nearly 93 years old. She has not had a good few days, nor, might I add, have I. Yesterday was the worst, when she started crying as I tried to help her eat some "dinner." No matter what I did or said, she couldn't stop crying, nor could she say what was causing her to cry. I kept trying to get someone to come in to see what they might do (sedate her? sedate me?) to no avail. Finally, in a momentary lull, at 6:30 p..m., I left. It was a two-glass-of-wine night for me, and predictably a bad night's sleep.
By the light of day, I thought about how no wonder she was crying; how I had done all I could; how my lying awake worrying wouldn't make anything better; how I needed to insist (again) that the nurse's aide be there to help her at mealtime, not me; and how I needed to curtail my visits to about 45 minutes and let the chips fall where they may. I also thought about how by today, she wouldn't even remember that she had cried last night. These realizations made it momentarily easier for me to go to yoga this morning, and time my visit this afternoon so that I could chat, read to her, and then firmly leave when it was still light enough for me to go for a walk.
None of this is easy. She has the doctors somewhat buffaloed, I think. Her kidney numbers are improving each day; the new scan of arteries yesterday showed no blockages in the arteries feeding the kidneys; a chest x-ray today didn't show pneumonia. Still, she doesn't feel good, and is improving in microscopic ways. On the other hand, there was talk of discharging her tomorrow, which her nurse today vigorously opposed. (me too).
I asked the nurse to sign her up for a Reiki massage. It can't hurt, and mom thought it sounded like it would be "kind of neat." On that note, I said my good-bye for today, and I will end this blog entry. In yoga, my intention was "to be peaceful, to be joyful and to stay strong,." Namaste.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Orange Blossoms and Harpsichords
What do hundred year old orange blossoms and harpsichords have to do with anything???? They both belong to me. In the case of the harpsichord, make that belonged.
For reasons somewhat unknown to me, I have become the family historian and collector of family "stuff." Some would say "junque." It started in 1988 when my oldest brother died suddenly and I was the child close enough to help clean up his apartment and clear out his extensive holdings of musical instruments, art, books, records, dollhouse furniture, raku pottery and miniature trains. My grief-stricken parents couldn't bear to think that his possessions were being thrown away, and so, they migrated to my basement. Some migrated upstairs.
More migrated upstairs when my first divorce occurred and my ex-husband took the stereo system, our record collection, etc. Space opened up for some of my brother's furniture. I did sell his 3000 records and all of his books. I hung many of his paintings. I moved the harpsichord he had built out of my moldy basement and into the living room.
For twenty years I have held onto things that were his, thinking that somehow that preserved his memory. In some way, it certainly has. Recently, though, I've been able to let go of some of his things, and not feel badly about it.
Last Friday, I had a new media center delivered. As the delivery men walked into the living room, one of them spotted the harpsichord. "Oh wow," he said. "Is that a harpsichord?" "Yes," I said. "Could I see it?" he asked. "Of course," I said, starting to unload enough of the junk on the flat surface so that I could open it partially to expose the keyboard. The delivery guy began to play the keys. "This is awesome," he said. I was looking on, horrified at the dust and mildew on the keys. I showed him the little tuner and unloaded the rest of the top so we could upen it all the way up to see how many strings might need to be replaced. "It needs a lot of work," I observed. "It's awesome," he said. "Would you like to have it?" I asked. "Are you serious?" he asked. "How much...." I interrupted by saying, "I don't want to sell it, I'd like to give it away." He looked at me as if I had a screw loose.
Within a few minutes, they walked out the front door with Rob's harpsichord and loaded it into the back of the Holmwood Furniture truck. I felt a momentary pang of disloyalty, and then I thought, "The universe sent this guy to me, and he will take care of this instrument and maybe even play it. Rob would have liked that."
The orange blossoms are another story. My cousin Mary Kay came to visit a couple of weeks ago, with a box of letters and odds and ends of things she had found in the closet of her dad's apartment when they had to move him into smaller quarters. One box says on the outside: "Orange blossoms worn by Katherine May Sherer (my grandmother) on her wedding day, April 5, 1909 to Theodore T. Redington." Sure enough, inside are pieces of what must have been a coronet of orange blossoms mixed in with some kind of white tear-dropped shaped beads. It's incredible that the blossoms have sort of petrified as if they had been waxed, as opposed to turning brown and shriveling up.
What does one do with an "heirloom" like this? I am not a museum, after all. Another box held pearl beadwork on a Satin ribbin (white) which I think must have come from her wedding dress. In my cedar chest I have baby clothes made by a great great grandmother......I have scrapbooks kept by that same great great grandmother. I have a mourning ring with real hair in it, and a wedding ring. I have a water color painted in 1795 by the man whose chair I also have - that item having been given to my grandparents on the occasion of my father's birth in 1912. The chair is cherry, made from a tree in their yard and pegged together in the pre-nail days of the 1700s. I have recipe boxes and a collection of 19th century letters which I published in book form in 1996; and another collection of letters written by a member of the family who was a missionary in India in the early 19th century.
JunK? Antiques? Of interest to anyone? No one? Saved all these years by people in the family who felt the importance of a connection to an earlier time in the life of our family. Am I to be the one to throw it all out? It seems like a heavy responsibility to be the decider of these matters. I imagine that earlier savers of these relics felt this same way. I see these things as artifacts of our nation's cultural history, not just of our particular family history. It seems as if there should be somewhere where these items could be preserved, interpreted, and shared with future generations.
Or, it could be that some day, the right delivery guy will walk in the door, and I will be delivered of the box of orange blossoms, my great grandmother's copybook, my great, great Aunt Mary's autograph book and the last of my brother's bonsai pots. Or not.
For reasons somewhat unknown to me, I have become the family historian and collector of family "stuff." Some would say "junque." It started in 1988 when my oldest brother died suddenly and I was the child close enough to help clean up his apartment and clear out his extensive holdings of musical instruments, art, books, records, dollhouse furniture, raku pottery and miniature trains. My grief-stricken parents couldn't bear to think that his possessions were being thrown away, and so, they migrated to my basement. Some migrated upstairs.
More migrated upstairs when my first divorce occurred and my ex-husband took the stereo system, our record collection, etc. Space opened up for some of my brother's furniture. I did sell his 3000 records and all of his books. I hung many of his paintings. I moved the harpsichord he had built out of my moldy basement and into the living room.
For twenty years I have held onto things that were his, thinking that somehow that preserved his memory. In some way, it certainly has. Recently, though, I've been able to let go of some of his things, and not feel badly about it.
Last Friday, I had a new media center delivered. As the delivery men walked into the living room, one of them spotted the harpsichord. "Oh wow," he said. "Is that a harpsichord?" "Yes," I said. "Could I see it?" he asked. "Of course," I said, starting to unload enough of the junk on the flat surface so that I could open it partially to expose the keyboard. The delivery guy began to play the keys. "This is awesome," he said. I was looking on, horrified at the dust and mildew on the keys. I showed him the little tuner and unloaded the rest of the top so we could upen it all the way up to see how many strings might need to be replaced. "It needs a lot of work," I observed. "It's awesome," he said. "Would you like to have it?" I asked. "Are you serious?" he asked. "How much...." I interrupted by saying, "I don't want to sell it, I'd like to give it away." He looked at me as if I had a screw loose.
Within a few minutes, they walked out the front door with Rob's harpsichord and loaded it into the back of the Holmwood Furniture truck. I felt a momentary pang of disloyalty, and then I thought, "The universe sent this guy to me, and he will take care of this instrument and maybe even play it. Rob would have liked that."
The orange blossoms are another story. My cousin Mary Kay came to visit a couple of weeks ago, with a box of letters and odds and ends of things she had found in the closet of her dad's apartment when they had to move him into smaller quarters. One box says on the outside: "Orange blossoms worn by Katherine May Sherer (my grandmother) on her wedding day, April 5, 1909 to Theodore T. Redington." Sure enough, inside are pieces of what must have been a coronet of orange blossoms mixed in with some kind of white tear-dropped shaped beads. It's incredible that the blossoms have sort of petrified as if they had been waxed, as opposed to turning brown and shriveling up.
What does one do with an "heirloom" like this? I am not a museum, after all. Another box held pearl beadwork on a Satin ribbin (white) which I think must have come from her wedding dress. In my cedar chest I have baby clothes made by a great great grandmother......I have scrapbooks kept by that same great great grandmother. I have a mourning ring with real hair in it, and a wedding ring. I have a water color painted in 1795 by the man whose chair I also have - that item having been given to my grandparents on the occasion of my father's birth in 1912. The chair is cherry, made from a tree in their yard and pegged together in the pre-nail days of the 1700s. I have recipe boxes and a collection of 19th century letters which I published in book form in 1996; and another collection of letters written by a member of the family who was a missionary in India in the early 19th century.
JunK? Antiques? Of interest to anyone? No one? Saved all these years by people in the family who felt the importance of a connection to an earlier time in the life of our family. Am I to be the one to throw it all out? It seems like a heavy responsibility to be the decider of these matters. I imagine that earlier savers of these relics felt this same way. I see these things as artifacts of our nation's cultural history, not just of our particular family history. It seems as if there should be somewhere where these items could be preserved, interpreted, and shared with future generations.
Or, it could be that some day, the right delivery guy will walk in the door, and I will be delivered of the box of orange blossoms, my great grandmother's copybook, my great, great Aunt Mary's autograph book and the last of my brother's bonsai pots. Or not.
Friday, October 17, 2008
A death in the family
Today brought the news of the death of my cousin, Carlie, from cancer. I got the news by means of a mass email to her friends and family, written as a "reply all" to a message that Carlie herself had sent to all of us on Sept. 10, describing her condition. The message today came like a kick in the stomach, in the middle of my morning of sending emails to invite historical societies to a workshop day November 5th. I saw the indication of a new message and clicked on it, assuming I was hearing back from one of my earlier emails. It was from someone I didn't know, and it brought this terrible news. I sat at my computer and wept, and wondered what to do next.
Carlie and I were girls together; she was four years older than I, and in some ways she functioned as an older sister to me. It was she who taught me to shave my legs (and told me I should). And it was from her that I learned about what high school life was like. Often I wore her hand-me-down clothes, even if i didn't share the same taste in colors or styles.
Since we lived in the same town, and for years her family lived right on the beach, we spent lots of time lying on beach towels, tanning, and body surfing in the warm Southern California ocean. We shared a love of reading and horses. The two of us had an annual date to spend the night with our Redington grandparents in Santa Barbara and attend the horseshow with them. An event that seemed like the hugest thing in the world to me. Together we read our way through our grandparents collection of mystery books, then Carlie moved on to reading Dostoevsky and huge, thick paperbacks that were beyond me at the time. Any time we've been together as adults, books would be at the heart of what we talked about.
After high school, Carlie began on a college career that took her down many paths. Just as she would almost finish, she would change her major and start over. She joined the Navy, she married, but divorced after one year, acknowledging that she was a lesbian in a culture that didn't accept homsexuality. I don't think she ever graduated from college, but she was a highly skilled and very smart person, and did very well designing microchips for Xerox for many years. She became a breeder and shower of dogs, and bought a house which would accommodate her and the dogs. She moved to Arizona; I moved across the country, and we saw each other very infrequently when she would make business trips to New England and include a visit to my parents in her itinerary.
She inherited the family gene for cancer, and in her late 30s underwent her first mastectomy. When the cancer recurred 18 months ago, and then spread to various parts of her body, I thought the prognosis was poor. She was always upbeat and optimistic in her emails, and I think that's why I was so shocked to learn of her death this morning. Her brother was with her when she died, and according to a second email that came from another friend, but was written on Carlie's computer, so it appeared to come from her, she was not aware of much during the last few days, and under the good care of hospice, slipped into death. I mourn her loss. I celebrate her life. I hope she was happy. I wish I could be there when they scatter her ashes on Superstition Mountain.
Carlie and I were girls together; she was four years older than I, and in some ways she functioned as an older sister to me. It was she who taught me to shave my legs (and told me I should). And it was from her that I learned about what high school life was like. Often I wore her hand-me-down clothes, even if i didn't share the same taste in colors or styles.
Since we lived in the same town, and for years her family lived right on the beach, we spent lots of time lying on beach towels, tanning, and body surfing in the warm Southern California ocean. We shared a love of reading and horses. The two of us had an annual date to spend the night with our Redington grandparents in Santa Barbara and attend the horseshow with them. An event that seemed like the hugest thing in the world to me. Together we read our way through our grandparents collection of mystery books, then Carlie moved on to reading Dostoevsky and huge, thick paperbacks that were beyond me at the time. Any time we've been together as adults, books would be at the heart of what we talked about.
After high school, Carlie began on a college career that took her down many paths. Just as she would almost finish, she would change her major and start over. She joined the Navy, she married, but divorced after one year, acknowledging that she was a lesbian in a culture that didn't accept homsexuality. I don't think she ever graduated from college, but she was a highly skilled and very smart person, and did very well designing microchips for Xerox for many years. She became a breeder and shower of dogs, and bought a house which would accommodate her and the dogs. She moved to Arizona; I moved across the country, and we saw each other very infrequently when she would make business trips to New England and include a visit to my parents in her itinerary.
She inherited the family gene for cancer, and in her late 30s underwent her first mastectomy. When the cancer recurred 18 months ago, and then spread to various parts of her body, I thought the prognosis was poor. She was always upbeat and optimistic in her emails, and I think that's why I was so shocked to learn of her death this morning. Her brother was with her when she died, and according to a second email that came from another friend, but was written on Carlie's computer, so it appeared to come from her, she was not aware of much during the last few days, and under the good care of hospice, slipped into death. I mourn her loss. I celebrate her life. I hope she was happy. I wish I could be there when they scatter her ashes on Superstition Mountain.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Fantasy Money
I know I don't suffer fools gladly. And I also know that I can be adamant about something and be completely wrong. About the current state of the election in this country, I'm adamantly appalled. I'm at the point of yelling at the t.v. ads put out by the McCain campaign which are obviously lies. How can Sarah Palin repeat over and over that Obama "pals around" with domestic terrorist Bill Ayers?" (And of course, this is also about the stupidity of the American public). Does she want some nutcase out there to decide to fight the war on terror by doing away with Obama? Every time I see the ad, I think she's just ratcheted up the chance of an assasination attempt. Can she be that stupid? Or that insensitive? Or is it just about winning the election?
I am heartened to see that Obama is up in the polls by 10 points. I hope he wins by a landslide and buries the McCain campaign and the right-wing bigots who support him and his lovely vice-presidential candidate. The famous beauty queen will be at Dover High School on Wed., and I will be outside helping to hold the American Friends Service Committee banners which spell out the financial disaster that is the war in Iraq. Remember the war? We thought the election would be a referendum on that, until the massive collapse of the financial system. Money will always trump concern for peace.
So....let's talk about Fantasy Money - yours, mine and ours. Where, exactly will the 700 billion come from that will enable the government to a) buy up bad debt (how do you buy a bad debt?) or b) buy equity in a big bank, or a big business, thereby expanding each of our persoal portfolios to include shares of say, AIG, or Fannie Mae? Will we have to borrow the money from China? Will we just print a bunch more money? Or are these just "paper transfers" of fantasy money?? And while I'm at it, could we focus on the irony of a Republican administration essentially nationalizing the banks and financial institutions in this country? Talk about eating crow......I hope George Bush gags all the way back to the ranch in Crawford, Texas. And takes a whole lot of Credit Default Swaps with him.
So, to recap this ramble, we, the American taxpayers, have been gouged for the past year on gas and oil prices; we've spent trillions of dollars on a war which was designed to expand the powers of the President and justified by lies, and now, we've had the opportunity to watch our life savings and pensions lose 40% of their value over the last 7 days while the Wall St. fat cats make out like bandits. The Republican house of cards has collapsed. Sadly, the collapse has taken the rest of us along with it, through pre-emptive war to moral and financial bankruptcy. Fantasy money and fantasy government. Indeed.
I am heartened to see that Obama is up in the polls by 10 points. I hope he wins by a landslide and buries the McCain campaign and the right-wing bigots who support him and his lovely vice-presidential candidate. The famous beauty queen will be at Dover High School on Wed., and I will be outside helping to hold the American Friends Service Committee banners which spell out the financial disaster that is the war in Iraq. Remember the war? We thought the election would be a referendum on that, until the massive collapse of the financial system. Money will always trump concern for peace.
So....let's talk about Fantasy Money - yours, mine and ours. Where, exactly will the 700 billion come from that will enable the government to a) buy up bad debt (how do you buy a bad debt?) or b) buy equity in a big bank, or a big business, thereby expanding each of our persoal portfolios to include shares of say, AIG, or Fannie Mae? Will we have to borrow the money from China? Will we just print a bunch more money? Or are these just "paper transfers" of fantasy money?? And while I'm at it, could we focus on the irony of a Republican administration essentially nationalizing the banks and financial institutions in this country? Talk about eating crow......I hope George Bush gags all the way back to the ranch in Crawford, Texas. And takes a whole lot of Credit Default Swaps with him.
So, to recap this ramble, we, the American taxpayers, have been gouged for the past year on gas and oil prices; we've spent trillions of dollars on a war which was designed to expand the powers of the President and justified by lies, and now, we've had the opportunity to watch our life savings and pensions lose 40% of their value over the last 7 days while the Wall St. fat cats make out like bandits. The Republican house of cards has collapsed. Sadly, the collapse has taken the rest of us along with it, through pre-emptive war to moral and financial bankruptcy. Fantasy money and fantasy government. Indeed.
Monday, October 6, 2008
PDSS....Post Debate Stress Syndrome
I've been waiting for the Biden-Palin debate to sink in. I know I should write a blog entry about it, but......about what? My main reaction was that I doubted that I could stand 4 more years of a "leader" in the White House who pronounces the word "nuclear" as if it were spelled "Nuke-u-ler." Is that a genetic defect in Republicans?
My other distinct feeling was perhaps that Sarah Palin was the Virgin Mary dressed up to look like a Barbie doll.....It's the whole hockey mom thing plus winking at the camera, plus having just come home from Italy where we saw hundreds of Madonna and child paintings, and one tapestry where the eyes of Christ follow you no matter where you stand relative to the tapestry. Very spooky.
And in case none of this is of interest to anyone but me, I have to say that seeing Sarah Palin as the Vice Presidential candidate makes me think long and hard about my brand of feminism. Shouldn't I be delighted to see a woman make it onto the ticket? Shouldn't I be rubbing my hands in glee that finally it's legitimate for women to use the fact of their motherhood as a qualification for high office? I can think of countless times when I looked for management-type jobs that could spring me out of teaching, but alas, other than managing my classroom and managing my household, I could list no management experience, and I certainly thought I couldn't list being a mom or "home manager" as a qualification. So....now, Sarah Palin, a woman who seems to be able only to parrot the McCain Straight Talk, and who shoots from the hip, both literally and figuratively, has opened the way for countless other moms, hockey or not, to qualify for every job, regardless of their other qualifications.....
Well, as you may imagine, I'm still appalled that she has risen to the level of her incompetency, and I am heartened by today's polls which show Obama ahead by 51% to 39% despite the McCain attempt to smear him by association with Bill Ayers of the Weather Underground. I hope that one month from now, Sarah Palin will be a small footnote to the history of women in politics, and that the next female candidate will be someone who actually has credentials which qualify her in addition to whatever motherly instincts she may have. The big question remains....does Sarah P. have to "rat" her hair to make it into that beehive???
My other distinct feeling was perhaps that Sarah Palin was the Virgin Mary dressed up to look like a Barbie doll.....It's the whole hockey mom thing plus winking at the camera, plus having just come home from Italy where we saw hundreds of Madonna and child paintings, and one tapestry where the eyes of Christ follow you no matter where you stand relative to the tapestry. Very spooky.
And in case none of this is of interest to anyone but me, I have to say that seeing Sarah Palin as the Vice Presidential candidate makes me think long and hard about my brand of feminism. Shouldn't I be delighted to see a woman make it onto the ticket? Shouldn't I be rubbing my hands in glee that finally it's legitimate for women to use the fact of their motherhood as a qualification for high office? I can think of countless times when I looked for management-type jobs that could spring me out of teaching, but alas, other than managing my classroom and managing my household, I could list no management experience, and I certainly thought I couldn't list being a mom or "home manager" as a qualification. So....now, Sarah Palin, a woman who seems to be able only to parrot the McCain Straight Talk, and who shoots from the hip, both literally and figuratively, has opened the way for countless other moms, hockey or not, to qualify for every job, regardless of their other qualifications.....
Well, as you may imagine, I'm still appalled that she has risen to the level of her incompetency, and I am heartened by today's polls which show Obama ahead by 51% to 39% despite the McCain attempt to smear him by association with Bill Ayers of the Weather Underground. I hope that one month from now, Sarah Palin will be a small footnote to the history of women in politics, and that the next female candidate will be someone who actually has credentials which qualify her in addition to whatever motherly instincts she may have. The big question remains....does Sarah P. have to "rat" her hair to make it into that beehive???
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)