Project 333 - Day 8

It is incredibly windy out. Last night the temperature dropped enough that even J noticed it was really cold. I went to sleep shivering and work up sweaty.

Something must have happened overnight with my employer's network, as I don't appear to have Internet access outside the corporate firewall and my email access is spotty. Which is problematic, as I need external Internet access to figure out what the hell I am doing testing-wise.

Today's Attire:
Lucky Brand jeans.
Black Flexees tank.
Red three-quarters length sleeve top.
Lucky Brand embroidered blue leather belt.
Lucky Brand scarf.
Black Dansko clogs.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic watch.
Engagement & wedding ring.
Baccarat iridescent crystal pendant.
Silver deco ring.

Observations:
1. The jeans are probably the final pair of Lucky Brand I will purchase. I'm incredibly disappointed, as they do make stylish, well fitting jeans in larger sizes, but I can't afford to burn over $100.00 a pair, a only to have them fall apart a year later (as the last two pairs did so recently). I have one more pair of straight-legged jeans from this brand, which I purchased from a discount store but never wore because the legs felt too tight. In light of the fact that they will probably fall apart anyway, they will go into my burgeoning charity pile.
2. I have been more comfortable in my clothing in the last week. Deliberately choosing the clothing I like, rather than dithering over those pieces I feel obligated to wear, has been really liberating. I is still taking me a while to get dressed, mainly because I have not pulled my capsule wardrobe together, but I am almost ready to commit.

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States

Project 333 - Day 7

Another slow Monday morning. I made it into work later than I intended. The outfit that I planned today was not going to work - too dark and not spring-like.

Today's Attire:
Lauren jeans.
Max Studio white cowl neck top.
Tommy Hilfinger navy blue cotton sweater.
Lucky Brand embroidered blue leather belt.
Black Dansko clogs.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic watch.
Engagement & wedding ring.
Baccarat iridescent crystal pendant.

I have a combination of the mean reds and the blues today. The home buying/selling process can do the to a person.

J and I are in the process of selling our old home. It felt like a miracle, receiving a respectable offer five days after listing the home. We are in the appraisal/inspection waiting period and the buyers agent is not the most communicative of the breed.

It makes me anxious, as I feel like we, our agent included, are being viewed as adversaries. Which is understandable, but stupid as J and I just want to be able to wash our hands of financial responsibility. We are more than happy to lose any gains we may make, as long as we are able to pay off the loan, cover the fees to the city/county/agent and turn off the utilities.

The only information our agent has been able get is that the slate is crumbling and the buyer is going to have a roofer inspect it. We don't know the appraisal value, we don't know what other issues were uncovered in the inspection, we don't have anything information so we can do the right thing.

Observations (Tuesday Morning)
1. I felt bland all day. I looked fine, I just felt bland. Mostly my mood I think.
2. J got referrals for roofers. Now we need a sunny day to get a proper assessment done and get it fixed.

48° Sunny
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States

Project 333 - Day 6

Today I slept late. Went to the flea market. Had brunch. Purchased new pillows for Boy Alien's room. Did two loads of dark clothing. Changed the sheets in the master bedroom. Puttered. Tried to figure out if there is a pants elf running around the neighborhood, snatching packages from unsuspecting UPS drivers and delivering them to their appropriate owner days later.

Late last night, upon returning home from dinner with friends, I discovered a small Zappos package beneath my mailbox. Inside contained the missing pair of pants, which I verified by checking the order number. As Zappos is sending me a replacement pair, I will have to arrange to ship one pair back.

I am mystified. J's guess is that the driver lied about delivering the package, but he would have to have known he was coming back on Saturday. If it was a neighbor, a note would have been welcome, to save me the trouble of reporting them missing.

Today's Attire:
Calvin Klein jeans.
Green Gap t-shirt.
Gap brown leather belt.
Black Dansko clogs.
Purple and orange scarf.
Roots red “Canada” hoody.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic watch.
Engagement & wedding ring.

Observations:
1. The semi-obsessive recording of everything I wear and my feelings is a pretty significant exercise in frivolous naval-gazing, but it is not without a purpose. I want to figure out what I genuinely feel good wearing and get rid of any item that does not make me feel awesome or is a hassle to wear (such as a sweater that will not stay buttoned.)
2. I have not culled my clothes down to 33 items yet. I already know that it is probably not going to be possible for another week and I am ok with that.
3. I really want it to be consistently warmer.

54° Clear
Whitehall, Pennsylvania, United States

Project 333 - Day 5

I don't have any idea what I am going to wear today. I need to attend a bridal shower (ugh) this afternoon and meet friends for dinner this evening. Part of my reasoning in doing this first week without choosing my 33 items upfront was to determine which pieces of clothing and accessories I genuinely love. Now it is Saturday, I need to go from a business causal event to an informal dinner and all of the ideas I had planned in my head are probably not going to work. They all involve items I love, but the weather is classic cold spring slush.

Idea 1: Brown XCVI pants, ordered from Zappos on Thursday afternoon, as a replacement for my two ruined pairs of jeans. Paired with a flowing, white Thomas Pink blouse. The pants are made of cotton poplin and have the funky kind of styling that can go from a bridal shower to a causal dinner. Zappos has next day shipping on items ordered before 1:00PM PST, so (fit willing, but I've had excellent luck with XCVI) they would have been perfect.

The bonus would have been being able to add the pants to my rotation for the whole summer.

Except that I never received them. The UPS driver handed the package over to someone trespassing in our yard. Zappos, to their credit is sending a new pair of pants, but I will not receive them until Monday.

UPS gets a few more cents profit, as they get used again for shipping. I know that Zappos will probably recover that money in the end, but in the meantime UPS earns a few cents interest on a shipment they deliberately delivered incorrectly.

Idea 2: Meadow green XCVI shirred skirt with the Thomas Pink blouse. The downside is that it is not going to get close to 50F until 4:00 PM, which means I will need to wear hosiery and I don't have shoes that go well with hose in spring/summer, since it is supposed to be warm enough to go without.

I think I am going to just fuck it and wear trouser-style jeans.

What I ended up wearing…

Today's Attire:
Wide legged trouser-style jeans
Gray Flexees tank.
Cream three-quarters length sleeve sweater.
Lucky Brand embroidered blue leather belt.
Black Dansko clogs.
Purple and blue scarf.
Slim, knee-length black leather coat.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic watch.
Engagement & wedding ring.
String of black diamond beads.
Silver deco ring.

Observations:
1. I originally wore a pair of purple Dansko sandals, but the weather was so cold that I had to put on socks, which look stupid with the sandals.
2. The jeans are from the now-defunct Martin and Osa. I was crushed when American Eagle Outfitters decided to close those stores. They were specifically tailored to fit me and are the only pair of pants I did not have to discard post-pregnancy. I am so delighted to be able to wear them again.
3. The sweater, which is really lovely, will not remain buttoned. After the shower I gave up and changed into a blue Max Studio cowl neck t-shirt. The sweater will be washed and added to the charity pile.
4. I still hate showers.

37° Cloudy
Whitehall, Pennsylvania, United States

Project 333 - Day 4

I feel as if I must explain that my jeans don't fall apart just because my thighs are enormous and can friction their way through denim.

When my employer moved into their current space, they inherited the furniture left by the prior business. This furniture included authentic Aeron chairs in each of the cubicles. Some of the employees lucky enough to be assigned to a cube disliked the chair, so they swapped with employees unfortunate enough to be assigned to one of the former lab spaces built in the interior of the building, far away from amenities such as working heat/ac and natural light.

I hope you have gathered by now that I worked in one of the former labs for over two years. It sucked. After the buyout of my employer by large international behemoth was complete, all of us working in the former labs were moved to empty cubes. I really need to write about the twisted politics that lead to the bulk of the engineering staff working in those rooms.

By trading, I managed to score a chair that cost more money then the powers-that-be put spent renovating the interior rooms. In the process I developed the habit of kicking off my shoes and sitting crossed legged on the chair.

The unholy alliance of quirky sitting habits, fat thighs and thinner material resulted in me trashing two pair of jeans in the past three weeks, due to tears on the inner left thigh. One pair was a complete loss. Both pairs were from the same manufacturer, so I will not be buying jeans from them again.

All of this meant I spent a fair amount of time scrutinizing my remaining jeans, evaluating which pair was least likely to call it quits on me today. I also checked my cottons/linen pants.

Today's Attire:
Calvin Klein jeans.
Cream Flexees tank. (I have two of these. Both badly need to be discarded due to some pretty serious under-arm staining)
White cotton t-shirt with burned-out illustration of a butterfly.
Lucky Brand embroidered blue leather belt.
Black Dansko clogs.
Gap 1969 denim jacket.
Lucky Brand scarf.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic
Engagement & wedding ring.
Baccarat Crystal Flower Pendant.
Sliver and red enameled ring.

Observations (10:38PM)
1. I felt very comfortable in my clothes today.

57° Mist and Fog
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States

Project 333 - Day 3

I am writing this at the allergist's office, waiting to be released after getting my shots. I will go to Starbucks, then back to work.

I had a difficult time getting up this morning. Wigford was silent, captivated (I hope) by a bird or other small creature. He has been incredibly lonely since Axel and Lucy died. Both of his buddies gone in a span of two years. I've wrestled with getting another cat, but I am starting to feel so much better now that the allergies are under control.

So the bed did not get made and my time in the shower stretched longer than usual. Two more pieces of clothing went into the charity pile - thin sweaters in peach and orange, colors that look truly awful on me. I am trying to be merciless.

Today's Attire:
Lucky Brand jeans.
Nude Flexees tank.
Cream Lucky Brand three-quarters sleeve blouse.
Gap brown leather belt.
Black Dansko clogs.
Slim, knee-length black leather coat.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic
Engagement & wedding ring.
Baccarat Crystal Pendant.

This morning it was more difficult to he dressed as I felt really lukewarm towards most of the options I had planned out in my head last night. The jeans and belt were easy, the shirt was difficult. For the past several years I've had an ongoing problem finding spring/summer shirts that I love. Getting rid of the ones that I bought in desperation to have something to wear feels really good.

There was also the issue of being sock less, as I forgot to throw the clothes in the dryer last night. So I had to dig up a pair of ankle socks I reserve for yoga.

Observations (1:06 PM)
1. I am not as comfortable today. Part of it is that I lost my jeans to my thighs after my allergy shot this morning. I sat down in my chair, tried to cross my legs and heard that oh-so-ominous tear.
2. The good news is that the jeans are salvageable for shorts. The bad is that this is the second pair, in the same brand, to fall apart on me at work in less than a month.
3. And the shirt, while adorable (and tear free) wrinkled very quickly.

40.4429° N, 80.0071° W

Project 333 - Day 2

Every morning Wigford wakes me early with his meowing. Most mornings I end up spending upwards an hour dozing and returning to the same sad, intrusive thoughts while waiting for the alarm to go off. Since we moved to the new house, I end up rushed to get to work. So today I just got up and decided to write until the alarm.

Today's Attire (Planned):
Lauren jeans from Marshall's/TJ Maxx.
Black polka-dot Flexees tank.
Red, three-quarters length sleeve boat neck-ish shirt.
Lucky Brand embroidered blue leather belt.
Lucky Brand red, three-quarters length sleeve bolero.
Black Dansko clogs.
White raincoat.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic
Engagement & wedding ring.
Grey pearls (fake).
Silver and topaz ring.

Music This Morning:
David Grey. Mostly his moody, death ballads - Kathleen, Long Black Veil, Easy Way to Cry, The World to Me.

Additional Observations (1:10 PM)
1. I received a compliment from a coworker on the bolero. She thought I looked nice in.
2. I am much more comfortable in this outfit then I thought I would be.
3. Dark red is good color on me.
4. I should have left the raincoat at home.

50° Rain
Whitehall, Pennsylvania, United States

Project 333 - Day 1

In an attempt to get out of my own head and do something, even if it is something a lot of people would think is stupid and frivolous, I decided to give Project 333 (http://theproject333.com) a shot.

One of the things that has been bugging me is that I seem to have lost my inner sense of style. F0r the past few years, most of my clothing choices have been dictated by fear of judgement over my overweight body, flabby belly, fat ankles and sagging face.

I read an article on xoJane yesterday called 8 Essential Basics for Spring Even Though Basics Are Boring And Spring's Never Coming. There were several photographs of the author. She was tattooed and chubby and looked like an incredibly bad-assed, happy woman in her clothes. That is what I want.

Project 333 is a minimalist fashion challenge - wear the same 33 items for 3 months, focusing on the clothes you love.

Included: shoes, jewelry, scarves and outerwear.
Excluded: undergarments, hosiery, sentimental jewelry (such as a wedding ring) workout gear, and pajamas.

Jewelry should be easy, I wear the same pieces almost every day. I rotate some, but not much. I really need to look at selling several pieces that I never wear any longer.

Scarves, gloves and hats (especially cold weather gear) will be difficult, as I like having a variety to choose from.
Instead of choosing 33 items right away, I am going to spend this week culling my clothes down. If it does not fit or looks even remotely ridiculous, into the Goodwill bag it goes right away.

Lessons Learned Today
1. The two long skirts that I purchased last summer look terrible on me. Too tight in the hips, too long in the length. When I purchased them, I was desperate to find something right then to replace the one I tore earlier that day. Into the Goodwill bag they went.
2. I excluded Flexees tanks from the 33, as I wear them under everything.
3. I feel weird wearing the leggings, but they are really comfortable.

Today's Attire:
Purple three-quarters sleeve cotton cardigan.
Gray XCVI skirt.
Gray Flexees tank.
Gray sheer leggings.
Flower-patterned Marimekko Chucks.
No socks, as it is April 1!

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic watch.
Baccarat iridescent crystal pendant.
Engagement & wedding ring.
Silver deco ring.
Works of Man titanium and sterling bangle.

Additional Observations (6:42PM)
1. The leggings were fun and comfortable, but would work better with a narrower skirt.
2. I was not as self-conscious of my ankles.
3. J said I had a Pippi look going between the leggings, the bright shoes and pendant. He meant it as a compliment.
4. The hostess at Eat N Park liked my pendant and shoes.


45° Clear
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States

I AM

A really crappy excuse for a human being.
I said something horrible to my child in a moment of anger.
I can't take it back.
And it was the truth, not the whole truth, a small part of a much larger, more complicated truth. But it was the worst part of the larger, more complicated truth.

It came from the relentless voice, small, sneaky, in the corner of my brain that likes to remind me that I will never, ever be good enough and doesn't understand why I try.
The disappointed part.
The analytical part, the one that tries to figure out why I can't seem to connect and build friendships with the women around me, in spite of my honest efforts.

This is the part that makes me seem cold, because I don't want to come off as too eager.
This is the part that makes me seem distant, because I don't want to end up self-centered.
This is the part that makes me seem quiet, because I fear my questions will be intrusive.

This part gets louder every time I try to make a playdate with a kid's mom, or a woman friend for some girl time, only to be ditched at the last minute.
This part gets louder every time I try to make plans, only to hear the word no.

I know how that voice got here. I know that it comes from all those years trying to navigate a social environment in which not matter what I did, it was wrong.

I hate that voice. I hate what it is still doing to me, at forty years old. I hate that repeated attempts at therapy have only achieved in silencing it for short periods of time.

I am trying so hard to get healthy again. Subjecting myself to injections every week to get rid of the allergies that have come close to crippling my life. There is so much in my life that is good right now, yet I can't seem to cease the act of self-sabotage.

I don't know what to do any more.

Today

I picked up Lucy Snowe's ashes from the veterinarian.

Intellectually, I know it is stupid and foolish to cling to the remains of a pet, even a beloved pet. Emotionally, it is difficult to let go after eighteen years of managing to keep her with me, no matter where I went.

If all goes well, we will be moving in a few weeks. Leaving her behind seemed wrong. So she will remain with me, until I am truly ready to let go. I know that non-pet owners (and even some pet owners) will find my grief puzzling and self-indulgent. I'm OK with that.

Passing

My first moments with Lucy Snowe began as a fight, her swatting and struggling as I gently dragged out from underneath the car in the Greensboro Mall parking garage. I was not thinking about getting a cat in that moment – I was more concerned about the cars speeding by her hiding place.

But the moment I held her in my arms, the moment she relaxed and began to purr, I was smitten. Any half formed thoughts I possessed about taking her to a shelter melted away in the warmth of her little body. I took her home, and much to the chagrin of my roommate, insisted on keeping her.

I remained smitten for eighteen years. Through seven moves, a wedding, a pregnancy, a birth. All that time, Lucy was a fixed presence in my life.

It was only fitting that our relationship ended the way it began, with her fighting with the vet tech over the catheter inserted into her right paw. Holding her close as the veterinarian injected first the sedative, then the drugs that stopped her heart.

Making the decision to put her to sleep was the easy part. Always tiny, she had lost an enormous amount of weight, could not keep food down, could not make it to the litter box, could not groom herself properly, and became confused about where she was.

The difficult part was cleaning out the carrier, lining it with the towel, taking it to the car, and walking through the door of the clinic. The devastating part was letting go and leaving her body, once she had passed.

My beautiful, sweet, little cat is gone. I can close my eyes and remember what it felt like to have her sleeping head across my neck. But she is no longer here when I open them.

Down with the Rubber Duck

Note: Several months ago I took advantage of the iTunes Store free app offer and download an app called Day One Journal/Diary to my iPhone and iPad. I've found myself writing more often and thought I would try sharing some of those entries on the blog.

What started as a lark ended with my ankle in a splint and me slightly fatigued from pain killers.

We planned on taking Boy Alien to see the giant rubber duck yesterday. First a stop at the bank and Starbucks. Then a quick drive out to Sewickley to see a house that had a ton of potential but zero property space to add a garage. I was disappointed and turned down J's offer to see the inside as the lack of garage space (or to build a garage) meant it did not meet our requirements and I did not want to fall into lust with a house I could not have.

So it was off to see the duck. I wish I had been able to film the excitement on Boy Alien's face when he saw the duck for the first time, as we drove past the stadiums on the North Shore. It felt like Christmas morning and J and I felt like we were the BEST PARENTS EVER. We managed to find a space right across from the walkway leading up to the Fort Pitt bridge.

It was a beautiful day for a walk across any bridge. Sunny, not too warm, happy pedestrians and bicyclists and a great view of the park and the rubber duck. Pittsburgh residents are in an extraordinary good mood this week, between the goofiness of seeing a enormous child's bath toy hanging out in the river and the Pirates making the playoffs for the first time in over twenty years. Boy Alien greeted dogs, chatted about the duck and held both our hands for the walk across.

After coming off of the bridge, we began our climb down the stone, stadium-style levels near the duck. Not 20 feet away was a set of stairs in between each level that a sensible person would have used.

I am not a sensible person and my past history of hurting myself in spectacularly stupid fashion was not enough to prevent me from gamboling down the levels after J and Toddler Alien. In sandals. Without backs on them to keep my feet from moving.

On the next to last step I came down a little too hard, felt my foot slip within my left shoe, lost my balance and badly twisted my left ankle. The pain made me scream out loud.

There were a lot of people near by and several offered to help. The woman sitting near where I came down first offered to call an ambulance, then later offered to get me some water. A second stranger offered general assistance. I declined all offers and insisted that J and Boy Alien go see the duck as originally planned, as Boy Alien should not have to suffer because his mother is a clumsy idiot.

While J and Toddler Alien were viewing the duck I sat for what felt like forever, waiting for the pain to subside. After several failed attempts to get up and walk I gave up and tried to stop sobbing like a child and stop thinking about how I badly I needed to pee.

Eventually J and Boy Alien returned and the need to pee was urgent enough for me to overcome the pain of walking and hobble off to the restroom, trying to navigate through the crowed of spectators and souvenir seekers. After taking some ibuprofen and making it back out of the restroom, J sat me down on a stone wall and went off with Toddler Alien to find something to eat. I spent more time trying to fight my tears and declined my third (and maybe fourth, I lost track, which is a good problem to have) offers of assistance from absolute strangers. I eventually moved from the wall to an open bench and discovered that my ankle hurt less when I put some weight on it. I tried to read. I tried not to cry.

When J and Toddler Alien returned I announced that I needed to go to the ER. We began the walk back to the car. As I moved, I noticed that the pain was not that bad as long as I moved slowly and carefully and I started to question whether I needed to see a doctor after all, a question that was answered with a definitive "yes" when I tried to walk down the steps.

It was off to Allegheny General's emergency room for me. While J tried to entertain our bored, restless son I spent an hour limping back and forth from the waiting room chairs to registration, the triage nurse, registration, x-rays, registration then finally to a room to have my ankle seen. Then it was an additional two and a half hours of talking to nurses, residents and attending doctors. 

HIghlight one of the afternoon was one nurse's admission that I was not the first patient they had seen that week who had injured his or herself while seeing the duck.

Highlight two of the afternoon was the resident who told me that my ankle did not appear to be fractured, only to sheepishly return 20 minutes later with the news that they had found a hairline chip and I would have to have  

During the course of the afternoon I was asked three times if I might be pregnant, four times if I had a living will and who would be taking me home, six times how I had injured myself and once if I felt safe in my home.

After $50.00, x-ray's, an ultrasound, several hours and one nurse's cracks about the duck being bad luck for the residents of Pittsburgh I left the hospital with my ankle in a splint, on crutches, clutching a prescription for oxycodone and instructions that I should not drive or drink while on the painkiller and need to make an appointment follow up with an orthopedic surgeon in 3-5 days.

Now it is sunday, I have not yet figured out how to get myself reasonably cleaned up for work on Monday, as I must at least go in that day to pick up my new laptop and get myself set up to work from home.

A Girl Reads a Conversation About the Appropriate-ness of Publicly Airing Ones Feelings

And promptly writes a blog post about airing her feelings.

Scott Simon of NPR is currently sitting vigil at his mother's beside, in the ICU of a Chicago hospital and tweeting about his experience. If what I am reading is correct, his mother is dying.

One of the websites I frequent linked to Simon's twitter feed and the subsequent conversation wandered into "this is totally inappropriate for him to do, he is an asshole / No he is not" territory. Most of the comments were deleted, thankfully, before I posted my point of view on the subject.

So I'm putting it here, this comment that I can not say because (ironically) it is too personal for me to share there.

I envy Scott Simon. I envy the freedom, whether granted by his mother or not, to openly talk about his participation in this painful journey. What a luxury he has, to send out into the universe the pain he is feeling and garner the support he needs to make it through to the other side.

I am not as fortunate. I am constrained, by the rules of decorum, to keep the pain and stress that I am feeling at witnessing my mother go through an illness that may very well kill her, to myself. In order to honor my parents wishes to keep this matter private, I can not talk about it. If I were to draw out the Venn Diagram between the people I am permitted to tell and the people who would be the best at giving me the support that I need, the overlap would be miniscule.

So I am glad that Scott Simon has the permission, even if he gave it to himself internally, to take the rest of us on his journey. May he and his mother find peace.

The One in Which the Intrepid Heroine Crushed All Hope

Buying a larger home is something J and I have gone back and forth on for the past two years. For a very long time I steadfastly insisted that we needed to possess fewer things rather then buy a large house.

Then Boy Alien finally grasped the concept of using the toilet and I woke up one day and realized that I was just as tired as J of all the little battles that take place when you live on top of each other all the time. Getting my study back was nice, but I would also like to be able to brush my teeth and put on sunscreen in peace.

Since I like looking at houses, it didn’t feel like work until I discovered that the majority of listing agents I contacted to view property either completely ignored me or refused to show us anything unless we were pre-qualified for a mortgage loan.

J and sucked it up, contacted a friend who is a mortgage underwriter and got a pre-qualification letter. I contacted the agent who assisted us when we purchased our current home. She was more than happy to help and didn’t require a pre-approval.

We went on a formal house hunt on Saturday, boy Alien in tow. We saw three we genuinely liked. The first one had a steep driveway and heavily textured walls. But it was also laid out very well, had a remodeled kitchen, beautifully retro bathrooms, restored floors and a fair amount of closet space. The basement was unfinished and had enough space to do laundry and for Jeff to brew. It even had a storage room that could be converted to a wine and beer cellar.

The second house was beautiful on the surface and decorated in French provincial style. The kitchen was especially well done and the owners had added a spectacular sunroom to the back. The size was just right.

It was also on the verge of falling apart. All the windows in the home needed to be replaced, including the presumably newer windows in the sunroom. The sunroom because the seals were bad, the rest of the house because the windows were the original single-pained numbers and leaked air. The air conditioner was ancient. The furnace was not much newer. The porch railings were splintering and the planks were very aged. The steps to the lower part of the backyard were mushy and the wood/brick side-path was falling apart.

But the worst part of the house was the distinctive odor of stale cat piss in the basement. It permeated into every corner and lingered heavily into the air. It was as if the cats were allowed to pee on the floor with impunity and no attempt was made to clean up after them.

Home three was made of stone with vinyl siding on the front. It had a family room with a 50's style bar and marble flooring, tiles on the ceilings in the kitchen and all bathrooms and a large basement and garage. The kitchen has original steel cabinets with stainless steel countertops. One bathroom has a walk-in shower' the other a perfect vintage-style sink with built in towel holders.

The funkiest aspect of the house is the toilet seat. Three of the four seats are clear. Two of the three are ocean scenes, one with dolphins, the second with tropical fish.

The third seat was the highlight of the tour. It was embedded with straight razor blades.

We liked it far more than we expected.

I crunched numbers. I made spreadsheets and looked up millage rates and calculated wage taxes. In the end, I discovered that short of winning the lottery, we can't buy the house without selling ours first. The burden of carrying two mortgages with all the accompanying costs (property taxes, homeowner’s insurance, utilities, acts of gods…) until we were able to unload our current home would break us. We wouldn’t be able to rent it out for enough money to break even the expense of owning it.

There have been a lot of minor crappy situations this year. The buyout of my company and the subsequent fallout in the form of having no idea what will happen next. No trip over my 40^th birthday. No trip to Europe in the fall. J annoyed and disappointed that I couldn’t save more money. Me pissed that the repeated conversations I initiated over the past year explaining how expensive plane tickets and accommodations are when you want to travel in reasonable comfort with a small child falling on deaf ears. Me pissed at having to explain that one of the reasons why I have less than he thought was because of dips into savings to pay off debts to friends (hockey tickets) and to keep us in the black.

Killjoy me. No vacations. No new house. No fun at life.

More Things I Don't Like About Cancer

One of the things I am finding difficult about dealing with my mother's illness is that I don't know whom I can talk to about it.

My mom comes from a family with a life-long tendency to keep things to themselves. I recently learned that out of the six children who comprise my mother's side of the family, four of them have had cancer of the reproductive organs. Two siblings with breast cancer. Two siblings with prostate cancer. Two siblings cancer free.

It is no surprise that my mother decided to have genetic testing done. My brothers and I wait for the results.

Because my mom and her family don't talk about these kind of things, I'm not sure if it is ok for me to talk about it. I've told some close friends and a couple of coworkers. My in-laws. But I don't say much to anyone else. Which is hard, because I have a decent circle of friends who would happily send my parents happy thoughts and good wishes. But I don't know where the boundary lies, so I don't talk about it.

My mom is having a rough time of it. She has been in the hospital twice since the mastectomy, once to have a portion of her incision re-done and an infuse-a-port put in, once to drain an abscess and receive IV antibiotics for an MRSA infection.

This is on top of the break in the water line leading from the distribution line to the house. They were forced to shut off the water completely and have been living in a hotel for the past several days, as they wait for the other utilities to mark their lines before digging up and repairing the pipes.

Ring Theory - The Series

In which I document, in serial format, the stupid things I hear people say or do in regards to my mom's illness.

First…

I had planned on writing an angry entry, in which I take the energy that I feel towards what is happening to my mother and complain about the stupid things people say to me about her illness. In the past three weeks, my mother has had to endure:

1.     A MRI of the breasts.

2.    A PET (full-body) scan.

3.    A Bone scan.

4.    A Brain scan.

5.    The injection and ingestion of contrast dyes for the above tests.

6.    Blood tests.

Today she received the results of the PET, bone and body scan.

All three scans were clear. The cancer is limited to the left breast and lymph nodes. Surgery to remove the breast and all lymph nodes is scheduled for early June, on a day that she considers “lucky”. Once the tissue is removed, the cancer will be graded and the oncologist will develop a treatment protocol.

Now:

The Ring Theory of Kvetching

Now that I am living with a situation in which people are going to say stupid shit, I thought I would at least get some amusement out writing about it.

The Ring Theory posits a very simple rule of communication for talking to or about a person in crisis.

Comfort In. Dump Out.

The drawing below is my mother’s ring. Note that this is based on a combination of geographic and emotional relationships. The asterisk next to “Mom’s Friends” is to denote that they are on the border between the first and second ring. “Mom’s Siblings” are also closer to the first ring, but geographically none of them live nearby.

Based on ring theory, I can’t rail at my mom and dad about how unfair her illness is and how horrible it makes me feel. But I can express those feelings to my brothers (as we are in the same ring), my spouse or my friends, as they are all in an outward ring.

Things Stupid Shit People Say #1

Smoking caused mom’s breast cancer.

Wildly Inappropriate Conversations

I have a new dentist.

My former dentist retired. Dr. E was not at retirement age, but he didn't enjoy being a dentist any longer, a fact he freely admitted during our final appointment. As I would prefer that the individual working on my mouth actually like his/her job, I found his blunt honesty refreshing. Dr. E sold the practice to Dr. T, but comes in on Thursdays to help out and work towards wrapping up ongoing cases.

Dr. T is young, hipster cute with dark eyes and curly dark hair. My first impression was that this was the type of guy I would want my daughter (or son) to marry if I was a Jewish mother. When I repeated this observation to one of my sister-in-law's, she laughed and replied "you know you are getting old when stop looking at attractive guys for yourself and start trying to pair them up with someone else".

Both Dr. E and Dr. T recommended that I have work done to cover up exposed root surface on two teeth. Dr. T described the pain as "one step up from a cleaning", so I cheerfully scheduled a follow-up appointment.

Obnoxiously early for my follow-up appointment, I was the lone individual in the waiting room when a man around my age walked in, announced that the world was biased against men because the restroom door was locked, and grabbed the key sitting on the counter.

He walked back to the men’s room, only to discover that 1. The key didn't fit and 2. The men's room was unlocked. He walked back into the waiting room, put the key on the counter and proceeded to make a comment that it was not safe to leave the men's room unlocked, as "a pedophile priest could be waiting to molest a good catholic boy like me".

He left the waiting room again to avail himself of the facilities of the unlocked men’s restroom, located on the 15th floor of a downtown office building, as I sat staring into space, with a polite smile frozen to my face.

I have some ideas about what would motivate an individual to make such weirdly inappropriate remarks to a member of the opposite gender. Most of my ideas are based on the possible delusion that I still look young enough to harass in a roundabout manner.

Fortunately, I was called for my appointment shortly after the man returned, sparing me the discomfort of conversation.

As it turns out, my threshold for pain, at least when it comes to the roots of my teeth, is low enough to warrant Novocain. The procedure was quick and done without mishap, aside from the dental hygienist spraying both the dentist and myself with the water pick.