What I learned during Summer vacation

I don't know what it is about August, but it has always been hell month for me. It's not just the unending heat or the way my skin bristles every time the too bright sun touches it; life tends to triple its speed in August until I'm utterly worn out. By the time August ends, I am longing to hide in a cool bath in a dark room far, far away from telephones and to-do lists.

This August was no exception. Queen Teen had two trips to Stanford, plus a muscle biopsy (more on that later). Her recovery was good, but slow, and I got to battle with three different agencies for a shower bench (more on that to come later as well). I was frantically trying to finish the new website for Medusa's Muse before I went back to work (didn't make it). And then school started; I went back to teaching and she started the 11th grade. Rick and I juggled my return to work and QT's reduced school schedule (half days for now) with our usual strategy: take it day by day and stress out the entire time. Thankfully a good friend has helped out while I continued to look for regular child care

Now it is September and we are all starting to settle in to our new schedule. I harvested the basil this weekend and am making several pounds of pesto to enjoy this winter, and this year we enjoyed our first delicious crop of table grapes from our 8 year old vines. The summer was stressful because of the changes in Queen Teen's health. But it was also oddly peaceful. When I look back on the last few months, I see just how lovely our summer was (except for that dreaded August). And I learned some very important things.

What I learned during Summer vacation.

• Tomatoes need consistent watering or their skins will crack and the fruit become misshapen. 
• All those late nights and extra hours I spent teaching are totally worth it if I can have summer off. 
• It is important to spend time doing nothing. If you fill your days with tasks and to-do's and constant business, you never have time to truly enjoy being alive. Sit in your yard every day with your shoes off and watch your garden grow while listening to the humming birds fight over the flowers. 
• Doing the above is even nicer with a glass of good wine.
• Creating a peaceful space in your home, a place where no work is allowed, is very important for mental health. This space is even more helpful if you create it in your bedroom.
• Reading a book on a Kindle is fun. 
• Going to the mall with a typically developing teenage girl is fascinating, especially when you turn that girl lose in Abercrombie and Fitch.
• Having Queen Teen's best friend with her when Queen Teen had to get her biopsy made everything much better. We should always bring a friend (and not just one of my friends). 
• In-laws who will paint your bedroom and clean your kitchen are the greatest gift there is.
• Running feels good.
• A slower pace to match Queen Teen's lower energy is kind of a gift. Stress was reduced because she wasn't begging to do things all the time, and when we did go out, she seemed to enjoy it more.
• Sharing time with a person who is ill teaches you not to take things for granted. I know we've all heard that before, but when you're caring for your child who is struggling so much just to walk or eat, you realize how wonderful each moment of your life is. This child is precious and beautiful, and her time on this Earth is limited. We don't know how long, but I know I will out live her. So enjoy the days, the accomplishments, the set backs, the laughs. Enjoy and savor each breath. We all have limited time; don't waste your one beautiful life.
• But remember, enjoying your life doesn't mean filling it up with accomplishments. The time you spend with your family is far more important than what you think you need to achieve. 
• Working with your hands, rather than only with your brain, is extremely relaxing.
• Curious George is hysterical.
• Pumpkin plants need a lot of feedings if you want to make a pumpkin pie this fall. 
• A car with air conditioning equals liberation.

The Mito Muscle Biopsy

Does she have Mito, or doesn't she? According to the "Bernier Criteria," a scaling system based on evidence such as clinical and visible symptoms, Queen Teen does have Mitochondrial disease. In fact, the Bernier Criteria upgraded her from "probable" to "definite." But we still don't have a specific diagnosis of the type of Mitochondrial disease she has. In an effort to maximize possible treatments, we decided to have her undergo a muscle biopsy. The biopsy would show if her muscles have "ragged red fibers." If so, then she definitely has Mitochondrial disease. If not... well... she still has Mito, but we will be no closer to understanding the type of Mito she has.

On Thursday, we drove to Stanford again, this time with her Aunt Mimi and best friend/cousin, Mae-Mae. The four of us had a wonderful time exploring the Stanford mall, where Mae-Mae introduced Queen Teen to the joy that is Ambercrombie and Fitch. We stayed in a nice hotel near the hospital where we ate dinner by the pool (which wasn't very good, but it was a lovely setting and our room was just three floors away). Queen Teen was ecstatic to have her best friend so close. Occasionally she'd reach out to hold Mae-Mae's hand and Mae-Mae would hug her or help her with a drink or find a book. Aunt Mimi was an incredible support for me, reminding me of details the doctors had said and finding my purse when I couldn't see it 6 inches  from my ankle . Thursday evening I took a break and had a glass of wine by the turquoise pool, comforted by the fact that Aunt Mimi and Mae-Mae were there helping Queen Teen. 

Friday was the actual procedure. We all woke up at 5 AM, scooped up Queen Teen, and then drove one mile to the hospital where we rolled her in her wheelchair to the Surgery Center. Queen Teen was tearful and frightened, but every time Mae-Mae held her hand or smiled at her, Queen Teen smiled back. Unfortunately they wouldn't let Mae-Mae into the pre-op area because she's under 18. But Aunt Mimi came, helping me stay strong so I could help Queen Teen stay calm.

The last time we were at the Surgery Center, Queen Teen fought and cried so hard that one of the nurses had to leave the room in tears. Two years later, there was no screaming. We took it very slow; the nurse had me take the lead on showing Queen Teen what was happening. The Resident (who was cute!), interviewed me from the doorway and later had me put the numbing cream on Queen Teen so she wouldn't be frightened by a stranger doing it. Queen Teen took the medicine the Resident gave her and in about ten minutes was stoned enough to lie back and relax. The Resident and nurses took her to surgery without me having to hold her hand the whole time. There was no fighting.

She's really grown up; at 17 she can understand what is happening a little more and can calm herself down when she's panicking. The staff at Lucille Packard Stanford are wonderful supporting kids with Special Needs. I'm sure we upset their schedule, but they didn't rush us. Slowly, we got Queen Teen ready, and she went into surgery without tears.

I waited in the cafeteria with Aunt Mimi and Mae-Mae, drinking decent coffee and fighting the desire to find my child. I hate waiting like that. My child is in a room full of strangers, completely helpless, and I'm just trusting these people not to hurt her. I do trust them, though. Lucille Packard is an amazing hospital. Regardless, that hour was horrible and I am so thankful that I had the support of family with me. 

And then, a wonderful thing happened. Nurse Sarah who used to work with Queen Teen when she saw Doctor Sanger, walked into the room and gave me a big hug. She was so positive and happy to see me, my fear disappeared. We chatted about Queen Teen and the biopsy, how well she's doing despite her illness, and what Nurse Sarah is doing now that Dr. Sanger left Stanford. So many people have worked so hard to help Queen Teen, and Nurse Sarah is one of the best. We really miss her.

Finally the procedure was over and the surgeon came out to see us. She did great and was in recovery. Aunt Mimi and I went to post-op to be there when Queen Teen woke up. However, Queen Teen decided she wanted to stay asleep for another hour. I can't blame her; she was exhausted, overwhelmed, and after 15 hours of fasting, out of fuel. When I first took her hand she opened her eyes and then kissed me. After that, she went back to sleep. I tickled, stroked, kissed and massaged her, but she refused to wake up. The nurse just shrugged. "It happens. Her body really likes the medication." Eventually Queen Teen woke up enough to sit up and drink some juice. Once that happened, the nurses let her go, but Queen Teen slept almost the entire three hour ride home.

Rick was waiting for us when we got home. Aunt Mimi and Mae-Mae helped us unload the car and get Queen Teen settled, then they drove the hour to their own house. Again, I cannot express how thankful I am to that they were there. I told Mae-Mae that she's coming again next time Queen Teen has a procedure.

"I don't care if you have school. You're going."

She smiled and shrugged. "No problem."

Now we wait for results. The biopsy shouldn't take too long, but the skin cells will take longer. Hopefully, we hear something on Monday.

I was drowning in paperwork, so my husband rescued me.

On Sunday, I spent five hours of a beautiful, sunny day locked up in my room surrounded by piles of SSI forms, pay-stubs, bank statement, savings statements, insurance statement, medical reports, old IEP's, current evaluations, CCS authorizations, Regional Center authorizations, receipts, artwork from my daughter, articles I wanted to read but never managed to, advocacy information, special education legal guides, a few Johnny Depp pictures, and paperwork filed under "miscellaneous." My entire room, from floor to desk to bed, was covered in white and beige paper.

I was preparing for our annual Social Security interrogation... I mean the "Representative Payee" interview. Every year I need to show Social Security that I am wisely using the money they give my daughter for her care, while also showing we need the help and that I'm not trying to screw the government out of benefits we don't need. I have to justify every expenditure and keep track of every penny, showing bank statements and pay-stubs for an entire year. I imagine it must feel a lot like preparing for a deposition.

Since I had to organize the paperwork for that, I decided I might as well tackle the whole mess. My filing system of throwing paper behind the bed was no longer working. Typically, I keep excellent records, but this last year has been a tad more hectic than normal, so in a rush I'd toss documents into a pile to put into the filing cabinet "later." Later had arrived, and I plowed into the pile with determined dread.

Two hours in, I was in full blown panic; my body was shaking and I couldn't make sense of the forms I was reading. Is this my bank statement, or Queen Teen's? What year is it? How far back do I need to go for pay stubs? Is this an original or a copy? How long do I have to keep this shit? The filing cabinet was packed with every important document since Queen Teen's birth and here was more needing to be filed. More and more and more and it just kept coming and I had to keep track of it all and if I lost anything it seemed to cause problems but how much more could I cram into the filing cabinet and OMG!

My husband entered the room. "Honey."

I jumped. "What?"

He looked at me and then the pile, asked a quick question, then left. Smart man.

After another thirty minutes I walked out of the room needing to escape the claustrophobia of paperwork. My husband handed me a glass of wine and said, "Come outside."

"I need to finish filing."

"Just a minute. I want to show you what I'm doing."

"You mean you want me to help you." I scowled at him.

He shook his head and said, "I just like the company."

I sighed and resigned myself to going outside to look at the fence he was repairing. We chatted about lattice and rotten wood and how many posts he had to replace. I looked at the flower pots he bought earlier that day and remembered the succulent still sitting on my kitchen window. It would look lovely in that pot. Soon, I was happily potting the little succulent and taking it to its new home in the back garden.

Oooh, my husband is good. All he had to do was get me outside near my plants to help me calm down. Just touching a little dirt and smelling the damp soil after I watered made the panic leave my body. The sun was warm but not too hot and the breeze smelled like jasmine and old wood. I smiled at my husband who was busy tearing out old boards from the rotting fence.

Smart man.

Born to be Silly

Queen Teen has a hard time signing the letter Y. Her pinky won't stick up as it should.

Yesterday, she told a friend that she can't make a Y. Instead, she held up her fist with just the thumb sticking out. "This is how I do it." Then she grinned and said, "I guess I was born to be silly. See." She moved her fist in front of her face with the thumb pointed at her nose, the sign for "silly." 

She laughed so hard she collapsed on her bed.

Later, she told me that she was born to be silly "...just like Rick." 

"What about me?" I asked.

"You're silly sometimes, but not all the time like me and Rick."

Dang! I gotta up my silliness to compete with those two. Guess I need to play "What's sillier?" more often.

Queen Teen- What's sillier, a banana or a watermelon? 

Mom - A banana of course.

QT - Yes. That was an easy one. What's sillier, a shoe or a hat? 

Mom - Ummm.... a hat?

QT - No, a shoe. 

This is a game Rick and Queen Teen have been playing since she was 3 years old. They are now the masters of silliness. I tend to over-think the questions, which is also why I tend to fail the DMV written test on the first try. 

QT - What's sillier, an egg or cheese? 

Mom - An egg.

QT - No. Cheese is sillier. Gee Mama, you just don't get this game. 

There are subtleties to this game that baffle me. I'll watch Rick and Queen Teen play and have no idea why they're laughing. 

Rick - What's sillier, a gold fish or a frying pan?

QT - A frying pan.

Rick - Yes! (insert hysterical laughter from both)

Mom - Why is a frying pan sillier than a goldfish?

QT - It just is.

Rick - How many people have been hit by a gold fish?

Mom - So the game is based on whether or not people get hit by something?

Rick - No.

QT - It would be funny if a person got hit by a goldfish. 

Rick - Yeah. Maybe a goldfish is funnier?

QT - Yeah! (insert more hysterical laughter)

Mom - Okay, what's funnier? A pie or a cake?

QT - Pie.

Mom - Not cake?

QT - No.

Mom - Why?

Rick - Because there are lots of pies.

Mom - But getting hit with a cake is messier, so wouldn't it be sillier?

Rick - No. The thing itself has to be sillier.

QT - Pies are silly.Cake is not.

Mom - That doesn't make sense.

QT - (sighing sadly) Mama just doesn't get it.

The Captain and Terena

Rick and I were asked to perform at a friend's wedding. The theme: 1920's circus. And what a circus it was! Beautiful costumes, talented dancers and singers, and the grand-finale: the wedding vows performed as if the bride and groom were in a 1920's silent film.

Also performing was... The Captain and Terena (pun intended)!

My hubby was an acrobat in a San Francisco circus when he was in his 20's, and is still a talented juggler and performer. So when our friends asked us to perform, he dusted off a classic knife throwing act he'd done back then and asked me to assist. Of course I said yes. Who wouldn't want their husband to throw knives at them?

We were asked in the fall, so we had plenty of time to practice for a March wedding. We should have had enough time, but Rick picked up two big work projects that lasted through January. And there were the holidays, a couple of illnesses ran through the house and my shoulder started acting up again, making physical activity painful. Suddenly it was the end of February and we'd just finished the script.

It's never a good idea to do a knife throwing act without practicing a lot, so I called a good friend to help. Isn't it great we have the kind of friends who will agree to assist with a knife throwing act? We ran the act with him and discovered the hand cuffs were too small, the rubber glove wouldn't pop unless blown up fully, and some of our jokes fell flat. But we also discovered new jokes and problem solved the technical issues. With the wedding only two days away, we were ready.

On the day of the wedding, we got a call from the bride. The theater they had rented for the event wouldn't allow us to throw knives. How the hell do you do a knife throwing act without throwing knives? I met with the theater manager and explained how the routine worked, but they were still insistent that we couldn't throw the knives. OK, no problem.

Seriously, it wasn't that big of deal because our knife throwing act is a gag; no actual knives are thrown at a person. I don't want to give it all away, but lets just say we give the victim... I mean volunteer from the audience... a major fear-factor. There's a little risk because we were using real knives, so practice is imperative. No one could be killed,  just nicked if we missed the balloon. Luckily for our volunteer, we didn't miss.

Our performance was a smash! We picked a random name from a list of people the bride thought would be good for the act, and he was perfect. He was nervous as hell, but funny and willing to do what we asked, even being handcuffed to a wooden target, blindfolded, and then asked to hold onto balloons Rick would pop with his knives. The audience was in on the gag and laughed loudly. At the end of the act, Rick and I traded places, so I got to "throw" the last knife at the rubber glove the volunteer held between his legs. Rick handed me his hat and jacket and then stripped off the rest of his suit, revealing a red sparkly dress and hose. He was adorable.

I loved performing with him, but I admit it was a little stressful too. Any time you perform with someone, you have to navigate each other's fears and insecurities: try doing that with your spouse. But standing on stage next to my husband while the audience laughed and cheered our performance was exhilarating.

Plus, it felt mighty fine wearing a slinky red dress and jacket and still be able to turn a few heads at age 45.  It helped that my mini-cleavage was smashed together by the dress. Hiding the wireless mic was a challenge, though.

Alas, I don't have any photos from the act yet, but when I get some from the bride, I'll share them here. You've got to see my hubby in his dress. 

Queen of the Den of Chaos

My sister is the Queen of Chaos. She lives in a ranch house in a Central Valley town with four gorgeous, energetic, and dangerously intelligent children and a husband passionate about music. Her mind is constantly flowing with ideas, plans, theories and possibilities, making it impossible for her to sit down. One idea creates another, and her curiosity is limitless. She's some kind of data-base developer for a Mega bank and I hear that she has super powers when it comes to thinking like a computer. In her free time she grows a massive garden, cans her produce, bakes bread from scratch (without using a bread maker), makes home made yogurt, and knits complicated sweaters like a pro. She's also an amazing singer and plays the Celtic harp.

Can you tell I think my sis is amazing?

We're not biologically sisters, but in every other way, we are. We even think alike, although I admit she's got the leg up when it comes to logic. We're the same height and build, with the same hair and the same mannerisms. We became sisters 20 years ago when we worked together at the Renaissance Fair in the same "clan." It was like finding an unknown sibling when you thought you were an orphan: wow, there's someone as weird as me. 


Queen Teen and I spent several days at my sister's house. Mostly, I watched my sister cook all day, preparing for the week ahead. You have to just stay out of her way and understand that she is happy to see you, even if she isn't sitting with you at the table. I guess some people have a hard time with that. Queen Teen played the piano with her cousin, Eldest, singing in her loudest, out of tune, voice. She also watched movies with the girls, but mostly she wandered the house wondering what all of those busy people were doing. She and I live a very quiet life compared to the constant noise and activity of the Den of Chaos.

Unfortunately, we don't get to visit very often. It's a long way between our houses, and Queen Teen is extremely allergic to their cat, which used to be mine. My sister took the cat when we discovered QT was allergic. So it's a wonderful treat for me to spend time with my lovely cat, who I still miss, although she's been gone three years. She sat in my lap purring happily while my sister canned the chili she made that evening and Queen Teen colored pictures with her cousin, Boo.

Boo looked up at me and asked, "Did my mom tell you spooky stories when you were little?"

Even though we've told them several times we're not actually related, the kids don't believe it.

I glanced at my sister who was checking on the yeast for the next batch of bread dough.

"Yep. Your mom tells the best spooky stories."

My sister grinned.

Living the Theory of Relativity

image from Prosperity Blogger 

Time slows down to a crawl when I'm home. I feel as if I'm zooming as I clean and cook and work in the yard; as I work on promoting my press and answering emails; as I help my daughter dress, make her bed, comb her hair, do an art project. But in actuality, time inside my home slows down as compared to the outside world. When I think only a few days have passed, I discover that in the outside world a week has flown by. I feel like I'm inside Einstein's theory of relativity and I am the twin traveling at the speed of light, in which time slows down, while my sibling ages and dies back on Earth, where time continues to flow at a somewhat-steady 365 days in a year.

For example, it is the last day of May. This afternoon I have a job interview, which I'm very excited about (and nervous! I've never been interviewed as an O and M candidate before. What are they going to ask me?). The application process requires three letters of recommendation. No problem, I thought. I'll just ask my Master Teacher and my Instructor and the woman I worked with when I was a Family Advocate... holy cow! Is it really May 26? I thought I still had three weeks to get those letters from people. Now I have two days before a holiday weekend!

Frantic calls netted me two of my letters, but my instructor is slammed with work right now and won't have time to write me a letter for several weeks. Oh well, two letters are better than no letters, and I'll be able to show the hiring committee the third letter when it arrives. I hope.

This time management problem isn't a new phenomena, it has been going on for years. I don't return phone calls when I should because I get so busy keeping up with Queen Teen and helping my husband that its evening before I realize I never made the call. This can go on for several days, which can be annoying to people. In fact, talking on the phone is difficult period. I prefer email, because an email can adapt to my own, home-time-zone while talking on the phone jars me into dealing with the speed of the outside world.

In this day of technology, why do people insist on chatting on the phone?

Time management was easier when I was in school, because I was constantly having to navigate the two time-zones that were my life. When I was interning, I discovered the only way I could get any work done was to stay away from home. Once I set foot in my house, time slowed down again and all of my attention landed squarely on my husband, child and dog. Never mind that I needed to write client notes or return a call to my master teacher. My daughter needed something and my husband wanted to chat about his work and the dog was hungry.

It doesn't help that I'm still suffering from the post-grad school fatigue I've been feeling for a month. I suppose playing video games and watching movies isn't the best way to get any work done.

When I am working, I'll need to find a way to go back and forth between "Earth" and my "rocket ship" more easily. The outside world demands focus and speed, while my home world demands the same, but at a slower pace. Speed is relative. 

How did it go at Disneyland?

Rick didn't embarrass Queen Teen too badly, I guess.

Disneyland!!!!!

We're going to Disneyland again!!!!! Hee hee hee hee hee!!!!!!!

I think I'm more excited than Queen Teen, and definitely more excited than Rick. He's calling it "Disneyhell" and is packing extra Valium in preparation for the crowds. But he's a trooper, a great dad, and is going to Disneyhell to help me and to see the look on his darling daughter's face when she sees Cinderella again.

Because that is a moment no one should miss.

Queen Teen, however, isn't so thrilled that Rick is coming. She's afraid he's going to embarrass her in front of Cinderella. What if he moons Mickey, or farts in front of Princess Aurora? She's convinced he's going to do something silly and then she'll never be able to show her face in Disneyland again.

It's traumatic when you're almost 16 and your dad takes it as a personal challenge to embarrass you.

Rick has promised to be on his best behavior, so Queen Teen has agreed that he can hang out with us, although she may make him walk five steps behind, just in case he farts or something. I told her I would personally smack him in the head if he does something rude. Rick just grinned.

I think I'll ditch them both and go ride Pirates of the Caribbean a few hundred times.

She's also not too happy about having to share me. I think she's feeling neglected because I've been so slammed with school this last year and haven't been able to spend as much time with her. That's changed now, but she still gets jealous when I spend time with Rick or friends. That girl isn't happy unless I'm glued to her side watching Sponge Bob all day. Once we get there, it will be better. I think she's going to enjoy a real family vacation for a change. I know I am. We haven't all been on a trip together since she was about 10 years old.

Cheers everyone! I'll be in Disneyland for the next few days, eating Gluten Free pizza and listening to my daughter sing while I push her traveling throne through Fantasy Land. And kicking Rick now and then. ;-)

Grandpa Bear came to visit

and Queen Teen was very happy.

Going to Burning Man with my dad!

(image from matt.peterson.org  )

How many people get to say that?

My father is 62 years old and loves Burning Man. He's been going for several years, and to him, it is Mecca. He's wanted me to come with him for just as long, but there has always been too much on my plate: school, work, motherhood, lack of money, lack of time...  until now. I realized that when I get my Master's degree I might work for a school district, which means it will be impossible to get time off at the beginning of the school year. And, even if I work for an agency not dependent on a school calendar, it might be tricky spending some of my valuable vacation time on "the burn." Then my dad had a heart attack on New Year's Eve and I knew now was the time. I had to go to Burning Man with my father at least once or I would regret it for the rest of my life.

My husband Rick agreed. "You have to go. It doesn't matter how much a ticket costs, you're going."

Isn't my husband the greatest?

Since my ticket arrived in February, I've been planning and organizing and saving and preparing, physically and mentally. The "playa," which is the bed of an ancient extinct lake, is a challenging and even dangerous environment. The alkaline dust will suck the moisture right out of your skin. Dust storms and 30 mph winds are common. The temperature can exceed 115 F during the day and 45 at night. Dehydration and sun stroke are a serious threat.

But there are also artists from all over the world creating incredible art and giant sculptures of steel and glass. There are fascinating and talented people sharing their music and crafts.  There is a night sky so black you can see the crisp edges of every star. There is debauchery, yes, sex and raves. And there is beauty everywhere you turn. People come and create a brilliant city in an inhospitable place that only lasts two weeks. Then it's gone, like a far away echo of music in the wind.

My car is loaded and tomorrow I leave for northern Nevada to meet my father in Black Rock City. I hope to explore the art and meet interesting people, dance under the moon and take long siestas during the hot afternoons. Mostly though, I want to spend time with my father. His heart is strong now and he'll more than likely live another 20 years, but when he is gone, I want this memory to last forever.

So if you're wondering where I am for the next week, you'll find me at 7:45 and Hanoi in Black Rock City, Nevada.

Where did the last two weeks go?

Wow. What happened to the last two weeks of 2009? One minute I was driving home after class, feeling proud that I’d passed my classes with good grades, and the next thing I know it’s New Year’s day, 2010. Christmas flew by at mach speed on the back of a fat reindeer leaving a wreck of wrapping paper and cookie crumbs in my house. There are 6 extra pounds on my frame (6!) and I haven’t written anything in ten days. All I remember is having a lot of fun.

Queen Teen spent Christmas with her dad in San Francisco this year, so Rick and I decided to take Christmas off. We bought several bottles of good Saki and got good and drunk for three days. Normally he and I play tag-team childcare while dashing from one job to the next: rarely do we have the time for fun. So this year, we played… HARD. On Christmas day we watched South Park, went to the movies and saw Sherlock Holmes (best performance of Watson ever!), then we danced around our living room in our undies to 90’s dance music, laughing and joking and making total fools of ourselves. The day after Christmas we drove to the closest city and saw Avatar in 3D (the word “stunning” doesn’t convey how truly beautiful this film is), then stopped on our way home at Mary’s Pizza Shack for Gluten Free pizza. Yes, Gluten Free pizza at a pizza parlor. I haven’t been to a pizza parlor in 10 years. It was a thoroughly decadent, self-indulgent, goof-off, anti-Christmas Christmas: exactly what the doctor ordered. By day four I was hung-over and tired of eating junk food, and although I could’ve used a few more days to sleep, I was ready for Queen Teen’s return and the arrival of my in-laws. We rushed around that morning cleaning the evidence of our three-day party (how did goat cheese get on the ceiling?).

I love my in-laws, and luckily they like me. They live in Texas so we don’t get to see them very often. His parents claimed Queen Teen as their granddaughter the first day we met, back when Rick and I first started dating. Queen Teen was two years old and she latched onto her “Gran” immediately, spending hours every day sitting on Gran’s lap listening to stories and playing with dolls. Despite the fact she is not biologically theirs, and they now have other grandchildren, my in-laws have remained steadfast in their devotion to Queen Teen. Queen Teen adores her “Gran and Gramps.”

After a lovely visit, they flew home two days ago. Now Queen Teen is moping around the house as usual, complaining there’s nothing to do (despite brand new toys, books and movies!). Rick is racing from computer to computer trying to finish projects and get ready for school again, and I’m suddenly overwhelmingly exhausted. We have been celebrating the holidays since Dec. 20th when we had a Solstice dinner. Before the holidays I finished the last weeks of school with projects, exams, and papers. It’s been a crazy dash through December and my body feels the wear. But I had a fabulous time saying goodbye to 2009.

Happy New Year, my dear blogging pals. Looks like I have a lot of catching up to do reading your blogs, and a few extra posts of my own to write. I'm looking forward to reading about your adventures in the 2010.

Saying Goobye to Grandma C

My grandmother died last week at the age of 91. It's hard to believe she's actually gone this time because she's supposedly had six months to live for the last three years. But she's always been a determined woman. "Six months to live? Hah! I'll show you!" And she did, baffling doctors who said there was no logical reason this woman's heart should still be beating on just one, tiny vessel.

She lived in her own little house on my brother's property and I think she lived so long because of that. She was showered with love and care. My brother had coffee with her every morning, my sister-in-law cared for her around the clock and my niece and nephew were always barging in to her house to tell her about school, soccer and their friends. She spent her days sitting on the couch watching Cops and Giants baseball games, chatting with family and friends who'd stop by, and occasionally going along for the ride when my sister-in-law ran errands. Being a part of the family kept her heart beating when it should have stopped three years ago.

But even Grandma had to stop eventually, and last week she had a stroke. She fell into a coma and passed away peacefully surrounded by family. I was one of the people sitting with her at the hospital, listening to her breath, holding her hand, talking to her about the sunshine and the blue sky outside and how it was okay for her to go now. She'd proved her point; the doctors were wrong.

I told Queen Teen that Grandma C had died. She got very quiet and looked away from me.

"Do you understand what I mean?" I asked.

She looked at me. "Not really."

"Grandma C's heart stopped beating because she was very old. That means her body has died." I decided to keep things tangible and not get into metaphysics. Queen Teen has a hard enough time understanding how things are.

She nodded.

I continued. "There will be a funeral on Monday when we'll all say goodbye to Grandma. Do you know what a funeral is?"

She shook her head. I explained that Grandma C's body would be in a lovely coffin at the cemetery and that lots of people would be there to say goodbye. My brother would say something about Grandma C and then her body would be buried. We would all go to my brother's house afterward for a party to celebrate Grandma's life. Then I told her it wold be like the party they had when her Grandma M died several years ago. "Do you remember that?"

"Yeah." Then she shrugged and giggled. I stopped talking and hugged her instead.

The funeral was indeed lovely. Short and sweet without a lot of show, just the way Grandma C would want it. Queen Teen wore a pretty dress and sat with Rick, not really comprehending what was happening but understanding it was important that she be quiet. At the celebration later she ate two cookies and hung out with her cousins. I was proud of how mature she was. She neither demanded attention or declared boredom, instead she gave people hugs and responded shyly when someone talked to her. The concept of death is hard to grasp, but the knowledge that it is something to respect did sink in.

Grandma C was always kind to Queen Teen. We would visit once a month and the two would sit on the sofa together and compare clothes.

"Oh, look at those pretty butterflies on your pants! Aren't those nice?" Grandma C would say.

"You have a pretty shirt," Queen Teen replied.

They would look at Grandma C's elephant and teddy bears and then Queen Teen would draw her a picture.

Before we left the party, I went over to Grandma C's little house. There was her cane and lap robe on the sofa where she usually sat, but the television was silent. Her oxygen machine didn't hum: it was unplugged and put away. Her bed was neatly made and her little pink robe was draped across it. Everything was just as she left it, but she wasn't there anymore.

I will miss Grandma C so much.

A Day With Cousin Dennis

Dennis from New Orleans came to California for a work related conference and then spent his free day with us in Healdsburg, a small town just south of us that has been completely transformed by the Sonoma County wine industry. When I was a child it was a farm town, complete with pick-up trucks and livestock. Now the town is filled with wine bars, bistros and BMW's. Too pricey for my lifestyle, but very pretty to look at.

Rick's brother Thor picked Dennis up in San Fran and the two drove to Healdsburg, meeting us at The Bear Republic, a brew pub with decent burgers. Queen Teen was excited to get out of the house, despite the rain. She adores her Uncle Thor, but couldn't remember Dennis who she last saw two years ago. At first she was shy, hiding under the brim of her baseball cap or peeking around my shoulder to stare at him. After a lunch of chicken strips and fries, she relaxed enough to smile at him and respond to his questions.

Dennis filled us in on the news from New Orleans; what's been rebuilt, what is gone, and how our family is doing. Overall it sounded like people were adapting to the new New Orleans, while still mourning the old. So many people were forced out of the city, either through economics or grief, but my family seems determined to stay, rebuilding once again, just as they've done for numerous generations. Hearing about the family made me homesick for a place that has never been my home. I'm not from Louisiana: I married a man who is. His family is very dear to me, especially because they have claimed my daughter as theirs.

Since I'm off the vino right now, I volunteered to be the driver so Rick could enjoy wine tasting with his brother and cousin. We stopped in a couple of tasting rooms, explored the town square and stopped in a toy shop where Queen Teen bought a soft soccer ball. Then we had coffee and hot chocolate at The Flying Goat cafe. This time Queen Teen sat beside Dennis and grinned at him while guzzling her chocolate.

When the rain started to come down harder and the wind turned icy, we decided to go. We took one more picture of Queen Teen and Dennis sitting on a stone bench carved to look like a pig (which I hope he'll give me a copy of soon), and then said our goodbyes. I hope it won't be another two years before we see Dennis again.