New Year's Eve Sucks.

At least this one does. Chuck is sick, running a 99.4 elevated temp, spent the night in the loo. Poor guy. Poor me, also. We were going to San Antonio to party at my brother's house. And "party" is indeed a verb at Tom Wente's. Oh geez those people have fun. Anyway I am sorely disappointed to be staying here, probably watching Ryan Seacrest and Fergie wheel Dick Clark out right at midnight eastern.

Sigh.

Happy New Year to everyone anyhow. I think it's going to be a heckuva year.

Good News But I Cried Anyway.

This past Tuesday was my two-year mammogram. I made an "A." That means that I'm now officially a "two-year survivor." We've discussed before how much I dislike that survivor term; I prefer "unwilling participant."

Anyhow, Tuesday came and went. Happily. We had Carol and Rob for dinner and I played with my new stove like it was a Barbie doll. Also played "set the table" for a couple of hours, thoroughly pleasing myself. C & R brought gifts and good wine, as usual, and we had a lovely evening catching up with them.

Wednesday I went back to MD Anderson because I didn't have time on Tuesday to get my Zometa infusion -- this is the study drug I'm on that builds up bone density torn down by the Arimidex (the super anti-cancer oral drug that I'm on for the next three years). Zometa has also been shown to further lower the recurrence rates in HER2 cancer patients, so that's another plus. I'm on a 36-month study, infusion every three months.

I bopped up to the infusion clinic, whistling Christmas Carols, blackberry in one hand and a grande non-fat chai in the other. Got to the waiting area, sat down, surveyed all of those very sad people in various stages of illness, looked into the eyes of their anxious caregivers, heard the hushed tones of fear and worry, and burst into tears.

I was just so heartsick for all of them. I wished I could tell them that they'd be ok. I wanted to show them my hair, how pretty it is, and to tell them how hard I'd sobbed when it came out in my hands in the shower. I wanted to tell them how I'd gone hiking three weeks after finishing chemo and how hilarious it was that I was immune to the swarms of mountain mosquitos, and how hilarious it wasn't that I almost didn't make it down the mountain. But I did make it down the mountain, and I wanted them to know that. I thought maybe it would help. Or maybe not.

I finally called my brother to tell him my good news from the previous day, and got myself straightened up during the call. I also told him that there is a big New Year's Eve party at his house again this year, even though he hasn't yet extended an invitation to any of us. Stacy and I have already decided we're going, so he and Cheryl need to get ready.

Merry Christmas everyone. If you read this blog, you are part of the reason I celebrate this year.

Dick Cavett says it just right.

Follow this link to read his marvelous essay, "The Wild Wordsmith of Wasilla."

http://cavett.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/11/14/the-wild-wordsmith-of-wasilla/?em

On the recent election . . .

A conversation with my friend Jim-the-Republican. He says, "I guess you're happy with the results of the election."

"Are you kidding?" I ask. "My hangover lasted for two days!"

"What a coincidence," replies Jim. "So did mine."

Sweet Caroline!

We lucked into Neil Diamond tickets on Tuesday night. We had a SUITE at Toyota Center and the old guy can ROCK! It was lots of fun. Here he is, taken from my cell phone. Thanks, Fred, for thinking of "mom and dad" when someone gave you the entire suite!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well that was a fast month!

What's going on with anyone? I just go to work, come home, eat, and go to bed and then get up the next day and go to work, etc., etc. My sister Carole comes to town next week and she has a booth at Quilt Market! We're pretty excited about THAT! Here is one of her small quilt designs; she sells the patterns to quilt shops across the country, and we are hoping to find her some national distributors at Quilt Market. The weekend after Market is the International Quilt Festival, which pours more $$ into the Houston economy than the Offshore Technology Conference. (Chuck didn't believe that statistic until I pointed out that hookers don't usually report their income to the Chamber of Commerce.)

Anyhow, Carole will be a guest star at someone else's booth during the festival, pointing to her patterns and looking creative. I am so proud of her.

Normal is just a setting on the dryer

I saw that in a catalog. Thought it was funny. Reminds me of us these days. But we are ok and glad to be home. Power is on, internet and wireless all working, phone ok. No cable, though. All we get is Channel 13. I was so desperate on Wednesday that I tried watching "Wife Swap." Total dreck.

Today I'm at work, and most of my colleagues have their power back. Numerous have roof and tree damage and are trading ideas and resources for roofers and people with power saws.

Anna and Lucy are still without power, as are Terrell and Linda. We've invited A&L to sleep over tonight, along with Mylo the dog who wears his ears inside out. Casey loves him.

yIKEs!!! We've been through a hurricane!

Hi, everybody. Wente-McCabes are ok. Heck, we're more than ok; we're in San Antonio with Tommy and Cheryl! We rode out the very annoying storm with no issues except lost power. But sitting in the open garage, sweating and listening to AM radio, was getting boring. So we packed the dog, the laundry, the contents of the refrigerator and freezer, and a few bottles of wine, and got the flock out of town.

The traffic coming FROM the west on Sunday afternoon was stunning. Also sitting still from about 80 miles west of the city. Glad we weren't going that way. My colleagues at Exterran are reporting in little by little, but we will stay here at Tom and Cheryl's very pretty and very comfortable home for at least another day.

We haven't heard whether we have power or not yet. We would prefer to go home AFTER the electricity comes back on and at least ONE of the Starbucks's up on the corner is open. No roughing it for us.

Anyway, we are fine, without damage or even much stress. We were very lucky.

Sit. Stay. Laugh.

Ok. Funny story. I CONTINUE to encourage Chuck to adopt the short rope leash for dog-walking that I’m having so much luck with. Casey stays close beside me at all times and cannot pull at all. He doesn’t go anywhere and doesn’t even try, because the leash is around his chest, just behind his front legs. It’s GREAT.

But Chuck will NOT use it. He likes the long retractable leash for walking the dog, even though Casey is all over the place, and always trying to stay at the very end of the leash, as far away as he can get. The fact that the leash is retractable means also that it’s EXTENDABLE. By 16 feet.

DOGS ARE PROGRAMMED TO PULL AGAINST SOMETHING AROUND THEIR NECKS. IT’S INSTINCT. I LOOKED IT UP.

So yesterday morning, or maybe Saturday, we walked over to Starbuck’s with the newspaper. I took the shortcut, ordered our drinks, and grabbed an outdoor table, while Casey made his rounds. Anyhow, they arrive and Chuck gets settled, putting Casey’s leash’s plastic housing under his leg as he settles into his wrought-iron chair. Casey immediately notices the two standard black poodles a few tables away and leaps out on his leash to get to them. They start snarling, Chuck lurches forward to grab Casey, his hot coffee tips into his lap, and the slender nylon leash cuts two places on the back of his leg, just behind his knee. And the poodle owner mutters something about poorly trained dogs while Chuck shrieks f-words in front of a whole lot of residents of 77019.

Last night he showed me, for the third time, the slices on his leg. I said, “I know how to not have that happen again,” and he said shut up.

You wanna see something cute?

My big brother and me, circa 1960.

Call for Entries: Pat Needs a New Tagline!

I think we'll all agree that "Pat Gets It Off Her Chest" remains a fine name for this blog. However, the tagline needs revising. I am now so OVER breast cancer, literally and otherwise. Tired of it. Fini. Gone. Done.

SO, any ideas? I'm open to suggestions. Please post your best--or worst--idea. You know how I am. And, thanks in advance.

From my brother-in-law John Norlander

Would you forget your roots?

My friend Ann says, "After the untimely passing of Tim Russert, many tributes honored him as a man who never forgot his roots, never forgot where he came from." She goes on to say, having recently seen a photograph of the people she went to high school with, that she WISHES she could forget where she came from! And then [this is so Ann-like], she worries that Karl Rove might consider her elitist.

We of course consider Karl Rove a child molester, but that's beside the point.

Here's today's survey: have you ever been to your high school reunion? If yes, more than one? Would you go again? Take the poll! You may also answer in an essay. We love stories about people who act up at high school reunions, don't we, Ann?

Finally got our exciting vacation photos online!

By popular demand . . .

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=yhzfa9a.8oy2d54a&x=0&h=1&y=tpdzde&localeid=en_US

La Machine!

Last night McCabe and I were whirlwinds in the kitchen. We made a rice salad and the shrimp basil pasta salad in just under two hours. The rice salad involves LOTS of chopping and the second one starts with "a basket full of fresh basil leaves." Also lots of chopping and prep. Book club is tonight at my house and I am READY. Except of course I haven't read the book.

Well you can't do everything.

My best guacamole

In case you needed the recipe, here's the one I made at Rita's.

Pat's Guacamole

2 ripe avocados
1/4 c. white onion, chopped fine
1/4 c. your favorite salsa (I have to say there's nothing wrong with Pace's)
1 T. lemon or lime juice
1/3 c. finely chopped tomato
1/2 c. fresh cilantro, chopped
Salt

All measurements are approximate, but these quantities will get you started.

Cut the avocados in half longways. Twist the halves apart; one side will have the seed in it. Whack your heavy knife blade into the seed and twist. It will come out. Scoop out the insides with a spoon.

Put the avocado into a serving bowl with the onion, salsa and lime juice. Mash with a fork until it's as smooth as you want it, but don't puree, that's gross. Stir in the tomato and cilantro. Taste for salt and add some. You'll need it.

Serve.

Summer in Minnesota

It's about 65 degrees this morning, sunny and breezy. Eat your hearts out, Texans. THIS is summer. We've had a great time at the Norlanders in Rochester. Casey and his cousin Shiloh bang around like junior high school boys on the wrestling team. Shiloh is half again as big as Casey; we thought Casey was a big dog until we saw Shiloh!

Yesterday we drove over to a river town, Stillwater, on the St. Croix, then met John and Niki for dinner in MSP. They both look marvelous and John has made incredible strides since the catastrophic illness that almost claimed him a year ago. He's a strong guy with an impressive support group, including an adorable wife who is obviously his rock.

Pics to come on kodak gallery asap.

We ARE in Kansas!

Whoo! We are having fun!! This cathedral is across the street from Ken and Pam's house. We are in Pfeifer, Kansas.

Speaking of Comedy Sources, I'm Back at MD Anderson

HI! I'm in Stir this morning. I've had blood pulled, a bone density exam, and am now waiting for Dr. Fighter Pilot. I have commandeered a big table for four, two outlets, and three chairs while I wait.

I had breakfast downstairs and listened to some old folks in the cafeteria talk about the state of education and young people and television and the country and the middle class. Interestingly, they say EXACTLY the same things that my grandfather complained about in 1966. Kids don't speak the King's English, nor are they even taught any history these days; television is crude; and us regular people will not survive.

I listened with great joy as they talked about how the country simply cannot survive unless people can learn to speak properly and quit using nouns as verbs. Then one of them brought up Barak Obama and made some garbled statement about he had mistakenly used "I" as a pronoun. [Which I think is, um, ok.]

You will all be pleased that I did not approach them--as I first thought I might--and lead them down a garden path of agreeing that our leaders' ability to use language effectively is key for the survival of the nation. They already seemed to be very close to that anyway. Then, I could have sprung on them: "So who did you vote for in 2000 and 2004?"

Now that I'm settled in here in the Breast Center (what an exciting name!), I must recount a phone conversation I just overheard. I wasn't eavesdropping this time; the woman is standing right beside me and talking toward me. I heard one side of it only, but at this phrase I tuned in:

Did you catch any more mice?

Really? Another one?

Yes, that's five this week. Well, put some more peanut butter on the trap and set it back out.

[I was thinking, Jeebus, Lady, where do you live? I do NOT want to come to your house!]

Later in the conversation . . .

Would you put some food and milk in the barn?

Yes, I think that cat has had another litter of kittens.

No, I don't know what we're going to do with her.

[I know! I know! Ask me! Quit feeding the damn cat!]

I do feel better that she lives in the country and has therefore caught five mice this week, but here's another idea. Perhaps if she put the cat to work on the mouse problem, the little hoor would have less time to get into trouble. Just a thought. [Nod to Mom and Aunt Rosalyn for the "hoor" usage; one of my faves.]

Hand Me That Piano! George Carlin 1937 - 2008

I was just reading the article about George Carlin in the New York Times. He died yesterday of heart failure. He had gotten really cranky over the years and had rather lost his sense of humor, in my opinion, but gosh, was anyone ever funnier?

The article said he battled an addiction to red wine and vicodin. I have friends who would consider that more of an hors d'oeuvre than an addiction.

Rest in peace, George Carlin. Your comedy informed my own.

An Open Letter to the Kid Who Shouted at Me Last Night on W. Gray

You know who you are: the passenger in a small car that whizzed by me as Casey and I took our evening stroll in front of the Post Office. You yelled, "Which dog is walking which dog?" Remember? Ah, yes. I thought you would.

First of all, congratulations on trying to be entertaining. More than anyone, I believe in adding more laughter and merriment to the world. And while your contribution was little more than a slightly bungled prank phone call on wheels, I applaud your attempt. Keep practicing. You may well advance to "Is your refrigerator running?" someday.

Second, accept my sympathies for the car you are forced to ride in. What was that? A '93 Hornet? I can only imagine what it's like to ride around in an un-airconditioned car on a sultry Houston summer night, sweating through your Ross-Dress-for-Less jeans onto the vinyl seats while the car's leaking exhaust system sends just enough carbon monoxide into the passenger compartment to make you slightly nauseated. Must be torture, and I can empathize.

Honestly, though, thank you for recognizing that my form was female! Dressed in my baggiest shorts and a shirt that doubles for pajamas at times, I remain impressed by your powers of observation. Especially because I'm kind of dumpy and even probably older than your grandmother! I say that, of course, because I would guess that both your mother and grandmother gave birth as teenagers. Alone. On the floor of a Motel 6.

And I bet I can also safely assume that Grandmama--even at her age--sports a much slimmer profile than do I, given that she and your mother spend most of their time standing in doorways, smoking crack and meeting new gentlemen friends. But, really, thank you for noticing. I am proud of my gender.

Finally, asshat, you scared my dog. If you do it again, may the hepatitis you contracted in utero flare up and dash any career hopes you may have had as a professional beer taster. Jerk. And go &%*$ yourself.

Another Excellent Joke

Q: Why don't Junior League ladies attend orgies?

A: Too many thank-you notes.


Claire, can I tell where we got this one?

It was a big weekend. Huge. Really.

This was the highlight: putting a t-shirt on the dog. He wasn't amused, but we thought it was hilarous.

Happy Birthday, Carole!

Today is my sister Carole’s birthday. She is my eldest sister, born 10½ years before me, so I’ll let you do the math. Let’s just say it’s a milestone birthday for her.

Of all of my many blessings, having a sister like Carole is right up there at the top. She inspired my love of music, of Daphne du Maurier novels, and of old movies (Remember Jennifer Jones in "Duel in the Sun"?), along with my respect for quilts and the domestic arts. She's a fantastic cook, jelly-maker, gardener, musician, singer, choir director, needleworker, artist, mother and grandmother. A cautious but dogged Farkle player, she can also whip me soundly at Scrabble every now and then.

If you don't have a big sister like Carole, you should get one. She is one in a million, and I love her very much. You can e-mail her at clcorder@wildblue.net and tell her Happy Birthday!

Got any duck jokes?

A duck walks into a 7-11. He says to the guy at the counter, "Got any grapes?"

The clerk says, "No, we're a convenience store with snacks and beer and stuff like that. We don't carry any produce."

The next day, the duck comes back. Waddles up to the counter and says, "Got any grapes?"

The clerk says, "I told you yesterday. We're a 7-11. We don't have any vegetables or fruits."

The next day, the duck comes back yet again. He approaches the counter. "Got any grapes?"

The clerk is really mad now. "I TOLD YOU. WE DO NOT HAVE PRODUCE. WE DO NOT HAVE GRAPES. And if you come back in here again asking for grapes, I'm going to nail your bill to this counter! GOT IT?"

The next day, the duck returns. He says to the clerk, "Got any nails?"

The clerk says, "No, we don't carry nails."

Says the duck, "Got any grapes?"

A GREAT UPDATE FROM A FRIEND OF MINE!

Please read and enjoy this update from a strong and focused colleague of mine. She undergoes additional surgery next week; she will do great!------------------


I cannot believe that I last wrote you in November! Wow, time has flown and so much has changed, so here goes. …..


I have completed 6 months of somewhat arduous chemotherapy for HER2 biological breast cancer. I have undergone 16 treatments and am so glad it’s FINALLLY OVER (More technical details are outlined below). Some things I have learned:

The term “chemo brain” is true. Without all of your patience, I would be nowhere.

You all are always so supportive during my memory losses and those times when inappropriate words pop out of my mouth.

My countless forgetful retelling of stories, gossip and needless facts.

You have played ‘Guess the Topic’, ‘Guess the End of this Sentence’, sat there ignoring my mishaps or laughing it off with me.

“Mini-T”. My wig, Mini-T, and I get along famously, but have had a few learnings. Might I share some helpful hints:

1. They provide wig tape for a reason. If you choose not use it, then that’s your fault. I chose not to use it, so it is my fault?

2. Rolling down car windows, can make your wig feel the need to take a hike

3. Bending forward can cause unnecessary forward back-wig movement

4. Lying down at the Dr office can cause total wig movement upwards

5. Choose wisely when stepping into windy/gusty weather. Be prepared with how to avoid wind wig removal.

6. If you choose to affront the windy weather, have a plan for how you will inconspicuously hold your wig in place. My first time out, I put an index finger on the top of my head and must have looked like Tinkerbell. I inadvertently met up with my company’s CEO, Steve, whose confusion at my look then led to laughter. I really appreciated his great sense of humor!!!

7. If your wig is sitting too far back on your head, you can look like a conehead from Saturday Night Live…Not a good look, but a lot of fun to ‘scare’ people with.

8. DO NOT, under any circumstances, send pictures of your nicely styled pre-chemo hair without double checking the picture background. I uploaded those pics and sent them to Cheryl, my wigmaker in NY. Only after we were discussing the pics, did I notice my big naked butt in the mirror reflection in one of them. OH MY GOSH!!! What was I thinking!!

We have a new deck and garden!

With native, easy-to-care-for plants and a "water feature!" This is Lynn's pretty sago palm anchoring the scene, and we installed a water-spouting urn from Joshua's up in the Heights. Casey likes it, as you can see. And we like having the messy covered patio gone. In the shot below, you can see that the back fence is now wrought-iron, and that last crackhouse in the hood that was on that lot has been torn down. Click on the photos for detail. Casey looks particularly stunning in the top pic.

Pat Gets Even!

I had my "minor medical procedure" yesterday to even up my, uh, stuff that needed evened up. Soon I will get the finishing touches, done with tattoo ink (I am not kidding) that will improve things cosmetically. I am going to have to be talked out of a monkey tattoo. I really, really want one.

Anyhow, the surgery was brief and there were no problems. Chuck was with me; we came home and he made me a DELICIOUS BLT with yellow tomatoes. MMM. I watched Dancing with the Stars, took a pain pill, and went to bed. Up at 7 am; made a 9 am meeting at Greenspoint, and am now back in my office.

Our department moves to the new headquarters at Greenspoint this weekend. This will be much easier commute for me, and I have a really nice office to decorate with my numerous monkey items.

The Drunk and the Five Dollar Bill

People of my generation were reared by parents who survived the Depression. So we’ve all heard the stories about how poor everyone was and how difficult their lives were. I was all grown up before I realized that my mom’s stories were not a reflection of how everyone had lived. She endured some special circumstances, which of course made her the woman she was, but it took me awhile to understand that her hardships were very different.

For one thing, her mother left. On Christmas Day. Lee left four children, ages five through thirteen, with their alcoholic father and took off with another man. So my mother and her siblings were children of divorce, when divorce was a real stigma. And Grandpa Louis Skaggs was indeed a drunk, a working drunk, but a drunk nonetheless.

All of us kids knew this from an early age; it was a fact of our lives and of his. He had come to live with us after a stroke that left him partially incapacitated and unable to live on his own. Mom had told him, in a stern conversation, that he could come to live with her family – her husband and five small children – but he couldn’t drink in front of them. He said, “I’ll die if I don’t drink.” She replied, “You’ll die sober.”

He lived another nine years. Didn’t have another drink. But he spent his time teaching small children to play cards and cribbage and perform other useful tasks, like tricks with a penny, how to fetch his pipe, and how to light matches. It seemed to me he was very patient with us, but I wonder now if he was just trying to get through each day. We all have a lot of stories about him, but one of my favorites is the story mom told about an incident when she was a teenager.

Louis had come home one evening, drunk, which wasn’t unusual, but he had a friend with him this time, a drinking buddy. The friend was also drunk and the two of them burst into the house, laughing and cutting up. Mom, the eldest, was 14 or 15, and she was protective – she had to be – of her younger siblings. She said it frightened her to have that other drunk in the house. She didn’t know him well and was worried about what could happen. So, she did what she always did when she was afraid – she got very mad.

The two drunks pulled chairs up to the kitchen table. Louis said, “Make us some sandwiches, Ruthie!”

She replied, hostile, “I’ll make you a sandwich, but I’m not making that goddam drunk a sandwich.”

Her father reprimanded her for swearing and told her to do as she was told. At the same time, Louis’s companion said, “I’ll pay you five dollars to make me a sandwich!” And he took a five dollar bill out of his pocket and slapped it onto the kitchen table.

At this point in the story, Mom always told us, “Five dollars was a lot of money in those days. It’s like fifty dollars now. But I was mad and scared and worried.”

So she said to the drunk, “I don’t want your goddam five dollars,” too angry to care if her father got mad at her for swearing again. Her younger sister and two younger brothers stood in the kitchen door, impressed by her bravery and waiting for some kind of fight, she told us.

Louis asked her if she wanted a whipping, and although she knew he wouldn’t follow through, she reluctantly turned around and made two bologna sandwiches. She handed one sandwich to her father and put his friend’s sandwich on top of the five dollar bill that still lay on the table.

She watched quietly as the drunk picked up the sandwich, along with the bill, and ate them both in four or five bites. Mae and Bud and Arthur still watched from the kitchen door, their eyes wide, too astonished to laugh.

As soon as the drunk finished the sandwich, he noticed that his money was gone. “Where’s my five dollars?” he shouted.

Her dad chimed in. “Ruthie, where’s his money?”

“He ate it,” she replied calmly.

Louis complained, “Well why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

Mom answered, “It wasn’t my five dollars. It was his. I figured if he wanted to eat it, he could.”

We always loved hearing this story and her very graphic description of how the drunk ate the money along with the sandwich, “Chomp! Chomp! Chomp! He tore the bill with his teeth, swallowed it right down, and never noticed it!” We would howl with laughter.

Louis said, “I oughta whip you, Ruthie,” and Mom said, “Go ahead.”

He looked at her, and at the other children, who were trying not to laugh out loud. He gathered up his still complaining friend and said, “We’re leaving.”

“Good,” she said. “Don’t bring any more drunks back here.”

And he didn’t.

This story and others – about a drunken father, about a mother flirting with a neighbor man while the milk cow ate her flower garden, about petty-criminal friends, about being looked down on by neighbors and teachers – were always presented to us as funny stories, or at least stories that had positive endings. It was probably my mom’s way of getting past and putting away the sadness of what must have been a heartbreaking childhood. I continue to admire her strength, long after she’s gone.

Shameless Commerce Division

For my friends and family who hang out at junk shops, garage sales, First Monday, and other places of ill-repute, I am looking for these dishes. They were manufactured under two names: Royal Bayreuth, Bayreuth Birds; and Royal Tettau, Woodsong. There are a number of different wild birds on the plates, but the band is bright yellow or orange. I'll take any of them. If you find any dinner plates or smaller, buy them for me and I will reimburse. And yes, I'm watching on e-Bay and I've registered at China Replacements. Duh.

Stories that make me laugh out loud.

This is one I can just think about and fall out of my chair.

One time my sister-in-law Cheryl announced that she would like to get a massage some time. "But," said Cheryl, her beautiful eyes flashing, "I've never had a massage. Does it hurt? I don't want someone to beat me up."

I explained to her that you can always tell the massage therapist to go easy on you. "You can just say you're a 'massage-weenie,' that it's your first time and that he or she should use light pressure until you say otherwise."

"Oh," she said, "that makes sense. I never thought of that."

Just then my brother walked in the door and Cheryl said, "Hey, Tommy, guess what? Did you know that if you go to a massage therapist, you can ask for a weenie massage?"

"Yes," said my brother, without missing a beat, "but it costs extra."

More Stuffing, Please!

Going back in for minor surgery on the 12th -- need to have my, um, operation evened out. In honor of everyone's new focus on environmental, green choices, I have opted not to have silicone but will request cornbread instead. It may turn out a little lumpy, but I'll smell like Thanksgiving!

And don't worry. It's very minor surgery. I should be able to reach the top shelves of the Spec's wine section (where the cheap bottles are) within 24 hours.

On Gambling

I told some people I was headed to Shreveport in a few weeks to visit my friend Amy Dodson Mata. One person said, "Ooooh, they have gambling boats there!" Always a draw for most folks.

I have to say, though, that I'm not a big gambler. You can tell if you know me -- I got married for the first time at age 31. I’d had opportunities to take the plunge earlier in my dating career but wasn't brave enough. (Stories on request.)

Not that marrying CRM wasn't a perceived risk, with his "interesting" marital history, but I was pretty sure that the previous ones had worn him out. It was like the faster cheetahs had chased the gazelle for miles and miles across the savannah, nipped at him and caused some light bleeding, and I just laid low in the brush until he ran out of steam, then nabbed him. He's too tired and wounded now to get up and run again. He ain't going anywhere.

But I digress.

Gambling. Once Amy (my sister) and I went to New Orleans for Mother's Day. We went to the gambling boat and she showed me how to play the slot machines. We drank numerous "free" bloody marys, which are a vegetable, by the way. I ended up losing $31 during a long afternoon of putting quarters in machines, getting some out and putting them back in. If you totaled the cost of the drinks, it was probably a wash. But I grieved over that $31 as though it were a lost child.

Understand I walked out of the casino and went directly to Jackson Square, where I paid $45, plus a tip, to a FORTUNE TELLER. She told me all kinds of things that made sense at the time (remember I’d had x number of bloody marys) and that I don’t remember any more, but hey, value perceived.

When I put quarters in a machine, though, I want something to come out of the bottom of it. Every time. A Sprite. A Butterfinger. Not Nothing.

Now, PAULA can gamble. Heavens. I’ve seen her play the dollar slots in Vegas all evening long, coming back up to the hospitality room now and then with cash stuffed into her bra. She’d down a few more glasses of merlot, and head back down. Would say, “Don’t tell Averyt I won money,” over her shoulder. That’s why Chuck calls her Fish.

Hilarious Website

Just found something screamingly funny. Torsopants.com

Go check it out and buy a t-shirt. I think I'll be doing my Christmas shopping there, and my nephew Steve Murphy will receive the one that says, "My Native American name is Steve." He lives in New Mexico. Hope he doesn't get beat up.

I'm looking for new endings to this phrase . . .

That which does not kill you . . .

the original ending is "makes you stronger," but I'm looking for others. So far I've thought of

"really pisses you off."
and
"will still cost you a lot of money."

Others? Need some creativity here . . .

My Hair is Amazing!

I have curly dark brown,almost black, hair, shot with grey. It is now growing straight up into a post-modern pompadour, and I look kind of like Frankie Avalon in the original Beach Party movie. I have an appointment with the hair salon on Tuesday evening, and I'm not sure that she'll cut it or "shape" it, as one would topiary. It is a scream.

And it's springtime in Texas, a beautiful Saturday morning. Chuck and Peg and I went to dinner in the 'hood last night. Sat outside at Tila's and enjoyed the noise of Shepherd Drive. Then the three of us went dog-walking -- make that four, counting the dog. This morning is just brilliant, very cool and breezy. High only in the 70s today and in the 40s tonight. We consider that free air conditioning and are glad to have a few more nights of it before serious summer sets in.

We're doing ok. My job is extremely challenging but I'm up to it, I think. My priority HAS to be getting people hired for my internal communications position, and I'm too mired down in the details to write the darn job description, let alone the communications plans. I've asked MJ Mudd to help and spent yesterday with her, working on plans and ideas. She's great.

More soon. I promise.

What Really Happened

I note that I talked about health insurance last summer, going COBRA and etc. I need to update the masses on what really happened. The company I worked for filed for bankruptcy six weeks after I'd finished chemo. I was still on the herceptin drug every three weeks, each infusion costing about $14K. No. Really. Thousand. I also had reconstructive surgery scheduled for three weeks out. Big chunk of change there, too.

I was "lucky" in that I landed on the list of people who would be retainedfor a while, so I wasn't among the vast majority of Aegis employees who were laid off just before bankruptcy filing. They were laid off with no severance, no payment for accrued vacation, and no warning. Just g'bye.

But as the bankruptcy was filed, the company also cancelled its master health care policy. If you don't know what this means, you need to know. It means that current and laid off employees could not "elect" COBRA benefits; you could not pay for your health insurance at a group rate, because there was no longer a group policy to COBRA from. Get it? Nada.

If you are relatively healthy with no pre-existing conditions, like, say breast cancer, you can buy a decent policy. If you have a job and some money. A lot of people didn't have a job. I had a job, but I was uninsurable because I was IN CANCER TREATMENT. Oh, and by the way, under current laws, I will never be able to buy my own policy again at reasonable rates.

I went into something called the Texas Risk Pool, administered these days by Blue Cross, and paid just under $1,000 per month for a policy that had some coverage, not nearly what I'd had previously had. Moreover, we started over with deductibles, so there was considerable cash outlay there.

However, I had a job, was getting a paycheck. And that was good. And Chuck had turned 65 in mid-July and was therefore sliding over into Medicare, thank goodness. Many, many of my colleagues with children and families were in a HUGE mess. It was simply awful.

Here's something else you need to know. One of my colleagues who got laid off was pretty certain he would be employed within a month or two. He decided that the smart thing might be to NOT buy another policy but to wait for the new job and get on that employer's policy. HOWEVER -- pay attention here -- he has a chronic but not serious medical condition. Had he gone WITHOUT insurance for more than 63 days, a new employer's insurance carrier, depending on its policies, could exclude his coverage for that condition for up to a year. Just for the hell of it. I am not kidding.

A side irony is that just before the bankruptcy of my company, I became very concerned about my own health coverage. Someone I knew had refilled one of my painkiller prescriptions in another city. Never mind how this happened, it happened. Because of my chemo-brain condition, and because it just never dawned on me that I was not the victim of identity theft, I did not make the connection immediately. I called the pharmacy and my doctor before I realized that the culprit was someone I knew. The HR guy at work was adamant: the insurance carrier had to be notified, my company's employment attorney called me in, and all hell broke loose. While I was ultimately assured that I wouldn't lose my coverage, the carrier and my employer were very interested in prosecuting the culprit. It would have been a federal charge, and there would have been nothing I could do about it.

The company's bankrupty and layoffs happened while I was stalling about giving the culprit's name. What a mess.

So, that said -- for Jeebus sake. Vote Democrat.

Port Gone!

The port was finally removed on Wednesday, Feb 6. I had taken Advil the day before the original surgery was scheduled the previous week, and they kicked me out of the lineup. So I had to wait. I had it done under a local anesthetic, and I want to advise everyone who ever has to undergo this -- DON'T DO IT THAT WAY.

It's not that it hurt all that much, but it totally creeped me out. I should have been asleep. When she plastered the metal plate onto my thigh and explained that they were "grounding me" so that the cauterizing deal wouldn't electrocute me, I thought, "uh oh." By then it was too late.

I clenched my teeth through it, listened to all of the horrid noises and tugging and snipping and sh*t, and then hopped up off the table and went to work. After that, I started feeling like I sucked in my job and that I wasn't going to be able to manage it, etc. That went on for a couple of days before I realized there might be a connection between having my body invaded and feeling depressed and weird.

So, I took Friday off, sort of. And I was better by Monday.

As of end of January, I am one year cancer-free. Four to go. I stay on arimidex, an oral drug, for five years total. Totally do-able.

Now I have to knock this job out of the park. Back to work!!

Ok. This is it!

My final herceptin infusion is scheduled for next Thursday. That's the drug that lowers the possibility of my particular kind of cancer recurring. It isn't a chemo drug and has no side effects except annoying the crap out of me; the process takes all day because they pull blood and check my heart and someone forgets to put in the order and the infusion therapy suites are backed up and my oncologist is late from lunch.

The next afternoon, they will remove the internal port that has been under my skin since last February. That has been a nifty little device to have during chemo, since it keeps them from screwing too much with veins.

I feel very, very fortunate to have made it through this whole mess relatively unscathed and to come out on the other side healthy and able to get into trouble.

Not Quite Ready for Living Rooms . . .

Indy musicians Chuck and Pat are instead doing "Garage Concerts." Hope your new year celebration was even 1/4 as much fun as ours!! I hope we are singing "Pancho and Lefty" here, since that's the one we know the words to.