The Size of the Dog in the Fight

I have been sick, no shock to all of you who read this, but I have had bronchitis for over a month and nothing they throw at it seems to knock it down.  As a result, I had to postpone my long anticipated double knee replacement and Christmas this year is NOT the usual  festive celebration.  I don't have the energy.  Sleep?  What's THAT?

On Wednesday, I saw my allergist,; a wonderful guy who is really concerned along with my pulmonologist, about the state of my breathing, or lack thereof.  I told him I thought my immune system was not doing its job.  He agreed and ran some tests.  Turns out my immune system IS on the low end of the spectrum.  Again,   I cried at work and my co-worker with a nursing degree talked me off the ledge.  I am fairly sure that it was all the frustration of my medical condition for the past  several years that FINALLY broke my spirit.  I was as low as I could get.  Another freaking fight to get even close enough to be "normal"  ( I know I' not "normal" - lol) I'm just tired of fighting and the thought of what has to happen, probably again, folded me in on myself.

I am a fighter.  I was born six weeks early in 1958 and was kept in the hospital for a long time until I could hold onto weight ( gee I wish I Still had that problem ;)  )  My mom told people I would probably be institutionalized; they used to warehouse kids on the Spectrum.  I was not and I think I turned out ok, if a bit quirky ( I blame my Dad for that trait)  but I am just drained.

On my way home, I remembered something my Dad told me once.   "It's not the size of the DOG in the fight, it's the size of the FIGHT in the dog"   MY problem is that I am not sure WHERE the fight is going to come from.  Last time I was this sick, I sat out in the sunshine every day for a week and although it is Winter in Los Angeles and those can be sunny days, I am NOT taking a beach chair and bundling up in the courtyard t o catch some rays.  Going to some sunny destination is not in the cards either.

I expect to hear from the doctor today.  I expect more medications and some advice to boost my immune system.  I think I need to take a few days off to rest, but I need to look at my schedule and see when I can really do that.  I will make time for me. I will fight my way back.

I picked up a few good books.  Christmas will be a quite one ( come by  I will be making a HUGE pan of lasagna)  I have fudge!

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Since the surgery is postponed and I am feeling MODERATELY better, I am trying to get my Christmas on.  It's hard, I get tired easily and I am on Prednisone.  How I love that stuff.  NOT.  It makes me emotional and easily irritated.  Food tastes bad and I have nightmares that are worthy of Sam Peckinpah.  Waking up shaking every 20 minutes or so does NOT get me the rest I need to heal, but I am doing my best here. I am hoping for surgery in February. Fingers crossed for between the 15th and the 24th.

I have been listening to Christmas music and officially felt old when I had to tell Chris was the "Five and Ten" was in the title song of today's blog.  Oh I LOVED the 5 and 10!  It seemed so... magical.  The 99¢ Store is too sterile. 

I got the Humming Bards CD as an early present and I am LOVING it.  Kevin Fisher and Cindy Alexander combined to make a wonderful treat of original Christmas music.  They sound beautiful together and I look forward to their next project. I MUST admit Cindy is one of my favorite singers, she has- and I hate this cliche but it's true- the voice of an angel. This cd was sold out and I HOPE they are pressing more.  It's THAT GOOD!

I have been trying to get my baking done.  I had a fruitcake DISASTER, as I tried to bake them on a very rainy morning.  They fell in.  I will be doing them again, as I was in the grocery store and actually FOUND the date-bread mix my Mom used as a base. There were TWO boxes .  Those are IMPOSSIBLE to find after November for some reason, but there they were.  I like to think maybe my Mom knew I was sad and she put them there for me to find.

The holidays are harder without her.  I miss her terribly but Christmas is the worst.  I bake, I sing carols and I throw open the doors for company.  I remember Christmases as a child and I know now what she must have done to make them all seem magical.  I hope my Bob has the same magic.  We baked cookies together when I was at Kate's.  Next year I hope to bake more with him.

 We need to slow down and reflect in the Wintertime.

This morning I got up and made a variation of the "Chinese Noodle Candy" that was a recipe of my ex MIL.  I think I make it out of spite.  The candy was my ex-husband's favorite and after eight years of being married to him, I approached her and asked for the recipe.  She actually sniffed at me and said "It'a FAMILY recipe"  I gently pointed out I was married to her oldest son.  She gave it to me.  FAMILY RECIPE my AUNT FANNY!, Family Circle MAGAZINE is more like it.  I can't imagine them carefully packing away the recipe for a candy made of chocolate chips and those crunchy noodles, when fleeing the Old Country.  Oh well.  they are pretty good.


Chris and I bought a tree and will be decorating tonight. I think I am making oatmeal cookies- hoping for the energy otherwise tomorrow morning before work.  I have more energy in the morning.  He wrote out holiday cards and will be mailing them.   I didn't look, I hope he signed BOTH our names!   When I was married to my first husband we had a HUGE list and I asked him to sign a few to take the pressure off me.  I looked. He just signed his NAME, No Happy Holidays from both of us or anything else.  It wasn't a card, it was a legal document.   Sheesh.

If you are reading this, I want to wish you a most joyful holiday, whatever you celebrate.  If I have time I will get into what I think about all that blather about "The War on Christmas" tomorrow!

Happy Anniversary

Although it does not feel like it, Nine years ago today I married my best friend and my love, Christopher.  As I came down the "aisle" on my father's arm,  my crazy friends improvised a wonderful, terrible a Capella version of the Wedding March from Lohengrin ( commonly known as "Here comes the Bride")  It made me laugh and I joyfully joined Chris to say our vows, which were unique, to say the least, as my friend performing the ceremony winged it.

It was a wonderful day.

It does not seem like nine years, but there has been so much that has happened.  Thank you, Chris for standing at my side through everything.  I could not have made it through some of this without you.  You are the most amazing person and I am proud to be your wife.  You calm my heart when you hold my hand.

It's been a wonderful journey. You are my "Happily Ever After"  and I love you.

Today

I want to write something more hopeful than I wrote earlier in the week. I am grateful- EXTREMELY grateful,for the love I received and the encouragement.   I will say this again, I am overwhelmed by the love from my community of friends.  I hope I can and DO return the love you have all shown me.

Today marks 32 years as the Branch Facilities Manager- although it had no such title when I started. Wide-eyed 28 year old me, thinking this was just a stop on the way to something ... bigger.  WHAT, I ask could have been bigger than this?  I was fortunate to fall into something that suited me and my meager talents.  I grew.  My late, and much missed boss, Betsey Hoage once observed that I "created" the position, which I  suppose to some degree, I did.  I found a niche for myself.  I really miss the thrill of moving and opening buildings, but given my current health challenges, I am glad we are NOT doing that now.  I am looking at two years before I retire.  I hope to leave my colleague  filled with the knowledge of how to get it done, so she won't have to reinvent the wheel, as I did. Truth to tell the wheel has changed substantially since that bright October day when I entered the elevator at the then-ARCO towers and rode the express up to the 35th floor .  We used to do everything by hand, the pace was slower. There were 62 branches and two bookmobile units- Chinatown was branch 63, but the Valley Bookmobile was number 62. InnerCity Bookmobile was 91, in case you are wondering...

Things are faster, people expect immediate results.  Sometimes it is possible, sometimes it is not.  I have days when I go home feeling like I really earned my paycheck and some days I feel like I let my co-workers down. It's like any other job, I suspect, but this one has a meaning dearer to me than getting the records straightened out at Rent Stabilization or talking complaint calls at Parking Enforcement ( after we designed the areas, they seriously had NOT thought out what we would do and so I took phone calls)  I like to think this job makes a difference in the Department.  I love my  "peeps" as one of my co-workers calls my folks out there in the branches, and YES I have a real affection for them.  I was told once that I should not care as much as I do.  I can't work like that, hell, I can't LIVE like that. Love is always part f the equation for me.

Stress

I am up early and trying to write, wondering just how confessional I should get this morning.   I have an appointment with my therapist- an emergency one, set up by me and my primary doctor as the stress is starting to cause physiological effects.

I cry at the drop of a hat, I'm crying now.

I have severe chest pains, but my EKG is fine.

It's stress.

I can't walk, which was my go-to for stress relief.  I am trying to get on the exercise bike but even that hurts.

Two things are causing this, I suppose.  One is the #metoo and the Kavenaugh hearings dragged up some crap I THOUGHT I had dealt with- apparently not,  I won't go into details here, I just can't right now, but suffice to say that just because you are in a relationship does not give anyone the right to another person's body,  I remember crying through the assault by someone I trusted and looking at him and seeing he was oblivious to the pain and torment I was going through. He was just taking his pleasure from doing what he was doing.


I am having both knees replaced in December, at least that is the plan.  I will get final clearance from my surgeon but I am in daily pain that makes my life miserable.   I can't enjoy daily things. The pills I take contribute to my weepiness.   I am a hot mess- AND you would not believe the number of people who do not support me.  I have heard a number of "Oh my God, you can't do that'"s  Instead of being supportive, people tell me how bad it's going to hurt. I know they mean well, but I really wish they would stop.  I'm already scared.  It's major surgery, after all.  PLEASE, if you are reading this   don't tell me any more horror stories.  I HAVE to have this done.  Tell me you love me.  Tell me I am strong enough to do this, but DO NOT tell me I can't do this.  It's hard enough to face it, without negative people- some of whom haven't even HAD the procedure- telling me how hard it's going to be.   I have no illusions, but am trying to get my head in the game.

 Fear means Face Everything And Rise.   I need to take that to heart.

Henry Ong

There is an Irish saying, that tears shed here speed a soul's progress to heaven.  Last night, so many of us were weeping, but I don't think Henry needed our tears to pass into whatever plane awaits us when we leave this one.

He was one of the good ones.

I met Henry almost 30 years ago, when he was a PR specialist at the LA Public Library and I was doing... what I am still doing.   I had no idea that my sweet funny co-worker was on his way to becoming a world renowned playwright.  He must have been working on Madame Mao's Memories then.  I lost track of him but we reconnected at some point, I think when a play he was asked to write for local deaf students was presented. Chris and I were able to see readings and performances of his work. I loved his adaptation of "Nina Balatka" I remember how happy he was to see us at the original reading of The Blade of Jealousy at UCLA.  We saw it again at a reading to try to get investors and finally, I celebrated my 60th birthday at a full stage production on Opening Night this past June.  Henry was glowing, as he usually was. 

I am glad he got to produce his Magnum Opus, "The Dream of the Red Chamber", doing a Chinese street theater style version of it in a park. He even gave me and Chris a few lines to read to be part of it.  I was still recovering from pneumonia at that point and I was tiring easily, so we only were able to stay for one act.  I really wanted to see more.  It was classic Henry Ong, with great characters and silly little asides, much like Henry himself.   When I first met him, he would walk up to a group of us, look at us and ask if we had seen someone who was standing in the group.  It became a "bit" and he would always act shocked that the person was right there.  He could be so silly.

My first thoughts on hearing of his passing were of his husband, Matthew.  The love between them was palpable.  Word fail me here. 

 Henry, I'm sorry I never got to love Trollope the way you did.  Maybe I should give the old boy another shot.   I am sorry we never got to have that dinner here at Casa Myers.  I make a wicked vegan curry.  This week, I will make it to share and talk about you. You are not really gone; just "hiding behind a pillar"  Your work will continue to be performed and enjoyed.  I love you, Henry Ong.

Writing or lack thereof

Recently, I got a call from my Alma Mater, asking me to donate $100 to the school.  I could do it quarterly, so I said "Why not?"  even in these economic times, I think I can swing $25 every three months.

I got a gracious letter from the Dean of Humanities ( I have a degree in English, as I am fond of pointing out, which means I can quote Chaucer while asking if you would like fries with that.)  She invited me to contact her assistant and arrange a tour and lunch.  Seriously, I would be ashamed to have such attention for a measly $100, which was the point, I suppose.  They would probably get more money out of me if I went so,  no.

In talking to the Poly Sci major who solicited me ( good training if you are going to work in politics, right?)  I talked about what I was involved in at CSUN.  It's been a long time, but she made me remember working on the school literary magazine, then called "Angel's Flight"  She said she had never heard of it. That made me sad, but I looked it up. They still DO one, it's just called something else- the Northridge Review, I think.

As I looked at things regarding Angels' Flight, there was a lot of it I remember differently.  Time smooths things over, I suppose,

The Editor ( who was listed as the founder, but that's just BS) was a woman I disliked. She didn't care for me either, but I was "allowed" to stay and work because they needed bodies.  I had worked on literary magazines in High School and college and had initially hoped to be some kind of editor ( I was good at it, even if I CAN'T edit my own stuff worth a tinker's dam)  She was killed in a car accident the summer between my junior and senior year, which she had prophetically written about in a poem called "Premonition"  She was older than I was and I think she was going for her doctorate.  After her death,  all of her mean girl behavior- and she was for all intents and purposes a mean girl- were swept under the rug.  I believe we dedicated the next edition of the magazine to her, fitting and proper even if she were not a nice person.  In the minds of a few she was a saint and a brilliant poet and her loss was mourned all over the poetry world.   I remain neutral. Maybe because I knew and disliked her, I failed to see that she was this brilliant wordsmith everyone talks about.  I tried to re-read some of her things recently and still feel her work was average, as mine was.  I have to be honest with myself.  I enjoy writing, but poetry is a minuscule market and you have to be dazzlingly brilliant to be a working poet.  It is a craft I enjoy and I may go back to work at it,just for myself.  I love the feeling of finding just the right word to express what I am feeling.  I try to use as few words as I can to convey the emotion.  It's a puzzle, but I enjoy the process.

I am not going to take the Dean up on her gracious offer. It would feel wrong to me. One of these days, I will go back to the Campus and see the changes. I graduated in 1980.  The 1994 earthquake reshaped the school and I wonder if I will miss the old campus or delight in the new ones.  I should visit the Oviatt Library I practically lived there my last semester.  It has been renovated, something I know a bit about.  We'll see.