The Blink of An Eye

My son and his friends are looking at Denmark. Or the Netherlands.

Not for a visit, but to move there.

I'd say, "I don't know how I feel about that" but it'd be a lie. I know exactly how I feel about that.

I'm excited at the youth and strength behind such a plan- I remember (not that I'm that old)having much the same thoughts as they do, albeit less farther-focused. My main thought was to get the hell out of Wisconsin. Took me a while, but I did it and have never looked back. Actually crossing the US border and staying across never occurred to me.

I'm proud that we've raised a human with such an independent bent. A free-thinker who knows more about current events and social issues, politics and world events than most adults do. Someone who loves his country but is not brainwashed to believe that the US is #1, that the US must remain #1 and that everyone on earth wants to be us and all other places are backwards shitholes. I'm proud as hell of that. He doesn't HATE America---there's a big ol' middle ground between screaming "We're #1!" while wearing a flag t-shirt and clutching an eagle by the throat... and yelling "Death to America!". Big. Ol'. Middle ground.

I'm terrified that once he boards a plane and is out of my Mama Bear reach, our economy and society will continue on the ungracious, unattractive and (unless something changes RADICALLY QUICKLY) inevitable sliding into the social squalor that is the morning after for all societies that become 'too big for their britches' and I'll never see him again. I do not believe we are in danger of a Mad Max No Food Zombie Apocalypse. But we're NOT #1 anymore, we never WERE the gloriousness of a Leave It to Beaver fictitious utopia, and we're looking like a B-film starlet after one too many cosmetic procedures in a frantic attempt to still look 21 at age 51 instead of...Katherine Hepburn at age 81- gorgeous and not giving a shit, just going about living life.

So it scares the hell out of me.

But then I realize...if we are (and we are)headed for an age of disgruntled frumpiness and depressed economics, still steered by bullheaded backwards financial initiatives and punitive social agendas...where does that put my son, as an American in America?

If he can get college-educated and come out of it with zero debt (and he can in Europe), if he can get a job that can support him and won't kill him with low pay and dangerous workplace conditions as well as short work weeks and hours (and he can in Europe), if he can have access to health care without paying almost 20% of his gross pay in premiums (you see where this is going...), then that's where he needs to be. That's where I WANT him to be.

Until the US gets its head out of its far-right, pseudo-religious, egotistical ass, the only place my son and others like him will have even a marginal shot at having a life that is the Norman Rockwell American Dream...is outside these borders.

And that's a fucking shame.

Last night my son was looking for a 'new' book to read- he'd just finished up the last of the Game of Thrones series and like his parents he HAS to have a book in front of him at all times. He was going through all the shelves in the house that hold a total of about a thousand books- very few fiction other than the 'classics'. He found a medical guide (huge old tome) that was 'new and revised' in 1905. He found a little book of PHOTOGRAPHS (it was capitalized just like that because PHOTOGRAPHS were such a new thing) from a 1800's World's Fair. He found a box of crystals and yak hair that'd been sent to him for his birthday half a dozen birthdays ago.

He looked around this log cabin and said, "Our house is full of weird shit." And he smiled.

The world is full of weird shit, son. Most of it delightful, intoxicating and smile-inducing. I'm so happy we've taught you that, and I hope you never forget it.

Step across the borders and grab the American Human Dream wherever you find it- for yourself, your friends, and all humans.

A blink of an eye ago, I was fifteen and eager to find my spot in the world. Now I'm watching my son do the same. My great-grandparents came to this country looking for a better life and the next two generations stayed put in Southern Wisconsin. I left and came to Texas and now my Texas-born is looking even farther afield.

He has his roots here in a log cabin in East Texas full of weird shit.

No telling where his wings will take him.

No Promises

Sometimes people keep going on out of sheer cussedness. No matter what seems to be the limits a body and mind can take, they just keep going...because they have to.

My friend Edna was like that.

When she was 13 her mother died and she was left to pretty much raise her younger siblings (and herself) alone. This was in 1932. She got through it out of sheer cussedness.

When she was a reasonably new bride with a reasonably new baby, her husband was killed in WWII and she bucked all tradition and did NOT find another man to marry who could support herself and her baby- she'd seen too many stepkids being treated as literal 'red-headed stepchildren' and wasn't about to have that happen to her son. This was in 1943. She got through it out of sheer cussedness.

It wasn't easy. It was never easy. The worry of being sure there was a roof overhead and food on the table was deeply ingrained in her and in the last year of her life, when there was so much information and memories stuffed into her brain that it all started getting muddled she'd fret and become vexed and outright agitated. She was filled with a roiling core of sheer cussedness.

"We need to be looking for another house."

"Why, Edna? This IS your house."

"Oh, it is not!"

"Yes, it is- they built it to your specifications and we wrote a check for it and decided where on the farm it would set. I was there. This is your house."

"Well...if you say so it must be true."

"I promise you. It's true."

At 94, she was very slow getting around, but she got up every day these last few months getting ready to go to work.

"Where are you going, Edna?"

"I'm going to work, of course."

"You don't have to do that- you're retired."

"I am??? Thank goodness. I'm too tired to go to work."


Edna kept her own house, cleaned, cooked, did laundry, tended her garden and her dog, till about six months ago. It became too much for her physically and she was starting to forget the order things were done in...cooking, coffee making, laundry.

I said, "As long as she doesn't wander away and set shit on fire, she's OK."

One day, she did both in the matter of four hours.

A daily living service started coming for six hours a day. Then eight. Then twelve. In between and around, Joe and I took turns checking on her, sitting with her, tucking her in at night.

I had a baby monitor set up with one end on her refrigerator and the other on my headboard.

I slept with 'mom ears' for almost three years.

Twelve days ago at 2am, she got up for a drink of water and fell...hard.

In a matter of minutes, we were at her side and in another thirty minutes she was in the emergency room.

Fractured hip- three breaks. Cracked elbow. The X-Ray showed not only the fractures on her right hip, but a crack in her left hip. ICU. Surgery. More surgery when the elbow became infected. Home.

This was her third stay in our local hospital. The other two were for bladder infections. Every time she's rallied and come home, but just a bit weaker than before; starting out a bit lower on the strong scale. But rally she did...including checking herself out AMA, then sitting at her kitchen table eating pizza and drinking beer three days later. Cussedness, thy name is Edna.

They transported her home via ambulance, because of the two broken hips and all. We had a hospital bed installed in her living room to be her command station.

Something about the transport scared and disoriented her and she fought the EMT's, wearing herself out and hurting...something. Somewhere.

The assigned nurse came out, assessed her pain level and noted her failing circulation and accumulating fluid in her limbs and tummy and said, "You don't need me. You need hospice."

The hospice nurse came out, assessed her falling blood pressure and oxygen saturation even with constant oxygen and said, "It won't be long. She's just plumb wore out. Our goal now is to keep her comfortable."

When Edna and I took our epic road trips back and forth to Oklahoma, and even our run of the mill weekly trips to have her hair done and out to lunch, the boys would say, "Ya'll don't get into trouble now- no bar hopping and dancing on tables." We'd grin and say

"No promises."

Some days when I'd visit her on my way to work she'd say, "Don't work too hard and don't hurt anyone." I'd grin and say

"No promises."

Some days I'd be leaving her house and say, "So and so will be here in a minute to stay with you for a while- don't give her any trouble or try to run away." and she'd grin and say

"No promises."

By yesterday morning she was very weak and sleeping most of the time. When she'd wake up she was in pain so sharp it brought tears to all of our eyes. Before her next dose of morphine set in I kissed her and said, "I'll see you later." She looked up at me, smiled and said

"No promises."

Those were the last words she spoke to me.

The boys tell me that bringing her here after she got pneumonia and decided she couldn't live alone in Oklahoma anymore gave her the best three years of her life.

Having Edna for my friend was an honor, and an inspiration, and a joy, and a daily lesson in tenacity and cussedness, and I'll miss her every single day of my life.

Edna Hoskins, born at home in Oklahoma 9/15/1919

Died at home in Texas 8/8/2014

The Trip of a Lifetime

Yes kids, it's that time of year again. Time for the Dixon Family Walkabout.

And lemme tell you- the level of fear in the boys' eyes as I fanned the 25 pages of Mapquest routes and 50 pages of printed out info concerning our hotel reservations, park information and other assorted places we're going to stop has never before been seen.

I believe I may have outdone myself.

And that's saying a lot.

I came to my roadtrip-planning mania genetically, through my mom. I didn't get her perky little nose with freckles sprinkled across it, but I did get this.

As kids, we took road trips to wherever the NPPA's convention was being held- National Press Photographers' Association, my dad was on their board for a time. As a board member's family, we got breaks and freebies once we got there as far as hotel and whatnot, but we just had to get there. Press photographers don't make a whole lot of money.

So we'd roadtrip. We roadtripped to Pittsburgh and we roadtripped to Florida. We trained to LA, losing a/c just as we got to Arizona on our way back. We took a cooler of food and ate lunches at rest-stops and roadside parks. We traveled on the dust of a shoestring budget, but we went EVERYWHERE.

My first husband didn't understand this. His family was much more well-off than mine, but they went to the same cabin on the same lake the same week of every summer. He declined to do the Yearly Road Trip.

We don't speak of my second husband.

Ward has always been into road-tripping. At 16, his parents let him drive, alone, to Cape Canaveral to see the liftoff of the first manned spaceship. From Texas.

At 19, he took his baby brother (aged 13) to Yellowstone.

His first wife was not into road-tripping.

We're a match made in Heaven, ya'll.

We've been all over, several times. Alec has been road-tripping since before birth. After one trip to Wisconsin we found out when we got home that we'd had a stowaway. He's got 34 states on his list of 'States Visited', and this year, we're fixin' to add another 8, leaving only Alaska, Hawaii, the far Northest tiny states, Florida and Michigan.

You know- those states that aren't really 'on the way' to anywhere.

We all three of us have the desire to 'go', even though I'm mightily terrified of flying and I know that I'm going to have to get over that soon- there are too many places we want to see that require it...we're running out of contiguous states.

People ask me, "So where are you going?" and I say, "Everywhere".

They sigh and try again. "What is your destination?" I answer, "We don't have a destination- we have a turn-around point."

Because that's the great thing about driving. You can see a ton of stuff on the way there and home. A ton.

Check out www.roadsideamerica.com for just how much there is to see. I've found things within 20 miles of our house I never knew existed. I figure out where 'lunchtime' will be on our route and key in that city's name. It's awesome. We've lunched at the World's Largest Ball of Twine (Cawker City KS- and Alec got to add to it), the Sock Monkey Museum (just west of Chicago) and in front of Santa Anna's leg (Springfield IL).

Because that's the sort of fabric America is made of, ya'll.

A few years ago I figured out that for LESS than the cost of a Days Inn or Econolodge, there are places to stay the night that add to the trip instead of merely being a place to crash and shower. Look up hotels in your desired area and then scroll way, way, way down past the chain hotels and motels and you'll find the independent mom and pop lodgings- there's even a website for that- www.momandpopmotels.com . I generally check the reviews at Travelocity to make sure they're not 'rent by the hour', but so far we've been nothing but thrilled with the places we've stayed.

We've stayed in a yurt in Arkansas, a llama farm in Wisconsin, and this year we'll be staying at 2 pheasant hunting lodges...it's off-season. Although we had to really think twice about what would be better- a Days Inn right on the interstate or a cabin in the middle of the Kansas rolling hill prairie...hmmm...life is chock full of tough choices...

We stay in a lot of historic hotels. They're generally located conveniently and the staff usually consists of people who know the history of the place and love it. We'll be returning to one this year- the Kalispell Grand in Montana. It costs less than the Kalispell Motel 6 and is just a few blocks away from it. Motel 6? Or...this? www.kalispellgrand.com From the Canadian border to New Orleans, so far none of them have let us down.

While most of the time the Travelocity reviews are spot on (and brutally honest) I have to laugh at some of the reviews regarding historic hotels; a lot of them on the National Historic Registrty. 'Everything very out-dated', 'In desperate need of updating', 'Small rooms', 'Shabby'...Apparently some people are unaware of what 'historic' means.

We travel instead of. Instead of going to the movies or going shopping. Instead of paying for haircuts and manicures. Instead of participating in almost any other hobby other than Alec's guitar and art lessons and my going to guinea pig shows. We do without so we can do this, and we have the blessing of having Joe to care for the farm while we're gone and who very generously adds to the travel fund because he knows how important it is.

Even on a shoestring, it ain't cheap. But it's important.

It's important because it gives perspective. Humans get entrenched in their little worlds and come to believe that how it is within their field of vision is how it is everywhere. Oh, sure you see all sorts of stuff on TV and the internet from all over the world but it's not real. It's on the TV or internet like soap operas and 'reality' shows.

You have to Be There.

You have to Be There to get a feel for a place; feel the weather, hear the sounds, smell the smells and eat the food served by the very real people who live there- people who are different from the people at home while being the same as all humans are the same- to feel the connections and differences all at once.

It's important to realize that all the above cannot be achieved by staying in chain motels and eating at chain restaurants and only seeing the 'touristy stuff'. Oh, sure the accents of the clerks will be 'funny' and there will be minor regional differences on menus, but other than that...it's as enriching as just watching it on TV.

Empty brain calories, ya'll.

And time is short. Our family knows that time is short at all times and in the best situations. I'm typing this as Ward gets his yearly 'noes to tose' PET scan, lab work, and chest X-ray to be sure he's still OK, that he's not harboring a stowaway of his own in there...a very unwelcome one.

Even without that spectre, just the normal stuff of living- will I always have the ability to take off a few weeks in a row to do this? Will we have the money to do so? Alec is 14- he may have a summer job starting next year and not WANT to go...

Life is change. For good or bad, life is change and it changes in a literal heartbeat; a fact that's been pounded into us over and over and over again.

So look out, America- the Dixons are hitting the road again next week for over 6,000 miles. Seeing friends along the way, stopping at five National Parks and at least as many obscure attractions, eating out of our cooler or at locally owned places and staying in historical hotels and motels along the way- places that are literally one of a kind in all the history of everywhere.

The Trip of a Lifetime...but we know they all are.

I Always Thought Wisdom Would Come With Less Tylenol

"That's quite an accomplishment for someone of your age".

On the other side of the looking glass, that would've been a bigger compliment- back when I was a child and had done something considered beyond my years. But this was recently, when I passed my certification test to become a Certified Veterinary Practice Manager- a pretty grueling task.

"That's quite an accomplishment for someone of your age", said a former employer who had been one of my four required references to even apply to sit for the exam.

Because I'm all old now.

At 54, I'm all old now and had never been to college and one of the requirements had also been 18 college hours of business courses. So I signed up for the courses at the community college in the next town over. Five of them were online, but one was in person.

The first night of class I texted Ward. "If I add up the ages of all the other students here, it'll still be less than my age."

I was older than the teacher. Not by much, but still.

I will admit that having gray hair and bifocals has its advantages.

Young men will reach up and get something from a top shelf at the store or offer to lift heavy sacks out of my cart at the car and it's a lot less stressful to know it's not because they are looking for an opening to ask me out but because I remind them of their mom (or grandmother).

When dealing with difficult people at work, it's much less intimidating and confrontational that I look pretty harmless; like I should have fresh-baked still-warm cookies in my pocket.

And I can generally out-maneuver most anyone in any sort of debate- auto repair, work meeting, political discussion...because yanno. I'm old and stuff and they never expect any opposition, much less expertise out of me.

I am a little disappointed in gravity.

I would think that here in the 'non-science-believing' zone of the US, gravity would've been kinder to me just because I accept its existence. Why is everything on me pointed down now? And I swear I'm shorter than I used to be.

I used to worry about appearance. I know it didn't show, but I did to a certain extent.

I polished my nails and wore makeup and pantyhose- even shoes with heels on occasion.

At some point in the last few years, though, I've stopped worrying about how my parts look and just became grateful that they still work.

I've become accustomed to aching most everywhere most every day and weather the days mostly without the aid of Tylenol. At night I sleep with Ward up against my back, Fizzgig up against my tummy, and a heating pad on my side to warm all the aches. I don't sleep very well for some reason- keep dreaming I'm wedged somewhere and can't get out. Then I wake up needing to pee and realize that I really can't get out, and when you need to pee is NOT the time to have to PUSH against a 15 pound dog who weighs roughly 75 pounds when unconscious.

My hair is graying, my parts are all sagging and squishy, my eyes need bifocals, my hip hurts constantly and clicks when I walk, and my ankle that got caught up in a dog chain 11 years ago will never ever be strong again, but yanno what?

I'm OK with all of it.

So I don't look 25 anymore. I'm NOT 25 anymore and wouldn't be 25 again for anything- that was a horrible time in my life filled with instability, lack of self-confidence and angst.

Don't like how I look? Don't look.

Don't like what I have to say? Tough.

Ward's first wife 'had a lot of work done' in an attempt to look young(er). When he and I became a couple 20 years ago, I told him, "I'm going to get old. I will do my best not to get fat or smell bad, but other than that there WILL be gray hair and wrinkles, so if that's not OK, you just need to know that now."

I'm 20 pounds overweight, but not fat (by East Texas standards, anyway), my hair is gray and I've got wrinkles. My one expensive indulgence is French perfume so I'm pretty sure I don't smell bad and Ward is still here.

That's all that matters.

Time Flies

Happiest of birthdays to my baby...14 tomorrow.


You have your dad's compassion and intelligence
And my sunny disposition and questionable sense of humor

I cherish every single day I've had with you

You were a precious baby
A precocious and goofy toddler
A curious and bright and funny boy and now
You are a remarkable and amazing young man

And we are so very proud of you.

We love you, son- Happy Birthday.

Ho Ho Holy CRAP My Head Hurts

'Twas the day before Christmas and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Everyone tiptoed and whispered with care
Because mom had a migraine that hurt even her hair.

The day had broke sunny, the cat had been fed
And then BAM just like that, mom was back in the bed.

She downed 2 Tylenol ES, cold washrag applied
And burrowed under the covers, keeping light from her eyes.

A half-hour later she lurched from the room
Looking haggard and deadly- the house filled with doom.

"On Meloxicam! On Diphenatrop! Quick, where's the caffeine?"
And she cursed stupid laws against home IV's with morpheine.

And Gomez and Sparky were filled with concern
If Christmas dinner's on them, how bad would it burn?

For several long hours, time seemed frozen in place
Even the dogs knew to stay out of mom's face.

Then what to their wondering ears did they hear
But the soft clicking of keys on her laptop so near.

And they knew then she'd live and re-enter the fray!
Happy Christmas to all...it's a wonderful day!

The story above is true- names have not been changed to protect the innocent.
I'm off to work and one. Last. Freaking. Errand.
Tylenol, Meloxicam, Diphenatrop and caffeine on board- my head is only throbbing at about a 5, instead of the 14 it was this morning on a "From zero to ten, how bad is the pain?" scale.

Sunny, calm and 50 degrees out...a perfect winter day. The garlic is up, the peas are up, the herbs are still hanging in there- oregano, basil, parsley, cilantro...all reseeded themselves for the umpteenth time.

The boys are wrapping gifts "Don't look, mom!!!" and tonight and tomorrow will be quiet affairs- I'll cook a big dinner tomorrow after doing some baking, and if everyone's feeling up to it, we'll have Joe and Edna over to eat.

I was thinking on Christmases past and how weird it is after several decades of being a kid on Christmas followed by several more decades of having kids on Christmas, that my very last baby (almost 14) announcing this year, "Mom? Just take me clothes shopping- I don't need anything to unwrap" filled me with several emotions.

Sadness of a deep and abiding sort- the sadness that comes when you know something is over. Really over, and won't be back. Ever.

Irritation because I'm not ready for that phase of life to be over yet. I still love the whole gifty wrappy Christmas morningy thing.

Relief that I'm done with letters to Santa, and trying to budget to fulfill the top 5 requests on that list, and the wonderment that my children were always careful to put the really expensive shit on Santa's list...because they knew we couldn't afford them.

Christmas and how we relate to it changes with age and circumstance, like everything else in life and that's not only OK, but it would be creepy if it didn't. It's a very tangible yardstick of how we're growing as humans, where we've been and where we are now.

It's one day of the year that is caught over and over again through the photographs of us as kids, then teens, then adults...the people in the photos changing from one bad hairdo to the next, one ugly holiday sweater to the next, one awkward human phase to the next. Grandparents grow older with each passing year of snapshots and then are simply not in them anymore. Babies suddenly appear and are linked in with the rest of the family chain.

And there you have it. The real reason for the season.

Because whatever mid-winter event brings your family together, THAT. That right there is the reason for the season.

Stop. Look at the people around you- even the ones who make you insane. This is your chain.

If you're alone, remember holidays past and how they were all different from each other if only microscopically- not to make you even more miserable, but to remind yourself that nothing lasts forever- there will be new chains to link into even if your old one is gone for good. I promise you that.

I spent one Christmas Eve alone in a crappy motel outside Lubbock Texas. My alcoholic abusive husband had knocked me around a little, screamed at me a lot, took the car keys, the car and all our money and disappeared into the night. This was before cell phones and I didn't even have a dime for a pay phone to call the nearest people I knew...400 miles away. I can safely say that was my worst Christmas ever.

I will never tell anyone to 'just' cheer up, get a grip, get out there and meet people, stop being depressed, stop being used or abused because no one else is in your head besides you, and no one else knows what living your life has been like or what your exact thought processes are.

Anyone who judges someone else for apparent lack of character or bad decision making is an asshole.

This is also the time of year for the highest rate of suicide.

I have no magic wand, no quick fixes for a heart so broken that it feels like it cannot beat one second longer.

All I can offer is this-

This, the darkest time of the year, the shortest day of the year comes every single year.

And every single year it's not only the darkest day of the year but it's the beginning of the light.

Light always comes after darkness, and we are every one of us stronger than we think we are.

I promise you that.

Just give it another day.

Merry Holiday to my entire human family. I love you all.

Even the ones who make me insane.

The Lesson We Hate

"Everyone leaves, son. Through relocation or emotional separation or death...nothing stays the same and everyone leaves."

My 13 year old son's dog was only 2 years old. After having given his heart to 2 already aged dogs and having his heart broken when they died, I chose for him a little wild-haired terrier/poodle...because those damn things live forever.

Alec (son) and Aaron (dog) were inseparable. Since Alec home schools that's a literal statement. Outside, they explored our property back to front and side to side and never tired of it. If Aaron got sidetracked by some smell or sound and Alec rode off on his bike without him, you'd see in just a few moments Aaron flying full flat out- ears pumping and tail ruddering after his Boy, short little legs a blur.

Inside, Aaron was under Alec's chair at the dinner table (or ON the chair eating his dinner if he left the table for a glass of milk) or sleeping on the desk chair in Alec's room where he could see Alec at all times. He wasn't a snuggler, but he needed to be within nose's reach at all times. He did love the schnauzer. He couldn't be in the same room as her without humping her ceaselessly until Alec would notice and say sternly, "Aaron- I'm going to have to ask you to stop that."

Aaron wasn't very well housetrained. He and Alec would be outside for an hour, come inside and he'd pee on the (thankfully cement) floor. Alec would sigh and say, "Aaron- you're a terrible terrible dog". And Aaron would wag his tail furiously and gaze at Alec adoringly.

If Alec was away, Aaron would curl up on the bed and nap till he got home. If Alec left him behind and went somewhere on the property without Aaron? The noises that came out of that little dog would put a slaughterhouse to shame.

His wild hair and behavior when separated from his Boy earned him the nickname of Meth Muppet.

You may be thinking, "That sounds like an awful dog" and you'd think so, wouldn't you?

Aaron was long of body and short of legs. He had wiry white hair that was never quite clean. His front feet always pointed out...like a platypus- even when he ran.

His eyes were different sized. Really. But they were serious intelligent eyes. His other nickname was Aaron the Freakishly Understanding.

Alec could balance Aaron upside down along the length of his arm (tail against his elbow bend and head in his hand) and carry him around that way. Aaron would fall asleep like that.

Alec would sit Aaron upright in his lap, dog back against boy chest, and use Aaron's paws to gesture while he talked. Aaron would fall asleep like that, too.

Aaron first got sick back in May. Liver failure that responded to fluids and antibiotics so they thought it was an infection.

We boarded him at the vet's when we went on vacation in July and they re-did the bloodwork just for fun. The liver values were better...but not normal. We realized that Aaron probably had a birth defect that had made it easy for the infection to take hold back in May and he was most likely a dog with numbered days; but from May through last week you'd never know it by his behavior and outward health and we were thinking months, maybe years, but not literally days.

He crashed last Saturday, spent the weekend at the emergency clinic on fluids and not eating with very bad liver values.

Monday he went back to the regular vet and Tuesday he was eating, so we were hopeful- we were sure (even the vet) that he had gotten another infection and would respond as before.

Wednesday he really crashed. Stopped eating and his bloodwork was twice as bad as just four days prior- all organs were now failing. He was retaining fluid in his abdomen and his breathing was labored.

Alec spent almost an hour with him in his lap, and stayed with him till the end.

I know in my heart that he would not have survived the night, and we all know it was so much 'better' for us to have been able to say goodbye...for him not to have been alone.

My six foot tall boy's heart is broken, and because of that so is mine and so is Ward's.

It's not fair. It's not sensible. It's the lesson we hate- that those we love are here one minute and then gone...whether or not we're ready and whether or not we have time to steel ourselves for it.

Our family is not religious, but we believe in science and I personally believe in energy- that little spark, the life spark in all of us that some call a soul. I believe energy can be focused and sent (also known as 'prayer') and I believe the scientists when they say that energy cannot be destroyed- it only shifts somewhere else.

I told Alec that I believe when a companion animal passes on in the presence of their loved one, it's easy- when their life spark leaves the furry body, it attaches to its human...because that's all they ever want- just to be near us.

It's not the same. It'll never be the same. He'll be looking for Aaron and missing Aaron forever.

But he's right there. Balanced in between his elbow bend and hand, upside down. And sleeping.



Alec visiting Aaron at the emergency clinic over the weekend. Rest in Peace, little buddy.

Dropping the Ball

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My Birthday Wishes

So I'm 'Edna sitting' while Joe is in Montana.

I love Edna and don't get to spend enough time with her, so I was looking forward to this few weeks when I had her 'all to myself'.

Edna's great.

She's a little fuzzy and a little wobbly but shit, she's just shy of 94 so what the hell?

Sure she's forgetting who her son is (on accounta that CAN'T be her son- that's an old man), and sometimes she thinks her little dog is a small boy who can't talk and who has no fingers but anyone can make mistakes, right?

Last month Edna started complaining about her eyes 'not behaving'. She was having trouble reading because she said her eyes kept jumping around'. So we went to the eye doctor. He checked her eyes and found nothing, so he ordered an MRI.

The MRI they took almost 2 weeks ago showed a large aneurysm that's pushing on her optic nerve, which would make her eye not behave, and also pressing on an artery that feeds blood to her brain, which may be why she's getting more confused rapidly.

How rapidly?

This morning I was going up the ramp to her porch and almost bumped into Edna coming down the ramp. She was dressed and ready to go.

"Where are you going, Edna?"

"Well, I'm going to work of course".

Of course.

The short story is that there are people coming into her house through the TV, bossing her around and then leaving through the walls. Sometimes the ceiling. This is vexing to her because she remembers us going to watch them build her little house and NOWHERE were there hollow panels for people to travel through. True enough.

I asked if she wants to go to work and she said NO.

I told her, she does not have to go to work, ever again, and why. That if those people come back she should tell them to go to hell. Which made her laugh, and she agreed.

She said, however, that she is 'leery' of being alone since they come in at night more than during the day.

So I'll be spending the night with Edna tonight and as long as it takes to ease her heart and poor fuddled mind.

Because no one should be afraid in their own home, no matter the reason.

I called for the THIRD time to see what the status was of the 'stat' appointment they were supposed to be setting with the neurologist...almost 2 weeks ago. I don't know if he can do anything about the aneurysm but we need to know our options. Edna needs to know her options.

While I was stressing and worrying about Edna, I skimmed over Facebook and saw this from one of my friends, writing about her 4 year old son-

"Every night Cash closes his eyes and wishes for a new morning. Then in the morning he yells that his wish came true."

Today is my birthday- my 54th.

I am reasonably healthy, and of a marginally sound mind.

I know my family, and cherish every moment with them- every moment remembered and every moment in the here and now.

I am always (sometimes painfully) aware when I lay my head down on the pillow at night that the day just past is gone forever, and there's one less day for me to live.

Today I remember. I remember all those who love me enough to wish me a happy birthday, and I love all those who love me but who will invariably forget when my birthday is.

Because it shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter.

My only birthday wishes are for security, love and happiness for everyone I love.

For the precious gifts of memory and clarity till my light is quenched and I am no longer.

And for a new morning.

Phone Blogging- Like Drunk Texting Without the Spelling Accuracy

So I'm blogging on my phone while Alec is swimming. I haven't had time to do much of anything in my 'normal' routine lately, because Ward is suffering from a mystery foot issue- with his medical history there could be no less than four causes for him to be so crippled up he can barely walk and can't drive, but they are treating it as though it's 'all of the above' and hopefully soon...

Here's the thing that I want to make abundantly clear.

People are always complimenting me on how much I manage to get done.

Ward is always telling me how horrible it makes him feel that I'm so busy and he 'sits at home doing nothing'.

I'm here to tell you- I could not do a tiny fraction of what I do without being secure in the fact that Ward is taking care of the daily grind- the feeding and care of most of the pets and people on our place, the tending of the gardens, running Alec to swinming and art class and social dates every single day, sweeping and steaming the floors that are always sandy from outside, just the never-freaking ending pile of dishes in the sink...shit I never ever even think about- *poof* all done every day without fanfare or complaint.

Ward is and has always been my knight in shining armor- more now than almost 20 years ago when we met and he nurtured me through depression and poverty and despair- all the things that go with the end of even the most miserable marriage.

He's amazing, and courageous, and so incredibly sexy.

And I never want to hear him say "I just stay home and don't do anything to help" again.

Because Gomez?

Your 'doing nothing all day' is absolutely kicking my ass.

I love you.

PS- for those who don't know us and the absolutely amazing man my husband is- here-

http://www.amazon.com/CancerDance--a-love-story-ebook/dp/B008IBMMJ0/ref=sr_1_8_bnp_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1375887311&sr=8-8&keywords=sheri+dixon

Oh. It's also about being a cancer family.

Clickety Clack Part One

The sun is setting out of the left side of the train and the clouds reflect it on the right.

We're crossing Holmes Lake, a tiny little blue splat between Marshall and Jefferson TX. Looks funny to see the moving blue orb that is my phone blinking on the iPhone map out in the middle of nowhere- no highway, no road, nothing a car could drive on.

Train tracks are like that sometimes.

Sparky And Gomez are across the aisle- both surfing the web on their phones although Sparky is taking photos with his more than surfing.

We've been to the snack car via the observation car and are pretty well settled into the coach seats for the night- grandmother, mom and very excited 3-ish year old boy in front of us and several young adults in various stages of napping and/or movie watching behind us. The observation car was a melange of older folks playing dominoes at the tables and little kids draped over the lounge chairs.

Other than the train being about an hour late, which is actually pretty on-time for Amtrak, the only snag in our vacation plans thus far was the rental car company calling us while we were eating dinner in Mineola before the train came...so already about 60 miles from home.

They wanted to confirm our reservation and that we needed pick up/drop off at the train station in Sturtevant tomorrow.

Oh. And to be sure I knew that if I want to use my debit card I'll need my most recent pay stub and 2 paid utility bills.

What the hell?

You're telling me this NOW? Less than 24 hours from when I need the car and when I'm 60 miles from home with no way to get that stuff?

Why yes. Yes they are.

Of course I don't need any of that mess if I pay with a credit card instead.

I don't have a credit card.

Joe had taken us to Mineola and started handing me his credit card but she said that as long as the credit card name matches the name of the primary driver, all would be well. He put it back in his wallet in disgust.

I said no worries, we'll just go to an ATM and get cash.

"I'm sorry- we don't accept cash".

What the fuck.

The boys started looking concerned.

"Never fear", I said. "I'll fix it once we get on the train".

Here's what I found out.

Yes, it IS Enterprise's policy but boy they sure are sorry whoever booked the car didn't mention that to me. Too bad they can't help with that. The funny part is that we've rented from Enterprise- recently- and paid with this self-same debit card without issue. Weird, but ultimately unhelpful.

According to the websites, both Avis and Hertz WILL accept my debit card without the bullshit idiocy restrictive rules of Enterprise.

Both open up at 7:30 tomorrow morning and by 8am I should have us a car.

So just a minor glitch. Nothing to fret about.

I know the world is going to hell. My heart is heavy with the current events of the last few days here in Texas and in Florida.

But right now the train is clacking and creaking, rocking along gently; the world's largest cradle. The scenery outside has gone from dusky to navy to turned off for the night. The whistle's blowing and the boys are settling in. I got 4 hours sleep last night and the reclining seat sure is comfortable.

I'll fix our rental car situation tomorrow. Sometimes all I can fix is what's right in front of me.

Sometimes that's all anyone can do.

I'm Just Not Funny Anymore

"I don't understand. You used to be so funny! Now you just seem...angry and sarcastic".

I've heard that from more than one person in the last few years, and I'd like to apologize for being a big ol' Debbie Downer but JEEBUS have you SEEN what we've been through, survived, clawed our way out of this last decade?

Seriously.

It was easy, so very easy to write 'funny' when my family was all healthy and well and I had nothing better (or worse) to think about than the antics of chickens or what a gawdawful gardener I am.

Then Cancer.

Then the financial (what's a word like 'burden' but a million times more depressing?) that goes along with cancer even WITH insurance coverage.

Then the eye-opening trauma of finding out the REAL things that happen to real people when in medical crisis in this country followed by looking at other shit that was/is going on and HOLY CRAP I'LL NEVER LAUGH AGAIN.

I remember sitting at Neil and Olya's dinner table the very first time we visited them in Missouri. Probably half a dozen years ago or so, and Neil asked me when I'd be getting another article to him for the homestead.org website. A valid question as I was supposed to provide him with one a month and it'd been...more than that.

I couldn't. I just looked at him and said, "I'm so sorry, Boss- but I don't feel so funny anymore".

Well, once you start looking at something like the fractured infected wound of the health care system in America you can't help but look to either side of it- things like the rest of the social safety net and how we treat old people and children and our infrastructure. How we treat employees and teachers and policemen and soldiers.

And the short answer is, as a culture and society we clearly suck.

The bullies are taking over. The selfish are squashing everyone else. Corporations and special interest groups *cough* NRA *cough* and some lunatic fringe of Christianity *I* never encountered up in Wisconsin where I grew up Lutheran and was taught that evolution is real and to respect ALL other beliefs and oh by the way this country is NOT a Christian Nation- all those are running roughshod over everyone else and crying foul and persecution if anyone even politely and quietly asks them why they are shredding the Constitution to bits and pissing on the Founding Fathers' graves.

There's not a damn thing funny about that.

In fact, I'm not only angry and sarcastic, but I'm also scared- which usually manifests with me as looking like sarcastic anger.

I'm scared silly about my son- where are we heading as a society, the society he'll have to deal with and live in?

I understand the whole "rugged American individualist" thing, but honestly how is that mindset going to bring anything but more of the mess we're now in? There's no compassion, no forgiveness, no acceptance of anything other than what looks back at you in the mirror...no HUMANITY for the society as a whole, not just private little pockets of it.

Corporations and banks can do whatever they want to because CAPITALISM

Christians can force their beliefs into our laws because THE BIBLE

Gun owners can have whatever the hell they WANT (not NEED- WANT...and freely admit that) because SECOND AMENDMENT

What the hell happened to "all men being created equal"? That is a very simple phrase and it's pretty straightforward.

If everyone is equal, everyone matters. But every day in every direction I see and hear people being pushed out of the way, shamed and criticized and berated because they don't think the 'right' way (pun intended) or they don't 'deserve' something that they're getting. Whatever happened to 'judge not lest ye be judged'?

Don't get me wrong. I don't walk around in tears or with a black cloud over my head all day.

I smile and shake my head at our black cat Fred, who thinks stalking birds means climbing to 20ft above the feeder then letting go and dropping like a furred rock to the earth below. We're assuming he figures he'll nab one as it rolls on the ground laughing. The farm is full of characters.

Both Ward and Alec have razor sharp and dry wits and are funny as can be and they both make me laugh out loud on a regular basis. Even when I'm just watching them, I smile inside- they're so very precious to me.

I inhale the good clean air of a cool Texas morning and breathe in the molten sap aroma of a midsummer midafternoon and it calms me.

I see beauty almost everywhere, and am surrounded by love.

But when I sit down to put words on virtual paper, I'm just not funny anymore.

A Very Short and Specific History of Fireworks

9:30pm on the nosie the first muffled "boom" from the football stadium caused us to pause in our conversation and glance up.

Over the treetops, to the left of the very tall light pole and the right of the shorter light pole and under the the electrical wires the sky glittered and sparkled; the first of 30 minutes-worth of fireworks.

The little file in my brain labled "Fireworks Displays" shook itself off and gently opened on the untidy desk of my mind and I thumbed through it- over half a century of fireworks.

Every year from tiny tot-hood through my teens 4th of July fireworks meant a trek down to either North Beach or Zoo Beach in Racine Wisconsin- the fireworks were shot off from the long cement piers and out over Lake Michigan. Flashlights and fireflies on the beach and bluffs were overpowered by the fireworks brilliantly and sinuously reflected in the incoming waves lapping at the shore while out beyond the harbor entrance the twinkling lights of the boats watching from 'the other side' mimicked those onshore.

After dark in Southern Wisconsin meant one of two things- either ridiculously cold for July, which people muttered under their breath while donning another layer, another flannel shirt or sweatshirt; or hot, muggy and swarming with mosquitoes- causing everyone to wistfully remember previous years when it had been "delightfully crisp- sweatshirt weather, and not a bug in sight".

One year (I was about 12 or so) we took our family vacation to Washington DC, which my mother planned and organized so we had a high-up floor in a hotel that faced the fireworks display over the Washington Monument. The only hereditary thing I proudly claim from my mom is her "awesome vacation planning gene".

As half of a young couple with small kids, we were members of our local Jaycees/Jaycettes and one of the other couples lived directly across the field of their small town fireworks staging area. It was great- we had a superb view of the fireworks, access to a house (and bathroom), food, drinks, and the musical accompaniment of Lance's "only on the 4th of July mix" tape.

Then I moved to Texas.

The kids were older and amazed (in a good way) that the laws regarding dangerous explosives in the hands of children were fairly non-existent here. In the years between, "This is GREAT!" and "Ummm...ya- mom? We'd rather stay here and be with our friends and our part-time jobs" they purchased horrifying arrays at Pop's Firework Stand and set them off in the meadow between our house and the neighbors' house. The dogs were traumatized for days.

Then along came Alec.

The first year he was interested in fireworks we sat outside and in back of the big display Tyler puts on- no crowds and not quite so noisy.

We went over to Edom a few years- small town display, local bands playing music, friends with other small kids to "oooh" and "ahhh" with.

Then Alec was big enough to appreciate the laxness of the fireworks laws in Texas and there were a few years of "You and your son go blow shit up- I'm not looking".

One year (not on the 4th of July, on a New Year's Eve- also a big 'blow shit up' holiday in Texas) the boys convinced me to go outside to watch them blow shit up.

I stood away back from the meadow, under the huge oak tree that comprised the entire front yard of that house.

The first artillery shell hissed out of the stand, shot into the air and exploded into a lovely display as I heard "rustle rustle rustle thump" behind me.

What the?

My guineahens! My guineahens roosting in the tree! Somehow, had the boys HIT one of the guineahens???

Appalled, I turned around and looked at the ground behind me. There was a guineahen, wandering around clearly disoriented and absolutely pissed off but also clearly not physically injured. She'd been sound asleep and the loud noise had startled her...right off of the branch.

The next year (three years ago) we were on a trip north- way north to Montana and back. I planned it so we hit Mt. Rushmore on theh 4th of July. What could be more incredible than fireworks going off behind those big heads?

We got to the hotel in Rapid City mid-afternoon in a hellacious thunderstorm that showed no sign of letting up. I called the park and was told that they hadn't cancelled the fireworks...yet, but that the park was already full and if we were to come up there to plan on at least a mile + hike uphill...in the rain. It irked every bone in my body but I resigned myself to our family watching the Mt. Rushmore fireworks on the hotel room TV.

It was so cloudy and misty and foggy that the entire show was big heads backlit by different colors- not a sparkle in sight. Afterwards they cruelly re-ran the previous year's show which was outstandingly breathtaking.

By then it was almost midnight and the sky had cleared and we wandered outside the hotel...the hotel perched away high up on the side of a mountain overlooking Rapid City and there it was- just one at first like a firefly. *poof*

Then another *poof* and another and we sat down on a bench overlooking the city to watch the citizens of Rapid City blow shit up in their own backyards from left to right and as far as we could see and it was outstandingly breathtaking, even without the Big Heads in the foreground.

Two years ago I decided that Alec needed to see both a kickass 4th of July parade and the fireworks over Lake Michigan. We watched both with my parents and my brother, giving Alec time with family he never gets to see and it was good.

Last year we had friends over and blew shit up in our meadow with a bonfire going and it was good.

So you would think that this year's view was actually a pretty crappy one compared to over Lake Michigan or above the reflecting pool in DC or from the bluffs above Rapid City or the unobstructed comfort of our own place but you'd be wrong.

Because I wasn't watching the fireworks.

I was watching my son- tall as most adults (taller than some, including his mother) and his friends- his 'herd', who were watching the fireworks and farting around and laughing and doing what teens do with and to each other, these social almost-adult humans.

They're a funny, brilliant, independent and quirky lot and if these are the minds who will be running our country, we'll be A-OK.

Well, maybe not today- today Alec is covered with fire ant bites from sitting in them last night.

All in good time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXp3lLakVAQ

Just a Matter of Time

The very last baby I'll ever have is taller than I am by almost a head.

I've trained myself to startle only on the inside when he walks tall into a room, when his voice carries deeply through the house, when I'm hanging blue jeans on the line that are longer than mine and every inch as long as his over six foot tall dad's.

And I know it's just a matter of time.

Everything changes. Everyone leaves.

That's neither good nor bad; it's the way of life. And growth. And death. And birth.

I have the luxury of being able to spend time alone every week with those I love, those I consider Family.

The days with my son start with lunch out where the Boy who's less than 6 months beyond "Kid's Menu" age devours enough for a family of four...plus dessert. And there's not a spare ounce of flesh on him. We had a helluva time finding blue jeans that were long enough and slim-waisted enough.

Then we go to his guitar lesson followed by his swim lesson- one 20 miles east of our house and one 20 miles west of our house which makes for a pretty hefty commute.

I love the commute.

The Boy talks constantly about politics, philosophy, science, science and more science. If a football were to come crashing through our windshield, he'd be able to tell how fast it had been going according to the hole and shatter pattern and possibly the height and weight of the person who had thrown it from the angle it hit, but he'd be hard pressed to figure out what the projectile itself was.

He's always been that way. Not a book worm or a nerd- he attained 2nd degree 4th level black belt in Tae Kwon Do before switching to swimming like a dolphin at the community pool, and you can find him outside on his bike, barefooted, shirtless and looking to blow shit up at any given hour of the day or night but spectator sports are not his thing.

He took the TV out of his room in order to have more room on his desk for his computer. He's not a game player- he's an information junkie.

We recently got him his own cell phone since he's now 'running with his herd' a fair amount of the time instead of always being with one of us and that's as it should be.

He's growing up.

And growing away.

Not (yet) a wrenching, gut-lacerating generational severing, this is subtle and silent and gentle but firmly permanent.

On Tuesday the car was filled with silence.

I glanced over at the Boy.

He was staring down at his phone in consternation.

He'd been stuck that way through much of lunch and on the way to guitar.

I know he emails and texts his herd members, and I knew one of the apps on the phone was giving him fits, so I just let it go.

For about the 30 seconds I'm capable of.

"Son? What's wrong?"

*Silence*

"Hey- you OK?"

*More Silence*

"Are you pissed off, depressed about something or distracted?"

"Distracted".

(Interesting immediate answer from someone who's ... distracted).

And distracted he remained (with a few outbursts of pretty impressive profanity which I figured were preferable to him hurling the phone out the window even if he could tell me the velocity of the device as it hit the pavement) all the way to swimming.

Which left me time to think.

My family knows the dangers of that, and yet they continue to allow it. They obviously have very poor survival instincts.

So I thought about the Boy as an infant, like mothers are wont to do. And I thought of him as a toddler, and a little boy and a pre-teen and now as a teenager- how he is so funny and smart and kind just like his dad, how you know you'll have to make an effort to keep a straight face when he starts an explanation of something he did or didn't do with a serious nod of his head and an even more serious, "Look..." and it won't matter how outlandish the words are that follow, there's no being angry at this kid because he almost never does or avoids something out of spite, or anger, or sloth and he's never considered lying to save his face or his ass or any other body part.

As we drove under an overpass on the way home the car was still quiet, except for me when I said, "Hey! Did you see that?"

His gaze came up from his phone imperceptibly. "What?"

"The birds! those barn swallows or cliff swifts or whatever they are! Hundreds of 'em!" His mom gets pretty excited about stuff like that.

No. He hadn't seen 'em.

So I turned the car around and we circled back. His eyes rolled just a wee bit- the boys are used to unscheduled stops to look at weird shit.

I pulled to a stop almost right under the overpass and there they were. Hundreds of 'em.

We watched the birds launch out of their mud nests that were glued impossibly onto the vertical surfaces of the bridge. As soon as they were clear of the nests they were gone and as soon as they returned to the nest they disappeared inside. That fast. That often. Feeding babies is serious work.

"How are the nests staying up there?" asked Mr. Science.

"Bird spit" answered Mom the All-knowing.

After a few more moments of bird-watching, I put the car into gear, figuring the Boy would be wanting to get back to his own thing- his phone and his apps and his thoughts that do not include being a boy anymore since he's not. He's a young man.

"Wait!"

*Sound of car being shifted back into park*

"Lets watch them for a little while longer, OK Mom?"

"Of course. I just figured you had better things to do than watch a bunch of birds flying in and out of bird spit and mud nests under the overpass".

"Look..."

And my mother's heart sang.

Exhale. Unclench. Smile.

"No cancer. Mr. Dixon? Good to see you. Nice shirt."

Dr. Hanna smiles to his entourage as he examines Ward who is wearing a Hawaiian print shirt, as always.

"Mr. Dixon always has the most fabulous shirts".

Then he sits down next to me and says, "So. How long has it been since he's had cancer?"

Seven years.

Which is outstanding. There's no good reason for me to be twitchy about cancer- they've scanned him every six months and every six months Dr. Hanna strides into the room and says, "No cancer. Mr. Dixon? Good to see you. Nice shirt".

In fact, two years ago Dr. Hanna recommended that we go to yearly scans. Ward was for it.

I couldn't do it.

Two years ago I agreed to nine months. Within three months there was a lump on Ward's eyelid- which freaked us out just a little because that's where the cancer started on his other eye- the eye that isn't there anymore along with a good portion of that side of his face. It turned out to be nothing, but I quickly retreated back to the security of scans every six months.

Because I'm superstitious and neurotic and always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Take Tuesday.

Ward had had his PET scan on Monday and when he went in for his ultrasound Tuesday morning he came out grinning. "The doctor looked at the ultrasound and said 'no biopsy needed- it's nothing'. So...it's nothing".

We were both thrilled. In celebration we got breakfast at the little cafe in hospital, sat out on the patio and fed the birds right next to the 'DO NOT FEED THE BIRDS' sign.

But there was a check to our happiness, a caution, a little voice that told us we hadn't seen Dr. Hanna yet, hadn't heard "No cancer. Mr. Dixon? Good to see you. Nice shirt" yet and because this was our life we're talking about here the odds were very high that Dr. Hanna would walk in and say, "Mr. Dixon? The lump in question is nothing- no worries. But there's this spot here...and here...and over here that are cause for concern. Nothing a massive dose of poisons won't kill tho; I'll set you up with that department ASAP. Nice shirt- see you soon".

So we withheld our full-out happy-dance.

Dr. Hanna is still sitting next to me, reassuring smile, kind eyes. "Do we want to go to yearly scans yet? I know it's been very difficult- but all his troubles have been from healing complications, not cancer".

I tried.

I tried to say, "YES- yearly scans are fine. I'm totally over that whole scared-shitless-about-cancer-killing-my-beloved-husband thing. I'm cool with that".

But I couldn't.

Our eyes were locked.

Finally I blinked and said..."Nine months".

Dr. Hanna laughed and said to his PA, "OK. Set Mr. Dixon up for an MRI and chest X-ray in nine months- we'll see you then".

But now we're home and it's had some time to sink in.

More importantly, I've had time to exhale. To unclench. To smile.

I've just called Dr. Hanna's office to ask them to move the next check-up to 12 months...a whole year.

***BUT***

Only if it's a PET scan- nose to toes and checking every cell like this last time. Not 'just' an MRI of the head/neck and a chest x-ray.

I mean, I may have exhaled, unclenched and smiled; but I'm still the same ol' superstitious neurotic.

What was that sound? That wasn't a shoe dropping, was it?

Just a Little Routine Surgery

So Alec and I were sitting in the hospital cafeteria, eating our lunch.

We were starving- Ward's surgery had been scheduled for 9:30am and we'd been in hospital since 7:30am- no food or coffee allowed of course. They'd finally taken him back at noon:30 and we'd hugged him, kissed him, told him we loved him, and my final admonition to him was, "NO FUNNY BUSINESS".

On accounta in the past, 'very routine and boring surgery' has had a way of turning out anything but.

He laughed and said, "No funny business" and the last thing we saw as he went thru the doors was his smile and thumbs up.

*Inserting that he's fine- this is not a buildup to a bad ending. You may stop holding your breath*

So Alec and I were sitting in the hospital cafeteria, eating our lunch.

Hilariously, I was telling him about the time in 2002 that the doctor in the cataract center had told me to go get some lunch and come back in 45 minutes and when I came back I heard sirens and thought "stop overreacting- we're right across the street from the hospital of course there will be sirens" but then the nurse came out and said, "Mrs. Dixon?" and I smiled and said "All finished?" and she said, "You need to come with me" and we went through the door and I saw Ward surrounded by EMT's and they were defibrillating him and intubating him...which is the reason I now never leave the building when he's having surgery, and why we were in the cafeteria instead of the million or so restaurants within 10 minutes of the hospital.

My phone rang.

Dr. Chambers, the surgeon, said, "Mrs. Dixon? Are you still in the building? I need to show you what we found".

Somehow we flew from the first to the fifth floor, dumping our food in the trash can as we left the cafeteria.

Now Ward has has brushes with death before. Hell, Ward has slapped death upside the head and poked it with a pointy stick before.

And on some level Alec has always been aware that dad is more fragile than the average bear- we've been skating this ice since Alec was two years old.

But this was the first time that Alec has been in the room when the doctor was laying it all out- it's always been cushioned by me after the fact. Even though he remained stoic and quiet, I know it shook him up- was a very real pronouncement to him that his dad is...mortal, and that's the kind of thing most folks don't have to process till they're into their 40's or 50's. He's two weeks shy of 13.

So what happened is that they were being very careful with Ward since he's had such trouble before, so instead of giving him versed as a pre-anesthetic, they gave him just a touch (2cc's) of fentanyl.

Which his heart didn't like.

So it went into arrhythmia. Dr. Chambers showed us the EKG read-outs. Pretty spectacular. So they scrapped the surgery.

Ward spent the rest of the day/evening in recovery while they tried to get his heart rate back up to normal, his blood pressure back down to normal and his heart rhythm back to normal. Dr. Chambers called in cardiac to come see him.

I hate cardiac.

When Ward was in ICU almost 3 years ago, the cardiac team changed every single day- no continuity at all, and 99% of them were abrupt, rude and pompous. I don't play well with that.

The cardiologist who showed up with 2 others did not change my opinion of that.

He looked at the EKG readouts and said, "Pfft. This is nothing. They should've kept going- once they got him anesthetized it probably would've calmed right down. This happens all the time- they just don't know any better. In fact, when they try this again that's what I'll tell them- just keep going- push him through".

Now, Ward says he was most likely trying to reassure us.

To ME, he was trivializing us AND disrespecting both the surgeon and anesthesiologist. I don't play well with that.

Then the cardiologist asked me a question, listened to the first 5 words of my response and WALKED OUT OF THE ROOM. Didn't say, "excuse me" or "that's good, thanks", just turned his back and out the door. I looked at one of the other doctors like, "What the hell???" and he shrugged apologetically and said, "I'M listening". Him I like.

I sent an email to Dr. Chambers telling him about Dr. Snottypants- that I don't like how he was unprofessionally rude regarding comments about his colleagues (who both have socks older than he does- and Dr. Chambers is HEAD of the oral surgery department) as well as his flippant attitude about 'just pushing him through'. I've worked in veterinary medicine for almost 30 years and the first and most important thing is- you can't fix dead. I don't appreciate being told that if Ward's heart is wonky all they have to do is CONTINUE giving him the drug that is causing it bacause PROBABLY it'll be OK.

This is not my car. This is my husband. You tell me that he'll PROBABLY be OK if you purposely 'push him through'? I don't play well with that.

Err on the side of caution. 200% of the time. Because I refuse to have to tell my son he's fatherless because, "Oops- I thought for sure that would work".

Anyway.

So they sent us back to the hotel Tuesday night.

Ward had an EKG and appointment with the electrocardiologist (the guy who does pacemakers and defibrillators) yesterday who ordered an echo for tomorrow and then a Holter monitor through the weekend. We can go home tomorrow after they place the Holter and then come back here Sunday for our Monday appointment where Dr. Karimzadeh will have a plan of action.

For the record, I love Dr. Karimzadeh and his nurse- they were both compassionate and patient; so the entire cardiac department is not pompous assholes.

Then they'll reschedule surgery.

Now that we're not scared to death, our family has reverted to our usual way to deal with the unimaginable horrors of the cancer hospital and our experiences there- humor.

When they let us go back to recovery to be with Ward, the first thing I told him was, "You promised me no funny stuff...you bastard" as I hugged the stuffing out of him.

Later Tuesday evening Alec said, "What have we learned today? We learned that it's not enough to merely not leave the building during surgery- we can't eat a sammich, either".

And today I looked at my shy, brilliant, quiet husband and said, "God- you're such an attention whore".

He looked at me, smiled and said, "I know, right? It's all about me, me, me."

The only scene I remember from the movie 'War of the Roses', an otherwise awful movie, was the scene the husband went to the doctor thinking he was having a heart attack. He looks at the doctor and asks, "Tell me straight, doc- am I going to die?" The doctor looks at him seriously and says, "Yes. Yes you are".

"But not today!"

I love that.

Today is sunny and warm and we're stuck here till tomorrow afternoon so we're headed to the park and the museum.

We're all fragile and we're all going to die, and my family is both cursed and blessed to be aware and reminded of that on a regular basis. We're all going to die.

But not today.

Delicious Diversity

Yanno the recipes I like the best?

The ones that you read and think, "How the hell will THAT work?"

When you're going along, reading the ingredient list mentally mixing it up in your head and saying to yourself, "Ya, ya, ok, sounds good..." and then you get to one or more ingredients that screech your thoughts to a halt with a recoiling-from-the-cookbook shudder and your instinctive reaction is. "How the hell will THAT work?"

So I made chili yesterday.

Tried out a new recipe that had not one, but FOUR ingredients that made me stop in my mental tracks.

But I thought I'd be brave and give it a shot- invited our 2 most daring epicurean family members within dinner-driving distance and tossed it all together, making a few changes as I went (like most cooks do- as in the rest of life, the key to success is experimentation balanced with the tried-and-true).

It was delicious.

After dinner we had a campfire and fireworks show- fire made by Rick and Joe, and fireworks by Alec and Ben.

Around the campfire we were a companionable crew of unlikely characters.

Our neighbors Rick and Christine- the best neighbors on the planet, but a little to the Right of our way of thinking politically. Joe asked Rick if he'd read one of my blog posts and he said, "I don't read that commie pinko stuff". He ate the shit outta the commie pinko apple cake tho...Christine does her best to keep Rick on a civil plane. It's a lifetime endeavor.

Joe- heavily armed, old Montanan, former Marine and about a hundred miles to the Right of Rick. An absolutely integral member of our adopted family for over four years now. I tell folks I've almost got him house trained. Almost.

Ben and Jason- (I can't even type their names without smiling). If I had had the pleasure of having 2 more sons, I'd want them to be Ben and Jason.

And of course, Ward and Alec. The 2 most dear people to me on the planet- both hysterically funny, frighteningly brilliant, astoundingly handsome.

We ranged in age from 12 to 70, from urban to rural, liberal to progressive to conservative, Catholic to Baptist to reincarnationist to atheist.

We're not all the same, we don't all think alike. Society tries to get us to believe that the ONLY way to happiness and success is to group together with 'like-minded people'.

Including and spanning out from last night's campfire, it's easy to see that our entire group of friends is hugely diverse in all ways. So how the hell does THAT work?

As good as the chili, baby. As good as the chili.

How the Hell Will THAT Work Chili

2 tsp olive oil
2 small onions, chopped
3 cloves of garlic, minced
1 pound ground sirloin
2 pounds sirloin steaks, cubed
1 14oz can diced tomatoes
1 can dark beer (I used Shiner Black Bohemian Lager)
1 c strong black coffee
1 12oz can tomato paste
12oz beef broth
1/2c brown sugar
3 1/2tbsp sweetchili sauce (from the oriental food section)
1 tbsp cumin
1 tbsp cocoa
1 tsp basil
1 tsp cayenne
1 tsp salt

Heat the oil and cook the onion and garlic till tender and transparent, transfer to soup kettle.
Brown the cubed steak and add to onions and garlic.
Brown and RINSE the ground sirloin and add to onion, garlic and cubed steak.
Mix in all the other stuff and stir well.
Simmer, stirring occasionally, for at least 2 hours- more is betterer.

Enjoy with COMMIE PINKO CORNBREAD-

1c baking mix (I use Pioneer)
3/4c cornmeal
3 tablespoons sugar
1 egg
2/3c milk
6 tbsp melted butter

Mix together, spread into buttered cast iron skillet and bake at 425 about 20-25 minutes till knife comes out clean.

Of Politics and Powdered Sugar

I love sugar cookies. Hate making 'em. Love eating 'em.

Lest you have visions of perfectly decorated wonders of baked confectionary, lemme put your mind at ease.

We don't have cookie cutters. I use a juice glass to cut out circles. No stars, no Santa's, no bells and no reindeer with ridiculous skinny antlers and legs that always burn before the body is baked.

They get baked, frosted and sprinkled.

My kids have always done the sprinkling.

On accounta they think it's fun and I don't wanna do it. it's a touching holiday tradition that everyone will always remember fondly.

So Alec's been sprinkling cookies since he was about 3.

From age 3 through about age 7, the sprinkles are tapped onto a plate and the cookies placed face-down in them for a second. Otherwise, all the sprinkles are gone after that first cookie.

Yesterday was my designated baking day. I started at 10:30am and finished up about midnight, with a few breaks to feed critters and ourselves interspersed.

I baked pumpkin cake bars, chocolate chip cookie bars, turtle bars...see a pattern here? I love smearing dough into a pan, sticking it in the oven and being DONE in one fell swoop.

About 8pm I could no longer put it off. The sugar cookies awaited.

Valiantly I decided to get out the star shaped cutter...just for fun. I cut out the stars, arranged them on the cookie sheet and popped 'em in the oven.

7 minutes later I took out...what resembled a herd of free-floating amoebas.

I tossed the cookie cutter into the sink and got out the juice glass.

I only burned one batch beyond recognition. I'm pretty sure that's a record for me.

They were all baked and cooled- about 7 dozen of 'em by 11pm.

Rationally, I would've waited till this morning to frost 'em. Realistically, my almost 13 year old son was awake and alert at 11pm. The same would not have been true this morning.

So we decorated.

I frosted and passed 'em to Alec.

I glanced over at him taking great care with the first cookie. Carefully, gently, precisely he placed ONE sugar sprinkle in the center of the cookie.

"Son? What the hell is that???"

"It's minimalist."

"PUT SOME DAMN SPRINKLES ON THE COOKIES!"

(Can you hear the carols in the background?)

A few dozen in, I noticed a cookie with red sprinkles on one side and blue on the other. *sigh*

"Son?"

"It's an ideological statement of the American political system...in cookie form".

This is the same kid who opened his Wednesday night frozen dinner because mom goes to watch a movie with Joe thusly-

"HEY! There used to be 2 enchiladas in these dinners! Now there's only 1! That goddamn Obama!"

He is definitely Ward's son.

Wishing all of you a Christmas filled with weird-ass moments that you can use against your offspring for years to come.

Because that's the Magic of Family.

What If?

So Ward needs surgery. Again. "Just" oral surgery, but it'll be done at MD Anderson with their oral surgeons under general anesthesia and with our plastic surgeon on stand-by just in case something weird and unforeseen happens and yanking out all the roots that belonged to the teeth that broke out due to the aftereffects of radiation makes the graft that's sitting RIGHT THERE unhappy.

Now, we also need a good 5 days lead-time before surgery because he's on coumadin and has to be offa that because blood-thinner + yanking out tooth roots = "we're out of gauze- bring in the transfusion kit".

Last Friday we thought maybe by this Friday (as in tomorrow) he would be on the other side of that surgery.

But he's not. They haven't even scheduled it yet. Because everyone waits on everyone else for parts of the pre-surgical puzzle to be assembled and everyone passes the blame for how damn long it's taking to schedule an EMERGENCY surgery to everyone else.

Anyhoo.

Last Friday I had an Intensified Awareness Day.

These happen every so often in life.

It happens the first time your baby gets sick and the thought goes through your head over and over again in the dark bleakness of night while you're walking your infant around the silent house- "People die every day- and a lot of them are babies". Clutching your child just that much closer, you imprint everything about him into your soul- heft of his little body, aroma of the top of his head, the very sound of his breath.

It happens when you're assaulted with the incomprehensible beauty of something- be it an endless vista, a piece of artwork, a haunting melody or the flawless arrangement of letters forming an exquisite perfection of words. Whatever it is,you consciously press it into your memory as though flowers in a book, tiny palms into clay.

Last Friday I looked at Ward. Looked. At. Ward. While Alec was in co-op classes, we had lunch, and took a walk. We talked and held hands. Just like any other Friday.

And I realized how precious he is. How precious every minute and second with him is.

A lot of people's "what ifs" seem to revolve around daydreaming of things we think of as better than what we've got now-

"What if we won the lottery?"

"What if my book sells a million copies?"

"What if?"

Because of our actual history and my basic temperament, my "What ifs" are a little different.

Specifically, last Friday when I thought THIS Friday we'd be on the other side of yet another surgery.

"What if this is my last Friday with Ward?"

I was simultaneously terrified to abstraction and insane with the remembering of every detail. It was exhausting.

Since then we've talked about it, and as always he's reassured me that he's not going anywhere.

Because we've got so much to do yet and a boy to raise up yet and he promised me he's not going anywhere.

And I believe him.

Because no matter what it looks like from the outside, the one with endless massive strength and courage in the couple who is Us is not me.

Thanks for sticking around, Gomez. I love you.

Just Wanted to Pass Along...

*We made it. And it didn't rain*

Even though the traffic was the worst we've ever encountered going to Galveston- BOTH WAYS

Even though this is the weekend of the Lone Star Biker's Rally and we shared the island with 400,000 bikers

-the state park was almost abandoned and marvelously peaceful

-Ward found a partial sand dollar (very special and unusual)

-I spent the day with 2 of the funniest, brilliantest, darlingest people on the planet walking my favorite stretch of beach in the world

And yanno what?

It was perfect.

*The Queen is pleased*