Sick computer and false teeth

My desktop is in the computer hospital this week. A good part of last weekend was spent trying to figure out what was wrong, however to no avail. The machine just shuts down. Gratetfully there was no blue screen of death and all data appears intact. Hubster just recently purchased an external hard drive on which he stores all his photographs. Wise move on his part. The machine just shuts off before we could use system restore or switch to safe mode. It appears to be an electrical problem which I trust is fixable at a reasonable price. Machine is 4 years old and does what I want it to so I'm willing to put a few bucks into it to keep it going a while longer.

As it is our main computer, I had to configure my laptop to use the DSL modem and router. That took another hour plus. The make-shift system works but it's a tad awkward and does not inspire thoughtful blog entries.

The other crisis of the week has been my mother's partials. When she was a girl, she had a bunch of teeth knocked out when someone pushed her at a swimming pool. Since then she has had dental bridges on both her upper and lower teeth. Saturday I found her in a tizzy. She told the nurses I was taking her out to get someone to look at what I learned was her lower partial. With Mother, it's all right now. Everything has to be done immediately. She will not rest until what ever she thinks needs to be done is accomplished. Reality does not ease this mind lock. I compared the fit of her lower partial to her upper one. There was some play in it, but I couldn't get a good understanding of how it bothered her. The partial looked intact. There was no obvious irritation on her gums. I noticed she has molars to chew her food. Seeing as this was Saturday on Memorial Day weekend and I'm on my way to work, there was nothing I could do except to say I'd call the dentist on Tuesday.

Since then nurses, nurses aids, even other patients stop me in the hall to inform me that Mother won't wear her partial. Every time I visit her, she sighs and says she's been waiting for me to take her "someplace". She can't even pull out the correct words "take me to the dentist". I'd hoped that this might blow over but now she's refusing to wear her upper partial as well. This makes no sense whatsoever to me that both bridges suddenly would be out.

In the meantime, the dentist is swamped because of the shortened holiday week. It took five phone calls to get through. I found a message from his office on my machine last night after work and she's set up for next Wednesday morning. At least that's settled. Now Mother's latest idea is to have all her remaining teeth pulled and get fitted for dentures. I've vetoed that with a resounding "no". Getting this exceedingly slow, fuzzy brained, walker bound woman any place is a major effort (I almost wrote undertaking-whoops). It's not a quick process. Nothing is quick with the very old and it requires every ounce of patience to shepherd her to her appointments. I love her, but this part ain't fun.

I told Mother about Robert Fulghum's way of assessing a situation as either a problem or an inconvenience. A problem is your house burning down, losing your job, or not having enough to eat. Anything less is an inconvenience. It is wise to know the difference. Life is lumpy, he says. There are lumps in your oatmeal, lumps in your throat, and lumps in your breast. They are not all the same.

Sweet smell

I caught my first hint of honeysuckle last Saturday. Taking an evening stroll a few days later, the aroma was even stronger. As I drove home last night, I passed by a long bank of honeysuckle bushes that filled my car with the sweetest of smells.

A childhood friend taught me how to sip nectar from the honeysuckle blossoms. I taught my children how to do the same. I didn't know until I read the Wikipedia article that honeysuckle is also used by homeopathic practitioners. Perfume and soap makers have attempted to duplicate the essence but it's never the same. I also learned honeysuckle grows all over the northern hemisphere. Somehow it's comforting to think of other people in China, Germany, Sweden and Canada taking time to sip honeysuckle nectar and sniff its lovely aroma.

May Monday morning musings

Son brought home a dog yesterday. Angel is a three year old Treeing Walker Coonhound which he bought for $100 off of a guy who got her in a trade. She reminded me of a foxhound. I found out later that the breed is rooted in English foxhounds and crossed with Tennessee lead. They are also known as Tennessee coonhounds. Initially there was some talk of giving Angel to the hubster for his birthday only if we liked her. We both said we did. Even so, Angel went home with son last night. I suspect she'll be out here a lot for runs and romps with our dog. I'm hoping Angels hates son's fenced in yard and he will ask us to keep her for him. She's a wonderful creature.

According to a news piece sent to me, this summer the seventeen year locust, aka cicadas, will hatch in the northern part of the state. The Ravinia Music Festival north of Chicago has changed its schedule to accommodate the loud drone of these insects by holding more events indoors (a string quartet would be drowned out) and booking loud bands and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. It'll take more than cicadas to drive out the Mormons.

I'd heard that the strawberry crop was poor this year because of the late cold snap, so I was delighted to see a sign for local strawberries in front of Bullards Produce in Fairfield IL. I'd never been in this wonderful store before. They sell their own canned goods, local produce, and Amish foods from Indiana. They also sell giant pumpkin seeds should you want to grow your very own great pumpkins. Their strawberries were tiny but as sweet and juicy as they come. A few years back I met Mr. Bullard at a farmers market in Mt. Vernon. I bought some herbs from him then and he told me he had purchased an orchard in the area and had stands a several other farmer's markets. It's so neat that more people are using our rich farm land to grow food for us instead of just corn and beans for the big agribusinesses. And the quality simply can't be beat.

My CD of the week is Michael Buble's "Call Me Irresponsible". Check out his web site if you're interested in hearing him. My current read is the oldie Uh-Oh by Robert Fulghum of Everything I learned in Kindergarten fame. In an early chapter he shares his delight in finding leftover meatloaf in the refrigerator on a nighttime raid. Co-raider grandson creates a meatloaf sandwich with gummy worms, grape jelly and Fritos. Fulghum's sweet kind words are such a balm.

Empowering women

Yesterday was such an amazingly fun day. I attended a Women on Target shooting clinic which was held at a gun club in a small town not far from here. Although I groaned about getting up so early on a non-working Saturday, it was a gorgeous morning to be up and going. As I approached the club grounds, I pulled in line of women driving minivans, SUVs, and sedans..almost as if we were turning into the mall. There were 25 of us of all ages. Some were a bit, shall we say, on the rough side, but most were regular gals who wanted to more comfortable handling firearms particularly for self-protection and sport. A few wanted to hunt. That was fine. I'm not that interested in killing critters but I do enjoy the sport of shooting.

The instruction was one on one, done primarily by retired military and cops. They were so patient and skilled and I know they were volunteering their time to teach us. We shot assorted 22. handguns first thing. Later we shot trap. I never thought I could do that, but I did and it was sooooo fun. My next excursion may be to a wingshooting clinic. In fact one of my shotgun instructors will lead one in October and it's absolutely free. It would be excellent practice for the firefighters annual turkey shoot in November.

As I drove home I reflected on the day. We didn't talk about our husbands or boyfriends. We didn't talk about our kids or jobs. We just talked about shooting and our delight at learning new skills. Our confidence soared as the day progressed. We high fived and clapped for one another after a good round and encouraged the gals who had had a disappointing one.

At lunch I sat with one gal who had gone on one of the NRA sponsored women's hunting trips. She'd gone wild boar hunting in Tennessee. Her eyes sparkled as she related the story of getting her boar. The boar was processed there and she brought the meat home. She said it tasted a lot like regular pork. Talk about bringing home the bacon! Her boar's head will soon be hanging on a wall in her home. Wouldn't that be some conversation piece?

A lot of us had not grown up with guns in our homes, but nearly all of us wanted to know how to use one for self-protection. One woman travels up to Chicago a lot and was disappointed to learn the city now has a handgun ban. In a high crime area where it would be very nice for a single woman to carry her own protection, it is illegal. The running joke was the Illinois State Police's web site's suggestion that women carry a teasing brush to ward off any assailants. The gals under forty didn't even know what a teasing brush was! Fortunately most in law enforcement think that recommendation is as silly as we did and that was a big reason we were there.

Afterglow

It was a lovely Mother's Day. The weather was perfect and it is such a pretty time of year in our woods.The picture was taken in my yard.

Hubster, son and I ate out Saturday which left Sunday free. Hubster washed my car for me and cleaned out the gas grill. How's that for sweet? Older daughter and hubby left a hilarious song on the answering machine. He played his clarinet and she sang "Hello Muddah" with personalized lyrics. It was just priceless.

When I went out to see Mother, I found the nursing unit at the hospital was offering punch and cookies for all the guests. It was good to see that the floor was full of families visiting. My mother's crisis de jour was a missing hairbrush which I couldn't find either. I brought her out some new clothes. The hospital laundry is so hard on clothing and so many articles get lost that I am constantly replacing items. For a long time, she didn't care what she wore, now she does. That ember of vanity has been rekindled. There isn't much else she would enjoy receiving other than flowers, some candy, clothes and CDs. My sister sends her many music CDs and has arranged for Fourth Presbyterian Church in Chicago to send Mother CDs of their service. That was an inspired idea and gives her something to expect in the mail. The senior pastor there is a former beloved pastor of hers and Dad's.

Son rode out later in the day. He just bought a used Harley. He was given a leather skull cap (complete with silver skull studs) and cool motorcycle goggles. In this get up, it's hard to believe it's my boy at first glance, but his distinctive grin gives him away. But that machine of his is so loud! Of course he just loves revving the engine.

Hubster was summoned to work on an emergency about the time I was putting burgers on the newly cleaned grill. Youngest daughter called not long after he left. We had time for a good long mother-daughter talk which warmed the cockles of this mother's heart.

The burgers were later grilled to perfection if I do say so myself. I was given some wonderful local asparagus which I fixed along with home-made potato salad. It was a perfect finale to a very good day, made extra special by my dear children and their dad.

Mother's Day Eve

Wow! What a week this has been! Just crazy. In the previous post I mentioned some reasons people experience Mother's Day weirdness. In addition women who have had a child die, who are unable to bear children, who have had an abortion or miscarried may find Mother's Day most difficult. An adoptive mother of two children wept because she never will experience the excitement of "expecting". A few weeks ago the new baby that this mother was set to adopt was born prematurely and sadly died several days later. Mother's Day will be hard for her. And it is difficult too for adoptees and foster kids.

Despite the intensity, it was a good productive week and I was satisfied at the end of it. Hubster and son took me out to dinner tonight. The restaurants will be so crowded tomorrow so it seemed like a good idea to enjoy my meal of honor tonight especially since I didn't leave work until after seven. The place I like to go is a restaurant at a nearby state park which overlooks a small lake. The food is variable but it is such a relaxing setting. It was not crowed tonight. The food and service were fine and the company unbeatable. I am one richly blessed woman.

My current read is The Boy Who Was Raised As A Dog by child psychiatrist Bruce D. Perry. Dr. Perry is not an analyst but his supervisors in child psychiatry at the University of Chicago were and their influence on his work is evident. The first story and his approach reminded me of the little girl I treated a number of years ago. This child saw the man she knew as dad, murder her mother and then kill himself. Perry's little girl saw her mom murdered and was nearly slain herself by her mother's killer. Both little girls waited by their mother's lifeless bodies until someone chanced to come by. Like me, Perry played the role of the dead mother over and over and over again. I was killed dozens of times and lay still on the floor as long as my patient directed. Each of us allowed the children to lead the play. They seemed to know what needed to be done and our job was to help them do the work. Both of our tiny patients were 4 years old. In the chapter I am reading now he is describing his emergency treatment of the Branch Davidian children who survived the Waco tragedy. It is one chilling story. So many more people with reason to be sad this time of year.

Sine nomine

I have just begun a new exercise routine. Even though I knew I often went days without climbing stairs , I was shocked to find out how winded I became and how much my leg muscles quivered after slogging up a few flights of stairs behind my nimble footed younger daughter. She lives on the third floor of a brownstone and scampers up and down the stairs to the subway at least twice a day. She runs up to 8 miles at a stretch, so of course her legs are very strong. I have become a marshmallow. To remedy my sad physical state, I've bumped up my walking speed and increased my distance. When I visit my dear old mother at the hospital, I now take the stairs up to the third floor. Last night (day 4), my poor old body was seriously objecting to the new regime. My knees creaked, my hips groaned and my feet ached. I am happy to say that 8 hours spent in the horizontal position helped immensely. Today I wore my clunkier, but better supporting boots with their pricey Shock Doctor inserts. I wonder how many insoles they sell to aging boomers versus the young jocks portrayed in their ads.

I also want to start dieting but I know that I get mentally weird when I diet. Right now is not a good time to get mentally weird seeing as this is an intense time of year for patients. The two weeks on either side of Mother's Day are among the busiest of the year for headshrinkers. All the ambivalence about mom, the repressed or not so repressed hostility toward mom, the unmet dependency needs, and resentment about being dominated or even abused all come to the surface. People can't avoid the displays of sappy cards which extol the virtues of motherhood. Some become enraged because they were gypped. Instead of the ideal mom, they got a brutal alcoholic, depriving, cold, rejecting or insane model.

Of course, there are those whose moms have died. Grieving is such an uneven process. One woman's mom died two years ago this month. She took mom into her own home for the last years of her life. Her three brothers were pretty useless when mom was alive, but they swore to her they would pay for their mom's headstone. There is still no headstone and left up to them, there probably never will be. Her husband suggested they order one and then oversee its placement in the cemetery in her home town. He plans to take a lawn chair for her and leave her alone at her mother's grave. Her instructions will be to have a good long snot-running cry and to take all the time she needs. He'll stay away until she phones.

Speaking of moms, mine is still enjoying the afterglow of her birthday. It was a splendid day. She seems, however, to have slipped mentally again. Perhaps she was mustering up all her resources for her birthday. Twice in the past few days she has gotten very confused about what time it was. She can't quite explain what happened. I suspect she gets her days and nights confused. Today I asked her if she knew what month it was. Long pause. I tell her it's the month after her birth month. Another long pause. I ask if she remembers what month she was born in. Tears well up. She can't remember. I tell her it was April and ask what month comes next. She knows that May comes next.

I took a week off from reading when I was on vacation. It was a good idea since I could really tell the difference in my thinking when I returned to work. Right now I am finishing Milton H. Erickson MD: An American Healer. All in all it's been quite interesting. I find it curious that only three of his eight children contributed to the book. Included was the diary Erickson kept of a 1200 mile solo canoe trip he made when he was twenty to strengthen his body after a nearly fatal bout of polio which left him paralyzed.

I'm also reading Adventures in Missing the Point, by Tony Campolo and Brian McLaren which looks seriously at the cultured-controlled church. The book got some flack when it came out several years ago, but considering what they could say, they are quite generous towards their fellow Christians. For something completely different, I am also enjoying Christopher Buckley's clever political satire Boomsday.

My newest musical discoveries are the elegant violinist Joseph Suk (grandson of the Czech composer), the energetic young cellist Jian Wang, and the folk/alt group Hem.

Bragging rights

I wasn't wearing a wonderful big hat nor was I sipping a mint julep when the bugler summoned the horses to the starting gate. At that moment, I was sitting attentively in my living room in front of the TV. For the first time in my life I'd placed some bets for the Kentucky Derby. Some people I know drove to a race track in Kentucky where they placed my bets. To make a long story short, my horse won!


Did I make big money? Nope. But my winnings more than made up for the long shot bets on a horse on that didn't win, show or place. In any case, it was fun. I came out ahead. And best of all, I have bragging rights.

Gambling was frowned upon in my childhood. I was never allowed to sell school raffle tickets for example. My mother told me that we don't believe in getting something for nothing. The odds are more in favor of getting nothing for something. I look at buying a raffle ticket as a donation to whatever cause is sponsoring it. Should I win something, fine but I certainly don't consider raffle tickets gambling.

I've bought one, maybe two lottery tickets in my entire life. I'm not even sure that's gambling. It's a stupid tax to supplement the coffers of our fair state. Last week, I did check out the faux river boat casino adjoining the resort hotel where youngest daughter and I hung out. The place was a total sensory overload...too many lights flashing, the machine noise and thumping music. We didn't stay long. The whole resort set-up is designed to encourage and enable people to gamble. I watched busloads of people come and go. The casino was hopping on a Sunday night. This is in a rural area. I wondered where all the gamblers came from. What an odd way to live!

Perhaps my gambling resistance was weakened after the casino visit, because I normally would not waste money betting on a horse race. But it was fun and my horse won!