Shoes!

Sometimes a girl just needs to try on shoes. Not necessarily buy, just try. In Tucson there is this fab store called DSW Shoes. As you walk in the door, you are greeted by a decorative metal structure hanging from the ceiling. It's hung with shoes and shiny things! To keep all of you in suspense, you have to wait until tomorrow to see if we bought anything.
Nothing beats stress and makes you laugh til you nearly fall on your ass better than trying on a pair of four inch heel platform gladiator sandals with a zipper up the heel closure. Girls, as they say in the song, know how to have fun.

Over My Head

My new roof is so very lovely. I need to sweep up the mess in the garage from them installing a new ridge vent. Now, I would expect, a dead mouse wouldn't smell so bad due to the increased air flow. The extremely cute roofing company guy says I need more insulation in my attic. I gave him a check today, so I probably won't see him again. Did I mention how cute he is? Anyone have any ideas about roof questions or concerns I could continue to call him about? He is pretty darn cute. Maybe I could tear off a few shingles, blame it on high winds, and he could come over and fix it. Just call me pitiful with a capital P. With a spiffy roof. I'm gonna miss the cutie-pie roofing guy. Sigh.

Thank You, Steven Spielberg

Brody: I used to hate the water.

Hooper: I can't imagine why.

At the very end of the movie Jaws, this snippet of a longer conversation between police chief Martin Brody and marine biologist Matt Hooper takes place as they are paddling back to shore after the spectacular demise of the good ship Orca. Land doesn't begin to be in view, around them is only water. They are surrounded by a gentle blue ocean. Earlier in the movie, Brody is reluctant to go out on a boat, citing his dislike, nay fear, of the water. He doesn't seem worried about the possibility of doing battle with a great white shark on the shark's home, well, turf. His big concern is the water. I can identify. For a number of years, I've been pretty much convinced that I harbor a fear of flying. Until last week, I hadn't flown since February of 1987. You do the math. For reasons I can't recall, I needed two very large margaritas to get on that plane. In the years since then, there was no pressing need to hop on an airplane. We did road trips. Which I love. And most recently, I have greatly enjoyed putting nearly 30,000 miles on the Subaru in the three years since I bought her. But last week, barely ten days ago, the tears in my dear sister's voice as she described our Mother's most recent health setback said very clearly that I may not have time to drive. Just hours later I had purchased an airline ticket. I was at my mother's bedside the next evening. Mom pulled through. Now that I'm home, I am so happy that I spent more of the time with Mom and Martine than I spent on the road. I still love road trips. In fact, I'm planning a drive to Atlanta in June with the younger son. I used to hate the thought of flying. And now, I can't imagine why.

Hello and Goodbye

Normally, if I drink four beers, I'm pretty messed up. But I grabbed a six pack of the cute little 7 oz bottles by mistake. I don't even have to pee yet! I am typing from my sister's dining table in Tucson, AZ. Made a quick trip down here last Friday, quick because I flew for the first time in over twenty years. Flying was pretty okay. It's been a difficult few days, I'm here to see Mom, whose health is on the decline. Little sis Martine and I took care of arrangements to transfer Mom from the hospital to a nursing home where she will be receiving hospice care. Meaning, no more trying to beat the cancer that she's been battling for three years. No more badgering her to take part in physical therapy that would help her recover from hip replacement surgery. Just comfort care. Meaning whatever she wants to eat, if only she would take an interest in eating. And meds to ease her pain. She has a beautiful view out her window of bright, flowering desert plants. But she mostly watches ESPN and asks when football season will start. She could linger at this stage for weeks, even months. This time is bittersweet, a long goodbye. I expect when I leave here on Thursday I will not see my mother alive again. I am enjoying Martine's company, even while we do nothing special, and marvel over how grown up my nephew is. Tomorrow we'll bring Mom a grilled cheese sandwich, a request made today that she may not remember tomorrow. And if it isn't raining, we'll go to Catalina State Park to see the desert in bloom. The desert is coming to life as Mom fades away.

Yet Another Test

The definitive diagnostic test for carpal tunnel syndrome is something called a nerve conduction study. If you are casually approached and offered this test, say no! No, no, no! It was very, very, very unpleasant. And I say this in light of the fact that I had my teeth cleaned yesterday afternoon. Ouch.

This is Only a Test...

Four days and five posts in a row and no comments! How could this be? Where are my alleged fans? At least fifty of you have been here in the last week! Why are you so quiet? Ed, where are you? And where is the dandelion guy? This is where I allow myself a teensy little mope...okay, all better. Don't you feel better, too?

Pavin' Paradise Post Script

How could have I forgotten that in the paving process, Mr. Neighbor Guy has removed three trees! Three! Three mature trees! Three magestic, nitrogen-fixing, shade-giving, carbon dioxide processing, oxygen producing, habitat providing trees! A pine, a maple, and whatever that flowering one on the boulevard was. I wonder if he was aware that the city actually owns the trees on the boulevard, not the adjacent property owner. That fence won't go up any too soon.