No fancy parties for us tonight. Dinner consists of our favorite comfort foods rather than some elaborate feast. We have Champagne chilled, Veuve Clicquot as a matter of fact, and Beck has a bottle of sparkling cider.
I can't speak for anyone else in our house, but I'm ready for 2016. For the first time maybe ever, I'm really ready. The refrigerator and pantry are cleaned out, and tonight we'll polish off the remaining holiday junk food. I have the 2015 accounting done, and the 2015 files have been cleaned out and stored in banker boxes. The boxes and boxes of photos are in albums by generation and/or date, with the exception of Doug's family . . . and that's his responsibility, although I'll be more than happy to help if he asks. If there's anything else in this house that needs to be organized, I don't know about it, and will live in blissful ignorance of it in 2016.
I still have to write my 2015 good riddances. We have a tradition where we write the things we want to let go of on little slips of paper, and then burn them on New Year's Eve. I've been thinking about what I want to let go of for a few days now, and haven't really come up with anything. Perhaps I've been purging the bad stuff as I've gone, so there isn't anything left with negativity attached to it.
Tomorrow we'll write our goals for 2016. I have plenty of those. Mainly, I want to structure my life in such a way that I spend time writing at least five days a week. Same thing with exercise, which I pretty much have a handle on, thanks to my Fitbit. Healthy eating too, of course. I want to make time to focus on each person in our family, individually, so I have better balance in my life, and feel as though I'm in touch with Doug, Frank, Beck and Charlotte.
This past year has been filled with many highs and lows. We're not alone in that. So many family and friends have faced their share of tribulations as well as elations. I can't say that I hope for a year without tribulations, my belief is we learn from them, particularly as parents. What I hope for instead is no more than we can manage.
My hope for myself, my family and anyone reading this message, is good health, and that each of us is able to find the necessary balance in our lives to feel happy, peaceful, productive, and accomplished.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Tuesday, December 29, 2015
Top Ten Albums of 2015: #1
As opposed to the $10,000 ticket price for front row tickets to see Adele, this band's front row tickets sold online for a minuscule fraction of that. And I'd say seeing them live is on par with seeing Adele live.
Twenty One Pilots is a band I found on my own, and then at a house concert Frank's band played, it was all they were listening to during set up and tear down. I don't know how I found them, I rarely remember. Something on iTunes typically intrigues me and I listen. Like most people, it isn't often that I'll download an entire album. I downloaded all of Blurryface the first time I heard it.
As a band they aren't necessarily what you expect if all you've done is listen to their music. There are only two of them. Josh Dun is the drummer, Tyler Joseph is everything else.
I wrote another post this year in the days following their show at Red Rocks. It was, hands down, one of the best concerts I've ever been to. If this is your first time reading this blog, I'll simply say I've been to a lot of concerts. A lot. Too many to number. I've seen amazing bands, amazing performers, concerts that I loved every second of . . . and this was still the best.
If you read anything about them, you'll soon find they're hard to pin down genre-wise. I've heard Schizoid Pop. Although I think that is a very superficial label to describe their music. Their lyrics are poetry-based, written by both Tyler and Josh. Tyler has been quoted stating when the lyrics get too long, he ends up rapping part of them to make them fit.
In "Heavydirtysoul," Tyler puts it this way:
They've already announced two shows at Red Rocks next summer. When they played this year, Tyler told a story about how they doubted they'd be able to fill the venue. Instead, the show sold out in minutes. I paid scalper prices for the tickets, and honestly, they were pretty reasonable compared to some of the other shows we've gone to. I just looked online, and they're more expensive this year, but still reasonable given how phenomenal the show was.
Imagine Dragons released an album in 2015. I used to be one of their biggest fans. While I can't say I think they've sold out, or that their music is different, or not as good, I'm just not that interested anymore. When TOP announced a show earlier this month, it was sold out in minutes. It was a small venue show. On the one hand, how awesome would it have been to see them in a small venue? On the other hand, I can't imagine how they'd put on a show equivalent to Red Rocks at the Gothic Theater. I wasn't interested.
It's a conundrum. As a fan, I wish them all the success in the world, but I don't want them to change. I want them to stay true to the music—their music, their message. Their songs are deep and complicated. Their messages are dark and full of angst. They're honest. It isn't a band I'd take Beckett to see. And if I did, I wouldn't expect him to understand any of it . . . not really. Does that matter? With this band, I think it does. With this band, it matters to me.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
Twenty One Pilots is a band I found on my own, and then at a house concert Frank's band played, it was all they were listening to during set up and tear down. I don't know how I found them, I rarely remember. Something on iTunes typically intrigues me and I listen. Like most people, it isn't often that I'll download an entire album. I downloaded all of Blurryface the first time I heard it.
As a band they aren't necessarily what you expect if all you've done is listen to their music. There are only two of them. Josh Dun is the drummer, Tyler Joseph is everything else.
I wrote another post this year in the days following their show at Red Rocks. It was, hands down, one of the best concerts I've ever been to. If this is your first time reading this blog, I'll simply say I've been to a lot of concerts. A lot. Too many to number. I've seen amazing bands, amazing performers, concerts that I loved every second of . . . and this was still the best.
If you read anything about them, you'll soon find they're hard to pin down genre-wise. I've heard Schizoid Pop. Although I think that is a very superficial label to describe their music. Their lyrics are poetry-based, written by both Tyler and Josh. Tyler has been quoted stating when the lyrics get too long, he ends up rapping part of them to make them fit.
In "Heavydirtysoul," Tyler puts it this way:
This is not rap, this is not hip-hop. Just another attempt to make the voices stop. Rapping to prove nothing, just writing to say something. 'Cause I wasn't the only one who wasn't rushing to say nothing. This doesn't mean I lost my dream. It's just right now I got a really crazy mind to clean.I've had several favorites from this album. My first was "Tear in My Heart." "Message Man" was next, then "The Judge," "Heavydirtysoul," "Lane Boy," "Stressed Out," "Doubt." My lasting favorite is "Screen." So you see, having that many favorites on one album, there was really no question which would rise to the top.
They've already announced two shows at Red Rocks next summer. When they played this year, Tyler told a story about how they doubted they'd be able to fill the venue. Instead, the show sold out in minutes. I paid scalper prices for the tickets, and honestly, they were pretty reasonable compared to some of the other shows we've gone to. I just looked online, and they're more expensive this year, but still reasonable given how phenomenal the show was.
Imagine Dragons released an album in 2015. I used to be one of their biggest fans. While I can't say I think they've sold out, or that their music is different, or not as good, I'm just not that interested anymore. When TOP announced a show earlier this month, it was sold out in minutes. It was a small venue show. On the one hand, how awesome would it have been to see them in a small venue? On the other hand, I can't imagine how they'd put on a show equivalent to Red Rocks at the Gothic Theater. I wasn't interested.
It's a conundrum. As a fan, I wish them all the success in the world, but I don't want them to change. I want them to stay true to the music—their music, their message. Their songs are deep and complicated. Their messages are dark and full of angst. They're honest. It isn't a band I'd take Beckett to see. And if I did, I wouldn't expect him to understand any of it . . . not really. Does that matter? With this band, I think it does. With this band, it matters to me.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
Top Ten Albums of 2015: #2
I've gone back and forth a couple times as to which album was my top pick versus number two. Last night I was certain, tonight I've changed my mind. So . . . my number two is 25 from Adele. Anticipation for this album was high, and she didn't disappoint. "Hello" deserves all the recognition it's getting. My favorite on this album, thus far, is "All I Ask."
I watched her Live from New York show a couple times. Even when I was watching it, I would go back and re-watch certain songs. "When We Were Young" was an emotional performance on her part, why she thought we wouldn't fall in love with this song is a testament to regardless of what others might perceive, we all have profound insecurities.
I was one of the millions of people trying to get tickets to her Denver show. I didn't. When I went online a few minutes later, front row tickets were already selling for $10,000 plus. I don't care how good this album is . . . it isn't as though this is the last time she'll tour. At least I certainly hope not.
Her success makes me happy, particularly since I think it is based on how incredibly good she is. It isn't about theatrics, it's about the music. In the same interview I mentioned in my number ten best album post, Chris Martin talked about "Rolling In the Deep" or maybe it was "Someone Like You." He said the first time he heard it, he wished he'd been the one to write something so brilliant.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
I watched her Live from New York show a couple times. Even when I was watching it, I would go back and re-watch certain songs. "When We Were Young" was an emotional performance on her part, why she thought we wouldn't fall in love with this song is a testament to regardless of what others might perceive, we all have profound insecurities.
I was one of the millions of people trying to get tickets to her Denver show. I didn't. When I went online a few minutes later, front row tickets were already selling for $10,000 plus. I don't care how good this album is . . . it isn't as though this is the last time she'll tour. At least I certainly hope not.
Her success makes me happy, particularly since I think it is based on how incredibly good she is. It isn't about theatrics, it's about the music. In the same interview I mentioned in my number ten best album post, Chris Martin talked about "Rolling In the Deep" or maybe it was "Someone Like You." He said the first time he heard it, he wished he'd been the one to write something so brilliant.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
Monday, December 28, 2015
Top Ten Albums of 2015: #3
I had tickets to see James Bay this year, but I didn't go. Every time I think about it, I'm mad at myself. Especially when I read reviews about how great he is live. I learned about him from Tristan Prettyman, whose taste is impeccable. Except for the Justin Beiber thing. Otherwise, she's never steered me wrong.
Chaos and The Calm is his debut album. And it's good enough to be my number three. "Let It Go," "Hold Back the River," and "Craving," are my favorites. He received three Grammy noms, including Best New Artist.
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This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
Chaos and The Calm is his debut album. And it's good enough to be my number three. "Let It Go," "Hold Back the River," and "Craving," are my favorites. He received three Grammy noms, including Best New Artist.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
Top Ten Albums of 2015: #4
The Mowgli's released an album this year and I saw them twice. It was almost three times, but the concert wasn't long after Doug got home from the hospital, so I let Frank take his girlfriend instead.
I love the Mowgli's. We always stand in front of Josh, and scream his name, and make him smile. Frank promised me he stood in front of him when they went, and at least waved.
There are so many good songs on Kids in Love. "I'm Good," "Make It Right," "Bad Dream," "Whatever Forever," "Through the Dark." I'll stop there, because I like every song on this album, so I could name them all.
When they played in the Springs this summer, Frank's bandmates went. After the concert one of the guys said, "They're so positive." Yeah, they are. They're fun, and positive, and make you want to be the same way.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
I love the Mowgli's. We always stand in front of Josh, and scream his name, and make him smile. Frank promised me he stood in front of him when they went, and at least waved.
There are so many good songs on Kids in Love. "I'm Good," "Make It Right," "Bad Dream," "Whatever Forever," "Through the Dark." I'll stop there, because I like every song on this album, so I could name them all.
When they played in the Springs this summer, Frank's bandmates went. After the concert one of the guys said, "They're so positive." Yeah, they are. They're fun, and positive, and make you want to be the same way.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
Top Ten Albums of 2015: #5
Walk Off the Earth is another band like Airborne Toxic Event. So underrated, or so yet unknown. Their concerts are SO MUCH FUN. They're one of my favorite bands to see live, and one of the only bands I own merch from. Frank gets merch at almost every show we go to. Not me. I'm more selective. They made the cut.
This new album, Sing It All Away, continues the fun. "Rule the World," "Home We'll Go," and "Sing It All Away," are my three favorites from this album. The other thing this band shares with TATE is a sole bad-ass female in the band. Anna Bullock is probably the definition of bad-ass. Sarah Blackwood is a close second.
This band is from Burlington, Ontario. Their cover of Gotye's "Somebody I Used to Know" had over 127 million views on YouTube (it's the one where the whole band plays one guitar, check it out if you haven't seen it; it's even better live).
The last couple years, about this time, I start lamenting the "concert season," deciding that "last year" was the last year Frank and I would go to concerts together. But then we have another summer like this one. Walk Off the Earth, the Mowgli's, Twenty One Pilots, Mark Knopfler, OAR, ZZ Ward, Damien Rice, Iron and Wine . . . thinking back on these shows only makes me yearn to see them all again.
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This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
This new album, Sing It All Away, continues the fun. "Rule the World," "Home We'll Go," and "Sing It All Away," are my three favorites from this album. The other thing this band shares with TATE is a sole bad-ass female in the band. Anna Bullock is probably the definition of bad-ass. Sarah Blackwood is a close second.
This band is from Burlington, Ontario. Their cover of Gotye's "Somebody I Used to Know" had over 127 million views on YouTube (it's the one where the whole band plays one guitar, check it out if you haven't seen it; it's even better live).
The last couple years, about this time, I start lamenting the "concert season," deciding that "last year" was the last year Frank and I would go to concerts together. But then we have another summer like this one. Walk Off the Earth, the Mowgli's, Twenty One Pilots, Mark Knopfler, OAR, ZZ Ward, Damien Rice, Iron and Wine . . . thinking back on these shows only makes me yearn to see them all again.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
Top Ten Albums of 2015: #6
The Airborne Toxic Event is my favorite band. It almost kills me to put their album at number six. Let's just say it's tied for number three.
Dope Machines, like the rest of their albums, is amazing. There isn't a TATE fan who wouldn't agree that this band is highly underrated. Maybe that's a good thing for those of us who love them. It means they still play small venues.
When I finally saw them live, I saw them two nights in a row. I will see them every single time they play in Denver, if I'm able to. Mikel Jollett is a genius. Lyrically there is no one more brilliant.
The first song I heard from this album was "Wrong." They played it live and also filmed the video for it that night. I'm in the video. So is Frank. You have to be really sharp to see us. You also have to be really quick, because we (along with the rest of the audience) blur out in a nanosecond. That part doesn't matter to me. I'll keep the memory in pocket.
"One Time Thing," "California," "The Thing About Dreams," "Chains." All of them. So damn good. At the same time they released Dope Machines, they released Songs of God and Whiskey. It's mainly acoustic. I really love that album too. I just love this one more.
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This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
Dope Machines, like the rest of their albums, is amazing. There isn't a TATE fan who wouldn't agree that this band is highly underrated. Maybe that's a good thing for those of us who love them. It means they still play small venues.
When I finally saw them live, I saw them two nights in a row. I will see them every single time they play in Denver, if I'm able to. Mikel Jollett is a genius. Lyrically there is no one more brilliant.
The first song I heard from this album was "Wrong." They played it live and also filmed the video for it that night. I'm in the video. So is Frank. You have to be really sharp to see us. You also have to be really quick, because we (along with the rest of the audience) blur out in a nanosecond. That part doesn't matter to me. I'll keep the memory in pocket.
"One Time Thing," "California," "The Thing About Dreams," "Chains." All of them. So damn good. At the same time they released Dope Machines, they released Songs of God and Whiskey. It's mainly acoustic. I really love that album too. I just love this one more.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
Top Ten Albums of 2015: #7
Take a listen to "Tennessee Whiskey" and it is immediately apparent why Chris Stapleton's Traveller won Country Music Awards' Album of the Year. It'll be interesting to see what this much-deserved songwriter walks away with at the Grammy's. He's written songs recorded by Adele, Tim McGraw, Kenny Chesney and George Strait. That particular list goes on.
I love this album. If some of my favorite bands hadn't released albums in 2015, this one would likely be closer to the top of my list.
"Whiskey and You" and "Nobody to Blame" are my two favs after "Tennessee Whiskey." There isn't a song on this album I don't like. For me that's high praise.
This is one of those feel good stories. When I talk to Frank about the trials and tribulations of the music business, I often site Chris Stapleton. "Focus on songwriting first," I tell him. "That'll give you the money to keep going." Thank God Chris kept going. I can't wait to hear what he releases next.
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This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
I love this album. If some of my favorite bands hadn't released albums in 2015, this one would likely be closer to the top of my list.
"Whiskey and You" and "Nobody to Blame" are my two favs after "Tennessee Whiskey." There isn't a song on this album I don't like. For me that's high praise.
This is one of those feel good stories. When I talk to Frank about the trials and tribulations of the music business, I often site Chris Stapleton. "Focus on songwriting first," I tell him. "That'll give you the money to keep going." Thank God Chris kept going. I can't wait to hear what he releases next.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
Top Ten Albums of 2015: #8
The higher I go on this list the harder it is for me to assign numbers. The top two were easy. So were the bottom two. Three through eight are more difficult. They're all tied, or mostly so. Thus when I say Mumford and Sons' Wilder Mind is number eight, it's with a grain of salt.
I love this band. They're also on my list of bands I really want to see live. Can you imagine Mumford and Sons at Red Rocks? It would be akin to a religious experience. Their Gentlemen of the Road tour stopped in Salida. It was a crazily over-priced music festival. And while the production company is theirs, I don't fault them with the price of the festival. I probably would've paid as much to see them at Red Rocks, but couldn't bite the bullet for Salida. I think the timing was off for us as well. Maybe if it hadn't been . . .
“Believe,” from this album, is one of my all-time favorite songs. “Snake Eyes” is another favorite from Wilder Mind. In 2013 they won a Grammy for Album of the Year for Babel. Their 2015 release didn't make the cut, although looking at what did makes me scratch my head.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
I love this band. They're also on my list of bands I really want to see live. Can you imagine Mumford and Sons at Red Rocks? It would be akin to a religious experience. Their Gentlemen of the Road tour stopped in Salida. It was a crazily over-priced music festival. And while the production company is theirs, I don't fault them with the price of the festival. I probably would've paid as much to see them at Red Rocks, but couldn't bite the bullet for Salida. I think the timing was off for us as well. Maybe if it hadn't been . . .
“Believe,” from this album, is one of my all-time favorite songs. “Snake Eyes” is another favorite from Wilder Mind. In 2013 they won a Grammy for Album of the Year for Babel. Their 2015 release didn't make the cut, although looking at what did makes me scratch my head.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
Top Ten Albums of 2015: #9
Elle King is quoted in Billboard as saying she knew from a very young age that she wanted to be a “badass bitch.” Probably why I like her so much, apart from her music of course.
“Ex's and Oh's,” is her first top ten single in the US. She's been on the Today Show, toured with other bands who made my top ten, and received a couple Grammy noms.
My favorite song of hers is a cover. Frank played it for me. And waited for my reaction. I won't name it, but if you know her, you'll know what it is. That's when I decided I liked her. Elle's voice is different. So is her style. Critics say her musical style encompasses country, soul, rock and the blues. I agree. I think she fills the void left by Amy Winehouse. The world needs women willing to push the envelope, stay true to who they set out to be in the first place . . . a bad girl. Just let her be a bad girl who doesn't follow in the footsteps of Winehouse, let her instead stick around a long, long time and share her badass-ness with us for years to come. I can't wait to see what she does next.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
“Ex's and Oh's,” is her first top ten single in the US. She's been on the Today Show, toured with other bands who made my top ten, and received a couple Grammy noms.
My favorite song of hers is a cover. Frank played it for me. And waited for my reaction. I won't name it, but if you know her, you'll know what it is. That's when I decided I liked her. Elle's voice is different. So is her style. Critics say her musical style encompasses country, soul, rock and the blues. I agree. I think she fills the void left by Amy Winehouse. The world needs women willing to push the envelope, stay true to who they set out to be in the first place . . . a bad girl. Just let her be a bad girl who doesn't follow in the footsteps of Winehouse, let her instead stick around a long, long time and share her badass-ness with us for years to come. I can't wait to see what she does next.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
Top Ten Albums of 2015: #10
Coldplay's latest is my number ten in top albums of 2015 simply because it's so new and I haven't had time to get to know it yet. While Head Full of Dreams has been panned by many of the critics, I like what I've heard so far. I like it better than Ghost Stories, but I guess that was the point . . . to release something Coldplay fans could better identify with. This is, after all, their purported last album.
In hindsight I may decide this wouldn't make my top ten, but for now, I like it. My favorite is “Everglow.” Simple, pure, clean and beautiful. I'm also a fan of “Adventure of a Lifetime.” I love it, in fact. “Fun” is growing on me. It may soon be my favorite. As I said earlier, I don't know this album yet. However, it's good enough that I will get to know it. All of it.
Coldplay has lost their mystic. No question. Chris Martin has been too visible in the gossip rags and on social media. A few years ago I saw a 60 Minutes piece on the band. The crux of the interview was how the music was what mattered above all else. Maybe that's the reason this is their last album.
There are a couple things about this album I don't care for. But that's politics, and it doesn't have much to do with how much I like or dislike Coldplay's latest music.
If we've only got this life
This adventure oh then I
And if we've only got this life
You get me through
And if we've only got this life
In this adventure oh then I
Want to share it with you
With you
With you
I do
I've never seen Coldplay live, and I'd really like to. They're probably in the top five of my concert bucket list.
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This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
In hindsight I may decide this wouldn't make my top ten, but for now, I like it. My favorite is “Everglow.” Simple, pure, clean and beautiful. I'm also a fan of “Adventure of a Lifetime.” I love it, in fact. “Fun” is growing on me. It may soon be my favorite. As I said earlier, I don't know this album yet. However, it's good enough that I will get to know it. All of it.
Coldplay has lost their mystic. No question. Chris Martin has been too visible in the gossip rags and on social media. A few years ago I saw a 60 Minutes piece on the band. The crux of the interview was how the music was what mattered above all else. Maybe that's the reason this is their last album.
There are a couple things about this album I don't care for. But that's politics, and it doesn't have much to do with how much I like or dislike Coldplay's latest music.
If we've only got this life
This adventure oh then I
And if we've only got this life
You get me through
And if we've only got this life
In this adventure oh then I
Want to share it with you
With you
With you
I do
I've never seen Coldplay live, and I'd really like to. They're probably in the top five of my concert bucket list.
________________________________________________
This disclaimer will end each of my TOP TEN posts:
Let me reiterate the caveat that this is MY top ten. My opinion. My list. Mine. If you read this or any of the following top ten posts, and consider arguing with me, save yourself the waste of time. I don't care. Although if you wrote a top ten list, I'd read it happily and maybe even learn something new.
Monday, December 21, 2015
Speaking of Frank
Frank's first semester of his junior year has been really tough. The second semester will be too. He took two AP classes in Language and Psychology, Honors History, Pre-Calc, Physics, Marketing and Ridgeline TV. Marketing was his only "easy" class this semester. When all is said and done, with the weighted AP classes, his GPA for this semester will be 3.7. Proud of him.
Calm Before Dawn
I'm up much too early this morning. I used to be up before dawn all the time, but in the last few years I've learned to sleep in, and I really like it. I'm not sure what happened this morning. I probably went to sleep too early last night.
The past couple days I've woken up and thought, if I get up now, I can make all sorts of progress on my family history project. And then I've rolled over and gone back to sleep. Today when I woke up, I didn't have that option. After what seems like weeks instead of days, I have finally finished the bulk of the project. There are still things that need to be done, including figuring out what to do about photo albums versus digital photo albums for the last decade. Our current photo albums end with 2005.
The scrapbook-y kinds of things have gone into padded envelopes and into an under-the-bed storage bin. I started to go through the three scrapbooks of newspaper clippings my grandmother kept for decades, but became completely overwhelmed.
I added it to my "History of Elma and East Aurora" padded envelopes because that's what it really is. She kept a lot of war-related articles, mainly news about local boys serving overseas. She also kept obituaries, which surprisingly hold a great deal of information that I can add to the written family history I've been compiling over the years. She also kept engagement, marriage and birth announcements, which hold similar clues as the obituaries. The other thing she has clippings of are social columns. Evidently my ancestors did a lot of entertaining, which at the time was socially newsworthy.
I'm looking forward to having the time to spend pouring over those clippings and gleaning what I can from them. I'm still determined to find out whatever happened to Kate Slade Minderler after her husband Emil died. He had been a prominent businessman in East Aurora, so much so that his obituary stated that the following Monday, businesses in the village would close from 9:00am to 10:00am in his honor.
Instead of getting out the bin of history, I got up and worked on a project that I promised someone I would do for them, even though it is the last thing I have time for this week. I made significant progress on it, so while it isn't finished, I would imagine it'll take less than an hour for it to be so once I receive the final missing pieces. One less thing for me to stress about.
I had just crawled back in bed when I heard what sounded like a large truck going down our cul de sac. I got up and peeked through the blinds in time to see an ambulance follow a fire truck to the end of the block and park. They both just left. I'd say they've been on our street for at least a half hour. I got up again and saw the lights on in the back of the ambulance. I know from recent experience that likely means they're transporting someone to a hospital. A feeling of dread forms in the pit of my stomach. I know too well what that could mean.
If this were 1930's Elma, I could read what happened in next week's Advertiser, because they would report on it. The other thing I could do is call my aunt and uncle, who somehow, even though it was pre-police scanner technology, would know. Instead, I'll likely never know.
Given that I accepted I wasn't going back to sleep once I heard the fire truck, I padded downstairs to turn the automatic coffeemaker from it's regular start time, an hour from now, to brew. As I waited for the coffee I'm accustomed to being ready by the time I get up each day, I gazed out the kitchen window at the Palmer Lake Star.
We can see the star from almost every room of this house. If we don't end up buying a house in this neighborhood, which we would dearly love to do, I will miss the views most of all. There is something comforting about the star, which shines brightly from dusk to dawn at this time of year. I won't go into the history of the star in this post, but if you'd like to know more about it, the following link contains good background information. http://www.palmerdividehistory.org/startale.html
The star is also lit on Memorial Day and Veterans' Day, along with other locally significant days. Eighteen months ago, when our community tragically lost two young boys who went to high school with Frank, the star was lit. Again this year, on the anniversary of the accident, the star was lit. There have been other days I noticed it lit, and posted something on Facebook asking if anyone knew why. Most often it was a similar type thing. The anniversary of an accident that took the life of someone beloved in our community. Now when I see the star lit and I don't know why, I no longer ask.
From now until the first of the year, the star simply serves as a daily reminder of the Christmas season. Again, it is comforting. Like Christmas lights on the houses of our neighbors, and carols played on radio stations. Yesterday it snowed, today it is predicted to be in the high forties. The components that make up the Christmas season are evident in our house. Presents are wrapped, although not yet under the tree. Christmas cards are on display in a wire wreath that serves as a holder. The house is likewise decorated with our usual festive ornaments. But it doesn't feel as though Christmas is only four days away. Or that my birthday is in two days.
Does it other years? Do I always feel this way? I can't recall. I know this year has been different. Doug's surgery, our annual party being cancelled, moving into a different house. These have all impacted our usual holiday routine. But it seems as though the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas sped by without much notice. I find myself yearning for a feeling I cannot necessarily identify or even describe. All I know is that it feels as though something is missing.
This is likely my last peaceful, quiet calm for the next few days. In an hour Frank and I have to leave for the Springs, where we'll attend court for his speeding ticket. I'll rush back in time for a hair appointment, come home, and pack for the surprise trip to Denver that Doug planned to celebrate my birthday. We'll leave tomorrow after the holiday tea Charlotte and I are attending with my friend Vicki and her mother at Wisdom Tea House. We'll come back on Wednesday to celebrate with the boys. Thursday is Christmas Eve, and Friday, Christmas.
By Saturday the feeling I'll yearn for is the one I have right now. Peace. Calm. Quiet. If I didn't have to get up in eight minutes, I could likely go back to sleep.
The past couple days I've woken up and thought, if I get up now, I can make all sorts of progress on my family history project. And then I've rolled over and gone back to sleep. Today when I woke up, I didn't have that option. After what seems like weeks instead of days, I have finally finished the bulk of the project. There are still things that need to be done, including figuring out what to do about photo albums versus digital photo albums for the last decade. Our current photo albums end with 2005.
The scrapbook-y kinds of things have gone into padded envelopes and into an under-the-bed storage bin. I started to go through the three scrapbooks of newspaper clippings my grandmother kept for decades, but became completely overwhelmed.
I added it to my "History of Elma and East Aurora" padded envelopes because that's what it really is. She kept a lot of war-related articles, mainly news about local boys serving overseas. She also kept obituaries, which surprisingly hold a great deal of information that I can add to the written family history I've been compiling over the years. She also kept engagement, marriage and birth announcements, which hold similar clues as the obituaries. The other thing she has clippings of are social columns. Evidently my ancestors did a lot of entertaining, which at the time was socially newsworthy.
I'm looking forward to having the time to spend pouring over those clippings and gleaning what I can from them. I'm still determined to find out whatever happened to Kate Slade Minderler after her husband Emil died. He had been a prominent businessman in East Aurora, so much so that his obituary stated that the following Monday, businesses in the village would close from 9:00am to 10:00am in his honor.
Instead of getting out the bin of history, I got up and worked on a project that I promised someone I would do for them, even though it is the last thing I have time for this week. I made significant progress on it, so while it isn't finished, I would imagine it'll take less than an hour for it to be so once I receive the final missing pieces. One less thing for me to stress about.
I had just crawled back in bed when I heard what sounded like a large truck going down our cul de sac. I got up and peeked through the blinds in time to see an ambulance follow a fire truck to the end of the block and park. They both just left. I'd say they've been on our street for at least a half hour. I got up again and saw the lights on in the back of the ambulance. I know from recent experience that likely means they're transporting someone to a hospital. A feeling of dread forms in the pit of my stomach. I know too well what that could mean.
If this were 1930's Elma, I could read what happened in next week's Advertiser, because they would report on it. The other thing I could do is call my aunt and uncle, who somehow, even though it was pre-police scanner technology, would know. Instead, I'll likely never know.
Given that I accepted I wasn't going back to sleep once I heard the fire truck, I padded downstairs to turn the automatic coffeemaker from it's regular start time, an hour from now, to brew. As I waited for the coffee I'm accustomed to being ready by the time I get up each day, I gazed out the kitchen window at the Palmer Lake Star.
We can see the star from almost every room of this house. If we don't end up buying a house in this neighborhood, which we would dearly love to do, I will miss the views most of all. There is something comforting about the star, which shines brightly from dusk to dawn at this time of year. I won't go into the history of the star in this post, but if you'd like to know more about it, the following link contains good background information. http://www.palmerdividehistory.org/startale.html
The star is also lit on Memorial Day and Veterans' Day, along with other locally significant days. Eighteen months ago, when our community tragically lost two young boys who went to high school with Frank, the star was lit. Again this year, on the anniversary of the accident, the star was lit. There have been other days I noticed it lit, and posted something on Facebook asking if anyone knew why. Most often it was a similar type thing. The anniversary of an accident that took the life of someone beloved in our community. Now when I see the star lit and I don't know why, I no longer ask.
From now until the first of the year, the star simply serves as a daily reminder of the Christmas season. Again, it is comforting. Like Christmas lights on the houses of our neighbors, and carols played on radio stations. Yesterday it snowed, today it is predicted to be in the high forties. The components that make up the Christmas season are evident in our house. Presents are wrapped, although not yet under the tree. Christmas cards are on display in a wire wreath that serves as a holder. The house is likewise decorated with our usual festive ornaments. But it doesn't feel as though Christmas is only four days away. Or that my birthday is in two days.
Does it other years? Do I always feel this way? I can't recall. I know this year has been different. Doug's surgery, our annual party being cancelled, moving into a different house. These have all impacted our usual holiday routine. But it seems as though the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas sped by without much notice. I find myself yearning for a feeling I cannot necessarily identify or even describe. All I know is that it feels as though something is missing.
This is likely my last peaceful, quiet calm for the next few days. In an hour Frank and I have to leave for the Springs, where we'll attend court for his speeding ticket. I'll rush back in time for a hair appointment, come home, and pack for the surprise trip to Denver that Doug planned to celebrate my birthday. We'll leave tomorrow after the holiday tea Charlotte and I are attending with my friend Vicki and her mother at Wisdom Tea House. We'll come back on Wednesday to celebrate with the boys. Thursday is Christmas Eve, and Friday, Christmas.
By Saturday the feeling I'll yearn for is the one I have right now. Peace. Calm. Quiet. If I didn't have to get up in eight minutes, I could likely go back to sleep.
Friday, December 18, 2015
Black Coffee
On our way home from a running errands we stopped at one of Doug's favorite spots for lunch. The waitress/server asked for our drink order.
"Ma'am, what would you like to drink?" she asked Charlotte.
"Black coffee," she answered.
"Oh we don't have black coffee," the server responded. "We only have regular or decaf."
Face palm.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
A Bad Week for Beck . . . Saved!
It hasn't been a great week for either of the boys. Snow days are usually celebrated in this house, not unlike most houses with teenage and eleven-year-old boys. Not this week. This was a big week.
Frank has finals, and was scheduled to have Friday off. With the snow day on Tuesday, finals got pushed back a day. Which means he has school on Friday. And he has tickets for Star Wars at 10:30 Thursday night. He made arrangements to take his Friday morning final this morning . . . issue solved. Frank is still exhausted, and has too much on his plate as all teenagers do, but at least he has something to look forward to without guilt.
The snow day made things worse for Beckett. His band concert was cancelled Tuesday night because of it. He's been working so hard in preparation for this concert. The snow day also meant the very complicated field trip schedule had to be altered, which meant the sixth graders scheduled to go on Tuesday, would go on their field trip on Friday. Therefore, the annual holiday party would likely have to be cancelled out of fairness to the field-trip-goers. How do I feel about this? Keep reading.
On top of the snow day, his language arts teacher told the class there might not be a school play this year. He has, or had, a part in it. A small part, but a part. That's big for Beckett. The reason it might be cancelled? Because the parents of the kids who didn't get parts, or didn't get the parts they wanted, sent "hurtful" (her words) emails demanding changes. What? In what universe is there a redo on who gets which parts? Kids try out, some get parts, some don't. Kind of like life, when you go to a job interview and someone else gets the job.
Oh, and the choir end-of-semester party was supposed to be Tuesday too. So it was cancelled.
In an effort to cheer him up last night I suggested we have a pizza and make-your-own-sundae night on Saturday. That worked, at least in part. Then I got an email. There's a tween night at the Y on Saturday night. I asked which he'd rather do . . . Beckett being Beckett negotiated tween night on Saturday and pizza and sundaes on Sunday. Okay, I went for it.
A few minutes ago I got a text that threw another wrench in his plans. His best friend (since they were two) invited him over for a sleepover Sunday night. Again I asked which he'd rather do. Sleepover won. Of course. I asked if he was happy. "Yes, happy," he told me. Oh, and I forgot part of the text, so I went back in and told him he'd have to stay all day Monday because they'd be going to see Star Wars for his best friend's birthday. "Happy?" I asked again. "Very happy," he answered with a huge smile. Mom's happy too.
Frank has finals, and was scheduled to have Friday off. With the snow day on Tuesday, finals got pushed back a day. Which means he has school on Friday. And he has tickets for Star Wars at 10:30 Thursday night. He made arrangements to take his Friday morning final this morning . . . issue solved. Frank is still exhausted, and has too much on his plate as all teenagers do, but at least he has something to look forward to without guilt.
The snow day made things worse for Beckett. His band concert was cancelled Tuesday night because of it. He's been working so hard in preparation for this concert. The snow day also meant the very complicated field trip schedule had to be altered, which meant the sixth graders scheduled to go on Tuesday, would go on their field trip on Friday. Therefore, the annual holiday party would likely have to be cancelled out of fairness to the field-trip-goers. How do I feel about this? Keep reading.
On top of the snow day, his language arts teacher told the class there might not be a school play this year. He has, or had, a part in it. A small part, but a part. That's big for Beckett. The reason it might be cancelled? Because the parents of the kids who didn't get parts, or didn't get the parts they wanted, sent "hurtful" (her words) emails demanding changes. What? In what universe is there a redo on who gets which parts? Kids try out, some get parts, some don't. Kind of like life, when you go to a job interview and someone else gets the job.
Oh, and the choir end-of-semester party was supposed to be Tuesday too. So it was cancelled.
In an effort to cheer him up last night I suggested we have a pizza and make-your-own-sundae night on Saturday. That worked, at least in part. Then I got an email. There's a tween night at the Y on Saturday night. I asked which he'd rather do . . . Beckett being Beckett negotiated tween night on Saturday and pizza and sundaes on Sunday. Okay, I went for it.
A few minutes ago I got a text that threw another wrench in his plans. His best friend (since they were two) invited him over for a sleepover Sunday night. Again I asked which he'd rather do. Sleepover won. Of course. I asked if he was happy. "Yes, happy," he told me. Oh, and I forgot part of the text, so I went back in and told him he'd have to stay all day Monday because they'd be going to see Star Wars for his best friend's birthday. "Happy?" I asked again. "Very happy," he answered with a huge smile. Mom's happy too.
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
Could This Be Harder?
Yesterday I spent the entire day on my photo scanning project. I made it through all the photos of my grandparents. It wasn't easy, but most of the photos made me happy when I looked at them. By mid-day, I was working on my uncle's photos. Much harder. I spent so much of the time wondering what happened in his life that made him the way he was. He was so different in personality and temperament than my grandparents, I found myself unable to connect the dots.
I came back from picking Beck up from school, had dinner, and decided I could probably get through the better part of my mother's photos before I went to bed. I got through about a third. And then I lost it. Unfortunately I was watching Major Crimes, and the episode was about a mother whose neglect resulted in the death of her daughter. Once again my thoughts drifted to how different my mother was from her parents. When comparing my uncle to them, I could see a basic connection. By ten last night I told Doug that I wondered if she was actually my grandmother's daughter. I wasn't being facetious, I had convinced myself there was no way she could've been.
Doug suggested I put the rest of the photos in an envelope, give them to him, and he'd hold on to them until whenever. He also suggested we burn them. Last night I didn't think it was a bad idea. Fortunately things almost always look better by morning light.
I picked up my project this morning by putting the photos I'd scanned last night into a photo album. That wasn't too painful. Then I took a break. I settled back in, warmed up the scanner, turned on the television, and cued up last night's Voice episode. I was scanning the second photo of my mother when Jordan Smith came on stage and sang "Climb Every Mountain."
Oh. Dear. God. Really? My mother was a Julie Andrews fanatic. Her biggest fan. Literally. She traveled the world going to Julie Andrews shows, book signings, fundraisers. When my mother died, I suggested to her Julie Andrews friends that someone might want to send the star a letter telling her what had happened, surely she would wonder. They took it one step further. A fund was set up from which money was donated to Julie Andrews' daughter's theatre in my mother's name.
It wasn't just the song. The guy's performances are so over-the-top emotionally draining while at the same time so damn inspirational that I can't help but cry when he's on stage anyway. Throw in memories of my mom, and I'm toast.
It's over now. Blake Shelton and the other guy just sang "Rhinestone Cowboy." I think I'm going to be okay. For now.
P.S.
This is the photo I scanned immediately after I hit the button to post. My mother was eight. This photo made me laugh out loud. Almost maniacally. Okay, I'll be honest. Not almost.
I came back from picking Beck up from school, had dinner, and decided I could probably get through the better part of my mother's photos before I went to bed. I got through about a third. And then I lost it. Unfortunately I was watching Major Crimes, and the episode was about a mother whose neglect resulted in the death of her daughter. Once again my thoughts drifted to how different my mother was from her parents. When comparing my uncle to them, I could see a basic connection. By ten last night I told Doug that I wondered if she was actually my grandmother's daughter. I wasn't being facetious, I had convinced myself there was no way she could've been.
Doug suggested I put the rest of the photos in an envelope, give them to him, and he'd hold on to them until whenever. He also suggested we burn them. Last night I didn't think it was a bad idea. Fortunately things almost always look better by morning light.
I picked up my project this morning by putting the photos I'd scanned last night into a photo album. That wasn't too painful. Then I took a break. I settled back in, warmed up the scanner, turned on the television, and cued up last night's Voice episode. I was scanning the second photo of my mother when Jordan Smith came on stage and sang "Climb Every Mountain."
Oh. Dear. God. Really? My mother was a Julie Andrews fanatic. Her biggest fan. Literally. She traveled the world going to Julie Andrews shows, book signings, fundraisers. When my mother died, I suggested to her Julie Andrews friends that someone might want to send the star a letter telling her what had happened, surely she would wonder. They took it one step further. A fund was set up from which money was donated to Julie Andrews' daughter's theatre in my mother's name.
It wasn't just the song. The guy's performances are so over-the-top emotionally draining while at the same time so damn inspirational that I can't help but cry when he's on stage anyway. Throw in memories of my mom, and I'm toast.
It's over now. Blake Shelton and the other guy just sang "Rhinestone Cowboy." I think I'm going to be okay. For now.
P.S.
This is the photo I scanned immediately after I hit the button to post. My mother was eight. This photo made me laugh out loud. Almost maniacally. Okay, I'll be honest. Not almost.
Monday, December 14, 2015
Four Generations Remain
I'm making phenomenal progress on my photo-scanning project. I finished all the older pics, and am now scanning photos of my grandparents. Doug's bin of photos, articles, letters and other family history sits in the front living room, and it is looking like we might get through part of that too prior to the end of the year.
I can't believe how quickly this is going now that I'm started on it again. It's one of those things that lurks in the back of my mind. A completely overwhelming undertaking. It's been on lists dozens of times, giving me stress that those photos remain in a box instead of scanned and in photo albums that sit empty waiting to be filled.
Procrastination is such a bane. How many times have I stressed about projects, or other things that need to be done—like taxes—instead of just getting whatever it is done? Too many times. The problem, though, with getting this monkey off my back is that my mind is racing with other projects left undone. You know . . . like organizing iPhoto, and then updating photo albums with pictures from the last nine years. My head aches just thinking about it.
I'm pretty sure Doug believes I should be doing the exact opposite . . . scanning the remaining photos and doing away with photo albums. He's probably right. I grew up looking at pictures (in photo albums). I can't fathom not having actual photos to look at. I suppose it would be easier to share digital albums . . . so maybe that's the next project.
Argh. I'm my own worst enemy.
I can't believe how quickly this is going now that I'm started on it again. It's one of those things that lurks in the back of my mind. A completely overwhelming undertaking. It's been on lists dozens of times, giving me stress that those photos remain in a box instead of scanned and in photo albums that sit empty waiting to be filled.
Procrastination is such a bane. How many times have I stressed about projects, or other things that need to be done—like taxes—instead of just getting whatever it is done? Too many times. The problem, though, with getting this monkey off my back is that my mind is racing with other projects left undone. You know . . . like organizing iPhoto, and then updating photo albums with pictures from the last nine years. My head aches just thinking about it.
I'm pretty sure Doug believes I should be doing the exact opposite . . . scanning the remaining photos and doing away with photo albums. He's probably right. I grew up looking at pictures (in photo albums). I can't fathom not having actual photos to look at. I suppose it would be easier to share digital albums . . . so maybe that's the next project.
Argh. I'm my own worst enemy.
Sunday, December 13, 2015
The Third Death
Doug was talking to Frank and Beck about death shortly after his father passed away. The first death, he told them, is when a person dies . . . when their brain dies. The second death is when they're buried. The third death is when no one talks about the person anymore.
As I sit near him working on my family history project, I periodically hold up a photo and tell him a story about the person in the photo—most of whom died long, long before I was born. He commented that I have a lot of ancestors . . . and stories.
It occurred to me then that none of these particular ancestors have died their third death, because I still know their stories. I will pass their stories, along with their photos, on to my children. Perhaps they will continue to pass them on to their children.
Frank and I were recently in the grocery store buying ingredients for a stew I make that we call Grandpa's Stew. I sort of mumbled that maybe we shouldn't call it that anymore. Frank stopped in his tracks and asked why not. His question was rhetorical. He didn't wait for me to answer. Instead, he rebuked me, "That would be like the third death Mom." Yes, it would.
Elma School District #3, Jamison Road, Elma, New York
I should probably send this photo to the Elma Historical Society, particularly since my grandmother wrote the names of everyone in it on the back. When I was growing up, I knew a lot of these people. They lived in the community, went to our church, came over Sunday afternoons to play cards and reminisce. Little did I know the impact growing up that way would have on me. First and foremost, I am very respectful (and appreciative) of my elders. Secondly, their stories are what inspired me to write. I don't write historical fiction now, but the more photos I scan, and ponder, the closer I'm getting to wanting to write a story set at the turn of the century.
Back row: Robert Sutton, Raymond Clark, Ellery Marks, Eugene Eldridge, Earl Hopper, Florence Badger, Miss Boldt, Frieda Kalla, Nettie Smith, Blanche Marks, Carrie Hellman
Middle row: Milton Badger, Willie Eldridge, Clifford Meyers, Walter Hellman, Luella Miller, Moneeta Pierce, Ruth Clark
Front row: Floyd Meyers, Helena Meyers, Harlan Sutton, Margaret Davis, Irma Marks (my grandmother), Pearl Sutton, Norma Pachel, Virginia Pierce, Kenneth Pierce, Martha Hellman, Elizabeth Hellman, Grace Hopper
Allen Family Photo
Back row: Cena Allen-Covert, Henry Marks, Kate Allen (Harry's wife), Wells Taber, William Marks, Alice Irene Allen-Marks, Charlie Taber, Alice Eldridge-Snyder, Eugene Eldridge, Alice Taber-Page
Middle row: Edith Allen-Marks (Henry's wife and Alice Irene Allen's sister), Harry Allen, Nellie Allen-Taber, Ellery Allen, Orilla Dingman, Alice Dingman-Allen, Henry Allen, Nora Allen-Eldridge, Irma Marks (on lap), David Allen, Laura Allen (on lap; David's daughter)
Front row:
Blanche Marks, Arthur Marks (Henry and Edith Marks' son), Gordon Allen, Ellery Marks
The photo will enlarge when clicked on.
Saturday, December 12, 2015
Blanche Evelyn Allen
Several weeks ago I wrote a post about "the hair." It belonged to Blanche Evelyn Allen, my great-grandmother's younger sister. She died at the age of seventeen. According to my grandmother, who was born eight years after Blanche died, she had the most beautiful auburn ringlets. I became the keeper of those ringlets when I was sixteen years old. My grandfather refinished his mother's cedar chest, and my grandmother filled it with family treasures like silver, and bibles, and baby blankets, and the hair. It was my sweet sixteen present from them.
Also several weeks ago, I passed those ringlets on to my cousin, who has daughters, one of whom may be interested in becoming the keeper of the hair. My two boys definitely would not have been.
I stumbled on this beautiful photo of Aunt Blanche while in the midst of my Allen family photo scanning/family history writing project.
Also several weeks ago, I passed those ringlets on to my cousin, who has daughters, one of whom may be interested in becoming the keeper of the hair. My two boys definitely would not have been.
I stumbled on this beautiful photo of Aunt Blanche while in the midst of my Allen family photo scanning/family history writing project.
Right On Target
Not sure what happened to my other post by the same name, but essentially what I wrote about is Doug's progress.
He saw the nurse practitioner in the heart surgeon's office on Thursday afternoon. She said he looked exactly how he should after a successful valve replacement surgery, his chest x-ray looked perfect, and the pain and other stuff he was still feeling was normal.
I remain astounded at how far he's come in only three weeks, especially given the number of surgeries I've had in my lifetime, and how long it took me to recover from them.
I'm feeling especially appreciative this holiday season for the blessing of having his surgery over and him on the rapid road to recovery.
He saw the nurse practitioner in the heart surgeon's office on Thursday afternoon. She said he looked exactly how he should after a successful valve replacement surgery, his chest x-ray looked perfect, and the pain and other stuff he was still feeling was normal.
I remain astounded at how far he's come in only three weeks, especially given the number of surgeries I've had in my lifetime, and how long it took me to recover from them.
I'm feeling especially appreciative this holiday season for the blessing of having his surgery over and him on the rapid road to recovery.
Thursday, December 10, 2015
Here I Am . . . Making Lists
Yesterday morning I woke up feeling more like myself than I have in months. Several months. It continued until late last night, and I am thrilled to feel it again this morning. I'm a do-er. I get lost if I'm not getting things done. I'm lost if I'm floundering, unsure of what to do next. I'll suddenly realize that several weeks have gone by without writing a single word. Or something else I should've done months ago is still undone.
I'm a list-maker. It's annoying. I'm aware of that. I make verbal lists along with written ones. I'll set out my course for the day, reiterating what needs to happen . . . usually things like basketball games or other things the boys are committed to doing. I'll throw in grocery shopping or other errands.
If I set the list to paper, it'll drive me crazy until everything is marked off. I've stopped putting big projects on lists, things like organizing the Allen family photos. Seeing it there again and again and again only serves as an anxiety-inducer.
Day two. I'm ready for ya. Headed out on my morning walk, thankful for blue skies and sunshine, no wind, and temperatures warm enough that I don't have to wear gloves or a hat.
If my feeling-myself-ness would like to stick around for another few weeks, or months, or forever, I'll happily accept it.
I'm a list-maker. It's annoying. I'm aware of that. I make verbal lists along with written ones. I'll set out my course for the day, reiterating what needs to happen . . . usually things like basketball games or other things the boys are committed to doing. I'll throw in grocery shopping or other errands.
If I set the list to paper, it'll drive me crazy until everything is marked off. I've stopped putting big projects on lists, things like organizing the Allen family photos. Seeing it there again and again and again only serves as an anxiety-inducer.
Day two. I'm ready for ya. Headed out on my morning walk, thankful for blue skies and sunshine, no wind, and temperatures warm enough that I don't have to wear gloves or a hat.
If my feeling-myself-ness would like to stick around for another few weeks, or months, or forever, I'll happily accept it.
Sunday, December 06, 2015
Oh $%!(# Christmas Tree
Yesterday, just as we finished decorating the Christmas tree, while I was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner, I heard a crash. Yes, it was the tree. Falling over. Decorations peppered the living room floor, water saturated the carpet, and needles blanketed both. Frank declared the house cursed, and added a few more comments about the spirits, or God himself, being against us . . . which yielded him a lecture from mom.
The reason the tree fell was a faulty tree strand. We took the remaining decorations off, rested the tree on the floor on top of old sheets and towels, and went to Home Depot to buy another tree stand. Less than an hour later the tree was back up, re-decorated, and we were enjoying our traditional holiday clam chowder and garlic bread.
Tonight Doug and I were sitting in the living room around dusk, and I was commenting on how I should adjust the timers on the tree and outdoor lights so they went on earlier. We heard a click, but no tree lights came on. The outdoor lights didn't come on either. It was then I remembered I had unplugged the outdoor timer. Easy fix. The tree lights . . . not so much.
I checked the power strip, the extension cord, and finally the individual strands of lights. The first strand that was faulty. Doug helped me remove it, and the decorations around it, replace the fuse, and then put everything back on the tree. Perhaps, I thought to myself, it wasn't the house that was cursed as much as the tree itself was.
A few days ago I wrote about a blog post about not being sure what to do about a tree. The dilemma was whether to get an artificial tree, a real tree, or no tree at all. In hindsight, I'm thinking the artificial tree may have been the way to go. Although who knows? Maybe something would've gone wrong with that tree too. I'll probably end up writing the Christmas tree fiasco into an upcoming book . . . at least then the drama won't be for naught.
Today I worked on Christmas cards, vowing to finish them tonight. We'll see. I'm close. All that's left is stuffing and sealing envelopes. But it's dark, which means bedtime, right?
The reason the tree fell was a faulty tree strand. We took the remaining decorations off, rested the tree on the floor on top of old sheets and towels, and went to Home Depot to buy another tree stand. Less than an hour later the tree was back up, re-decorated, and we were enjoying our traditional holiday clam chowder and garlic bread.
Tonight Doug and I were sitting in the living room around dusk, and I was commenting on how I should adjust the timers on the tree and outdoor lights so they went on earlier. We heard a click, but no tree lights came on. The outdoor lights didn't come on either. It was then I remembered I had unplugged the outdoor timer. Easy fix. The tree lights . . . not so much.
I checked the power strip, the extension cord, and finally the individual strands of lights. The first strand that was faulty. Doug helped me remove it, and the decorations around it, replace the fuse, and then put everything back on the tree. Perhaps, I thought to myself, it wasn't the house that was cursed as much as the tree itself was.
A few days ago I wrote about a blog post about not being sure what to do about a tree. The dilemma was whether to get an artificial tree, a real tree, or no tree at all. In hindsight, I'm thinking the artificial tree may have been the way to go. Although who knows? Maybe something would've gone wrong with that tree too. I'll probably end up writing the Christmas tree fiasco into an upcoming book . . . at least then the drama won't be for naught.
Today I worked on Christmas cards, vowing to finish them tonight. We'll see. I'm close. All that's left is stuffing and sealing envelopes. But it's dark, which means bedtime, right?
Monday, November 30, 2015
Oh. I get it NOW.
We all have those days (or moments) of perfect clarity. If only it was every day (better if it was every moment). If it was, the word embarrassment and all of its derivatives would become obsolete.
Lightbulbs usually go on for me when I'm out hiking the hills of our neighborhood. I don't like to listen to music when I am, because I like to think. I cannot count the number of times I've walked back into the house and said, "I did a lot of thinking . . ."
It's hard to walk in the neighborhood right now. For starters, it's about 17 degrees, and it's windy. It snowed on and off since Thursday, so there's ice on the sidewalks and roads of the hills. Today I did the majority of my thinking while clearing the snow off the back deck, the steps leading down to the backyard, and the patio on the lowest level of the house. And I had one of those lightbulb moments. Epiphany is too strong a word. It was more like getting a joke a week later. And then feeling really stupid because everyone else got it, and knew at the time you didn't.
It isn't as though I can call and say, "By the way, remember that thing you said, I get it now." But I do. And it's okay.
First Love
Frank has a girlfriend. She isn't his first. On the other hand, I think she is. His first love. The way he talks about her. The way he doesn't talk about her. She's independent. She's ambitious. She's smart. When he suggested that one of the colleges he's looking at also offers degrees in her field, her response was "no way." When he told me, I turned my head and smiled. Well done, I thought to myself.
I think all or at least most of us have had first loves. I did. That's the way I remembered it anyway. I was very young. He broke my heart . . . or that's what I thought at the time. Perhaps that's why I always considered him to be my first love. Maybe he was just my first heartbreak. It's certainly logical to say I had no idea what love was at the time. I haven't seen him in over thirty years, but thanks to the magic of Facebook, I know enough about him to know that he most certainly was not my first love. He couldn't have been. I don't think I'd even want to be friends with him if we met up again.
I've always believed in fate. Someone asked me once, "What if we meet our soulmate and we're not ready?" Then what? What if we let them go? What if we missed our one chance at true love? I stood firm on my notion that if something is meant to be, it will be. Thus, whoever it was, wasn't truly their soulmate. I was twenty-five at the time.
What do I think now? I have no idea. If asked that question again, would I be so certain? How is it with years of life between then and now, that I'm less certain of what I believe and don't believe? Why am I so quick to say "I don't know"? And then to ponder whatever the question was, and often answer with a statement that reflects the possibility of several different outcomes.
Back when we had the wine bar, a book club came in once a month, and one month they stayed far after we were closed, discussing their latest read. I can't remember now what the book was, but I remember that while the book (which I read) WASN'T about "the one that got away," their discussion was. All the women present had a story about the one they believed got away. Many referred to them as their first love.
I worry about Frank's current relationship. If she breaks up with him, this will be heartbreak of a magnitude he hasn't yet experienced. I silently beg the universe to go easy on him . . . no matter what happens. Let it fade gently and quietly, not abruptly with finality. Let neither of them break the other's heart. Let them remain friends. Give them the maturity to handle it in a way that they can both move on from without that gut-wrenching pain most of us have experienced at least once in our lives.
I often wonder why certain books have such mass-appeal, while I find the same book that millions have deemed "the best book they've ever read," to be shallow and vapid. Upon years' later reflection, I think it is because the book was able to invoke an emotion we once felt. So we connect with it.
Yesterday at the book signing someone read the back cover copy of FALL. "Oh no," she said, "I can't give this book to my friend. She just lost her husband." She set the book back down on the table as though it was burning her hand. She didn't look at any of the other books.
I would so enjoy having an in-depth conversation with people about why they read the books they read. What do they look for first? Do they avoid, or do they seek out emotions they're feeling or felt? Would someone who recently lost her husband avoid a book about a woman who had lost her husband twenty years prior to the timeline of the book?
I never understood the appeal of "Bridges of Madison County." The book or the movie. People whose opinions I valued greatly recommended it to me, so I read it. Looking back on it, perhaps the appeal was a connection, a rekindling of an emotion the reader believed he or she felt at one time in their life. The scene where the truck turns, and she doesn't follow. The tear-jerking scene. He leaves. She remains in the life she's committed herself to, letting the man go who the book leads us to believe is the one true love of her life.
I don't like sad movies. Or scary movies. Or dark movies. Or violent movies. I like movies that make me laugh, or at least smile, and leave me with a calm, peaceful, even happy feeling. Today Charlotte and I went to see such a movie. We saw Brooklyn. When Doug asked about it, I said it was nice. And it was. There were a few sad scenes. Not sad enough to make me cry, and I cry at everything. The main character had to choose between two men, two lives. Would she choose her life in America, or would she choose a life in Ireland? It wasn't just about the two men, it was more about her life as a whole. Her decision was predictable. If she hadn't chosen the man or the life she chose, the audience probably wouldn't have liked her, or the movie.
The things we remember the most about are often things that were very emotional for us to deal with. We believe we remember every detail. When we think about "it," we can still "feel" how we felt at the time. Ironically, it is the very thing we wish would fade away. Not ever think about again. Not ever feel again. Would that we could swaddle our feelings in order to protect us from feeling that pain. Would that we could do the same for our children.
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Screen
I do not know why I would go
In front of you and hide my soul
Cause you're the only one who knows it,
Yeah you're the only one who knows it
And I will hide behind my pride
Don't know why I think I can lie
Cause there's a screen on my chest
Yeah there's a screen on my chest
While you're doing fine, there's some people and I
Who have a really tough time getting through this life
So excuse us while we sing to the sky
I'm standing in front of you
I'm standing in front of you
I'm trying to be so cool
Everything together trying to be so cool
We're broken
We're broken
We're broken
We're broken people
We're broken people
—Tyler Joseph
In front of you and hide my soul
Cause you're the only one who knows it,
Yeah you're the only one who knows it
And I will hide behind my pride
Don't know why I think I can lie
Cause there's a screen on my chest
Yeah there's a screen on my chest
While you're doing fine, there's some people and I
Who have a really tough time getting through this life
So excuse us while we sing to the sky
I'm standing in front of you
I'm standing in front of you
I'm trying to be so cool
Everything together trying to be so cool
We're broken
We're broken
We're broken
We're broken people
We're broken people
—Tyler Joseph
Friday, November 27, 2015
Out of Sorts
Maybe out of sync is a better way to put it. We're in a new house. Our basic family structure has changed. Doug just had heart surgery. I'm out of sync.
Our usual "holiday" routine is different, for all the reasons listed above. We typically decorate for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving. At this point I have no idea when we'll do it. And honestly, it doesn't matter that much to me. I suppose if this was our "permanent" home, I might feel differently. If all goes as we hope it will, we won't be living in this house next Christmas.
We didn't move our artificial tree. It was old, more than half the lights no longer worked, and it was heavy. So we got rid of it. In fact, I'm pretty sure Doug helped the trash guy load it into the truck. Originally we talked about getting a real tree this year . . . somewhat sketchy in Colorado due to how dry it is. Which was the reason we got the artificial tree to begin with. Doug and I have wavered from looking at new trees, to not setting up a tree this year. Beck is eleven . . . he'll probably care . . . a little. I'm not sure if Frank will care or not.
We have a couple little trees. The boys had them in their bedrooms. Frank didn't set his up last year. The other thing we discussed was just setting those up. On the other hand, I'm not sure I want to sort through the thousand ornaments we have in order to decorate those two trees with the twenty each will handle.
You can see why I'm ambivalent. Given the other things going on in our lives, Christmas tree "issues" are inconsequential.
After thirty-three years of having a "Christmas party," this will be the first year we do not. One year, right after we moved to Colorado, we only invited two people. But at dinner that night Frank asked if that was our Christmas party. I told him it was. This year we cannot even consider it given Doug's surgery. He isn't supposed to be around other people for at least three weeks. He can't risk illness or infection. I'm absolutely okay with not having it. But in my whole "out of sorts-ness" or "out-of-sync-ness," I'm just not sure what to do with myself.
I suppose I could work on a Christmas letter. However, given my current state of mind, it would probably be a rambling mess of things no one really cares about.
When someone is out of sorts in our family, we tell them to hit their re-set button. I need to do that.
***Update***
Just as I hit the button to post this, I saw that there is an active shooter in Colorado Springs. I knew about it earlier, but now I'm reading there are officers who have been shot. It only serves to reinforce the notion that worrying about Christmas trees REALLY DOESN'T MATTER.
Our usual "holiday" routine is different, for all the reasons listed above. We typically decorate for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving. At this point I have no idea when we'll do it. And honestly, it doesn't matter that much to me. I suppose if this was our "permanent" home, I might feel differently. If all goes as we hope it will, we won't be living in this house next Christmas.
We didn't move our artificial tree. It was old, more than half the lights no longer worked, and it was heavy. So we got rid of it. In fact, I'm pretty sure Doug helped the trash guy load it into the truck. Originally we talked about getting a real tree this year . . . somewhat sketchy in Colorado due to how dry it is. Which was the reason we got the artificial tree to begin with. Doug and I have wavered from looking at new trees, to not setting up a tree this year. Beck is eleven . . . he'll probably care . . . a little. I'm not sure if Frank will care or not.
We have a couple little trees. The boys had them in their bedrooms. Frank didn't set his up last year. The other thing we discussed was just setting those up. On the other hand, I'm not sure I want to sort through the thousand ornaments we have in order to decorate those two trees with the twenty each will handle.
You can see why I'm ambivalent. Given the other things going on in our lives, Christmas tree "issues" are inconsequential.
After thirty-three years of having a "Christmas party," this will be the first year we do not. One year, right after we moved to Colorado, we only invited two people. But at dinner that night Frank asked if that was our Christmas party. I told him it was. This year we cannot even consider it given Doug's surgery. He isn't supposed to be around other people for at least three weeks. He can't risk illness or infection. I'm absolutely okay with not having it. But in my whole "out of sorts-ness" or "out-of-sync-ness," I'm just not sure what to do with myself.
I suppose I could work on a Christmas letter. However, given my current state of mind, it would probably be a rambling mess of things no one really cares about.
When someone is out of sorts in our family, we tell them to hit their re-set button. I need to do that.
***Update***
Just as I hit the button to post this, I saw that there is an active shooter in Colorado Springs. I knew about it earlier, but now I'm reading there are officers who have been shot. It only serves to reinforce the notion that worrying about Christmas trees REALLY DOESN'T MATTER.
Thursday, November 26, 2015
"You have a lot to be thankful for this year."
No one knows that better than I do. There hasn't been a year of my life that I haven't had a lot to be thankful for. Even the tough years . . . there was still a lot to be thankful for.
I like to think I remember to be thankful every day. Not just the day set aside for Thanksgiving, or the month of November, or the holiday season—but every day.
This year I am obviously thankful that Doug is home and able to enjoy the day, and the meal of Thanksgiving with us. I'm thankful for our boys, and grandma, who helped me manage the last three weeks. I've had such intense mood swings, with tears of fear and tears of joy.
I'm thankful too for all the family and friends who prayed for Doug, me, and our family. I appreciate you all so much.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Sunday, November 22, 2015
Heart Murmur
Doug has had a heart murmur since he was little. That murmur and the murmur his doctor told him he had before we moved from California to Colorado, and then his doctor here in Colorado told him he had, may not be the same one. But it doesn't matter. If your doctor tells you that you have a heart murmur, ask for an echocardiogram. That is the only way to determine if you have an issue with your heart valve.
And if anyone in your family has had valve replacement surgery, particularly a sibling, or one of your parents' siblings . . . be sure your doctor knows to add that to your medical history.
One of the conversations Doug and I had with his cardiologist was about our two boys. He told us that statistically one of the two may have the same heart issues Doug has. Doug's heart valve would've deteriorated NO MATTER WHAT, because his heart valve was what is called bicuspid rather than triscuspid. It was congenital. Meaning he was born that way.
If Doug hadn't had his valve replaced, he would've died. Probably somewhere between six months and two years from now. After seeing the photo of the valve the surgeon replaced, I'm guessing it would've been more like six months. And neither he nor I would've had any idea anything was wrong.
We were LUCKY he collapsed. Lucky he went to the emergency room, because now he's got another thirty/forty years instead of six months.
Don't ignore it. It won't go away. I won't lie, the surgery isn't easy, but a few weeks from now, Doug is going to feel back to normal. And he'll still be here. That's the important part.
Saturday, November 21, 2015
November 20, 2015
Yesterday Doug had surgery to replace his aortic heart valve. Along with that, the surgeon removed a section of his aortic arch that had pinched and then below the pinch, expanded. Originally we'd hoped that part of the surgery wouldn't be necessary, but in the end we were thankful it was.
After the five-hour surgery was over, the surgeon came out to the waiting area to tell me how it went. He said Doug's heart valve was in the top five worst he's ever seen in terms of calcification. He asked if I wanted to see a photo of it, and I did. It looked like a stalagmite. Rather than red and pink, it was almost all white, with spikes of calcium growing all around and in it. He showed me where one valve was, and then showed me how the other two had merged together. And that was why he had the problem in the first place. There should be three tissue membranes in the valve and there were only two. It wouldn't have mattered what Doug did or didn't do in his life, the valve replacement would've been inevitable.
The surgeon also told me the calcification had spread down the walls of his heart chamber, and that he'd removed it. If he hadn't been replacing the portion of the aortic arch, he wouldn't have had the room to get in and scrape the calcium away. He did. So he did.
Doug and I were very anxious yesterday morning, as you would imagine. The surgeon did several things out of character when he arrived at 5:30 in the morning. First, the nurse told us we wouldn't see him until the very last minute before the surgery. And it was unlikely I'd still be in the room when he got there. Instead, he came in an hour and a half before the surgery and sat down and talked with us. Before he left, he shook Doug's hand, and then instead of shaking mine, he hugged me, and told me he'd take good care of Doug and "bring him back to me." The nurse asked if we knew him before the surgery, since she'd never seen him hug a family member, nor make any promise other than he'd take good care of the patient.
After the anesthesiologist and the perfusionist talked with us and the surgeon left the room, it was time for me to leave. It was so hard to leave. I hugged Doug so hard, and kissed him a hundred times. His eyes didn't leave mine until I was out of the room.
I was alone in the waiting area for about five minutes before my friend Carolyn walked in, Starbucks in hand, followed by a big hug. A few minutes after that my other friend Cathy walked in, who had stopped by the house to pick up the Xanax prescription that came in VERY handy yesterday.
And then we waited. For five hours. There were three updates during the surgery, which I appreciated very much, followed by the surgeon's post-surgery visited I talked about above. Before he left he said it would be an hour or more before Doug would be in intensive care and before I'd be able to see him. He suggested that if I hadn't eaten, it would be a good time to do so.
On our way to the hospital earlier that morning, we drove by Johnny's Navajo Hogan. Doug said, "If everything goes okay today, you should do a shot in my honor at Johnny's." So I did. Two in fact. The second brought by the waiter, who said to congratulate my husband and give him his best wishes for a speedy recovery.
When we got back to the hospital, I checked in at the ICU desk. After a few minutes the receptionist told me that Doug's nurse was just about to call me to tell me I could come see him. The woman handed me a badge and gave me directions to find him. I walked down the hall of the unit and could see him through a window at the end of the hall. When I got close enough that he could see me, he smiled.
The other thing the surgeon had told me in his post-surgery visit was that the anesthesiologist said Doug was doing so well, he planned to take the breathing tube out before he went to ICU. Previously we had been told it would be five or six hours before it was removed. It was GREAT to see Doug without it, breathing on is own, and able to talk.
We held hands, talked, I explained what I knew, and Doug grumbled about how his two nurses wouldn't give him any water, only ice chips. His diatribe was peppered with enough swear words that I knew his recovery was going be quick. My experience is when you're feeling well enough to complain that much, you're on the road to being better.
Around five Doug insisted I go home so I wasn't driving in the dark. I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open, so I agreed. I think I was sound asleep before seven last night, and woke after six this morning. It is probably the best night's sleep I've gotten since November 2.
I talked to Doug this morning. His voice is still a little slurred, but not much. They were about to get him up and have him sit in a chair. I can't get into the ICU until eight, so as soon as I finish writing this, I'll head over.
I don't remember who texted me yesterday, or who posted Facebook messages, or commented on the status updates I posted throughout the day, but I do know I appreciate every single one of you. I couldn't have gotten through the day yesterday without my friends and family . . . or without knowing that Greg and Vicki were at the house, watching YouTube videos about how to get the new snowblower put together so it was ready for last night's impending storm.
Thank you all for covering my sweet husband in prayer. And for loving and caring about him and our family. I can't say thank you enough.
Thursday, November 19, 2015
And Then He Said . . .
Doug and I were talking tonight, both of us tired, stressed about tomorrow. At one point he said, "If anyone can take care of grandma, and deal with a husband having heart surgery, it's you. But try to remember to take time to take care of yourself too. Will you do that for me?"
If there were any words that would bring me to tears, these would. And did.
If there were any words that would bring me to tears, these would. And did.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Seven Long Minutes
On Monday, November 2, Doug and I went for our usual walk in our neighborhood. Later that morning I was scheduled to have lunch with my sweet friends and book publicists/editors/supporters, Vicki and Carolyn, prior to speaking to the Tri-Lakes Women's Book Club, who had read AND THEN YOU FALL.
As we walked, we made plans for errands we'd run when we got back to the house. I was trying to decide what to wear, and mulling over answers I'd have for questions (or challenges!) that I had been told to anticipate. The sun was shining brightly, the weather unseasonably warm for this time of year.
When we got to my usual halfway mark on the walk, Doug turned around with me. This is the first time he's ever done so, or at least the first time I remember. He usually walks another couple miles further down the hill.
The trek back up that first incline is long and arduous, even doing it every day. Doug wears a heart rate monitor when he walks, and there have been times he's stopped to let it go down a little.
We were about fifteen feet from the summit of that particular incline, when he stopped. It wasn't unusual, so I kept walking. When I reached the top, I turned around to walk back to where he'd stopped. I watched him sit down on the sidewalk, and then lie back on the grass. I was within a foot of him at that point, poised to say, "Goodness, how high is your heart rate?" Instead, I realized Doug had passed out.
I remember kneeling next to him, my hand on my cell phone, hitting the HELP button, the first on my favorite's screen, before I was actually on the ground. I called his name, put my hands on him, and then I remember screaming for help. I also remember yelling at him, telling him not to leave me.
His eyes were wide-open, but not focused on anything. He was making a horrible noise, like snoring and gasping at the same time. He was clammy, and suddenly his eyes closed and his head fell to the side. I was listening to a recording on 9-1-1 telling me not to hang up when I started chest compressions. The operator finally answered, and all I can remember about that conversation is her yelling at me. Doug appeared to be breathing on his own, although still unconscious. I was able then to tell her the address on the house we were in front of. She was asking me lots of questions about Doug's condition and appearance, but all I could think about was how soon the paramedics would arrive.
By that time two people had approached from nearby houses after hearing me scream for help. The first yelled from her driveway, asking if she should call 9-1-1, but somehow I communicated to her that I had. I have no recollection really except the two people running toward me.
The other thing I remember is her saying, "What is taking them so long? They're just at the bottom of the hill." I said those exact words to the 9-1-1 operator who told me they might not have been at the station.
I remember thinking how much precious time we were losing. But much, much worse, I remember thinking that I was losing Doug. There, right before my eyes, he was slipping away from me, and I was powerless to do anything other than pump on his chest.
Suddenly Doug's eyes became focused and he sat up. The first thing he said was, "Heather, hang up. I just passed out for a minute." Right about then, a fire truck pulled up, followed by an ambulance. I suppose the fact that he was sitting up, and talking to me, led them to believe there wasn't any real emergency. I can tell you however, that I wanted to scream at them to get out of their damn trucks, and run . . . not saunter . . . to where we sat. They seemed unhurried, unconcerned. They probably were anything but. However, that's how I remember it.
Seven minutes. That's how long it took them to get to us. How do I know? I looked. Later, after Doug was in the emergency room being tended to. That's how long I was on the phone with 9-1-1 . . . waiting. All the while thinking Doug was dying. Seven long minutes. The longest seven minutes of my life so far.
They checked his vitals . . . they looked okay. Everything sounded good. Doug kept telling them he just passed out for a minute. No honey . . . it was over four minutes. They told him he needed to go to the hospital, and asked if he wanted to go by ambulance or if he wanted me to take him. He told them he'd be fine . . . inside I was screaming that he isn't fine, that we were still at least a mile from home, and how the hell was he going to make it back to the house in order for me to drive him to the emergency room. He was actually saying he'd just walk home.
I pulled out my phone, called Vicki, and asked her to just get to us, as fast as she could. If I could keep the paramedics talking to him long enough, perhaps she'd get there in time to prevent him from trying to walk home.
Doug tried to stand . . . I think the paramedics told him to, and was pretty shaky. They suggested then that he better go in the ambulance, and he relented. Once he was in the ambulance, I went from shock-adrenaline mode into total meltdown. I remember not being able to stand up straight, and literally sobbing. I didn't think Doug could see me, but later he told me he could, and that was when he realized how bad it had been.
They ran tests, they poked and prodded at the hospital, and then they told us they were admitting him overnight. There was a part of me that started agreeing with Doug . . . that he was fine . . . but there was that pesky four minutes of unconsciousness that still bothered me.
I left the hospital after making sure he was settled in his room, and picked up Beck from school. I knew that once I told him something had happened and dad was in the hospital, he wouldn't relent until he saw him. I was right. He wanted to go straight there to see for himself that his dad was okay. We did.
When we got back, Doug told me they'd done one echocardiogram, and were going to do another. They'd also done a chest X-ray and brain CT. He also said they told him they'd be waking him at four in the morning to do another test, and thus, he wanted to rest.
Frank called and said none of his swim lesson kiddos showed, so he was off work early. I asked him if he wanted to see his dad, and he said he did. He met up with Beck and I while we grabbed something to eat, and then went over to the hospital on his own.
The next morning, Charlotte and I went to see Doug early, right after dropping Beck off at school. When we entered the room he was sitting in a chair, but he didn't look good. As it turned out, we missed the doctor by seconds . . . the one that told him he had severe aortic stenosis, and needed surgery, pretty much immediately.
I have no idea how Doug was feeling then, he may have felt as I did. I remember feeling as though time stopped, everything was a blur, and all I could do was listen as the nurse practitioner explained what was wrong and what the surgery entailed.
That was fifteen days ago. In between we got a second opinion, chose a cardiologist we both feel comfortable with, and spent a lot of time in hospital waiting rooms. He's had an angiogram, more echocardiograms, more chest x-rays, a transesophageal echocardiogram, more CT scans . . . and the conclusion remains the same as it was that first day. He needs his heart valve replaced. Why? It's congenital. Instead of having tricuspid flaps in his heart valve, he was born with bicuspid flaps. What happened to him on our walk was inevitable. As the cardiologist told us today, people with a bicuspid valve typically have to have surgery in their fifth decade.
Over the course of the last fifteen days, we've talked a lot about our lives. As I'm sure I would, Doug feels as though we need to talk about what will happen should he not survive the surgery. There are a lot of nuts and bolts of life things we've had to talk about. It hasn't been easy. It wouldn't be easy for anyone.
But for me, every single time he starts talking about what-ifs, I flash back to him on that sidewalk. His big brown eyes wide open but not seeing me. I remember exactly how I felt, thinking he was dying. I can't get that image, or that feeling out of my body whenever he talks about "the things we have to talk about Heather."
He told me in the emergency room that he remembered not being scared. He remembered feeling warm, and wherever he was in that time he was unconscious was "nice." I've asked him that if he feels that way again, or finds himself in that place again to come back and get me.
As we walked, we made plans for errands we'd run when we got back to the house. I was trying to decide what to wear, and mulling over answers I'd have for questions (or challenges!) that I had been told to anticipate. The sun was shining brightly, the weather unseasonably warm for this time of year.
When we got to my usual halfway mark on the walk, Doug turned around with me. This is the first time he's ever done so, or at least the first time I remember. He usually walks another couple miles further down the hill.
The trek back up that first incline is long and arduous, even doing it every day. Doug wears a heart rate monitor when he walks, and there have been times he's stopped to let it go down a little.
We were about fifteen feet from the summit of that particular incline, when he stopped. It wasn't unusual, so I kept walking. When I reached the top, I turned around to walk back to where he'd stopped. I watched him sit down on the sidewalk, and then lie back on the grass. I was within a foot of him at that point, poised to say, "Goodness, how high is your heart rate?" Instead, I realized Doug had passed out.
I remember kneeling next to him, my hand on my cell phone, hitting the HELP button, the first on my favorite's screen, before I was actually on the ground. I called his name, put my hands on him, and then I remember screaming for help. I also remember yelling at him, telling him not to leave me.
His eyes were wide-open, but not focused on anything. He was making a horrible noise, like snoring and gasping at the same time. He was clammy, and suddenly his eyes closed and his head fell to the side. I was listening to a recording on 9-1-1 telling me not to hang up when I started chest compressions. The operator finally answered, and all I can remember about that conversation is her yelling at me. Doug appeared to be breathing on his own, although still unconscious. I was able then to tell her the address on the house we were in front of. She was asking me lots of questions about Doug's condition and appearance, but all I could think about was how soon the paramedics would arrive.
By that time two people had approached from nearby houses after hearing me scream for help. The first yelled from her driveway, asking if she should call 9-1-1, but somehow I communicated to her that I had. I have no recollection really except the two people running toward me.
The other thing I remember is her saying, "What is taking them so long? They're just at the bottom of the hill." I said those exact words to the 9-1-1 operator who told me they might not have been at the station.
I remember thinking how much precious time we were losing. But much, much worse, I remember thinking that I was losing Doug. There, right before my eyes, he was slipping away from me, and I was powerless to do anything other than pump on his chest.
Suddenly Doug's eyes became focused and he sat up. The first thing he said was, "Heather, hang up. I just passed out for a minute." Right about then, a fire truck pulled up, followed by an ambulance. I suppose the fact that he was sitting up, and talking to me, led them to believe there wasn't any real emergency. I can tell you however, that I wanted to scream at them to get out of their damn trucks, and run . . . not saunter . . . to where we sat. They seemed unhurried, unconcerned. They probably were anything but. However, that's how I remember it.
Seven minutes. That's how long it took them to get to us. How do I know? I looked. Later, after Doug was in the emergency room being tended to. That's how long I was on the phone with 9-1-1 . . . waiting. All the while thinking Doug was dying. Seven long minutes. The longest seven minutes of my life so far.
They checked his vitals . . . they looked okay. Everything sounded good. Doug kept telling them he just passed out for a minute. No honey . . . it was over four minutes. They told him he needed to go to the hospital, and asked if he wanted to go by ambulance or if he wanted me to take him. He told them he'd be fine . . . inside I was screaming that he isn't fine, that we were still at least a mile from home, and how the hell was he going to make it back to the house in order for me to drive him to the emergency room. He was actually saying he'd just walk home.
I pulled out my phone, called Vicki, and asked her to just get to us, as fast as she could. If I could keep the paramedics talking to him long enough, perhaps she'd get there in time to prevent him from trying to walk home.
Doug tried to stand . . . I think the paramedics told him to, and was pretty shaky. They suggested then that he better go in the ambulance, and he relented. Once he was in the ambulance, I went from shock-adrenaline mode into total meltdown. I remember not being able to stand up straight, and literally sobbing. I didn't think Doug could see me, but later he told me he could, and that was when he realized how bad it had been.
They ran tests, they poked and prodded at the hospital, and then they told us they were admitting him overnight. There was a part of me that started agreeing with Doug . . . that he was fine . . . but there was that pesky four minutes of unconsciousness that still bothered me.
I left the hospital after making sure he was settled in his room, and picked up Beck from school. I knew that once I told him something had happened and dad was in the hospital, he wouldn't relent until he saw him. I was right. He wanted to go straight there to see for himself that his dad was okay. We did.
When we got back, Doug told me they'd done one echocardiogram, and were going to do another. They'd also done a chest X-ray and brain CT. He also said they told him they'd be waking him at four in the morning to do another test, and thus, he wanted to rest.
Frank called and said none of his swim lesson kiddos showed, so he was off work early. I asked him if he wanted to see his dad, and he said he did. He met up with Beck and I while we grabbed something to eat, and then went over to the hospital on his own.
The next morning, Charlotte and I went to see Doug early, right after dropping Beck off at school. When we entered the room he was sitting in a chair, but he didn't look good. As it turned out, we missed the doctor by seconds . . . the one that told him he had severe aortic stenosis, and needed surgery, pretty much immediately.
I have no idea how Doug was feeling then, he may have felt as I did. I remember feeling as though time stopped, everything was a blur, and all I could do was listen as the nurse practitioner explained what was wrong and what the surgery entailed.
That was fifteen days ago. In between we got a second opinion, chose a cardiologist we both feel comfortable with, and spent a lot of time in hospital waiting rooms. He's had an angiogram, more echocardiograms, more chest x-rays, a transesophageal echocardiogram, more CT scans . . . and the conclusion remains the same as it was that first day. He needs his heart valve replaced. Why? It's congenital. Instead of having tricuspid flaps in his heart valve, he was born with bicuspid flaps. What happened to him on our walk was inevitable. As the cardiologist told us today, people with a bicuspid valve typically have to have surgery in their fifth decade.
Over the course of the last fifteen days, we've talked a lot about our lives. As I'm sure I would, Doug feels as though we need to talk about what will happen should he not survive the surgery. There are a lot of nuts and bolts of life things we've had to talk about. It hasn't been easy. It wouldn't be easy for anyone.
But for me, every single time he starts talking about what-ifs, I flash back to him on that sidewalk. His big brown eyes wide open but not seeing me. I remember exactly how I felt, thinking he was dying. I can't get that image, or that feeling out of my body whenever he talks about "the things we have to talk about Heather."
He told me in the emergency room that he remembered not being scared. He remembered feeling warm, and wherever he was in that time he was unconscious was "nice." I've asked him that if he feels that way again, or finds himself in that place again to come back and get me.
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