Working Toward Positive

After this morning's low, I logged on to my office remotely and began to focus on problem-solving and collaboration with my fabulous colleagues.  After a phone conference yesterday morning, I was tearing up as I said I couldn't imagine doing this with anyone else. We work so well together and one pulls where the others cannot.  We will have been working together in this iteration for seven years come March.  Maribel and I have worked with Carol at other times in other places.  Our team is strong.

I got some things squared away before remote access started lagging so badly it was worse than dial-up.  I started dinner.  Pork shoulder, onion, garlic, bay leaf, and fresh mint sprigs from the back yard are simmering for hours as I write this.  It smells delicious and will feed us many different types of meals.  I think the first will be soft tacos with homemade salsa.

I see that I am going to need more onions and garlic, which seems to be a theme at the grocery stores these days.

On that note, the onion I cut up was the most unique I have ever seen.  The bulb contained what looked like several smaller onions on top of each other, with a layer of brown dry skin in the center of the rings. I didn't think to get a photo, though I should have.

After setting the pot to simmer, I went to the keyboard to work on a project I've had going for a couple weeks.  It was recording ready with the hope that my partner in music can collaborate on something share-worthy.

More remote work and finishing off dinner - which was really, really good.  Tender shredded pork with farmer's market chorizo, homemade charred salsa, in warm soft corn/flour tortillas.  There is plenty left for tomorrow.

Rather than watch television or take in more bad news, I immersed myself in downloading music files and studying manuals to begin to learn how to record separate tracks and mix sound.  Time flew.  It was 12:30 a.m. when I looked at the clock.  My schedule is all out of whack.

We are well and hope you are too.

A Low

I didn't cook dinner yesterday.  After finishing a project, I had nothing left to give.  My big plans were shelved for Tuesday.

My daughter is on a search for yeast.  I have some extra and will bring that to her later this week, along with flour and limoncello, if the scheduled home delivery comes up empty.

A friend posted with joy that someone had mysteriously left four bags of Safeway groceries on her front step!  She wondered who the benefactor was.  Another friend who happens to be mutual friends and a neighbor commented that it was her groceries, delivered by mistake and she'd been on the phone with Instacart and then her bank for two hours.  The groceries were delivered to the right person and the woman who had accidentally received them commented, "Sorry about the Cliff Bar."  That was a happy story of community and connection and coincidence and funny mistakes.

Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood hosted an online concert from their home but I could not watch it because the stream kept freezing and it became too frustrating to keep trying.

Last night I sank into a deep sadness and depression.  I cried a little when I finally went to bed at around 1:00 a.m.  I tried to stem the tears even though I know that letting them out makes things better.  I am still low Tuesday morning.  My sadness and fear is showing as anger and seeping out into social media.  I am going to work on turning my attitude around so I can get through this easier and help support those I love.  I am trying to still the mean voices in my head that say I have been lazy and unprepared and I had a good handle on this five years ago and let it slide like an idiot.  I'm trying to remember to treat myself as kindly as I would someone else I love.

It is a new day and I will see what I can do to make the best of it.  We are well and hope you are too.

Sunday/Monday

It's hard to keep track of the days as they lag so, and overwhelming stress is blunting my memory and some of my ability to write and share information.  I feel like I am on overload and am trying to back away from news in large blocks of time.

However, this crisis is always present in my mind, even when watching television shows.  I see people greeting each other with handshakes and hugs and find myself wondering why they aren't staying apart.

I ordered some groceries to be delivered to Jessica's house in Windsor yesterday.  I received a text three hours before my delivery window saying it was ready early and wondering if I was available.  I responded yes and headed down to pick it up.  When I arrived, it was on Jessica's doorstep.  I picked up the bags and set down Jessica's gift by the doorway.  I went to the end of the sidewalk while she came to the door to open it.  It felt so good to see her happiness at the gift and so hard not to be able to hug her or stay to talk.  Neither of us can share what the gift is yet because her sister will receive one in a week.

I am so bad at that.  But this works for both of them so well.

It was tostadas last night using leftovers for a couple days ago.  I am doing much better at staying on top of our supplies and not letting anything go to waste.  We are almost out of flour tortillas, which we have been using as part of breakfast.  My options are to keep an eye out for more from the stores or to learn how to make my own.  Bex wants to make bagels.  I haven't done that in nearly 10 years. 

Bread aisles are apparently slim pickings, and Jess could not get flour or yeast in her delivery yesterday.  It appears everyone is going back to scratch as premade becomes unavailable.  This trend is fascinating to watch and I wonder how much of it will stay permanently after the crisis is over - slowing down, taking the time to make healthier food from scratch.  "They" say you can eat most anything if you make it yourself.  Not only do you make less, but you are using better ingredients, and expending some calories in the process and are less likely to overeat.  Fries are not easy to make so you won't be eating them every day.

My schedule is out of whack.  I can't sleep so end up finally falling asleep in the wee hours.  I was able to get up on time today to be ready for our office phone conference.  Hours will be limited but I will do what I can from here. 

I had high hopes for dinner but have spent too much time on the computer today, with work and all, so am not sure what it will turn out to be. 

Saturday the 21st

As it often happens, when your access to resources becomes limited, you need things.

On Friday the 13th a bump developed on the top of my right hand above the wrist and in between my pinky and ring finger bones in my hand.  It was painful, like a cramp, and the pain radiated out to the edge of my hand.  It flared up with movement of those two fingers or my wrist.  It was impossible to get anything out of my right pocket.  The lump grew and by Monday was swollen across half the top of my hand.  I could barely type.  Thank goodness there's not a lot that needs those two fingers and most returns are automatic.  I checked to see if I could get a phone appointment with my doctor but she was out until the 22nd.  I decided to alternate ice and heat and to break down and actually take pain medication - Tylenol.

By yesterday afternoon, the 21st, it became manageable.  Not as much pain but still there faintly from time to time. I still have no idea why it hurts or what is causing it but am grateful for some relief.

Then, my sink started to back up.  Friday the 13th again if I remember correctly.  What a day, eh?  This is a routine occurrence.  There's a flat spot in the pipes that grabs every little speck of grease it can find, though I put NOTHING down the disposal and am careful about what goes down the drain.  After 12-18 months, it slows and I see the water rise in the sink and know it's time for it's routine clearing.  But this time it's not so routine, is it?  By the time Sonoma County issues the shelter in place, I know that I better ask now or I won't be able to get any service soon.  When I call, the owner sounds overwhelmed and frustrated but - as always - he is helpful and kind and does the very best he can.  He says he'll try to get someone out Friday.  He calls Friday and offers Saturday morning.  I am amazed they're working Saturday.

After he finishes dismantling the shelf I have under the sink that I couldn't (because my hand is all screwed up!), I tell him I won't hover and will go out and take care of the chickens.  He asks how many chickens I have, and I tell him 4 hens and a rooster. He tells me his mom has 180 (I think - definitely over 100) and a smaller number of roosters.  Thus we begin our conversation and I don't take care of my chickens until after seeing him to his truck.

He was a lovely, lovely person.  We chatted as he worked 2about "prepping," his parents, chickens, goats, cows, guinea hens, bees, peacocks, his lovely little family and baby girl, camping, all the while maintaining appropriate distance, me letting him know I had spritzed everything with alcohol that he would touch and wiped it down in preparation for his visit. (I did it again after he departed.) As he got into his truck to leave, I wished that I could invite his little family over so his daughter could play and we could all talk more. Most people are good and I've been blessed to be in contact with lots this week.

In between the typing I need to do until my hand needs a break, I started a batch of chili and tag-teamed with Bex while she made breakfast for us.  The chili was sooo good after cooking in the crockpot all day.  Warm, filling, comfort food with a little bit of garlic bread and homemade limoncello.  As we ate, Bex suggested we could use some of the leftovers for chili dogs later, which is great because I happened to think to get hot dogs in my grocery delivery order.

I am aware every day that as much as I feel I am on a precipice and am scared for what the future may hold, we are very, very lucky.  We have a roof to shelter from the downpour that is thundering outside as I type this Sunday evening.  We have food to keep us going.  We have resources many do not.  And a family that, while distant, is inspiring every single day.

 We are still well and hope you are too.  Stay inside, respect those 6-foot boundaries, get sleep, and stay hydrated.

COVID-19 - And So It Begins

My family was aware this was coming and knew it could get bad.  My parents were early adopters.  I teared up when I read my mom's note that they made the decision to self-quarantine days before San Francisco's announcement, and we would not see them for our weekly family dinner gatherings.  Not seeing my folks on a regular basis hurts.  Especially when I worry the most for them.

And yet, given how incredibly smart and prepared they are, I probably need to worry less about them.

I started getting ready to stay home.  Did grocery shopping for more than a week.  Then filled in some gaps that I didn't recognize right away.  Tried to hold down panic every chance I got.

My middle daughter and her family were impacted first when San Francisco order shelter at home.  We tried to see if the kids could be cared for by others so she could go to work but it became clearly pretty quickly that all of us were going to be isolated at home and her job would not be essential except for emergencies.

Sonoma County's orders allowed me to go to the office for the first two days because I could work solo and stay in touch remotely with people.  There was a comfort in being able to work surrounded by all of the supplies and equipment I need.  The phone didn't ring.  Emails were sparse.  I could do some catching up on paperwork.  I was hopeful that this time could be used to get files closed.  I was wrong.

I filed for unemployment, knowing my job was at least going to go to part time.

Gavin Newsom's order that the entire state would shelter in place was a game changer.  I asked my boss to call the hotline to see if I could go into the office, but she didn't.  We both know the answer without checking.  The good news is that in case of a real emergency, we can still take care of our clients.

My first real day at home for a full day since the shelter at home order was issued for Sonoma County was Friday, the 20th. I worked remotely for a while in the  morning. I cooked breakfast from scratch, including my first ever batch of biscuits that weren't dropped from a spoon. I was aware of waste and made sure I didn't spill ingredients. I cleaned up carefully and methodically. I wore an apron, which I haven't done in years (flour!). I took my time and enjoyed the respite while listening to music.

I have been seeing lots of photos of families cooking together, taking walks, reading to each other.

This was my granddaughter's 4th birthday.  We had a party planned for family and friends on the 22nd, which it became clear even weeks ago was likely going to be postponed.  Thanks to technology, five of us were able to video chat with her and her big brother and parents and sing Happy Birthday to her and enjoy watching her blow out candles.  I saw pictures of the family making birthday cake from scratch and knew the cake cut would also be a tie-die reveal.  It was beautiful!  The kids got to drop sprinkles all over it outside and then bounce with sprinkles on the trampoline in the sunshine.  It looked like a really good birthday.  It was hard not to hug them but I'm so blessed to be able to talk with and see them.

I don't like the way this is happening, but I wonder if there is real good to come from this. A reset of our go-go-go frame of mind, our need to make more more more money, our frantic busy-ness that makes our families secondary and our children more responsibility than blessing.

This brings a new awareness to many of what is really important and how good it feels to slow down. Even while we are somewhat "afraid" of other people and keep our distance, there is a real compassion and sense of community. I wonder how many new businesses and endeavors and ways of living will come from this. Even as I fear for the health of our families, community, state, and nation, I see a potential huge benefit to us all.

Stay well and love each other well through this new reality. May the other end be something very, very good.

Ghost Town - Written 2/21/15

The city is a ghost town.

I don't mean that it is an abandoned, dusty relic in which the streets are deserted and the homes barren of life.  What I mean is that it is filled with ghosts.

I had the need to drive to Rohnert Park this evening by myself.  I was delivering a special order and didn't think anything of it, that is until I turned down Golf Course Drive and Steve Perry was singing "Open Arms."  Whoa, did everything shift.  The light changed, the air changed, and there I was remembering a different house, children young, friends loving - and leaving.

I was alive during those years, more fiercely alive than I have ever been.  From 1984 to 2001 my life was centered in Rohnert Park and Cotati.  As I drove toward my destination I flipped the channel to country music, and rather than dissipating, the feeling became more intense.  I gave up, gave in, let it take me.

Lost in thought, I dropped off my package and picked up the envelope under the door mat.  I was lost in memories and deep feeling as I drove away.  I was so tempted to drive around town, to all those places so fresh in memory, so intensely present in my heart, but I resisted the impulse.  Instead, those memories continued to crash over me as I drove up Snyder to my next destination, and that didn't help.  Snyder, that midpoint between the two main places I'd lived, past the virtual middle ground of the bookends of my first married life and the greatest joys and greatest pains I'd ever experienced.

Believe me there were highs.  I smiled as I remembered roller blading with the kids, sunshine and laughter, watching them learning how to ride a bicycle, cooking dinner, doing homework, playing games.  Walks at night when I could see my breath before me, hands tucked into pockets as I looked at Christmas decorations and smelled baking cookies.  Getting dressed for a night out, filled with anticipation and in the best physical shape of my life - a person looking back in the mirror who only exists in memory.  Sitting on my bed with my best friend, talking for hours and hours, laughing and crying and consoling and learning.  Pregnant and birthing and sitting with my new little one in the freshly mowed grass, looking to the blue sky.

Life was full.  It was an adventure.  It was extreme highs and terrifying lows.  It was confidence and love and joy and lots of great sex.  It was loneliness, hours on the phone, sitting alone, writing and writing, and working and fretting.  It was trying to find my way.  It was thinking I found it.  It was having it all torn from me.  Complete destruction in the wake of what I thought was the greatest story ever told.

It was flying across a dance floor.  It was laughing and singing.  It was finding myself.  It was losing it all.  It was feeling enveloped in love and then utterly destroyed.  I left Rohnert Park not scarred, but with deep unhealed and weeping wounds I still carefully hide.

Life changed.  I shut down.  I still laughed with my daughters, cared for my youngest baby, was present, worked hard, but I was more worried and less open.  My heart had broken open.  When I put it back together, it functioned to pour out love into the world and onto those around me.  It functioned perfectly well.  It took care of those I cared for.  But it did not receive.  It was closed, sheltered, protected, because no one other than family could really be trusted.  No one was let in.  No one would hurt me that way.  Ever.  Again.

I remember weeping while sitting on the concrete steps in my garage.  I remember wailing on the phone that I would never, ever, love another again.  I figured I'd get over it as I had before.  But not this time.

Driving home tonight the memories continued to replay as the radio sent me more memories and more messages.  I was really feeling again for the first time in a long time.  Even though some of it hurt, I felt more alive.  I wanted that back in my life.  To experience the highs and brave the lows.  A glimmer of resolution grew as tears flowed down my face, salt sliding onto my lips.

By the time I got home and got busy, the feeling was dimming and the numbing protection creeping over me like the deep river fog.  By writing this I'm fighting it, as I put music on from that era to remind me.  The losses still hurt.  The betrayals still hurt.  But the I miss the highs.  I miss living.  I miss the dance.  I miss feeling loved.

I still don't know if I am lovable or if I want to risk it all again.  But at least I'm thinking about it.  And maybe these tears are starting to heal the wounds that keep me from moving freely in the world as I used to.  At least I hope so.

Strong and Direct?

I recently sent an e-mail to my doctor letting her know I'd scheduled an appointment and to tell her what I planned to talk to her about.  Her response got me to thinking and recognizing that who I am today is not necessarily the person that I carry around inside of me.  Here's her reply:

No problem -- always good to confirm all is well, I appreciate head on approach, but that's who you are Laura - strong and direct :)

I sat and looked at that last line for a while.  "Strong and direct" is not something I'm used to thinking about myself, though when I think about my interactions with her, with my SO, with my coworkers, kids, employers, yeah.  I supposed it really does fit today.

Even though I recognize the truth in my doctor’s comment that I am “strong and direct,” it still took me a little by surprise to think that I am recognized that way.  I realized that that is a long and hard-fought descriptor that is far away from the girl I remember being.  That woman grew bit by bit over time.

For instance, this is representative of the girl inside.  This girl, here, daydreaming in the upstairs window of a Mission building in Ethete, Wyoming my first summer tour.  

She’s 14 going on 15.  She’s lived all over the place from the day she was born - from Southern California and parts East to Germany back to Southern California then to Denver and Franktown, finally settling in Northern California (two moves within Novato) the summer before she started 7^th grade.  She left 2^nd grade halfway through the year to go to Colorado.  She finished 2^nd grade in Denver, then to 3^rd in a one-room schoolhouse in Franktown while the new school in Parker was being built.  She made a couple of friends that first year in Franktown, but was the target of a much older boy bully who’d been held back, by the name of John B.  (I remember the name but won't out him.)  She used to pretend to be sick so she didn’t have to go to school and hid her fear from her parents and teachers until 4^th grade, after moving to the big school (Northeast) outside Parker.  Finally, she told someone.  The school’s solution to the problem was to suggest that she stay in a classroom or library during recess so John B. wouldn’t bother her.  He left Northeast to attend the new school when it was completed the next year.  5^th and 6^th were easier, excelling in school, in band and choir, and she won the lead in the 6^th grade operetta.

Then her dad was laid off and his new job at LAIR found them a new home in California.  7^th grade was scary.  The girls were tough and she was country.  Her clothing, her way of living, didn’t fit with Marin County in the early 70s.  She was afraid to go to the bathroom except in the safer PE locker room bathrooms because the tough girls smoked in the others.  Another move from one side of Novato to the other brought her to 8^th grade at a different school, where she was warned the drinking fountains were spiked with cocaine!  (Not true of course.)  Wind Children saved her that year.  The following year she went on this tour.

She was afraid of speaking her mind in case it lost her friends.  She wanted to fit in, and mostly she did.  She didn’t understand relationships and let the boys take the lead.  She accepted the first proposal she received because probably deep down she wasn’t sure she’d get another.  She grew a lot and learned a lot in WC, but not fast enough to be married at 18, just seven months after graduation.

So when someone says strong and direct - this is the girl that lives at my core, and I used to have a hard time reconciling them.  I’ve got it now.  I can still be kind and loving and considerate, because that’s the way to operate in this world of awful to try and make it better, but I don’t have to compromise my core ideals and ethics.  I can accept new information and reformulate my beliefs and reality, but don’t have to if it doesn’t fit.

And I’m not afraid of being alone anymore.  I handled that well enough for 18 years and know how to take care of myself and be alone without being lonely.  Which makes me honor even more the chance I now have to love and be in a relationship.  I get to figure out how to do that as this strong and direct woman, who knows how to love and how she wants to be loved, and how to form a solid partnership in which both partners are honored and respected, not just the bigger, stronger one.

I think that girl in Ethete would be happy about this. 

Transitions

I'm beginning a huge new transition in my life.  Change is never comfortable or easy, and as my kids will tell you, change is awful for me.  If I initiate it, it's a little easier.  When it's happening as the natural course of life, I can kinda prepare for it, but it's still hard.  Let's not even talk about change that is foisted on me.

My youngest fledgling is getting ready to fly out into the world on her own.  We'll be relatively close by, within a couple of hours depending on the family member you're looking at, and in this technological age, phone calls and texts and even Skype shared viewing of our favorite television programs together will be possible.  But she'll be moving from our secluded country home into the big city on her own.

I thought this would be easier.  I think both of us thought it would be easier.  She is ready to go, she is eager and excited about living in the city.  She loves it, she eats it up, she wants to go back all the time.  She is ready to begin learning and working toward her BFA.  I think I'm ready to watch what I want on TV, run the vacuum and washing machine and play the piano at my whim.

But we're both scared and nervous and sad at the same time as we're looking at the positives of this transition.  I think we both try to avoid talking about it, looking at it, so it comes out in random blips, such as a short response to a routine question, feelings getting hurt rather quickly, hugging more, talking more, wanting to spend time together more, and then snappy remarks at small things.  It's the dance of separation between parent and child, and it's normal and it's to be expected and it's short-lived and it's painful.

The smallest thing causes me to burst into tears.  I am easily distracted and feel like I'm going to jump out of my skin at times.  I have had recurring panic attacks the last couple of weeks.  Thankfully, I do know how to breathe through them and out but it's tough and unexpected.  And frustrating.  And frightening.

I started a mental countdown in my head last night, one that I hid from my daughter.  But she revealed this evening that she has started her own countdown.  Mine was, "Only two more Tuesdays after tonight."  Hers was, "Only three more weeks."  Both ended with, "Before I start missing you.  Before I am apart from you.  Before you will not be here next to me whenever I need you."

I realized that I've been a parent for nearly 32 years.  That's well over half my life having kids in the house at all times.  And this kidlet and I have been a dynamic duo for the majority of her time on this planet, her sisters having moved out when she was about 5 and 8.  It's been just the two of us.  Thankfully for me, her sisters moved out nearby.  She's going a greater distance.  Thank god it's not New York City.

So what are we going to do in three weeks?  Yegads.  It's going to be thrilling for her and scary too.  I am thankful that she found a school that has such a great support network in place for her.  Things that a parent really needs - 24 hour security, rules that are safe and sane, free shuttle service to classes, a meal plan so I know the kid won't go hungry and will have good food available to her.  She'll have a roommate and I hope that they get along.  I think they will, and it's a good thing that they're starting together - the two in the room and all of them in the building newbies and learning their way around at the same time.

I don't know what I'm going to do.  I figure most things will stay the same, though there will be more phone calls and more time on my own.  A new chapter for both of us.  Her setting her own alarm, and me missing waking her up, no matter how grumpy she is in the morning.

So if you pray or light candles or hold good thoughts, please do that for me and this baby.  We can use all the love and support and help you can offer.  Thanks. xoxo

Breezy's Nighttime Adventure/Scare

Saturday was a long day.  Or rather, Saturday through Sunday morning.

We woke early Saturday morning after staying up late Friday night.  We had a craft fair to attend and needed to be there by 8am.  We packed the car, grabbed some coffee and snacks and cash for change and headed out to the fair location.  After struggling with setting up the "pop-up" canopy (anything but!) we got everything set up and pretty and ready to go.  It was a fun day, if long, meeting a lot of nice people and making some good contacts.  By the time 5pm rolled around and it was time to head home, we were beat.

We'd eaten a late lunch so headed home, unpacked half of the items in the car, and just collapsed for a little bit.  I drank a ton of water and ended up falling asleep on the couch.  I woke Bex so we could bring the goats in and milk, and then ended up falling asleep on the couch AGAIN.  It was 10pm when I woke up and brought Breezy, our Shar'pei/American Bulldog mix dog, in for the night.

She didn't dash for her food as she usually does but I thought nothing of it because she went directly to it.  I happened to be sitting on the "throne" when I heard a crash in the kitchen and the sound of dog paws/claws skittering around on the floor.  I yelled "Hey!" thinking she'd knocked something down and was sliding around in it.

I walked out to see what had happened and was shocked to see her lying on her side on the floor, unmoving.  I called her name and when I got closer could see vomit at her head and feces at her rear and all she could do was barely lift her head to look at me.  I forced myself to calmly stroke her head and clean the mess, then woke Bex and told her as calmly as I could that we had to get Breezy to the vet.  I asked her to comfort her while I called her oldest sister Jessica to find out the nearest 24 hour pet hospital.  Jess offered to meet us and go with us and to call ahead to Rohnert Park to let them know we are coming.  I put a blanket over Breezy to keep her warm and Becca stayed by her side while I cleared the rest of the craft fair from the back of the car and onto the side of the driveway so she could sit in the back seat with Breezy, who was still not moving.

I have never had a scare like this with a pet before.  Without Jess and Bex I think I might have been paralyzed, not knowing what to do next.

It took three tries to pick her up off the floor in the blanket, but I was finally able to do so and very carefully carried her heavy, unmoving body to the car.  As I gently laid her down on the back seat, she suddenly stood up.  I was shocked!  Despite our encouragement, Breezy would not lie down in the back seat and preferred to sit next to Becca as we drove toward town.  When Jess got into the car, Breezy was back to normal, trying to get to the front of the car to greet her.  I couldn't believe the change!  I was grateful for a witness in Bex so I didn't think I had been imagining things.

We arrived at the vet hospital and Breezy was close to normal, though somewhat subdued.  The tech who first examined her wondered what had happened under her tail - it was all swollen - and she wondered if Breezy had been bitten by a bug and suffered an allergic reaction.  It later turned out that Breezy was "holding it" for as long as she could and let go a big "3 pound" pile of poop in the examining room later.

Her vitals were good though she has lost weight over the last couple of months that I have not been able to get back on her as I usually can.  Recommended tests and x-rays showed nothing abnormal and we are awaiting the blood test results.  Breezy was described as a "rockin' grandma" because she is lively for her age.  After she karate-punched a vet tech (accidentally) while being maneuvered onto the radiology table, she became known as "kung-fu grandma."  She is also the first dog the vet has ever seen able to throw the sand bags off her paws that were supposed to keep her still for the x-rays, and sit straight up while being restrained to the padded table, lifting the padded trough she was lying in.  Every time they got her situated and ready for the x-ray, as soon as they left the room she would throw the bags off and sit up.  It took 7-8 tries to get the pictures.

At the end of it all, and at about 3am, her collapse was still a mystery.  She got some Benadryl in case it was an allergic reaction and we headed home.  After dropping Jess off at her car and arriving home, I allowed Breezy to finish the dinner she hadn't eaten before her collapse.  We headed to bedrooms to get back into pajamas, and came back out to check on Breezy.  Then discovered that in the five minutes we were out of her sight after our arrival home from the vet, she had gotten into a large bin that had been sitting on a chair filled with items from the craft fair, and had found the remnants of Bex's chocolate bar and ate it!  The vet tech was laughing her head off when I called to let them know and to find out if she was going to be sick again.  Luckily the dose was too small to cause her trouble.  She was back to her old self!

So far there is no sign of the problem and no definitive answers as to what caused it.  One of the test results turned out wrong so we're going to recheck her (at no charge thank goodness).  The vet thinks the sample was mishandled at the lab because the glucose level was so impossibly low Breezy would have been having seizures at the time the sample was taken, and that didn't happen.

So we watch and wait and enjoy our Rockin' Kung-Fu Grandma for a while longer, and I hope a good long while.

Love One Another

I had the opportunity to visit San Francisco yesterday.  After the drive and walking around a museum and then driving deeper into the city, I was able to find some time to sit quietly on a park bench in a peaceful square in Japantown.  San Francisco during the week is delightfully sane (outside of downtown).  It was a beautiful spring-like day, and I spent some time observing people while enjoying the perfect mild warm weather.

I'd noticed a couple of pigeons high on a tall arch (shown in the photo) earlier, then saw them sitting on the ground about three feet from me.  I watched the birds, admiring their colorful feathers and bright watchful eyes, especially one that stayed near me while its companion wandered about pecking at the ground. I noticed it seemed to limp a little and then saw its left foot was terribly deformed, with barely one claw where there should be three and a strange painful looking lump at the base of the leg. The other foot had three very short claws and it was clearly difficult for the bird to get around.

As I wondered if this was a birth defect or terrible injury, the other bird came back and walked in a circle around the lame pigeon. I worried it was going to pick a fight, perhaps fearing I might drop food and it would miss out.

The two birds locked beaks and began moving about a little as if struggling, though not moving their bodies or feet.  I wondered if this was a fight or mating ritual or what.  Then the healthy bird stepped away and the lame bird ... swallowed.  The healthy bird was feeding the other who struggled just to walk!

About this time my teenage daughter joined me on the bench. I showed her the birds and explained what I'd witnessed.  We wondered if it would happen again, and sure enough it did.

If the wild creatures can care for each other like this, what's wrong with us? I used to feel like I did my share when I could, but I now know I can do more. I'm thankful to the pigeons for sharing a story of true love and caring today.

Be good to each other.  Love one another.  Right now.