Here's what I've been up to. My 5th Civic. Had a brief interlude with 4WD, now back to energy efficient and less expensive Civics. They're not what they used to be, much more like real cars now. Fancy this and fancy that. Not sure I'm pleased but what can a girl do. I was really tired of my 2004 broken bumper, no seatbelts in the back (thank you Tess) car. It just hit me on the way back from RI that I'd had it with that car and it needed too much money to make it nice so I'd get rid of it. I guess I can afford this. I made them give me a good deal--had 2 dealers pitted against each other so it worked out. Go Pete, go Paul. Pete won. He's in Plattsburgh so I felt good about that. He's young & cute, too. And I make him laugh. Anyway, I've bought so many new cars that I'm not truly excited about this but it's nice to have a clean new car. I'm under a lot of pressure from people, most especially Fred, to take care of it. Like, he would not approve of having a dog in it.

Let's see..my first new car was in 1975, a Fiat 128. I loved that car but it wouldn't start when it got below 20 or rained. Not good for Rhode Island, the Ocean State. Then a Mazda station wagon dream car. Then an '84 Civic wagon, which Jamie backed into and wrecked, an '87 Toyota wagon (4WD, got great use out of that), a '93 Pathfinder (my dream vehicle, but even then it cost $150 a month for gas), a '95 Civic (which Jamie said was one of the reasons he just couldn't stand being married to me--he didn't want that car but I FORCED us to buy it), a 2002 Civic (which I rolled but escaped unscathed in spite of CD's and soda cans flying around), a 2004 Civic and now the 2008. I think I've had every color except black and white. Now silver twice.

Enough car stuff. Cars are such a necessary part of my life. I get attached to them, use them too hard, and when I get rid of them I feel bad and look at them longingly. When I got back in the old car to retrieve something, I inhaled and said "Boy does this car STINK!" And did it ever.

Easter trip to RI was nice. Weather there was wonderful, gives one faith that spring will come. Liza has snowdrops in bloom and daffodils up and in bud. A few crocuses. I walked barefoot outside comfortably. T-shirt weather. I brought back the biggest, boogeriest goldfish. He's huge, the tank bully. Hounded the littlest to death (literally) so I brung him home with me. He's on the shelf in my cubicle and I see his constant motion out of the corner of my eye. I guess I'm starting to find it comforting but it's sort of distracting. The tank is really too small for him, only 2.5 gallons for his almost 4" (I kid you not). He just goes back & forth, like an autistic kid's constant rocking. Liza and Mark don't want any big fish for their pond so I think they were happy to be rid of him. I think this boy would get up to 5 lbs if he were in a big enough tank. He's exhausting to watch. Every once in a while he jumps out of the water & makes a big splash, loud enough for Kim to hear on the other side of the cubicle wall. Glass top, can't get out, nice try though.

All is well here. Ken was bored and a bit sad the other night but I'll see him tonight and I'm sure he'll feel better. He got confused the other day, trying to reach Bill, then me--no one was home (I worked late and was on my way to his house) so he was just sitting there, phone in hand, looking sort of pitiful when I arrived. He slid down the snowbank and got stuck halfway under his truck but had pretty much worked his way out by the time the Brousseau Boys came along. That had nothing to do with age--I've done the same sort of thing, slipping on the ice, getting stuck halfway under my car.

Supposed to get snow tonight, maybe 3" or maybe 6". I think if the meteorologists even knew they wouldn't tell us. It's more fun to keep us guessing. Nothing we can do anyway.

Massive cleaning in store for the weekend. I bought a nice bookcase and an ok table (to replace coffee table--an experiment) in RI so will try to arrange living room to accommodate them. Interesting proposition. I've also got mondo seed packets to open and play with. Must get going on those if I want flowers to bloom before Labor Day.

Work is fine. Am totally worn out by de-duping project but have only done 300 of 4000 so far. Big yawn. Most are vendor errors from 2004 when we merged data bases. Small comfort, that.

God that fish is driving me crazy. Maybe I need to bring in a shroud to calm him down, the way we used to cover the birds' cages at night.

Sounds familiar

from today's NY Times--

The reason why everything from the puffiness of Mrs. Spitzer’s eyes to the number of inches between her and her husband at press conferences have been scrutinized is that we treat D-Days like natural disasters. The American Association for Marriage and Family Therapy has warned, “The reactions of the betrayed spouse resemble the post-traumatic stress symptoms of the victims of traumatic events.”

It took me an incredibly long time to recover from what my ex-husband did, partly because it was such a surprise (although I used to often think that eventually he would leave me because everyone always does). Then the impetus turned out to be his secretary--I don't know if that made me feel better or worse, but I know it felt like PTSD. There were wonderful things that came out of the whole experience, though, and my life is peaceful and as it should be as a result. I love living by myself in my home. I found out SO MUCH about myself and discovered and dealt with my various chemical brain issues. I feel better about myself and my behavior.

Sometimes I vaguely wish I could have a second chance, but then I pinch myself and realize that the man whose company I enjoyed and the life I had with him will never come back. He no longer exists, and this very strange man has taken his place. I know that basically he is the same person, I can see that, but superficially (and I DO mean superficially) he is different--very different, and not someone I want to be around. I just miss his sense of humor, our time in the woods together, the time we spent hanging out together, and most especially the things he could do around the house. OK, that's got nothing to do with having a relationship, but boy oh boy do I miss someone who could fix the hoses in my washing machine so I wouldn't have to go to the laundromat, or smack the ice off the roof so it wouldn't leak and leave big stains on the ceiling, or NOT make a hole in the kitchen ceiling because of course the leak would not be coming from there, or finish the skirting around the house so it wouldn't be so cold. I'm pretty sure he never would have completely finished the house--there are still plenty of places needing molding. But think how nice it would be to have someone to paint the living room with? Jenica was great in helping me with the bedroom, making me realize how much better a room can look when you paint it. She also showed me how easy it is to paint a room, so now I can do it by myself, which is as it should be.

If you live alone you need to know how to do things, and that's ok. I know what some of my friends always say: that you need to know when to ask for help, too. I also know I'm no good at that: for some reason it's terribly difficult for me to ask for help. Why? Do I think of it as a sign of weakness? Am I afraid of being rejected? Does it make me a poor pathetic bastard? Do I just feel that I should be able to take care of myself? Oh who knows. Lin is wonderful at forcing me to accept help and I don't know what I would have done without her help so many, many times. She is a great friend. One of many, including Ken, who used to be someone I counted on so often. That's one of the reasons I'm happy to be whatever I can be in his life. I can't have the quality of life I enjoy without friends to share it with, support me, appreciate me, laugh with me--and who will accept what I have to offer. True happiness is shared, as they say. Sounds like a Hallmark card. Only worse.

You Are Wintergreen Flavored Gum

You are laid back, low maintenance, and super cool. You go with the flow, and you never cause too much of a fuss. You are very in touch with nature and the world around you. You prefer to keep things simple. Complexity stresses you out. You are a very real person. Openness and honesty are important to you. You can be friends with almost anyone, as long as they tell it like it is. I go with the flow? I'm laid back? I'm low maintenance? I think these Internet tests are SOOO on target! Now I just need to find one that will tell me what breed of dog I am. Actually, complexity doesn't stress me out--it sort of stimulates me.OK, complexity stresses me out--but am I unique in that?

From today's NYTimes--

"I recently took care of a 50-year-old man who had been admitted to the hospital short of breath. During his monthlong stay he was seen by a hematologist, an endocrinologist, a kidney specialist, a podiatrist, two cardiologists, a cardiac electrophysiologist, an infectious-diseases specialist, a pulmonologist, an ear-nose-throat specialist, a urologist, a gastroenterologist, a neurologist, a nutritionist, a general surgeon, a thoracic surgeon and a pain specialist.

He underwent 12 procedures, including cardiac catheterization, a pacemaker implant and a bone-marrow biopsy (to work-up chronic anemia).
Despite this wearying schedule, he maintained an upbeat manner, walking the corridors daily with assistance to chat with nurses and physician assistants. When he was discharged, follow-up visits were scheduled for him with seven specialists."

This made me think about my health care. I have a lot of different doctors, which sometimes makes me feel well cared-for and other times it makes me feel like a whiny hypochondriac. I used to have a reproductive endocrinologist. Now I have a podiatrist, orthopedist, cardiologist, pulmonologist, osteopath, massage therapist, gynocologist, internist, gastroenterologist, psychiatrist (of course), chiropractor, optometrist, physical therapist, acupuncturist (thought I haven't been to him in two years)and I'm sure I've forgotten someone else who's poked me or injected me with something. Does it make me feel special? Do I think all of these people know my name? Some of them do but plenty of them I see rarely. I've been going to my optometrist for 23 years. I've been seeing my internist for 15 years and he's a wonderful doctor who knows me well and laughs at all my jokes. We won't even go into how much my psychiatrist knows about me. My cardiologist wants me to relax and realize there's nothing more he can do to prove to me that my heart is fine. But I could still have a heart attack.

Right now I feel really healthy but I'm a year overdue for a mammogram. Only need to have pap smears every other year. Have cholesterol checked 3 times a year, take statin to keep that low. OK, I guess I've overdone it on the specialists, but that surely is how we do health care in America.

This is the Clayburg Road--it's legal name is the Silver Lake Road but I still call it the Clayburg Road. Several years ago towns in the County changed road names and assigned numbers to houses so emergency vehicles could find specific buildings. My road was named the Girls Camp Road but Bill asked if we could change the name. The girls' camp was Silver Lake Camp (not really a rival camp, but my Hawkeye Trail Camp friends all know it was far inferior to their camp). Anyway, we asked to have the name changed. I picked the name and wish I'd just called it Hawkeye Rd instead of adding "Old" to the beginning. It would make it so much easier to write my address, to tell people my address, etc. Hindsight is such a wonderful thing, but foresight is even better.

Anyway, this road has terrible frost heaves this year. Frost heaves happen when the ground begins to move and, presumably, the frost line is moving toward the surface. They appear on this road in late Feb., which I think is early, but by March they are full-blown. Hitting these frost heaves is like flying over a reverse speed bump. Ken says he knows where every frost heave is. I don't see how he can, unless they appear in the same place every year. I know where the worst one is but the others take me by surprise. I guess I'm in a zone when I drive to & from work--listening to a book, mostly. The town puts up orange flags to mark frost heaves, but it always seems they miss the worst ones. Are they just goofing around?

Yesterday Fred came for Sunday dinner and said the road was like a corduroy road. You can guess what that means. My road gets to be like that from time to time, then the town either rakes it or runs a grader over it. It's a lot of fun to keep track of the environment by noticing different sorts of things and comparing notes with people.

Here's a view of Lyon Mountain from the Clayburg Road.

This is a view I get just before I reach the main road, Route 3. It's great watching the changes in Lyon Mountain--sometimes it's a magnificent blue, sometimes the ridge of the top looks as if someone ran a black marker along it, sometimes it's covered by clouds, sometimes it looks as if you could reach out and touch it. Molly has vistas like this, too. I like to use her views of the sea, the islands, the beach--that sort of thing--for my desktop background. I get to change the image all the time because she posts different pictures. Sometimes I even use pictures of her dog. Such a pretty dog with a very expressive face.

Last night I watched a great show about dog intelligence. It was British and included some cool studies and conclusions. One of the smartest dogs they found was a border collie who could differentiate one toy from among a huge number of toys. They put something like a hundred toys the dog recognized in a ring, like a circus ring, and put the dog in the center. Someone would tell the dog to get a specific toy--say a stuffed cat--and the dog would walk around until he found the cat, then retrieve it. To prove that the dog could use the process of elimination they added a toy he'd never had before--a stuffed soccer ball. They used a made-up name: BVI. They told him to get the BVI. He walked around the circle and picked out the soccer ball. How cool.

Another dog was a doberman, a rescue dog. A woman took the dog in and was having trouble getting him to bond with her. She got him a bunch of stuffed animals. The dog would arrange the animals in geometric patterns in the yard: first triangles, then semi-circles, then parallel lines. He did this time after time. Then he'd sort them by type--all the monkeys together, all the frogs together. Once he put two toys together, one with its arm around the other. She said that was just after he allowed her to hug him for the first time. How cool! The scientists didn't believe her so they set up video cameras--they showed Ronnie the Dog arranging his toys in speeded up motion. It was magic to see.

Another conclusion was reached after they deciphered the significance of tail wagging. They determined that dogs wag their tails primarily to the right when their owners (or someone they have good feelings about) approach. To the left when another dog approaches.

It was also determined that dogs can distinguish a human's command/wishes by looking at their eyes (the dog would leave the treat alone when the woman's eyes were open, but as soon as she closed her eyes the dog walked to the treat and ate it). Also that dogs can understand a simple hand signal (like pointing to a treat on the floor) without training. I thought that was questionable, since I'm always trying to get my dogs to pick up food I've spilled by pointing to it. Huh? huh? they seem to say. I have to practically touch the food to get them to it. I also wonder what effect my wearing glasses has on their ability to read my expressions. Tess always responds to my smiling, wags her tail as soon as I smile or raise my eyebrows.

It was a lot of fun watching the dogs do these things rather than reading about it. The doberman thing was incredible.

So much to say so much to say

To quote Dave Matthews. I know, it's been a long time. I'm just really busy at work these days, really busy, which isn't my normal state. I'm behind on my book order, am catching up on cataloging, am now downloading records because my clerk is out recovering from back surgery, have to work on goals, quarterly reports, annual report, statistics (there was one not-very-bright woman in Providence who drove Mary Frances crazy by saying "sasistics." It might have been ok but she worked in the Business Industry and Science Dept. I always say sasistics here but no one gets it--I think they just figure I'm stoopid. But then, one clerk here talks about Alheimers and gets fusstrated when people make mute points), do SOMETHING about the cooperative collection devel. plan. Like find the notes that say who volunteered to be on the committee. Lots of luck.

Anyway, here I am.

Ken's 94th birthday was Weds. It was a dismal celebration, just the 2 of us. I baked a cake--from a mix, which was depressing enough. I got fillet mignon, which is our favorite, and we had Tater Tots, which he likes. He was in bad shape, though--lonely, weak, very sad, walking so slowly--the way my father did just before he died. I was sure Ken was almost ready to die. I stopped there Thursday and he was completely different. It was great: he was cheerful, strong, animated, never fell asleep. Was playing with a plastic cork, trying to get it back in the wine bottle but it kept popping out like a champagne cork every ten minutes. We had great fun playing with that, but we're easily entertained. When I stopped there last night he was in a great mood again, and had gone outside to get his own firewood from the shed. The first time he's done that in weeks. Maybe spring will bring him new energy. I know he won't last forever--I also know lots of people think I'm not realistic about this and they warn me all the time. My mother and I talk about it often, I know she's trying to prepare me and I like the way she's doing it. I cried a boatload of tears on Weds. night while I was there, but I am being realistic. Anyway, for now I'll enjoy being with him.

I did my third and final foolish car-in-the-snow trick this week. The driveway was really icy (what Ken calls "just like a bottle") but I was determined to get up the tiny hill to the house. Being determined like that is always my downfall. Tried twice, decided to give it one more try. Slid down, gunned it, slid sideways, gunned it, turned the wheels, got stuck in snowbank, gunned it, stuck in front, stuck in back--perpendicular to driveway. The only times I've even come close to being in such a mess were the 2 times I got stuck in the mud up to the running boards of the car and had to be pulled out by tow trucks. Anyway, I was heading home to be sick, la grippe (but nothing a 5 hour nap couldn't stave off), so couldn't stand to think about a solution. I called Ken and asked if he could get in touch with the Brousseau Boys (again, 40 year old men we call boys). Great-nephews of his who are strong and working in the neighborhood. They came but I had fallen asleep by then. Turns out they had to pick the car up to get it out. They came to the door, knocked on it--I didn't wake up, they looked in at me on the couch and went home. I was really embarrassed, stopped to thank them the next day. This is really an awful thing, to have someone do something so unselfish and invaluable for you and not be there to thank them. Anyway I got them gift cards for Applebees on Thursday. Then I went to Lowes and realized I should have got gift cards THERE instead. But hopefully they'll pay some attention to their wives and take them out. High drama this week.

I've been feeling pretty good these days. Taking meth has been working well. I've got the dosage and routine down well, am pleased with the effect. Saw psychiatrist this week. It's amazing that I can be laughing with him one minute and in tears the next. I talked about the admiration people are always expressing to me about my living where I do and how I do. I've never liked that--to me it's just my life, what I do day to day. I'd be more impressed with myself if I lived in a city and had to deal with those complications. Anyway, it made me cry. I said it reminded me of my father's favorite line when he saw the less fortunate "poor pathetic bastards." For some reason I equate admiration for my life with that. So we talked about how I deal with the things that are challenging. I guess I see the things I should be doing, the things that need to be done that I'm neglecting. I'm trying to feel better about it. It dawned on me yesterday that there aren't that many women who live alone in situations like mine, and it's true I should be doing more of the physical work and maintenance, cleaning up outside--but those things are a challenge and I don't know what to do with the trash I collect. No truck to drive it to the landfill. Everyone says, "borrow a truck." Yeah right--men are so willing to lend you their trucks. Anyway, I'm always fretting about things I should be doing to my house and my yard. And I'm ALWAYS embarrassed that I pay people to stack my firewood. Psychiatrist says I should look at that as doing a good thing by helping young men better themselves by employing them. These guys are Boyz from Bill's 'hood who are funny but are always close to ruining their lives. They treat me with great respect and want to fix things up around my house.

Ahhhh, big sigh.

It felt like spring--just the tiniest bit this week. At the point where the snow makes the ground colder than the air. At the point where there's an incredible sheen on top of the snow that's so beautiful. The dogs can walk on top of it, jump on it, stand on top of snowbanks like mountain goats. I can walk on top of it very tenderly, punching through just about to my knee every once in a while. Just the hint of a spring smell in the air. Almost warm enough to leave my jacket inside so I do it anyway. Then snow last night, but far less than was predicted by weatherman on TV.

Now it's time to go to drug store to get meds, book store to buy present for Bill, grocery store for things, then long ride home. Have dogs for company, am hoping they've done no damage to car while waiting for me. The latch on Tess' cage is broken, so 3 days this week she was loose in the house. Only has access to living room and bathroom so destructive options are limited. So far so good, and she's calmer when I get home, though surprised and puzzled by the whole thing. Cutie. Kitty has cabin fever. Runs around living room like creature possessed. Went outside this morning. Hell, we're all shack wacky. That's March.

This is the official logo on the t-shirts my friends David and Duncan brought when they were here a couple of weeks ago. Every year when the group of men (we call them "the boys") come to open camp they bring some item imprinted with the logo and name of their camp (Kokosing, which was the name of the girls' camp. When the camp closed and the land was split into 4 lots they bought the part that was the girls' camp--one main building and a bunch of sleeping cabins). 1968 represents the general time I started hanging around with the campers (just the boys, actually). The opening weekends are called Workfests and the November visits by Duncan and David are called Xtreme Workfests, though they mostly climb mountains. Winter visits, new this year and only made by Duncan and David, are called Freeze-fests. David came up with this whole design. Since this is what he does for a living, it's very complex and cool. One year it was a label for Hawkeye Spring Water, with the names of the cabins printed around the square of the label. Anyway, on this Visa card in the background is the view from their boathouse. The hologram is the face of Hartzie, the owner of the camp and the female version of Ken except she ruled with an iron fist. The reference to candy is partly because David sent me a big box of wax bottles and fireballs last year as a reward for seeding part of their yard.

Anyway, I really like these two, I count them among my favorite Hawkeye friends. They're kind, very funny, bright, and really easy on the eyes. And, of course, married.