Stuff

Stuff is on my mind.

Stuff as in physical, tangible stuff: books, clothes, papers. Even with my leaner-than-many-of-my-friends (and my husband, for that matter) lifestyle, I still have a lot of stuff. Right now, this moment, I am looking at a pile of stuff (books, papers, miscellaneous stuff) 4 feet long, 18 inches wide, and 12 inches deep sitting on my study floor. Goodwill, shred, file away, send to someone else: it is all stuff that needs to go, in part because I am tired of looking at it and in part because we will be hosting one of our guest artists next weekend and he will be staying in this room. Rather than just shift the stuff to the other spare bedroom (and then shut the door), I need to deal with this stuff now.

The irony of my listening to Anthony Ongaro, the guy behind the website "Break The Twitch," talking on YouTube about "Simple Inspiration for Minimalism and Decluttering" while I stare at this pile and type this post is not lost on me. Yeah, yeah, I know, Anthony, I know. I gotta let go of this STUFF.

There is other stuff too: intangible, emotional, sticky life stuff. My health, which continues to deteriorate slowly and creakily, is on the "other stuff" pile. Our complicated schedules (upcoming concerts, chemo appointments, conferences and conventions, to name a very few) are part of that other stuff. Helping my dad navigate his new life now that mom lives in a memory unit is some of that other stuff; at almost 86, he is more willing to let his adult children step in and assist with the paperwork, the housework, the yard work, the, well, stuff. I have children and grandchildren out in the Pacific Northwest whom I think about, worry about, miss a lot, and I find myself going over and over the calendar from now until September trying to figure out when we can get out there and not be rushed. (I almost wrote "stuff a trip out there in," but I refuse to treat that trip as stuff.) And those are just the larger items. Correspondence, dinners, coffee with friends, well, that's even more stuff.

It's a lot of stuff.

I am taking this coming week off from work. It is spring break for all of the schools in our county and given that at this time of year 99% of my workload is holding attendance mediations in schools, next week is quiet at Court and a perfect time to step away. I have a few things "scheduled" during that week (including two consecutive appointments at Court on Monday, each about 45 minutes long) but otherwise am leaving the week wide open. I am using the week to regroup mentally, to recharge physically, to write, to do what I want at a slower and easier pace. I am hoping to use some of the week to get through some of the other stuff (on the not too unrealistic hope that the tangible stuff will be done by today or tomorrow).

I need this week to unstuff myself.

Social activist Jodie Patterson, in her new and stunning memoir The Bold World, wrote "It's time, I think, to dream forward."

I agree. And that's why I need to take care of this stuff—the tangible stuff, the intangible stuff, all of the stuff—now. So I can dream forward.

Numbers

My friend Mark is at 5 years post cancer diagnosis this week.

My new grandson Orlando now weighs 8 (8!) pounds and has finally awake enough to regularly reveal his deep, dark eyes.

And speaking of grandchildren, Orlando just passed the 4 week mark, Lyrick is now 2½ years old, and Ramona hit a whopping 6½ years old on March 1. Wowsers! 

If my grandmother Skatzes were still alive, this would be her 126th St. Patrick's Day. Grandma had a lot of Irish blood in her and always, always wore a shamrock pin, often pinned to the top of her apron, on March 17. I received her last one, a gaudy green rhinestone shamrock pin, decades ago.

I can't tell you how many books I have read so far this year because I'm NOT counting them, but it has already been a lot. Thanks to my library's wonderful practice of putting year-to-date savings on my receipt when I check out, I know I have saved $785.73 this year by using the library.  I also know that more than a dozen (12!) books, some from the library, some from friends, are waiting for me on the coffee table. 

Pie Day is January 21 (or thereabouts) and Pi Day is March 14. (Get it?) I did not observe Pie Day, but did unintentionally observe Pi Day when we had a friend to supper that night and served (what else?) homemade apple pie for dessert.

I'm particularly proud of that whole meal, in fact, because every single item consumed came out of the pantry or freezer, and I did not go to the grocery store for one item. Not one! Given that the (minimal) cost of the food that went into that meal had already been accounted for in earlier monthly food reports or was free, I tallied the cost of that meal at...wait for it...zero.

0! 

And this blog? 10 years old today, when I first opened the door.  For the record, this is my 710th post, all of which, with two exceptions, have been written by me. 

So happy anniversary to me! (And thank you, friend and fellow blogger, Ellen Rosentreter, for reminding me I was reaching this milestone.)

Jumping to the Daylight

For the first time in years (decades?), the switch to Daylight Savings Time last night was seamless for me. Usually I wake groggy and stumble around all day in a fog, cursing the stupidity of moving the clock an hour ahead. But today, smooth sailing.

The difference between this year and all the other years? The myeloma in me. Don't get me wrong. This is not a new announcement about my crappy health. I am stable. But what "stable" means and looks like at 14 years out is very different from what "stable" means in other contexts. The sensation of myeloma, the distinct feel of it, if you will, is something I live with now pretty much around the clock. That feeling typically recedes when I am involved in something, such as a round of attendance mediations, but reasserts itself when times are quiet Accompanied often by fatigue, the myeloma is the reason I have cut back steeply on evening activities, joining friends for coffee, traveling, and the like. It is an increasing reason I read a lot (A LOT) because I can read without having to leave my chair (and my comfort zone) every evening.

There is no quieter fort me than when I go to bed each night, so guess what? The myeloma wakes me up in the deep night, sometime just enough to remind me it is here, sometimes for a long, whiney chat. It is an annoying alarm clock that I cannot set to the time I need.

But this morning it did me a favor. When it went off around old 4:30 a.m., we were already at 5:30 a.m. And it was easier (okay, marginally) to wait out another hour before getting up for the day.

Lots of people comment on my positive attitude as I move through this disease to its inevitable conclusion. I don't know about positive attitude. I think rather than a positive attitude, I am pretty realistic about what this is and what it means. Accepting that I have an incurable, progressive cancer that progresses even when it is stable allows me to savor the time I have and move through my days a little (a lot?) more easily. But today, I will go so far as to say "okay, myeloma, that was a gift."

I take them where I can find them.

And speaking of gifts, Orlando has been in the world and part of our family for a little over three weeks. Three weeks! Time flies. Ramona is very much the big sister, reading to him nightly per reliable reports. That makes me smile extra wide; I was in first grade (like Ramona) when my baby brother Mark was born, and I read to him all the time. (So much so over the years that he jokingly blames me for his being a slow reader because, as he puts it 56 years later, "I didn't have to learn. You read to me all the time!") So here is our Ramona (dressed up for Read Across America as Charlotte's Web; her top half is Wilbur, her bottom half Charlotte), Orlando in arms:

Now that is a gift.

February Money Review

The start of a new month, and the accounting on the home level continues.

February was kind to us (or we were kind to ourselves). Total groceries (food) for the month? $132.17 (and that counts a birthday cake Warren bought for his adult children, February birthdays both, for $11.99). Non-food items? A stunning $3.16. Grand total?  $135.33.

Average year-to-date? $148.32.

Our eating out, as expected, was impacted by our road trip to Mayo. Without the Mayo trip, eating out was a cool $11.50. Mayo though (our portion only, as we treated family members at times) added another $70.08 to the pile, for a total of $81.58.

We knew that was coming.

That $70.08 contains one of my favorite "eating out" meals ever. Ever. Heading into Rochester Sunday evening, tired, road-weary (there had been much snow and ice en route, starting early that morning coming out of Chicago), feeling the omnipresent burden of my cancer, we talked as we drew nearer. "What do you want to do for dinner?" "I don't know. What do you want to do?" Neither of us were interested in fast food. I said that I wasn't up for a restaurant, even a casual one. The back and forth continued with little progress. 

We needed gas and so pulled into the Kwik Trip as we came into Rochester. Krip Trips are a chain of gasoline stations/convenience stores primarily in Wisconsin and Minnesota. They have food, including produce, bakery items, and snacks. Warren encouraged me to go in and look.

Nothing was appealing. When I am this worn out, I can stare at even a Michelin-starred menu and see nothing appealing. Warren, though, was persuasive and, most important, patient. "How about this?" Head shake. "How about this?"

We ended up spending $5.92, buying a large Caesar salad and two (2!—Count 'em!—2!) pints of skim milk. We still had clementines, pretzels, and homemade cookies in our travel bag from the packed supper the night before. Okay, we could make this work.

30 minutes later, we were checked into our room and I was in sweats (i.e. comfortable). We sat side by side on the deep couch in the room, spread out our meal on the coffee table, and proceeded to eat and regroup from the long, hard day.

It was perfect. Perfect. The first milk container (which I swigged) calmed me down, the second one relaxed me utterly. (Note: Warren is not a milk drinker. That milk was all for ME!) The salad was as fresh as the ones I've pulled from the Mayo cafe after the cafeteria closes and there was more than enough for the two of us. Add the items from home, add being warm and off the road and in for the night, add being in Oz, and life was good. Life was better than good. It was as good as it gets.

The Mayo trip itself came in at almost $413.00, counting the eating out noted above. About $102.00 of that was the car rental. Gas was a stunningly economic $76.32; we had a rental that got over 42 miles per gallon. While we stayed one night in Chicago (Oak Park), crashing for free at our sister-in-law's condo, we had two hotel stays for a total of $164.59. The first was our usual in Rochester, the second was in, of all places, Merrillville, Indiana.

A word about Merrillville. We drive through it all the time en route to Chicago or further points north and west. The town sits on the intersection of US 30 (east/west across Indiana) and I-65 (north/south from Gary on down). There is a town, somewhere, but we always see the US 30 strip of chain stores and eateries and heavy traffic. But this trip, looking at the weather, looking at our late(r) departure from Rochester, looking at our schedule, Warren suggested we stay in Merrillville rather than Oak Park. That alone would put us an hour and a half or more (depending on traffic) closer to home. While we have driven straight from Rochester to home before, arriving somewhere around 3:00 a.m., neither of us felt we were up to it this time. Hence, Merrillville.

And you know what? It was great. We grabbed a late evening meal-to-go at Portillo's, a hot dog chain that we have hit in Illinois. (Who knew one was in Merrillville? Warren, apparently.) A good sleep, a passably decent breakfast as part of our hotel stay, and we were back on the road in the morning with a little over four hours ahead of us. It worked out so well in terms of driving, minimizing exhaustion, and arriving home at a reasonable time that we may make Merrillville a regular stop.

Who knew?