Blog of a Newly Minted Housewife

Reflecting

There have been a lot of good things going on in my life lately, but I'm not going to talk about them right now. Instead, I want to write about the fragility of life, and about how quickly things can change.

This is brought on in part by the Terri Schiavo case (and isn't it terrible how we refer to a person as a "case"??). But there have been some bad things touching my life in a much closer and more personal way in the past month.

Our family found out early this month that my mom's breast cancer has metastasized. We had high hopes that her earlier treatment - surgery, chemo, radiation - had done the job. But cancer is a tricky thing, and this one isn't giving up easily. Mom started chemo again last week and is battling on with her usual positive attitude.

I have been taking a novel workshop for a couple of months, and last week one of my classmates died suddenly of a blood clot in the brain. He woke up Saturday morning with a fierce headache and was dead before midnight.

This morning, my upstairs neighbor's girlfriend slipped on the steps and broke her ankle. She could have just as easily hit her head or broken a wrist.

All these things remind me how quickly life can turn on you. Life can go from good to bad - and the other direction - in the blink of an eye.

And I realized someone in the past two weeks that I don't have my wished written down anywhere, the ones that would tell people what I want to do if life turns its ugly head in my direction. No one wants to think about it, but we have to. Or we'll all end up in court, like Terri Shiavo. Or dead like my classmate with no say over what happens to us.

Until I can fill out an Advance Directive (something I should have done years ago) I'm going to put my wishes and my thoughts here.

My fundamental philosophy comes down to quality of life vs. quantity of life. If I hit my head, or have a stroke, and end up in a "persistent vegetative state", I do not want to have extreme measures taken to keep me alive. Do not give me a feeding tube if my cerebral cortex is toast. Let me die a dignified death, let my loved ones grieve my passing rather than struggle to keep my body going. And if at all possible, donate my organs. If there is no choice, and I have to die (or am already dead), let someone else have a chance at life.

I realize this entry probably has no legal basis, but at least now you know. And I'll urge you to write down your own wishes, just in case life turns its ugly side your way.

Thoughts about stories

Someone sent an email to Neil Gaiman today - well, I'm sure lots of people send him lots of email every day. But this particular email, which he posted in his blog, asked his opinion on movie adaptations of books, and whether or not it bothered him, and it did the sender, that the actor chosen to play a particular part never meshed with the character the way he had it in his head while reading the book. And I know everyone's done this before. "They picked who to play that part?? What the hell were they thinking?" But I loved Neil's attitude on this, as I do with so many other things. He said basically that the character is different in the head of each and every reader, so there are easily half a million or more versions of (and here he named his MC from American Gods) and there was nothing wrong with that. Basically, that's the world as it should be. And he ended with this:
In the end, it's you and the book, and your imagination contributes to the book and makes it live, and makes it unique.

It is this aspect that I love so much about books, and about reading. The writer creates a world in his head, and writes it down, and the reader picks those words off the pages and brings that world into his own head and reshapes it. I read a quote once, and if I could remember it exactly or tell you who it was from I'd do that. But since I can't, I'll paraphrase. It was something to the point that it takes two people to make a story live. A story is a converstaion of sorts between the writer and the reader, and if either of those two people don't do their job - the writer doesn't write or the reader doesn't read - then the story is dead.

And that's something I really need to remember when I see my darlings sitting on my desk rather than in an envelope, ready to go in the mail to some editor or other. Without a reader, my stories might as well never have been written.

Off to sunny San Diego

Back in early February, when I planned this trip to San Diego, I was looking forward to a trip to the sunshine, looking forward to escaping the gloom of the Pacific Northwest for the warmth of Southern California.

Instead of gloom and drizzle, I am leaving warmth and bright sunshine. The weather has been incredible here, as evidenced by the bright blue sky behind Mt. St. Helens plume of ash on Tuesday. I spent a good portion of yesterday sitting in the yard with my neighbor, drinking beer and shooting the sh...uh, gossiping. Today should be just as nice - the forecast is for 73 degrees and sunny.

By contrast, the forecast for San Diego today is....74 degrees and sunny. Hmm.

All I really have to do today is laundry and packing. And using up some of the food in the fridge. I signed up for organic produce delivery, and recieved my first box on Tuesday. Apples, pears, oranges, lettuce, a very pretty tomato. An onion, a leek, one head each of broccoli and cauliflower. And six beets. What the heck am I going to do with six beets?? OK, they are small. I will probably boil them next week, chill them, and make a salad. I guess. But I would have much preferred more tomatoes or some bell peppers. Six beets?? If this is the kind of stuff they bring, it isn't worth the money and convenience. I'll hold on for a while, though. In the summer, I'm thinking lots of fresh fruit, green beans, corn, peppers, that sort of thing. We'll see.

I have a class now on Monday nights, or at least for the next three weeks. It's a writing class, a "novel-in-progress" workshop, and I have a little homework I have to do over the weekend. I'm taking homework with me, but not my computer. It will be the first time in four or five years, aside from camping trips, that I've traveled without my laptop. I won't be completely disconnected - there are three or four internet capable computers at my sister's house. But I won't have the option of cruising the 'Net for hours. It will be weird, but freeing, I think. I hope.

Especially going through the airport and on the plane. No case to lug through the terminal, no laptop to pull out at the security check. I'm really looking forward to having nothing more than my purse and a book! Freedom!

Saturday is girlie day. Haircut and color for both my sister and I, and in the afternoon, shopping. For her. All I am allowed to buy is mascara, as mine seems to have dried up in the past week. And brown/tan slacks, if I can find some I like. And that's it. Oh, and maybe we'll get manicures and pedicures. That's become kind of a tradition.

Sunday...well, I'm sure there are things planned for Sunday. Play with the doggies! Play with the kids! Sleep late and eat waffles and drink coffee in my pajamas until noon. Or go to the park, or the beach. Or maybe something more planned. It doesn't really matter, 'cause I'll have the whole family to myself. Bwahahaha!

Ahem.

And when I fly home (and yes, Portland is home now), a new friend is picking me up at the airport, which makes me happy. And not just because I won't have to take the bus.

Signs of spring

I don't feel like writing much this morning, so here are some of the signs of spring I recently noted around my house.

Green potato salad, for a "Touch of Green" potluck:

Happy puppy! Happy because she gets to spend more time lolling on the porch in the sun, though here she is in the kitchen.

Crocuses, the first flower of spring time. I didn't plant any daffodils last fall, though those are blooming across the street at my neighbors house. It almost makes me miss the paperwhite that spring from the roots of the fig tree in my old backyard.

Flowering fruit trees. I don't know what this one is, but I'd swear it went from bare branches to cotton puffs in about a day!

Every season is worth celebration, though sometimes the celebration is overdone. The party ended soon after this glass met it's demise.