From the mystical to the more mundane, here's my list of what I'm grateful for, in this new life we are now living.
1) We got here safely and found a safe place to live.
2) We found an IT job for David in an area where there apparently are none AND reduced our commute by half (from the 3 miles it was in Milwaukee).
3) We reduced our utility bill by $230 - cheaper internet, no more cable, and no more huge gas bill for heating our home in frigid temperatures!
4) Walking on the beach in bikini and shorts on November 20th, nuff said.
5) Catching the gorgeous sunset over the Gulf on said beach walks.
6) Nice, small, cheap apartment that's easy to clean.
7) Laundry facilities in our apartment complex. It's so cute, tenants use the "honor system" to pay for using the washer and dryer. So far I've been honorable.
8) Lucky "black racer" snake in our front yard - don't worry, he's non-poisonous.
http://au.answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20080417081952AAiiEEp
Now we just need to name him.
9) Bob, the fluffy orange next-door-neighbor cat who is finally letting me pet him. Not sure if he's met the snake yet.
10) Nice state parks close by for hiking and alligator watching.
11) The possibility of spying Stephen King near his seasonal home on Casey Key, during one of my jogs.
12) David's finally not cold and NOT moving H20 (i.e. shoveling snow).
13) No corporate jobs and no pantyhose!
14) No more dry cleaning bills.
15) Key West is a mere 7 hours drive away, and we'll get there to see it eventually.
16) Palm trees, nuff said.
17) Closer to Panama (and we'll get there, eventually).
18) Cheap produce at Farmer's Markets.
19) My new friend Beth who promised to teach me how to cook some new dishes to keep dinner interesting, as I continue playing housewife.
20) The ability to not work and just play housewife! For only a bit longer till I get a job....
It's funny, I read in my journal where I wrote a long time ago that "if David would just let me quit this job and I could be his housewife, I'd gladly have dinner on the table everyday for him." Now, come to find that gig isn't all roses and circus ponies and sunshine like I thought it would be. But I'm taking the lesson, seeing how "grass is always greener" and "glass half-empty" I can be and how that's never served me.
I'm starting to really get that happiness and joy are much less our daily lives and what happens to us, and much more about how we react to everything. Therefore it's inside us, not outside of us. Eckhart Tolle says in his book The Power of Now that "...what is sometimes wrongly called joy is the usually short-lived pleasure side of the of the continuously alternating pain/pleasure cycle. Pleasure is always derived from something outside you, whereas joy arises from within."
This is sort of the good news and the bad news rolled into one. It means that when we're unhappy we can do something about it, but it also means that if we don't there's no blaming the world or other people for our misery. Not to sermonize too much, but I truly believe that once you understand this kind of radical self-responsibility in a deep way it's hard to forget, even when you (I) fail to enact that knowledge on any particular day.
So I'm grateful for the challenges during this interim period of our adventure that give me the opportunity to try to get it right (corny as that may sound). And I hope that during this holiday season and always, we may all have more true joy in our lives.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Finding our Way in Florida...And to Panama
Serious writers block! All month now, unfortunately. Lack of motivation, depression, lethargy, whatever you want to call it, I've had it. Also guilt. For not being happy. This is what I wanted, wasn't it? One time out to dinner, David wrote on a napkin some statement like "I, Michele Hirning, when I finally get to quit my job will be completely happy" - he dated it and made me sign my name. I'll have to see if he still has it. Of course though it just doesn't work like that, for anyone, but I fear that I especially lack a talent for happiness.
It's making me so unhappy that now that we are officially settled in Florida, and I officially don't know what to do with my life (until we go to Panama or one of the other candidate locations), I feel like I have nothing much to say. Or that I am having a hard time figuring out how to say anything that feels important and interesting to more than myself and maybe David.
And now today, David started a new job and I'm officially alone at home, feeling like I should be more enthused about being his housewife. Shall I look up a recipe for chicken and go to the meat market? Shall I do yoga or meditation, go for a jog, go to the courts and hit a few tennis balls against a wall? How terrible to feel so useless at 37 years old; to not know what to do with myself or worse - to not feel like doing much of anything at all.
David over the weekend sez "Don't let me forget to go to work on Monday..." which is funny and true that it is such a jarring change for us. I'm so proud of him because there are apparently zero IT jobs in the Sarasota area, but we somehow managed to find one (god bless Craig's List). Even better is that one job may quickly turn into two - David reports that there's enough work at this mom-and-pop Macintosh software shop for plenty more people. When David told the owner that his wife is in IT also, the guy raised his eyebrows and said "Well, let's get her in here!"
The office is walking distance from our apartment, the atmosphere is casual (the owner shows up to work in sandals and shorts), and there's huge potential the business could grow, with our help. It pays about 1/3 of what we made up north but that's par for the course down here I've heard, and that could change if things go well.
But, one might ask, why are we working at all? Wasn't this all about going to Panama? Yes, that is still our ultimate goal. But we figure we should make some money while we are here in FL, replenish the savings account so we have more options once we get there. A whole summer of hanging around Milwaukee, not working and trying to sell the house was expensive (we may have sort of screwed up that way, but oh well).
Anyways there's still a lot to figure out before we take the next big step in this adventure. We know for sure we want to go to Panama by spring or summertime but whether that will just be a visit for more reconnaissance or an actual move depends on how this new job works out (perhaps we can do it remotely?), how much more we can reduce our possessions and what I can deal with, in terms of gritty, bare bones traveling. Cuz whether it's a trip or a move, there'll be no staying in expensive hotels and comfy B&Bs like the last time we went, we just can't afford it especially if we end up traveling for any length of time and it takes us a while to get settled.
David has always said that, left to his own devices, he'd have already been sleeping in a van down by the river for years now, and socking away the money saved. Probably stereotypically, I'm the one who's a bit of a wimp when it comes to availability of clean beds and bathrooms, who's more of a nester. I just don't know how much dislocation I can handle, how little of a home, how few possessions. Being so very mobile has always sounded great, in theory, but the practice may be a bit harder, I am realizing.
I have a vision of us leaving the states with just a backpack each and using Panama's excellent bus system to get around and find that magical small piece of land we want to buy. And in this idealized picture, if we end up having to sleep in a bus station because we get to a town and there's no where to stay, of course I don't mind it or at least don't freak out. I've seen other women do the hard-core travel on a shoe-string thing, so why couldn't that be me? It feels like it all depends on how brave I can be.
We made a huge leap from a house full of stuff to fitting everything we own into 2 cars, but can we now get it down to what can fit into 2 backpacks? Can I let go of "things" to that degree (my books and journals are most troubling), and even then can I deal with not having anything approximating a real home, and for how long? Another option we are entertaining is to ship down a truck with camper or a small SUV (or buy one when we get down there), and then use that to get around and to sleep in. Yet another idea is to try to find a caretaking gig that we can use as home base while we look for property.
It all feels like a bit of a pickle but I also sense that there are solutions if I could just open my mind to them, stop feeling so scared and stuck, and let some creativity flow through my brain. There's something very organic about this process, since there are many variables and lots of possibilities. What's difficult now is to strike the right balance between going after what we want and also stepping back and "trusting the flow" - waiting to see what develops, what emerges. For me ground zero though is figuring out what exactly I do want. You'd think it'd be easier.
It's making me so unhappy that now that we are officially settled in Florida, and I officially don't know what to do with my life (until we go to Panama or one of the other candidate locations), I feel like I have nothing much to say. Or that I am having a hard time figuring out how to say anything that feels important and interesting to more than myself and maybe David.
And now today, David started a new job and I'm officially alone at home, feeling like I should be more enthused about being his housewife. Shall I look up a recipe for chicken and go to the meat market? Shall I do yoga or meditation, go for a jog, go to the courts and hit a few tennis balls against a wall? How terrible to feel so useless at 37 years old; to not know what to do with myself or worse - to not feel like doing much of anything at all.
David over the weekend sez "Don't let me forget to go to work on Monday..." which is funny and true that it is such a jarring change for us. I'm so proud of him because there are apparently zero IT jobs in the Sarasota area, but we somehow managed to find one (god bless Craig's List). Even better is that one job may quickly turn into two - David reports that there's enough work at this mom-and-pop Macintosh software shop for plenty more people. When David told the owner that his wife is in IT also, the guy raised his eyebrows and said "Well, let's get her in here!"
The office is walking distance from our apartment, the atmosphere is casual (the owner shows up to work in sandals and shorts), and there's huge potential the business could grow, with our help. It pays about 1/3 of what we made up north but that's par for the course down here I've heard, and that could change if things go well.
But, one might ask, why are we working at all? Wasn't this all about going to Panama? Yes, that is still our ultimate goal. But we figure we should make some money while we are here in FL, replenish the savings account so we have more options once we get there. A whole summer of hanging around Milwaukee, not working and trying to sell the house was expensive (we may have sort of screwed up that way, but oh well).
Anyways there's still a lot to figure out before we take the next big step in this adventure. We know for sure we want to go to Panama by spring or summertime but whether that will just be a visit for more reconnaissance or an actual move depends on how this new job works out (perhaps we can do it remotely?), how much more we can reduce our possessions and what I can deal with, in terms of gritty, bare bones traveling. Cuz whether it's a trip or a move, there'll be no staying in expensive hotels and comfy B&Bs like the last time we went, we just can't afford it especially if we end up traveling for any length of time and it takes us a while to get settled.
David has always said that, left to his own devices, he'd have already been sleeping in a van down by the river for years now, and socking away the money saved. Probably stereotypically, I'm the one who's a bit of a wimp when it comes to availability of clean beds and bathrooms, who's more of a nester. I just don't know how much dislocation I can handle, how little of a home, how few possessions. Being so very mobile has always sounded great, in theory, but the practice may be a bit harder, I am realizing.
I have a vision of us leaving the states with just a backpack each and using Panama's excellent bus system to get around and find that magical small piece of land we want to buy. And in this idealized picture, if we end up having to sleep in a bus station because we get to a town and there's no where to stay, of course I don't mind it or at least don't freak out. I've seen other women do the hard-core travel on a shoe-string thing, so why couldn't that be me? It feels like it all depends on how brave I can be.
We made a huge leap from a house full of stuff to fitting everything we own into 2 cars, but can we now get it down to what can fit into 2 backpacks? Can I let go of "things" to that degree (my books and journals are most troubling), and even then can I deal with not having anything approximating a real home, and for how long? Another option we are entertaining is to ship down a truck with camper or a small SUV (or buy one when we get down there), and then use that to get around and to sleep in. Yet another idea is to try to find a caretaking gig that we can use as home base while we look for property.
It all feels like a bit of a pickle but I also sense that there are solutions if I could just open my mind to them, stop feeling so scared and stuck, and let some creativity flow through my brain. There's something very organic about this process, since there are many variables and lots of possibilities. What's difficult now is to strike the right balance between going after what we want and also stepping back and "trusting the flow" - waiting to see what develops, what emerges. For me ground zero though is figuring out what exactly I do want. You'd think it'd be easier.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Grey's Anatomy, Grief & Getting a Life
I don't own a T.V. any longer. It was one of the many things we shed as we made our way from the old life into this new one. I have to say I haven't missed it. And yet, I was recently faced with what to do when I wanted to see the season premiere of Grey's Anatomy, the one show I have followed faithfully these past few years. For the first Packer game of the season we were fortunate enough to find a Packer bar in Sarasota that serves good beer and good food and so David was happy having his fix that way.
But I couldn't count on finding a Grey's Anatomy viewing spot and so we planned to go over to David's friend's house - the friend who so generously let us stay with him for a whole week when we first arrived in town and were looking for an apartment. I promised to bring him Thai food from his favorite restaurant for the favor. But we are trying to conserve money so when David found an online site that would play the premiere real-time (as opposed to watching it on abc.com the next day), we instead did a home-cooked dinner (David made the most yummy broiled alligator with lemon-pepper seasoning), and I was able to watch it in the comfort of our tiny new beige-tiled apartment.
After re-watching last year's season finale, just as a refresher, before I watched the season premiere I am amazed all over again by how well they write this one-of-a-kind show. I took a lot of lessons from both episodes. And that's what this blog post is all about.
The season finale I originally watched in May, of course, and it completely jibed with where I was then in my life. It also dove-tailed nicely with the planned epigraph to this book I want to write, a little bit along the lines of Eat, Pray, Love's "Tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth". Mine is "Do it now, do it now, do it now." At that time, I was preparing to finally quit my job and our plans to leave Wisconsin were moving ahead fast & furious. And so naturally it felt like the Meredith voice-over at the end (when George and Izzie were both dying), was speaking directly to me, telling me there really was no time to lose:
"Did you say it? I love you. I don't ever want to live without you. You changed my life. Did you say it? Make a plan, set a goal, work toward it, but every now and then look around, drink it in, cuz this is it. It might all be gone tomorrow."
I've been especially feeling that "it might all be gone tomorrow" because of my health concern as of late, and the worrying-slash-disasterizing that I do so well. When my early August endoscopy showed nothing (for which I'm grateful, believe me), the Physician's Assistant who called to give me the good news said the next step would be to get some "imaging" done. But there was the intervening trip to Seattle and then getting settled in Florida, so it was only last week that I finally had an appointment to address that.
David came with me and we met with the most wonderful family physician, who sat and talked with us for what seemed like an hour, unrushed and completely willing to admit she didn't know a ton about diet and naturopathic options (when I declined the Nexium she was recommending), but gave us names of those who do. From there we proceeded to the diagnostic lab just across the street for X-rays. We concluded that it must be a "patient's market" here in Florida, with all the older people and their health issues, because we were treated extremely well throughout our medical morning and it felt like quite a contrast to the way they do things "up North."
I told the doctor about my history of drinking and smoking. Then when she listened to my lungs she said she heard some "congestion" on the left side and I might have some pneumonia in that lung. Dear god, I thought this was all GI-related; could it be I've just had walking pneumonia for 6 months and that's why I've felt this pressure under the left side of my ribs? Astutely detecting my tendency towards hypochondria - as well as my mild OCD, she said she wouldn't be surprised if I color-coded my clothes and I admitted "well, I do wash my hands a lot" - she reassured me that it didn't "sound like cancer." Although the pessimist in me thought: how on earth could she know that?! Well, she was right - the X-rays came back and everything is "normal." Damn it! Why couldn't it have been something I could just treat with some drugs and get past?! Don't get me wrong, again I'm so grateful for the good news. But completely confounded by what the hell is going on with my body still. It's driving me crazy.
But that's where Grey's Anatomy comes in again. The season premiere - starting out with Elisabeth Kubler-Ross' Stages of Grief, counting down the days since George's death, and including the girl who's unable to do anything but sit outside the hospital on a bench because the man who saved her life had died - was wonderful. I loved it when Izzie told the girl to go live her life, and the girl plaintively says "I don't know how" - Izzie tells her truthfully "no one knows how!" and that she basically owes it to George to figure it out. But as usual with the way they write this show, Izzie was also talking to herself. I also heard it loud and clear.
So, do I owe it to my Dad or to my husband or even just to myself, to figure it the fuck out finally? Perhaps. And I wonder too, if my Dad looks down from some kind of Heaven, sees the suffering of his four children and wishes he could tell us all the answers that he knows now. That it shouldn't all be taken so seriously, that it will be OK in the end and there shouldn't be so much suffering along the way. That we are alive and should enjoy it while we have it, it could be gone in an instant. That we should laugh more often, love longer and harder, and let go of our anger and resentment, all our grudges and stubborn judgements, more easily. That one message alone could save us all from countless hours of teeth-gnashing and pulling out our hair, I think.
But it's not easy, as the first episode of the two-part season premiere stated so beautifully, "In medical school we have a hundred classes that teach us how to fight off death and not one lesson in how to go on living."
And as the second episode ended, another message that went straight to the heart of how to go on: "Grief may be a thing we all have in common, but it looks different on everyone. It isn't just death we have to grieve, it's life, it's loss, it's change. And when we wonder why it has to suck so much sometimes, has to hurt so bad, the thing we gotta try to remember is that it can turn on a dime. That's how you stay alive. When it hurts so much that you can't breath, that's how you survive. By remembering that one day, somehow, impossibly you won't feel this way, it won't hurt this much. Grief comes in its own time for everyone, in its own way. So the best we can do, the best anyone can do is try for honesty. The really crappy thing, the very worst part of grief is that you can't control it. The best we can do is try to let ourselves feel it, when it comes. And let it go when we can. The very worst part is that the minute you think you're past it, it starts all over again. And always, every time, it takes your breath away."
They were like two perfect bookends, last season's finale telling me to "do it now" and this season's premiere telling me to "get a life!" and stop dwelling on the health issue, on my dad's death, on everything that's not present moment living, or at least future plans. It's somewhat true that I've been sitting on my own bench, since I left the job in June, not moving forward with my life emotionally. This blog itself has been a lot about looking back. But it's time. I still don't know exactly what I will do next - I'm currently researching caretaking and WWOOFing in Florida, the Caribbean, Hawaii and, of course, Panama! - but it's going to be great. I hope it takes my breath away.
http://www.abc.go.com/watch/greys-anatomy/93515
http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/eatpraylove.htm
http://www.ekrfoundation.org/
http://www.caretaker.org/
http://www.wwoof.org/
But I couldn't count on finding a Grey's Anatomy viewing spot and so we planned to go over to David's friend's house - the friend who so generously let us stay with him for a whole week when we first arrived in town and were looking for an apartment. I promised to bring him Thai food from his favorite restaurant for the favor. But we are trying to conserve money so when David found an online site that would play the premiere real-time (as opposed to watching it on abc.com the next day), we instead did a home-cooked dinner (David made the most yummy broiled alligator with lemon-pepper seasoning), and I was able to watch it in the comfort of our tiny new beige-tiled apartment.
After re-watching last year's season finale, just as a refresher, before I watched the season premiere I am amazed all over again by how well they write this one-of-a-kind show. I took a lot of lessons from both episodes. And that's what this blog post is all about.
The season finale I originally watched in May, of course, and it completely jibed with where I was then in my life. It also dove-tailed nicely with the planned epigraph to this book I want to write, a little bit along the lines of Eat, Pray, Love's "Tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth". Mine is "Do it now, do it now, do it now." At that time, I was preparing to finally quit my job and our plans to leave Wisconsin were moving ahead fast & furious. And so naturally it felt like the Meredith voice-over at the end (when George and Izzie were both dying), was speaking directly to me, telling me there really was no time to lose:
"Did you say it? I love you. I don't ever want to live without you. You changed my life. Did you say it? Make a plan, set a goal, work toward it, but every now and then look around, drink it in, cuz this is it. It might all be gone tomorrow."
I've been especially feeling that "it might all be gone tomorrow" because of my health concern as of late, and the worrying-slash-disasterizing that I do so well. When my early August endoscopy showed nothing (for which I'm grateful, believe me), the Physician's Assistant who called to give me the good news said the next step would be to get some "imaging" done. But there was the intervening trip to Seattle and then getting settled in Florida, so it was only last week that I finally had an appointment to address that.
David came with me and we met with the most wonderful family physician, who sat and talked with us for what seemed like an hour, unrushed and completely willing to admit she didn't know a ton about diet and naturopathic options (when I declined the Nexium she was recommending), but gave us names of those who do. From there we proceeded to the diagnostic lab just across the street for X-rays. We concluded that it must be a "patient's market" here in Florida, with all the older people and their health issues, because we were treated extremely well throughout our medical morning and it felt like quite a contrast to the way they do things "up North."
I told the doctor about my history of drinking and smoking. Then when she listened to my lungs she said she heard some "congestion" on the left side and I might have some pneumonia in that lung. Dear god, I thought this was all GI-related; could it be I've just had walking pneumonia for 6 months and that's why I've felt this pressure under the left side of my ribs? Astutely detecting my tendency towards hypochondria - as well as my mild OCD, she said she wouldn't be surprised if I color-coded my clothes and I admitted "well, I do wash my hands a lot" - she reassured me that it didn't "sound like cancer." Although the pessimist in me thought: how on earth could she know that?! Well, she was right - the X-rays came back and everything is "normal." Damn it! Why couldn't it have been something I could just treat with some drugs and get past?! Don't get me wrong, again I'm so grateful for the good news. But completely confounded by what the hell is going on with my body still. It's driving me crazy.
But that's where Grey's Anatomy comes in again. The season premiere - starting out with Elisabeth Kubler-Ross' Stages of Grief, counting down the days since George's death, and including the girl who's unable to do anything but sit outside the hospital on a bench because the man who saved her life had died - was wonderful. I loved it when Izzie told the girl to go live her life, and the girl plaintively says "I don't know how" - Izzie tells her truthfully "no one knows how!" and that she basically owes it to George to figure it out. But as usual with the way they write this show, Izzie was also talking to herself. I also heard it loud and clear.
So, do I owe it to my Dad or to my husband or even just to myself, to figure it the fuck out finally? Perhaps. And I wonder too, if my Dad looks down from some kind of Heaven, sees the suffering of his four children and wishes he could tell us all the answers that he knows now. That it shouldn't all be taken so seriously, that it will be OK in the end and there shouldn't be so much suffering along the way. That we are alive and should enjoy it while we have it, it could be gone in an instant. That we should laugh more often, love longer and harder, and let go of our anger and resentment, all our grudges and stubborn judgements, more easily. That one message alone could save us all from countless hours of teeth-gnashing and pulling out our hair, I think.
But it's not easy, as the first episode of the two-part season premiere stated so beautifully, "In medical school we have a hundred classes that teach us how to fight off death and not one lesson in how to go on living."
And as the second episode ended, another message that went straight to the heart of how to go on: "Grief may be a thing we all have in common, but it looks different on everyone. It isn't just death we have to grieve, it's life, it's loss, it's change. And when we wonder why it has to suck so much sometimes, has to hurt so bad, the thing we gotta try to remember is that it can turn on a dime. That's how you stay alive. When it hurts so much that you can't breath, that's how you survive. By remembering that one day, somehow, impossibly you won't feel this way, it won't hurt this much. Grief comes in its own time for everyone, in its own way. So the best we can do, the best anyone can do is try for honesty. The really crappy thing, the very worst part of grief is that you can't control it. The best we can do is try to let ourselves feel it, when it comes. And let it go when we can. The very worst part is that the minute you think you're past it, it starts all over again. And always, every time, it takes your breath away."
They were like two perfect bookends, last season's finale telling me to "do it now" and this season's premiere telling me to "get a life!" and stop dwelling on the health issue, on my dad's death, on everything that's not present moment living, or at least future plans. It's somewhat true that I've been sitting on my own bench, since I left the job in June, not moving forward with my life emotionally. This blog itself has been a lot about looking back. But it's time. I still don't know exactly what I will do next - I'm currently researching caretaking and WWOOFing in Florida, the Caribbean, Hawaii and, of course, Panama! - but it's going to be great. I hope it takes my breath away.
http://www.abc.go.com/watch/greys-anatomy/93515
http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/eatpraylove.htm
http://www.ekrfoundation.org/
http://www.caretaker.org/
http://www.wwoof.org/
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Stephen King's Key (To Happiness)
While chatting up the local retirees at the beach to learn as much as I can about my new surroundings, I found out that one of my neighbors is none other than the author Stephen King. He reportedly has a seasonal home on Casey Key, which is about 15 miles south of Sarasota and two blocks from where I now live in the town of Nokomis, Florida. One retired lady proclaimed he lives there a bit more than seasonally, she thought it was his main residence now she was sure, and the other lady argued back, but since neither one could truthfully claim to have met or spoken with the man, they ended in stalemate.
I was able to find this bit of information, when I raced home to google it:
http://www.angelfire.com/fl5/funcelebritysecrets/cmntyprofile-stephen-king.html
The next day was a very similar scene: the friendly older people drifting pleasantly in aquamarine water on their brightly colored "noodles" and other floaty-things and entertaining questions posed by an inquisitive me. Whole conversations had been opened up now, by queries such as "What are these white fish swimming around our legs?" and "Do you know why it was so calm here just yesterday and now there's so many waves?" That day I learned from another retiree that not only does Stephen King live on Casey Key, he's even written a book based on it. Having already obtained my Sarasota County Public Library card, I raced home to reserve Duma Key online and had it in my hot little hands the very next day.
Now, I've never been a celebrity stalker and I haven't even read much King in the past couple decades (I think he lost me with The Tommyknockers), but over the course of my life I'd have to say he qualifies as one of my big literary loves. I started reading him ravenously at the age of 12 or 13 and was always transported (as well as scared shitless at times, truthfully). My older brother started reading his novels around that time too and we bonded over how great certain scenes were in Pet Sematary and The Shining. So it feels completely serendipitous and exciting to find out that he lives here!
And then the book, Duma Key, wowza. I'm only 150 into its 611 pages but I'm already being amazed all over again by what a good writer he is.
The critics seem to agree with my assessment -
http://www.strangehorizons.com/reviews/2008/02/duma_key_by_ste.shtml
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/21/books/21maslin.html
http://mysteryink.typepad.com/reviews/2009/04/stephen-king-duma-key-2008.html
I was a little worried the book would freak me out and thereby color my view of this place that I am so far just loving, but I figured I can just remember that it's fiction, only loosely based on reality, and not let it get to me. Although as it turns out the book is more autobiographical than I originally thought, since a lot is based on King's own accident and subsequent physical/mental recovery. One reviewer writes, "King draws in elements of the road accident he suffered in Maine in 1999, when an inattentive truck driver shattered his hip, ribs, spine and much else besides..."
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/02/books/review/Campbell-t.html
I only found this out after starting the book, when my brother mentioned it over the phone and I could barely believe my ears. And when I saw that Duma Key was published in 2008, I was even happier - I'd so lost track of what he was writing I figured the book could be years old by now. The fact that it's a recent book of his makes it all the more poignant and even, dare I say, fateful that I landed exactly here at this precise time in my life. Which I'll explain more in a minute.
More from another reviewer:
"King visited the subject of an artist who uses his craft to help rehabilitate from devastating injuries in his brilliant book Misery. This time around, the plot takes on even greater poignancy, with readers knowing that King himself suffered from catastrophic injuries several years back when he was nearly killed in a car accident.
When Edgar fumes over his foggy memory, when he agonizes over his inability to walk, it's easy to imagine the author doing those same things. This adds a sense of painful authenticity to the story, but it also evokes a strong feeling of hope once Edgar starts to recover and create his art again."
http://mysteryink.typepad.com/reviews/2009/04/stephen-king-duma-key-2008.html
So OK, does it sound too silly and pretentious to say that I am identifying with the book a ton since I'm here experiencing this same beautiful landscape and also feel I'm somewhat in recovery from the trauma of almost 11 years in corporate america having my spirit stifled, and that I hope to create my own "art" again? When I say art I mean the writing, of course, which I have always loved but hey, maybe I'll discover a painter in here too somewhere - anything is possible I think once creativity becomes unleashed!
And the truth is that there is more for me to recover from than simply a job I could barely tolerate, at times, but most of that feels too personal still and too scary to reveal fully here yet. As an adult, scary comes in more forms than pets that come to life again and creepy twins in the hallway of an empty hotel. Scary is when you don't feel equipped to deal with the reality of life and you use unhealthy ways to cope and then your health begins to suffer, at the still-young (they tell me) age of 37. These days scary for a lot of people is "how will I pay the mortgage this month?" or "I have two months until I lose my health care" so I know that I'm not the only one dealing with shit and I don't mean to trivialize what anyone else is going through by posting beach photos on FaceBook and then talk in my blog about how I'm suffering. But there's a lot to heal from and I won't trivialize myself either, this one precious life that I'm still trying to figure out what to do with, or the extreme effort it took to get to this place and the pain that is still mine to handle, for better or for worse.
"I know that people come to Florida when they're old and sick because it's warm pretty much year-round, but I think the Gulf of Mexico has something else going for it. Just looking into that mild flat sunlit calm is healing. It's a big word isn't it? Gulf, I mean. Big enough to drop a lot of things into and watch them disappear." (pg. 120 of Duma Key, by Stephen King)
I feel this could be a place and a time to heal, a real respite, as my friend Mary Kay called it when she advised me not to go rushing back into a technology desk-job even though I'm/we're worried about our money lasting. And even though I met a guy on the beach who said he's an "executive headhunter" and could find me computer work in Sarasota, no problem! Taking Mary Kay's advice, I'm somewhat reluctant to go back to that, unless they'd maybe let me wear my flip-flops and nose-ring and work part-time only. I'm feeling real "chosey" for the first time in my life practically and it feels right and good.
And it feels right that, like the Duma Key protagonist Edgar, I've left that other life for good and have started a new one here in Florida, and now there's no going back -
"What came next was a period of recovery and transition from my other life to the one I lived on Duma Key. Dr. Kamen probably knew that during times like that, most of the big changes are going on inside: civil unrest, revolt, revolution, and finally, mass executions as the heads of the old regime tumble into the basket at the foot of the guillotine. I'm sure the big man had seen such revolutions succeed and seen them fail. Because not everyone makes it into the next life, you know. And those who do don't always discover heaven's golden shore." (pg. 51 of Duma Key, by Stephen King)
It's scary, having said goodbye to all that I knew and yet not knowing exactly what is coming next, where life is taking me. But I can only hope that some sort of healing can happen now, finally, and maybe I can be one of the lucky ones who do "discover heaven's golden shore." Perhaps I've actually already found it and just need to realize it.
Other interesting links about this particular area of Florida and the book:
http://www.geovative.com/GeoTours/tourView.asp?6174Vq=HHFG
http://florida-travel.suite101.com/article.cfm/travel_to_stephen_kings_sarasota
I was able to find this bit of information, when I raced home to google it:
http://www.angelfire.com/fl5/funcelebritysecrets/cmntyprofile-stephen-king.html
The next day was a very similar scene: the friendly older people drifting pleasantly in aquamarine water on their brightly colored "noodles" and other floaty-things and entertaining questions posed by an inquisitive me. Whole conversations had been opened up now, by queries such as "What are these white fish swimming around our legs?" and "Do you know why it was so calm here just yesterday and now there's so many waves?" That day I learned from another retiree that not only does Stephen King live on Casey Key, he's even written a book based on it. Having already obtained my Sarasota County Public Library card, I raced home to reserve Duma Key online and had it in my hot little hands the very next day.
Now, I've never been a celebrity stalker and I haven't even read much King in the past couple decades (I think he lost me with The Tommyknockers), but over the course of my life I'd have to say he qualifies as one of my big literary loves. I started reading him ravenously at the age of 12 or 13 and was always transported (as well as scared shitless at times, truthfully). My older brother started reading his novels around that time too and we bonded over how great certain scenes were in Pet Sematary and The Shining. So it feels completely serendipitous and exciting to find out that he lives here!
And then the book, Duma Key, wowza. I'm only 150 into its 611 pages but I'm already being amazed all over again by what a good writer he is.
The critics seem to agree with my assessment -
http://www.strangehorizons.com/reviews/2008/02/duma_key_by_ste.shtml
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/21/books/21maslin.html
http://mysteryink.typepad.com/reviews/2009/04/stephen-king-duma-key-2008.html
I was a little worried the book would freak me out and thereby color my view of this place that I am so far just loving, but I figured I can just remember that it's fiction, only loosely based on reality, and not let it get to me. Although as it turns out the book is more autobiographical than I originally thought, since a lot is based on King's own accident and subsequent physical/mental recovery. One reviewer writes, "King draws in elements of the road accident he suffered in Maine in 1999, when an inattentive truck driver shattered his hip, ribs, spine and much else besides..."
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/02/books/review/Campbell-t.html
I only found this out after starting the book, when my brother mentioned it over the phone and I could barely believe my ears. And when I saw that Duma Key was published in 2008, I was even happier - I'd so lost track of what he was writing I figured the book could be years old by now. The fact that it's a recent book of his makes it all the more poignant and even, dare I say, fateful that I landed exactly here at this precise time in my life. Which I'll explain more in a minute.
More from another reviewer:
"King visited the subject of an artist who uses his craft to help rehabilitate from devastating injuries in his brilliant book Misery. This time around, the plot takes on even greater poignancy, with readers knowing that King himself suffered from catastrophic injuries several years back when he was nearly killed in a car accident.
When Edgar fumes over his foggy memory, when he agonizes over his inability to walk, it's easy to imagine the author doing those same things. This adds a sense of painful authenticity to the story, but it also evokes a strong feeling of hope once Edgar starts to recover and create his art again."
http://mysteryink.typepad.com/reviews/2009/04/stephen-king-duma-key-2008.html
So OK, does it sound too silly and pretentious to say that I am identifying with the book a ton since I'm here experiencing this same beautiful landscape and also feel I'm somewhat in recovery from the trauma of almost 11 years in corporate america having my spirit stifled, and that I hope to create my own "art" again? When I say art I mean the writing, of course, which I have always loved but hey, maybe I'll discover a painter in here too somewhere - anything is possible I think once creativity becomes unleashed!
And the truth is that there is more for me to recover from than simply a job I could barely tolerate, at times, but most of that feels too personal still and too scary to reveal fully here yet. As an adult, scary comes in more forms than pets that come to life again and creepy twins in the hallway of an empty hotel. Scary is when you don't feel equipped to deal with the reality of life and you use unhealthy ways to cope and then your health begins to suffer, at the still-young (they tell me) age of 37. These days scary for a lot of people is "how will I pay the mortgage this month?" or "I have two months until I lose my health care" so I know that I'm not the only one dealing with shit and I don't mean to trivialize what anyone else is going through by posting beach photos on FaceBook and then talk in my blog about how I'm suffering. But there's a lot to heal from and I won't trivialize myself either, this one precious life that I'm still trying to figure out what to do with, or the extreme effort it took to get to this place and the pain that is still mine to handle, for better or for worse.
"I know that people come to Florida when they're old and sick because it's warm pretty much year-round, but I think the Gulf of Mexico has something else going for it. Just looking into that mild flat sunlit calm is healing. It's a big word isn't it? Gulf, I mean. Big enough to drop a lot of things into and watch them disappear." (pg. 120 of Duma Key, by Stephen King)
I feel this could be a place and a time to heal, a real respite, as my friend Mary Kay called it when she advised me not to go rushing back into a technology desk-job even though I'm/we're worried about our money lasting. And even though I met a guy on the beach who said he's an "executive headhunter" and could find me computer work in Sarasota, no problem! Taking Mary Kay's advice, I'm somewhat reluctant to go back to that, unless they'd maybe let me wear my flip-flops and nose-ring and work part-time only. I'm feeling real "chosey" for the first time in my life practically and it feels right and good.
And it feels right that, like the Duma Key protagonist Edgar, I've left that other life for good and have started a new one here in Florida, and now there's no going back -
"What came next was a period of recovery and transition from my other life to the one I lived on Duma Key. Dr. Kamen probably knew that during times like that, most of the big changes are going on inside: civil unrest, revolt, revolution, and finally, mass executions as the heads of the old regime tumble into the basket at the foot of the guillotine. I'm sure the big man had seen such revolutions succeed and seen them fail. Because not everyone makes it into the next life, you know. And those who do don't always discover heaven's golden shore." (pg. 51 of Duma Key, by Stephen King)
It's scary, having said goodbye to all that I knew and yet not knowing exactly what is coming next, where life is taking me. But I can only hope that some sort of healing can happen now, finally, and maybe I can be one of the lucky ones who do "discover heaven's golden shore." Perhaps I've actually already found it and just need to realize it.
Other interesting links about this particular area of Florida and the book:
http://www.geovative.com/GeoTours/tourView.asp?6174Vq=HHFG
http://florida-travel.suite101.com/article.cfm/travel_to_stephen_kings_sarasota
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Hello to Somewhere Else
Sarasota, Florida is more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. Yes, there are 5-lane 50 MPH roads and lots of strip malls, and the economy is very depressed (perhaps it needs some Prozac?). But we found us a peaceful little community not too far from all the hectic-ness and we love it. This is just a quick snapshot and I will write/reflect more soon, on the personal life changes and what it all means and will we ever get to heaven/nirvana and be happy/finally relax and what about Obama's health care plans and climate change and overpopulation and all that....
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Goodbye to Something Called "Home"
Didn't get everything we own into the Civic after all, and so rented a car at the last minute, which was a lifesaver. (Note: that's not our U-Haul in the background, but belonged to the new tenant who moved into our place, a whole day and 1/2 earlier than expected!)
Hard, so hard, to let go - even when it's a joyful choice!
Caravaning to FL in two cars has been interesting. At David's insistence we bought 2-way radios on the way out of town which helped up immeasurably getting through the nightmare that is called the Chicago-area, with all the tolls, congestion and general confusion. Further South, among mundane walkie-talkie conversation about which Interstate to take next and when to get off for gas/food/potty breaks, we've also been dreaming of the future and reminiscing about our honeymoon (road trip to Savannah, GA in 2003). Hopefully the truckers tuned into our channel found it more amusing than annoying!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
If I was your girlfriend...
If I Was Your Girlfriend, by Prince
If I was your girlfriend
Would u remember 2 tell me all the things u forgot
When I was your man?
Hey, when I was your man
If I was your best friend
Would u let me take care of u and do all the things
That only a best friend can
Only best friends can
If I was your girlfriend
If I was your girlfriend
If I was your girlfriend
Would u let me dress u
I mean, help u pick out your clothes
Before we go out
Not that you're helpless
But sometimes, sometimes
Those are the things that bein in loves about
If I was your one and only friend
Would u run 2 me if somebody hurt u
Even if that somebody was me?
Sometimes I trip on how happy we could be
Please
If I was your girlfriend
If I was your girlfriend
Would u let me wash your hair
Could I make u breakfast sometime
Or then, could we just hang out, I mean
Could we go 2 a movie and cry together
Cuz 2 me baby that would be so fine
If I was your girlfriend
Baby can I dress u
I mean, help u pick out your clothes
Before we go out
(if I was your girlfriend)
Listen girl, I aint sayin you're helpless
But sometimes, sometimes
Those are the things that bein in loves about (sugar)
Sugar do u know what Im saying 2 u this evening? (sugar)
Maybe u think Im being
A little self-centered (if I was your girlfriend)
But i, I said I want 2 be (sugar)
All of the things u are 2 me (sugar)
Surely, surely u can see (if I was your girlfriend)
http://www.lyricsfreak.com/p/prince/if+i+was+your+girlfriend_20111378.html
If I was your girlfriend
Would u remember 2 tell me all the things u forgot
When I was your man?
Hey, when I was your man
If I was your best friend
Would u let me take care of u and do all the things
That only a best friend can
Only best friends can
If I was your girlfriend
If I was your girlfriend
If I was your girlfriend
Would u let me dress u
I mean, help u pick out your clothes
Before we go out
Not that you're helpless
But sometimes, sometimes
Those are the things that bein in loves about
If I was your one and only friend
Would u run 2 me if somebody hurt u
Even if that somebody was me?
Sometimes I trip on how happy we could be
Please
If I was your girlfriend
If I was your girlfriend
Would u let me wash your hair
Could I make u breakfast sometime
Or then, could we just hang out, I mean
Could we go 2 a movie and cry together
Cuz 2 me baby that would be so fine
If I was your girlfriend
Baby can I dress u
I mean, help u pick out your clothes
Before we go out
(if I was your girlfriend)
Listen girl, I aint sayin you're helpless
But sometimes, sometimes
Those are the things that bein in loves about (sugar)
Sugar do u know what Im saying 2 u this evening? (sugar)
Maybe u think Im being
A little self-centered (if I was your girlfriend)
But i, I said I want 2 be (sugar)
All of the things u are 2 me (sugar)
Surely, surely u can see (if I was your girlfriend)
http://www.lyricsfreak.com/p/prince/if+i+was+your+girlfriend_20111378.html
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
All My Best Quotes For Now....
"My best friend from high school was committed to a mental hospital when she was 18. She always said to me that it is the family that is crazy, the entire family. Of course, only one person can serve the time."
"The main thing I sensed back in my in my childhood was this inexplicable yearning that I could never satisfy," she continues. "Even now at times I experience a terrible loneliness and isolation...Oh God how I remember that feeling though. Sitting on the front steps on a summer night and hearing a lawn mower in the distance and a screen door slamming somewhere. It would actually make my heart ache."
~ article on Jessica Lange, from "Vanity Fair" - March, 1995
You don't get there because, you get there in spite of.
~ Janet Collins, quoted in I Dream a World
It is of immense importance that we laugh at ourselves.
~ Katharine Mansfield, Journals
Most Beautiful
Just Before.
~ Japanese poem
All times are beautiful for those who manage joy within them; but there is no happy or favourable time for those with disconsolate or orphaned souls.
~ Rosalia Castro
The world is wide, and I will not waste my life in friction when it could be turned into momentum.
~ Frances Willard in her journal
Then (she had felt it only this morning) there was the terror; the overwhelming incapacity, one's parents giving it into one's hands, this life, to be lived to the end, to be walked with serenely; there was in the depths of her heart an awful fear. Even now, quite often if Richard had not been there reading the Times, so that she could crouch like a bird and gradually revive, send roaring up that immeasurable delight, rubbing stick to stick, one thing with another, she must have perished. But that young man had killed himself.
~ Mrs.Dalloway, Virginia Woolf
I want to tell him now what no one's ever taught him, how two people who love each other behave, how they avoid damaging each other, but I'm not sure I know.
~ Margaret Atwood - Dancing Girls and Other Stories
She misses him intensely; or rather she misses, not him, but the sensations he used to be able to arouse in her. The light has gone out of him and now she can see him clearly.
~ Margaret Atwood
We love each other, that's true whatever it means, but we aren't good at it; for some it's a talent, for others only an addiction.
~ Atwood
She should never have called him. She should know by now that over is over, that when it says The End at the end of a book it means there isn't any more; which she can never quite believe. The problem is that she's invested so much suffering in him, and she can't shake the notion that so much suffering has to be worth something. Maybe unhappiness is a drug, like any other: you could develop a tolerance to it, and then you'd want more.
~ Atwood
Thinking back on that conversation now, he began to believe that people could, in fact, be used up - could use each other up, could be of no further use to each other and maybe even do harm to each other. He began to think that who you are when you're with somebody may matter more than whether you love her.
~ Ann Tyler
Poetry is nothing more than an intensification or illumination of common objects & everyday events until they shine with their singular nature, until we can experience their power, until we can follow their steps in the dance, until we can discern what parts they play in the Great Order of Love.
~ Tom Robbins
The proof of poetry is its ability to reduce to the essence of a single line the vague philosophy which is floating in all men's minds.
~ James Russell Lowell
Since that time, it seems to me that all my poems - and I write groups of poems rather than singles - are written when I have successfully pulled myself out of a completely numbing despair and I stand again in the sunlight...Poems - even happy ones - emerge from an accumulation of sadness.
~ Alice Walker
He read on. Our children's childern - what of them? Who of them? New means must be discovered to find room for us under the sun. Shall this be done by war or can it be done by peaceful methods?
~ Ernest Hemingway "Banal Story"
Taylor is startled. This ordinary man in jeans whose thoughts she believed she knew opens his mouth and becomes a foreigner. It occurs to her that this one thing about people you can never understand well enough, how entirely inside themselves they are.
~ Barbara Kingsolver - Pigs in Heaven
"The main thing I sensed back in my in my childhood was this inexplicable yearning that I could never satisfy," she continues. "Even now at times I experience a terrible loneliness and isolation...Oh God how I remember that feeling though. Sitting on the front steps on a summer night and hearing a lawn mower in the distance and a screen door slamming somewhere. It would actually make my heart ache."
~ article on Jessica Lange, from "Vanity Fair" - March, 1995
You don't get there because, you get there in spite of.
~ Janet Collins, quoted in I Dream a World
It is of immense importance that we laugh at ourselves.
~ Katharine Mansfield, Journals
Most Beautiful
Just Before.
~ Japanese poem
All times are beautiful for those who manage joy within them; but there is no happy or favourable time for those with disconsolate or orphaned souls.
~ Rosalia Castro
The world is wide, and I will not waste my life in friction when it could be turned into momentum.
~ Frances Willard in her journal
Then (she had felt it only this morning) there was the terror; the overwhelming incapacity, one's parents giving it into one's hands, this life, to be lived to the end, to be walked with serenely; there was in the depths of her heart an awful fear. Even now, quite often if Richard had not been there reading the Times, so that she could crouch like a bird and gradually revive, send roaring up that immeasurable delight, rubbing stick to stick, one thing with another, she must have perished. But that young man had killed himself.
~ Mrs.Dalloway, Virginia Woolf
I want to tell him now what no one's ever taught him, how two people who love each other behave, how they avoid damaging each other, but I'm not sure I know.
~ Margaret Atwood - Dancing Girls and Other Stories
She misses him intensely; or rather she misses, not him, but the sensations he used to be able to arouse in her. The light has gone out of him and now she can see him clearly.
~ Margaret Atwood
We love each other, that's true whatever it means, but we aren't good at it; for some it's a talent, for others only an addiction.
~ Atwood
She should never have called him. She should know by now that over is over, that when it says The End at the end of a book it means there isn't any more; which she can never quite believe. The problem is that she's invested so much suffering in him, and she can't shake the notion that so much suffering has to be worth something. Maybe unhappiness is a drug, like any other: you could develop a tolerance to it, and then you'd want more.
~ Atwood
Thinking back on that conversation now, he began to believe that people could, in fact, be used up - could use each other up, could be of no further use to each other and maybe even do harm to each other. He began to think that who you are when you're with somebody may matter more than whether you love her.
~ Ann Tyler
Poetry is nothing more than an intensification or illumination of common objects & everyday events until they shine with their singular nature, until we can experience their power, until we can follow their steps in the dance, until we can discern what parts they play in the Great Order of Love.
~ Tom Robbins
The proof of poetry is its ability to reduce to the essence of a single line the vague philosophy which is floating in all men's minds.
~ James Russell Lowell
Since that time, it seems to me that all my poems - and I write groups of poems rather than singles - are written when I have successfully pulled myself out of a completely numbing despair and I stand again in the sunlight...Poems - even happy ones - emerge from an accumulation of sadness.
~ Alice Walker
He read on. Our children's childern - what of them? Who of them? New means must be discovered to find room for us under the sun. Shall this be done by war or can it be done by peaceful methods?
~ Ernest Hemingway "Banal Story"
Taylor is startled. This ordinary man in jeans whose thoughts she believed she knew opens his mouth and becomes a foreigner. It occurs to her that this one thing about people you can never understand well enough, how entirely inside themselves they are.
~ Barbara Kingsolver - Pigs in Heaven
Saturday, August 22, 2009
"Dialogue" by Rosie Thomas
Can you help me figure out all of these things?
I'm restless, I feel reckless
I'm holding on by a string
No, I can't I’m just as broken
I'm just as damaged as you
I'm so tired
I'm uninspired
Half dying in this living room
Oh, where do I go?
Oh, all on my own?
I can't walk in a straight line when
I don't know what I’m heading for
Just keep trying
No more lying to yourself anymore
Oh, where do we go?
Oh, nobody knows
I'm restless, I feel reckless
I'm holding on by a string
No, I can't I’m just as broken
I'm just as damaged as you
I'm so tired
I'm uninspired
Half dying in this living room
Oh, where do I go?
Oh, all on my own?
I can't walk in a straight line when
I don't know what I’m heading for
Just keep trying
No more lying to yourself anymore
Oh, where do we go?
Oh, nobody knows
Friday, August 21, 2009
Sweet Dreams of Somewhere Else - Post Script
"If you want sweet dreams, you've got to live a sweet life."
~ Animal Dreams, by Barbara Kingsolver
The week we left for Seattle I let a GI Specialist put a camera down my throat to look at my esophagus and stomach. This out-patient surgery, sandwiched between appointment to close on refinanced mortgage (to lower our payments so we can keep paying for the stupid house that wouldn't sell), and flying across the country seriously stressed me out. Before this medical appointment, I hadn't slept a solid night in days and was starting to gain weight from "not eating properly," instead of losing it, and from not fitting exercise into my schedule.
My former friend, the one who got angry when we couldn't rent to her cuz her landlord wouldn't let her out of her lease, knew about how we were packing for Florida already cuz would only have a few days left in Milwaukee when we got back from Seattle, and how worried I was about this medical procedure. And yet she still had the audacity to write me that she thought I was giving up on the friendship because I could not do the work cuz it was too hard "even when you have almost nothing to do all day."
Afterwards, I kept repeating this comment to myself and sort of laughing. I looked around our bare apartment and wondered, did she think all that furniture sold and moved itself? I know it's probably difficult to understand unless you see it and even then I think it's hard to realize what kind of effort it has taken us to do this. And it's true, we don't know what we are doing, neither one of us has done anything like this before, and don't know anyone else who has truly sold all their things to move to another country.
There are no close-at-hand road-maps or models for what we are doing, we say we are having to make it up as we go along and so far that has been working, I guess. But it's been stressful. And not easy. And I never once, with my non-working schedule, had a day where I thought "hmm, since I'm not working that corporate job any longer, I have a whole day to fill and I have nothing to do! Maybe I'll turn on Oprah." Maybe I should have, maybe I would have been more relaxed along the way?
But just imagine being in the middle of all that crazy moving-muddle and then having an "upper endoscopy" requiring sedation and pretty much a whole day's recuperation. Imagine these out-patient surgery clinics - between the warm socks, & comfy robe they gave me, nice wooden closet to hang my clothes, private bathroom with huge shower, TV to watch and free Wi-fi for my husband waiting for me, I would have sworn I was at a hotel, if not for the medical equipment in the corner, and the RN who came in to take my blood pressure and medical history.
And so weird, the experience of general anesthesia! I felt the effects almost right away and when I told the nurse this she sort of puzzled "hmm, I've only administered the Darvocet" not the second more powerful "juice" as another RN, the one who had put in my IV, called it. Last thing I remember was telling her that was probably cuz I hadn't slept well lately and was tired. Also, before I went to the "land of nod" I asked for a pillow to put between my legs because they had me on my side, the better position for putting the scope down to see why food feels lodged in my throat and why I have this pressure under my left ribs like something is swollen.
I now know that I can never have any non-prescription opiate lest I become immediately addicted, because I loved that drowsy feeling so much, with its sweet promise of sleep and attendant blissful loss of consciousness. I have the fuzziest memory of being rolled back from the GI Lab, when the procedure was over, back to the luxe recovery room where we started, where David waited, and then being transferred from gurney to chair. I've never been able to sleep sitting up (noticeably unlike my father and husband), even when beyond the point of exhaustion, but I was able to that day with the sedatives only slowly leaving my body.
I was feeling a little foggy yet, even when I woke up enuff to watch TV - there was a CNN report on how most of the population is Vitamin D deficient and how we can't get all we need from diet and so need some sun exposure, which was music to my ears, being such a dedicated sun-bather! :) But it was all a little surreal still from those lovely opiates.
So I made David my "advocate" - I said write down these questions for when the doctor comes in, because I might not remember. Cuz I knew the doc would be all rushy-rushy like they almost always are, these days. Even with the list of questions I got not much out of him, just a confirmation that I really need to go on anti-Candida diet (which I still haven't done yet) and a promise to call us once the biopsy results were in.
I hate western medicine. But I also know this: the biopsy results came back - I got the call while waiting at the airport for our flight to Seattle - negative, but even if they hadn't I would still go to this new life. No matter what my health status, I am done with having all this penned-in time and waiting for when it gets a little more peaceful and interesting. I really want a sweet life so I can have sweet dreams. These days, I actually just want to sleep, with or without dreams. So I'll start there.
~ Animal Dreams, by Barbara Kingsolver
The week we left for Seattle I let a GI Specialist put a camera down my throat to look at my esophagus and stomach. This out-patient surgery, sandwiched between appointment to close on refinanced mortgage (to lower our payments so we can keep paying for the stupid house that wouldn't sell), and flying across the country seriously stressed me out. Before this medical appointment, I hadn't slept a solid night in days and was starting to gain weight from "not eating properly," instead of losing it, and from not fitting exercise into my schedule.
My former friend, the one who got angry when we couldn't rent to her cuz her landlord wouldn't let her out of her lease, knew about how we were packing for Florida already cuz would only have a few days left in Milwaukee when we got back from Seattle, and how worried I was about this medical procedure. And yet she still had the audacity to write me that she thought I was giving up on the friendship because I could not do the work cuz it was too hard "even when you have almost nothing to do all day."
Afterwards, I kept repeating this comment to myself and sort of laughing. I looked around our bare apartment and wondered, did she think all that furniture sold and moved itself? I know it's probably difficult to understand unless you see it and even then I think it's hard to realize what kind of effort it has taken us to do this. And it's true, we don't know what we are doing, neither one of us has done anything like this before, and don't know anyone else who has truly sold all their things to move to another country.
There are no close-at-hand road-maps or models for what we are doing, we say we are having to make it up as we go along and so far that has been working, I guess. But it's been stressful. And not easy. And I never once, with my non-working schedule, had a day where I thought "hmm, since I'm not working that corporate job any longer, I have a whole day to fill and I have nothing to do! Maybe I'll turn on Oprah." Maybe I should have, maybe I would have been more relaxed along the way?
But just imagine being in the middle of all that crazy moving-muddle and then having an "upper endoscopy" requiring sedation and pretty much a whole day's recuperation. Imagine these out-patient surgery clinics - between the warm socks, & comfy robe they gave me, nice wooden closet to hang my clothes, private bathroom with huge shower, TV to watch and free Wi-fi for my husband waiting for me, I would have sworn I was at a hotel, if not for the medical equipment in the corner, and the RN who came in to take my blood pressure and medical history.
And so weird, the experience of general anesthesia! I felt the effects almost right away and when I told the nurse this she sort of puzzled "hmm, I've only administered the Darvocet" not the second more powerful "juice" as another RN, the one who had put in my IV, called it. Last thing I remember was telling her that was probably cuz I hadn't slept well lately and was tired. Also, before I went to the "land of nod" I asked for a pillow to put between my legs because they had me on my side, the better position for putting the scope down to see why food feels lodged in my throat and why I have this pressure under my left ribs like something is swollen.
I now know that I can never have any non-prescription opiate lest I become immediately addicted, because I loved that drowsy feeling so much, with its sweet promise of sleep and attendant blissful loss of consciousness. I have the fuzziest memory of being rolled back from the GI Lab, when the procedure was over, back to the luxe recovery room where we started, where David waited, and then being transferred from gurney to chair. I've never been able to sleep sitting up (noticeably unlike my father and husband), even when beyond the point of exhaustion, but I was able to that day with the sedatives only slowly leaving my body.
I was feeling a little foggy yet, even when I woke up enuff to watch TV - there was a CNN report on how most of the population is Vitamin D deficient and how we can't get all we need from diet and so need some sun exposure, which was music to my ears, being such a dedicated sun-bather! :) But it was all a little surreal still from those lovely opiates.
So I made David my "advocate" - I said write down these questions for when the doctor comes in, because I might not remember. Cuz I knew the doc would be all rushy-rushy like they almost always are, these days. Even with the list of questions I got not much out of him, just a confirmation that I really need to go on anti-Candida diet (which I still haven't done yet) and a promise to call us once the biopsy results were in.
I hate western medicine. But I also know this: the biopsy results came back - I got the call while waiting at the airport for our flight to Seattle - negative, but even if they hadn't I would still go to this new life. No matter what my health status, I am done with having all this penned-in time and waiting for when it gets a little more peaceful and interesting. I really want a sweet life so I can have sweet dreams. These days, I actually just want to sleep, with or without dreams. So I'll start there.
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