Sunday, January 06, 2008
On the Imperfections of Walls
We are in the process of re-doing the kitchen. Not in a big way, mind you. It is small and we can't afford new appliances or cupboards or countertops or floors. I tried to fix up my kitchen at my Westland apartment by replacing the knobs on the cabinet doors (what kind of an idiot uses a filigree patterned knob in the kitchen?!); the knobs were so expensive that when Brian found us a new apartment without stairs, I repeatedly insisted that he put the original knobs back and bring my new ones with us. Sadly, the Canton apartment didn't need knobs, and this kitchen uses handles instead. The solution this time is to paint.
Anyway, we have removed the wallpaper. Today I spackled holes and started some sanding. Sanding is a great way to find all of your wall imperfections. I have also been spackling grooves and dents. Then I figured I'd spackle the holes in the living room left by the plastic appliances which once held the tie-backs for the drapes. I need to replace those drapes at some point, but for now I'll pull out the plastic wall studs and spackle the holes.
In spackling the tie-back holes, I had to get up on the sofa and saw some other holes behind the Christmas tree above my lovely framed butterflies. I feel a little bad about having such beautiful corpses in my living room as décor, but they really look nice and are some of Brian's favorite pictures of mine. He doesn't like a lot of my pieces of "stuff" but he likes those. They can't be hung next to wall holes. My eye fell upon the black hooks on the ceiling, which presumably once held a lamp with a swag chain or something. "Maybe I could remove those hooks and spackle the holes," I said.
"You should wait until the tree is down first," said Brian. I think he's worried I'll try to stand on the arm of the sofa or make him do it.
Since much of the spackle in the kitchen had dried by the time I found the other holes to fill, I began sanding and layering more spackle. And sanding more. And now instead of filling holes, I am trying to smooth down where previous spackle had been applied by some homeowner or carpenter of years past. I think I can get the walls smoother. My eagle eye is poring over minute flaws. I can't actually sand anymore because I can't remember where the spackle is dry and where it's new. Maybe I should get the ladder out and start to try smoothing the wall above the cabinets. In at least one corner I think the cabinet doors will have to be removed so that the sanding blocks can appropriately smooth a corner that consists of one inch of wall space on each side of the corner's edge.
How much sanding should I do behind the stove? On the wall next to the refrigerator? Will it drive me crazy to have unsmoothed walls above or next to appliances? Do I need wall perfection?
Probably not, but I can't stop looking for invisible holes, dents, and dings.
Anyway, we have removed the wallpaper. Today I spackled holes and started some sanding. Sanding is a great way to find all of your wall imperfections. I have also been spackling grooves and dents. Then I figured I'd spackle the holes in the living room left by the plastic appliances which once held the tie-backs for the drapes. I need to replace those drapes at some point, but for now I'll pull out the plastic wall studs and spackle the holes.
In spackling the tie-back holes, I had to get up on the sofa and saw some other holes behind the Christmas tree above my lovely framed butterflies. I feel a little bad about having such beautiful corpses in my living room as décor, but they really look nice and are some of Brian's favorite pictures of mine. He doesn't like a lot of my pieces of "stuff" but he likes those. They can't be hung next to wall holes. My eye fell upon the black hooks on the ceiling, which presumably once held a lamp with a swag chain or something. "Maybe I could remove those hooks and spackle the holes," I said.
"You should wait until the tree is down first," said Brian. I think he's worried I'll try to stand on the arm of the sofa or make him do it.
Since much of the spackle in the kitchen had dried by the time I found the other holes to fill, I began sanding and layering more spackle. And sanding more. And now instead of filling holes, I am trying to smooth down where previous spackle had been applied by some homeowner or carpenter of years past. I think I can get the walls smoother. My eagle eye is poring over minute flaws. I can't actually sand anymore because I can't remember where the spackle is dry and where it's new. Maybe I should get the ladder out and start to try smoothing the wall above the cabinets. In at least one corner I think the cabinet doors will have to be removed so that the sanding blocks can appropriately smooth a corner that consists of one inch of wall space on each side of the corner's edge.
How much sanding should I do behind the stove? On the wall next to the refrigerator? Will it drive me crazy to have unsmoothed walls above or next to appliances? Do I need wall perfection?
Probably not, but I can't stop looking for invisible holes, dents, and dings.
Labels: Brian, condominium, paint, wallpaper, Westland
Friday, December 28, 2007
Par-Tay
I think people had a good time. There were many foods. Grandma (who actually expressed shock that I could cook a turkey) would have been proud of the spread that got laid out.
Everything got done--I even managed to finish some gift knitting while the turkey was in the oven. Well, almost everything. I still need to take care of sending the remote gifts. Oh well.
My back spasms have calmed down and my flute playing at church went reasonably well. I can't say it was great, but nobody noticed anything amiss.
We are now stripping wallpaper from the kitchen walls. Sadly, there will not be enough time to totally strip and paint, but I don't care. I'm relieved to see the paisley coming off in stretchy vinyl sheets and lying in tatters on the kitchen floor. Whoever decorated this place before we moved in was demented and color-blind.
I had a CT scan on the 26th and an upcoming bone scan this Thursday; presumably I will get my results January 8. I have also started physical therapy again. I am sore, but in a way that is probably good. I'd like to be able to comfortably tie my shoes and lift my legs into the car without having to use my hands to do it. Today I had a therapist throwing a foam ball at me as I balanced on a teetering board. I'm not entirely convinced this will help with my goals, but I'm getting better at catching a foam ball while balancing on a teetering board.
Happy New Year! Pop on over for some spinach dip and sparkling grape juice, if you like. We might be awake long enough to watch the ball drop.
Everything got done--I even managed to finish some gift knitting while the turkey was in the oven. Well, almost everything. I still need to take care of sending the remote gifts. Oh well.
My back spasms have calmed down and my flute playing at church went reasonably well. I can't say it was great, but nobody noticed anything amiss.
We are now stripping wallpaper from the kitchen walls. Sadly, there will not be enough time to totally strip and paint, but I don't care. I'm relieved to see the paisley coming off in stretchy vinyl sheets and lying in tatters on the kitchen floor. Whoever decorated this place before we moved in was demented and color-blind.
I had a CT scan on the 26th and an upcoming bone scan this Thursday; presumably I will get my results January 8. I have also started physical therapy again. I am sore, but in a way that is probably good. I'd like to be able to comfortably tie my shoes and lift my legs into the car without having to use my hands to do it. Today I had a therapist throwing a foam ball at me as I balanced on a teetering board. I'm not entirely convinced this will help with my goals, but I'm getting better at catching a foam ball while balancing on a teetering board.
Happy New Year! Pop on over for some spinach dip and sparkling grape juice, if you like. We might be awake long enough to watch the ball drop.
Labels: bone scan, Christmas, condominium, CT scan, flute, Grandma, physical therapy, wallpaper
Monday, December 10, 2007
Penguins Deployed and a Wandering Ladder
The tree is not actually up yet. I need to acquire new strings of lights before I can decorate the thing.
I also have to put up the wreaths and will need to employ Brian to help with some window festoonery. I have some additional items I would like to put in the kitchen, but since we are planning to strip the butt-ugly paisley wallpaper and paint over the holiday break, it might not be a good idea to totally deck that room out.
On a related note, Brian observed that our ladder, the one which looks rather like the ladder sitting against the wall in the new neighbor's garage space, was missing. We are going to need that ladder for the aforementioned stripping and painting. Brian chose a moment during which my butt was about to be kicked by Ursula the Sea Witch in Kingdom Hearts to inform me of the wayward ladder, and so I was not all that helpful or cooperative at the time. Once my game was saved, I double checked the basement, fruitlessly as it turns out. Brian says he remembers specifically putting the ladder in the garage behind the shovels.
Is there a good way to ask a neighbor if they've stolen your ladder?
Today I checked the ladder against the wall for telltale paint spatters. Paint that exactly matches the blue of Brian's office and the pine needle green of our bedroom was clearly evident. I moved the ladder over to our parking space.
We'll see what happens next.
I also have to put up the wreaths and will need to employ Brian to help with some window festoonery. I have some additional items I would like to put in the kitchen, but since we are planning to strip the butt-ugly paisley wallpaper and paint over the holiday break, it might not be a good idea to totally deck that room out.
On a related note, Brian observed that our ladder, the one which looks rather like the ladder sitting against the wall in the new neighbor's garage space, was missing. We are going to need that ladder for the aforementioned stripping and painting. Brian chose a moment during which my butt was about to be kicked by Ursula the Sea Witch in Kingdom Hearts to inform me of the wayward ladder, and so I was not all that helpful or cooperative at the time. Once my game was saved, I double checked the basement, fruitlessly as it turns out. Brian says he remembers specifically putting the ladder in the garage behind the shovels.
Is there a good way to ask a neighbor if they've stolen your ladder?
Today I checked the ladder against the wall for telltale paint spatters. Paint that exactly matches the blue of Brian's office and the pine needle green of our bedroom was clearly evident. I moved the ladder over to our parking space.
We'll see what happens next.
Labels: Brian, Christmas, Christmas tree, condominium, neighbor
Friday, August 31, 2007
My Baldness--and Lax Gardening--Explained
I don't care for Robert Frost, personally, but he did at least speak truly when he said, "good fences make good neighbors." Maybe he meant it ironically, but as a new condo owner, I think one can certainly have an overabundance of the neighborly influence.
One day the neighborly condo association president invited herself over to bring me the new folder of contact information and bylaws. That's fine, but it happened to be a day on which I was feeling quite icky. I was in pajamas, had no hair or makeup on, and felt kind of ill. She wanted to invite herself in to sit on my sofa and go over the contents of the folder.
"Now isn't really a good time," I told her, "But I'd be happy to look at it later." I had grabbed a hat to put on my bald head which was lined with faux fur and too hot to be wearing that day. I started to sweat. Instead of handing me the folder, the old lady insisted on standing in my open doorway, reading verbatim the contents of the folder as flies buzzed in and out the door.
She later saw fit to let Brian know that the sticker on his license plate was expired (it was; the expiration date is my mom's birthday so it totally slipped my mind, and the Secretary of State did not send us the renewal notice) because he had to park in a spot kitty-corner to her building. Brian initially tried to park under the trees close to our garage, but one of our neighbors informed him that it was a fire lane and parking wasn't allowed there. So now Brian parks where the condo association president lady can inspect his expired sticker (and suggest if it's not taken care of, the police will be notified), and our neighbor can park in the fire lane under the trees.
Those same neighbors on one side have taken to heart the whole fence issue and have constructed a Wall of Doomtm in the communal garage. What started as a pile of gardening crap, shelves, wagons, boxes, bags, and who knows what else, has been fortified by means of plywood, additional shelving units, poster board, and clips into something that is immovable and comes right up to the scored line in the pavement.
Technically, the space on that side of the scored line is theirs, but it means when I pull my car into the garage, I can't open the car door all the way. It's difficult under the best of circumstances to haul my gimpy carcass out of the car (which is rather sporty and low to the ground), but if I have to squeeze out of a door that is trying to slam shut on me it's especially hard.
The space over there is also filled with a hanging hockey net, several bikes with layers upon layers of dust, and a crazy assortment of shoes, bags, candy canes hanging off of the hockey net.
Our neighbor on the other side has a tidier garage space. She used to apologize for her dog's barking, but since Brian brought his Harley over from my mom's and has started riding it to work on nice days, the neighbor no longer apologizes about the noise her dog makes. According to the condo association bylaws, motorcycles must be kept parked in the garage. In order to do so, Brian has to park sideways in front of my car--he found a cute little flashing signal that lets me know when to stop pulling forward so I don't knock the bike over. The neighbor has since put a brand-new carpet runner in the garage in the area on her side of the scored pavement line, where Brian needs to wheel his bike in order to turn it around. I told him to take a carpet remnant from when we had the master bedroom carpet replaced to put over her carpet runner so she wouldn't be able to complain that his bike messed it up.
What kind of passive-aggressive doofus puts a carpet runner in the garage?
Evidently, both neighbors are dissatisfied at the condition in which our front garden space is kept. I enjoy gardening and meant to do some planting this year, but was more tired from the chemo than I thought I would be. I was also unexpectedly ill several times. I'm still pretty stiff, too. So I didn't do planting, and the weeds started to pop up.
I hoped the condo association would deal with the dead bush soon. It was there when we moved in, and I hated that wretched eyesore.
At my mom's condo, the association maintains the lawns, trees, and shrubberies. I expected it to be the same at my condo. After all, we have to get special permission to put in shrubs or do landscaping. When were they going to take out that hideous bush?
A day before Brian and I were to leave for a Fourth of July weekend vacation, we got a letter from the association informing us that we had seven days to remove the offending plant, or we would be assessed a fine of a hundred-something dollars. I was utterly flummoxed--why wouldn't anybody say anything HELPFUL about the bush before contacting the association about penalties? Where on earth were we going to find somebody to remove the shrub before leaving the next day? Brian had to get out there with a hacksaw to chop the thing down, then since there was no trash pickup that evening (and putting whole dead shrubs into the trash pickup pile isn't allowed, I'm sure), he had to jam the thing into his car--which is now full of brown needles--and sneak it into the dumpster at our old apartment.
Brian and I also spent some time pulling out the obvious weeds from the remaining (somewhat slug-eaten) violets, when the neighbor with the dog came out to pick at imaginary weeds in her own garden space.
"Pulling weeds, eh?" she asked us as she picked maple seeds out of her garden's gravel. She then proceeded to tell us about a neighbor who never weeded and about what a horrible eyesore it was. Somewhere over there--she waved indistinctly. I didn't listen closely. Our neighbors could have said something helpful about the plant problem before getting us threatened with monetary penalties.
About two weeks ago I came home from work and arrived only slightly after Brian. I heard him talking with someone outside (he had taken Baxter outside) and tried to listen from the window as I had already taken my hair off. I couldn't hear anything, so I grabbed a baseball cap and went outside to say hello.
Brian was talking to the neighbor with the Wall of Doomtm, who immediately said to me, "Brian told me about your condition--I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do--if you need a ride somewhere, or just want some company, let me know." I thanked her.
She said she and the other neighbor had been talking about me. "We thought you had that, what's it called--when you lose your hair..."
"Alopecia?" I said.
"That's right. We thought maybe you had alopecia."
Of course. The reason I'm a crappy gardener and have weeds and let the license tags expire and don't remove dead bushes, and come to the door in my pajamas and don't let people in is that I'm LAZY and have alopecia.
I'm glad that's all cleared up.
One day the neighborly condo association president invited herself over to bring me the new folder of contact information and bylaws. That's fine, but it happened to be a day on which I was feeling quite icky. I was in pajamas, had no hair or makeup on, and felt kind of ill. She wanted to invite herself in to sit on my sofa and go over the contents of the folder.
"Now isn't really a good time," I told her, "But I'd be happy to look at it later." I had grabbed a hat to put on my bald head which was lined with faux fur and too hot to be wearing that day. I started to sweat. Instead of handing me the folder, the old lady insisted on standing in my open doorway, reading verbatim the contents of the folder as flies buzzed in and out the door.
She later saw fit to let Brian know that the sticker on his license plate was expired (it was; the expiration date is my mom's birthday so it totally slipped my mind, and the Secretary of State did not send us the renewal notice) because he had to park in a spot kitty-corner to her building. Brian initially tried to park under the trees close to our garage, but one of our neighbors informed him that it was a fire lane and parking wasn't allowed there. So now Brian parks where the condo association president lady can inspect his expired sticker (and suggest if it's not taken care of, the police will be notified), and our neighbor can park in the fire lane under the trees.
Those same neighbors on one side have taken to heart the whole fence issue and have constructed a Wall of Doomtm in the communal garage. What started as a pile of gardening crap, shelves, wagons, boxes, bags, and who knows what else, has been fortified by means of plywood, additional shelving units, poster board, and clips into something that is immovable and comes right up to the scored line in the pavement.
Technically, the space on that side of the scored line is theirs, but it means when I pull my car into the garage, I can't open the car door all the way. It's difficult under the best of circumstances to haul my gimpy carcass out of the car (which is rather sporty and low to the ground), but if I have to squeeze out of a door that is trying to slam shut on me it's especially hard.
The space over there is also filled with a hanging hockey net, several bikes with layers upon layers of dust, and a crazy assortment of shoes, bags, candy canes hanging off of the hockey net.
Our neighbor on the other side has a tidier garage space. She used to apologize for her dog's barking, but since Brian brought his Harley over from my mom's and has started riding it to work on nice days, the neighbor no longer apologizes about the noise her dog makes. According to the condo association bylaws, motorcycles must be kept parked in the garage. In order to do so, Brian has to park sideways in front of my car--he found a cute little flashing signal that lets me know when to stop pulling forward so I don't knock the bike over. The neighbor has since put a brand-new carpet runner in the garage in the area on her side of the scored pavement line, where Brian needs to wheel his bike in order to turn it around. I told him to take a carpet remnant from when we had the master bedroom carpet replaced to put over her carpet runner so she wouldn't be able to complain that his bike messed it up.
What kind of passive-aggressive doofus puts a carpet runner in the garage?
Evidently, both neighbors are dissatisfied at the condition in which our front garden space is kept. I enjoy gardening and meant to do some planting this year, but was more tired from the chemo than I thought I would be. I was also unexpectedly ill several times. I'm still pretty stiff, too. So I didn't do planting, and the weeds started to pop up.
I hoped the condo association would deal with the dead bush soon. It was there when we moved in, and I hated that wretched eyesore.
At my mom's condo, the association maintains the lawns, trees, and shrubberies. I expected it to be the same at my condo. After all, we have to get special permission to put in shrubs or do landscaping. When were they going to take out that hideous bush?
A day before Brian and I were to leave for a Fourth of July weekend vacation, we got a letter from the association informing us that we had seven days to remove the offending plant, or we would be assessed a fine of a hundred-something dollars. I was utterly flummoxed--why wouldn't anybody say anything HELPFUL about the bush before contacting the association about penalties? Where on earth were we going to find somebody to remove the shrub before leaving the next day? Brian had to get out there with a hacksaw to chop the thing down, then since there was no trash pickup that evening (and putting whole dead shrubs into the trash pickup pile isn't allowed, I'm sure), he had to jam the thing into his car--which is now full of brown needles--and sneak it into the dumpster at our old apartment.
Brian and I also spent some time pulling out the obvious weeds from the remaining (somewhat slug-eaten) violets, when the neighbor with the dog came out to pick at imaginary weeds in her own garden space.
"Pulling weeds, eh?" she asked us as she picked maple seeds out of her garden's gravel. She then proceeded to tell us about a neighbor who never weeded and about what a horrible eyesore it was. Somewhere over there--she waved indistinctly. I didn't listen closely. Our neighbors could have said something helpful about the plant problem before getting us threatened with monetary penalties.
About two weeks ago I came home from work and arrived only slightly after Brian. I heard him talking with someone outside (he had taken Baxter outside) and tried to listen from the window as I had already taken my hair off. I couldn't hear anything, so I grabbed a baseball cap and went outside to say hello.
Brian was talking to the neighbor with the Wall of Doomtm, who immediately said to me, "Brian told me about your condition--I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do--if you need a ride somewhere, or just want some company, let me know." I thanked her.
She said she and the other neighbor had been talking about me. "We thought you had that, what's it called--when you lose your hair..."
"Alopecia?" I said.
"That's right. We thought maybe you had alopecia."
Of course. The reason I'm a crappy gardener and have weeds and let the license tags expire and don't remove dead bushes, and come to the door in my pajamas and don't let people in is that I'm LAZY and have alopecia.
I'm glad that's all cleared up.
Labels: baldness, Brian, chemo, condominium, neighbor
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Fellowship of the...
Frodo: I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.
Gandalf: So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.
Brian and I have been rewatching the Lord of the Rings movies on dvd. I haven't watched them with him before; I think the last time I saw them was some time late in 2004. I loved the films; I have both the theatrical releases and the extended versions on dvd. I have at least one of the soundtrack CDs. I have been to see "Lord of the Rings in Concert" which is performed with a slideshow of concept art from the movies. I also thoroughly embarrassed my friends Sarah and Danielle by knowing the actual poem recounting how many rings there are when we saw the display of art, props and costumes at the Museum of Science in Boston. ("Three rings for elven kings under the sky/Seven for the dwarf lords in their halls of stone...")
Naturally, the way I see the world now is colored by experiences I didn't have then, so when Frodo and Gandalf talked about the burden of carrying the ring, I saw it quite differently and nearly wept. I actually clamped my hand over my mouth and tears streamed down my face.
I wondered if there was an analogy to be made between the burden of carrying the One Ring and with cancer. Frodo, through the course of the movies, becomes more and more worn down and exhausted. Galadriel comments at a pivotal moment in The Two Towers that Frodo is coming to understand that his quest will claim his life. I get more and more tired with each chemo treatment, and there are a limited number of chemotherapy drugs available. This disease might claim my life; it has certainly been irrevocably altered. Frodo takes pity on Gollum because he recognizes himself in the poor creature, and Gollum is the only one really understands fully how Frodo feels.
My disease differs from the One Ring in a very crucial sense: it is not self-aware. Cancer is horrible and sucks beyond all belief, but it is not inherently evil. It does not have purpose; it is a cellular aberration that medicine does not yet know how to fully deal with. I should be grateful that at least there aren't overtly malevolent forces at work; ringwraiths are not coming to kill me in my sleep.
Despite this, I occasionally get consumed by My Life as a Cancer Patient. Maybe if I let my neighbors know how tired I've been from chemotherapy, the homeowner's association will lighten up about the weeds in the front flower bed. Maybe if I have a candid discussion at work about what my level of endurance really is and how I often work from home and on weekends, people would be more understanding and less inclined to think of me as "unreliable." My assumption at the wedding a few weeks ago was that everybody was caught up in my cancer drama; maybe, like Todd and my friend Melissa have since pointed out, they're just really glad Brian didn't end up with somebody horrible and they're happy I'm a terrific person.
The other parts of the analogy work, though. Frodo assumes he is alone and tries to leave the Fellowship to go off by himself. Sam refuses to accept that as the appropriate course and clings to him. Brian has steadfastly refused to let me go on without support, and my friend Melissa reminds me that I, in fact, have a fellowship of my own. My friends and family--and even internet strangers--while not having the same experience I do, are pulling for me and that can make all the difference.
I wish my burden had never come to me, too, but all I can do is decide what to do with the time that is given to me. At least I don't have to do it alone.
Gandalf: So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.
Brian and I have been rewatching the Lord of the Rings movies on dvd. I haven't watched them with him before; I think the last time I saw them was some time late in 2004. I loved the films; I have both the theatrical releases and the extended versions on dvd. I have at least one of the soundtrack CDs. I have been to see "Lord of the Rings in Concert" which is performed with a slideshow of concept art from the movies. I also thoroughly embarrassed my friends Sarah and Danielle by knowing the actual poem recounting how many rings there are when we saw the display of art, props and costumes at the Museum of Science in Boston. ("Three rings for elven kings under the sky/Seven for the dwarf lords in their halls of stone...")
Naturally, the way I see the world now is colored by experiences I didn't have then, so when Frodo and Gandalf talked about the burden of carrying the ring, I saw it quite differently and nearly wept. I actually clamped my hand over my mouth and tears streamed down my face.
I wondered if there was an analogy to be made between the burden of carrying the One Ring and with cancer. Frodo, through the course of the movies, becomes more and more worn down and exhausted. Galadriel comments at a pivotal moment in The Two Towers that Frodo is coming to understand that his quest will claim his life. I get more and more tired with each chemo treatment, and there are a limited number of chemotherapy drugs available. This disease might claim my life; it has certainly been irrevocably altered. Frodo takes pity on Gollum because he recognizes himself in the poor creature, and Gollum is the only one really understands fully how Frodo feels.
My disease differs from the One Ring in a very crucial sense: it is not self-aware. Cancer is horrible and sucks beyond all belief, but it is not inherently evil. It does not have purpose; it is a cellular aberration that medicine does not yet know how to fully deal with. I should be grateful that at least there aren't overtly malevolent forces at work; ringwraiths are not coming to kill me in my sleep.
Despite this, I occasionally get consumed by My Life as a Cancer Patient. Maybe if I let my neighbors know how tired I've been from chemotherapy, the homeowner's association will lighten up about the weeds in the front flower bed. Maybe if I have a candid discussion at work about what my level of endurance really is and how I often work from home and on weekends, people would be more understanding and less inclined to think of me as "unreliable." My assumption at the wedding a few weeks ago was that everybody was caught up in my cancer drama; maybe, like Todd and my friend Melissa have since pointed out, they're just really glad Brian didn't end up with somebody horrible and they're happy I'm a terrific person.
The other parts of the analogy work, though. Frodo assumes he is alone and tries to leave the Fellowship to go off by himself. Sam refuses to accept that as the appropriate course and clings to him. Brian has steadfastly refused to let me go on without support, and my friend Melissa reminds me that I, in fact, have a fellowship of my own. My friends and family--and even internet strangers--while not having the same experience I do, are pulling for me and that can make all the difference.
I wish my burden had never come to me, too, but all I can do is decide what to do with the time that is given to me. At least I don't have to do it alone.
Labels: Brian, chemo, condominium, Danielle, Sarah, Todd
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Story Corps
Brian and I went to downtown Detroit today to record an interview with Story Corps. Brian was the interviewer, and I responded to his questions, which were primarily about my illness and what I see for the future. Our session, forty minutes long, was recorded and will be sent to the Library of Congress.
What's a little bit embarrassing is that we got a Story Corps interview with something called the "Griot Initiative," which is dedicated to recording the stories of African Americans for posterity, with a special emphasis on World War II veterans and people involved in the Civil Rights struggle. The interviews in Detroit will also go to the Charles H. Wright Museum of African-American History. We don't exactly fit the sought-after demographic for the Griot Initiative, but were advised to come to the appointment anyway.
Brian had a list of questions which he prepared in advance based on suggestions from the Story Corps site. At first he asked me who the most influential person in my life was, what my most memorable moment with him was, and then he asked me about what I see in the future.
I don't think the sound engineer was prepared for what he heard.
I don't know how much "future" I will have. I certainly don't see children in my future, or adoption. I talked about being diagnosed years ago, how shocking it was, how "lucky" I had been told I was, and about the fact that even before we met I had told him over the phone that I was healed and would not have to worry about cancer again. When I got my official diagnosis and had to tell my family, I called my mom from the parking lot at the doctor's office, and then went home to tell Brian I had essentially lied to him before we met. I was afraid I was going home to tell him news that would make him pack up and leave; I'm not sure I would have blamed him.
He tells me not to worry that I "lied."
We talked about how afraid we both were when I was hospitalized. I remember having a conversation with my mom (at this point Brian was looking for apartments without stairs to move into) about how I always thought that when the time came to move out of my apartment, it would be to move into a house or a condo, and that it didn't seem that signing a 30-year mortgage would be possible. My horizon loomed very close and my life today was unimaginable to me then, wracked with pain, unable to walk, and in a hospital bed surrounded by bins to vomit into.
I am happy to be wrong. I'm happy to feel better and am happy to be less afraid that I will die soon. I have to make it at least nine more years because Brian has promised me an anniversary diamond.
We have a copy of the interview on CD. The recording engineer was very moved; he told us that both of his parents have cancer, so he at least knows what it's like to be the other person in that situation. He also pointed out that our being a part of the Griot Initiative, well, it didn't matter that we are white because what we talked about was really universal.
I wish cancer wasn't universal and that it didn't touch on almost everybody's lives.
What's a little bit embarrassing is that we got a Story Corps interview with something called the "Griot Initiative," which is dedicated to recording the stories of African Americans for posterity, with a special emphasis on World War II veterans and people involved in the Civil Rights struggle. The interviews in Detroit will also go to the Charles H. Wright Museum of African-American History. We don't exactly fit the sought-after demographic for the Griot Initiative, but were advised to come to the appointment anyway.
Brian had a list of questions which he prepared in advance based on suggestions from the Story Corps site. At first he asked me who the most influential person in my life was, what my most memorable moment with him was, and then he asked me about what I see in the future.
I don't think the sound engineer was prepared for what he heard.
I don't know how much "future" I will have. I certainly don't see children in my future, or adoption. I talked about being diagnosed years ago, how shocking it was, how "lucky" I had been told I was, and about the fact that even before we met I had told him over the phone that I was healed and would not have to worry about cancer again. When I got my official diagnosis and had to tell my family, I called my mom from the parking lot at the doctor's office, and then went home to tell Brian I had essentially lied to him before we met. I was afraid I was going home to tell him news that would make him pack up and leave; I'm not sure I would have blamed him.
He tells me not to worry that I "lied."
We talked about how afraid we both were when I was hospitalized. I remember having a conversation with my mom (at this point Brian was looking for apartments without stairs to move into) about how I always thought that when the time came to move out of my apartment, it would be to move into a house or a condo, and that it didn't seem that signing a 30-year mortgage would be possible. My horizon loomed very close and my life today was unimaginable to me then, wracked with pain, unable to walk, and in a hospital bed surrounded by bins to vomit into.
I am happy to be wrong. I'm happy to feel better and am happy to be less afraid that I will die soon. I have to make it at least nine more years because Brian has promised me an anniversary diamond.
We have a copy of the interview on CD. The recording engineer was very moved; he told us that both of his parents have cancer, so he at least knows what it's like to be the other person in that situation. He also pointed out that our being a part of the Griot Initiative, well, it didn't matter that we are white because what we talked about was really universal.
I wish cancer wasn't universal and that it didn't touch on almost everybody's lives.
Labels: Brian, condominium, detroit, hospital, mom, story corps
Friday, December 15, 2006
The Joys of Home Ownership
Brian and I are now the proud owners of a three-bedroom condo practically across the street from where we live now. We have already:
I am thrilled to have a home that is not a rental property. I am very happy that we can paint and replace carpet and fixtures. I'm very psyched about the prospect of crown molding, and am hoping that it's not too difficult to install. A year ago I honestly did not think that signing a thirty-year mortgage and moving into a two-story home with a basement would ever be within my reach.
I have never been more happy to be wrong.
- Removed the crappy spindles on the half-wall between the dining area and the kitchen.
- Removed wallpaper and put a first coat of paint on the walls in the master bedroom, engendering some achy backs and knees; I am never doing edging along the floor again.
- Gotten the Christmas tree over to the new condo. I feel like putting it up will be an important milestone.
- Had the carpets and ducts cleaned.
- Ordered new carpeting (berber) for the master bedroom to replace the existing crappy worn stuff.
- Recruited some people to help us move on the 26th (although anyone else is welcome to come).
- Acquired puppy gates (YES!).
- Picked out paint color which will go up when the rest of the crappy wallpaper comes down. There's some serious ugly on the walls right now--pics are coming soon.
- Anticipated conflict with the one neighbor who deems the area outside our new dining room as his/her garden--just wait until we inform them we would like to build a deck there.
I am thrilled to have a home that is not a rental property. I am very happy that we can paint and replace carpet and fixtures. I'm very psyched about the prospect of crown molding, and am hoping that it's not too difficult to install. A year ago I honestly did not think that signing a thirty-year mortgage and moving into a two-story home with a basement would ever be within my reach.
I have never been more happy to be wrong.
Labels: Brian, carpet, Christmas, Christmas tree, condominium, mortgage, neighbor, paint, pug, wallpaper
