I recently had another unfortunate hair incident. It's my own fault - not to self, do not trim bangs on the spur of moment using fingernail scissors when your hair is wet! I got 'em a lil short.
It reminds me of a couple other unfortunate incidents - like when I had Cindo cut my hair when she was home for the summer from college at Drake. She carved it up pretty good. I should have remembered how she had made our extra Skipper doll (Barbies little sis) into Skip. Oh well, it grows back - well mine did, but Skip's didn't.
Then there was that time I made an appointment to have my very first perm while I was in college at ISU. I made the appointment at Younkers Downtown for some strange reason!?!? that I don't remember. When I showed up for the perm, my hairdresser was - (very un PC) an African American woman. I thought - how is she going to know how to do my hair?
I was on my way home to Atlantic after the procedure - if you have ever had one, you'd know what I mean. Curler thingies and chemicals - quite the smell. The hair person told me not to wash it for something like 3 days. When I got home, I took one look in the mirror at my hair and I popped right in the shower. It was a Fro!
I'm waiting for my bangs to grow out a little bit before I go to get my hair cut. Yep, I'm embarrassed - feeling like a 3 year old who got a hold of the scissors.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Whistling past the cemetery
Last night was the wake and visitation for Jessica Moeller, 30 year old daughter of our friends Pat and Steve, and brother of Jud's classmate Steven. She died of a drug overdose and was discovered Monday at her home in Decorah. If you read my blogs this week you know this tragedy brought out a lot of grief feelings from our own tragic loss some 18 years ago.
It was good to finally see the family - and to hug them. And to cry with them. Jess's cousin stood up after Monsignor Stessman (he was pastor here when we first moved to town and baptized Jud, filling in for Fr. Pins who was on retreat) did the prayer service. He talked about when Jessica lived in San Diego with his family during a college summer. It was very touching.
We saw many of our "class of 2007" friends at the visitation and decided we should head to A&G for badly needed drinks and pizza. When life gives you lemons - drink lemondrop martinis - I had 2. (just under the 1 martini, 2 martini, 3 martini floor limit). And better yet, we got to visit with not only Bobbie and Jeff, Donnie and Dee - loyal friends in good times and bad, but with Hydes, Weis's, Lents, Millers.
We are all so sad for Moellers. And if you're like me, we were also breathing a sigh of relief (whistling past the cemetery) that this time, it wasn't me in front for the visitation. I know - it's selfish - but a natural feeling I think. We laughed after we cried with Moellers - Dan Miller is so damn funny. It was much needed.
Today I felt kinda selfish. Yes, I cried for the family and their loss. But I also cried for myself at the funeral mass. I couldn't help myself. Though I really could have sobbed at times, and I didn't resort to that. That situation - and the funeral in our church where Patrick's funeral was - with On Eagle's Wings playing - was just too close to home. It hurt. I hurt for the family.
I'm glad it's over with. Pat, Steve and Steven have a long way to go, but they've got this step over with. Prayers to them.
It was good to finally see the family - and to hug them. And to cry with them. Jess's cousin stood up after Monsignor Stessman (he was pastor here when we first moved to town and baptized Jud, filling in for Fr. Pins who was on retreat) did the prayer service. He talked about when Jessica lived in San Diego with his family during a college summer. It was very touching.
We saw many of our "class of 2007" friends at the visitation and decided we should head to A&G for badly needed drinks and pizza. When life gives you lemons - drink lemondrop martinis - I had 2. (just under the 1 martini, 2 martini, 3 martini floor limit). And better yet, we got to visit with not only Bobbie and Jeff, Donnie and Dee - loyal friends in good times and bad, but with Hydes, Weis's, Lents, Millers.
We are all so sad for Moellers. And if you're like me, we were also breathing a sigh of relief (whistling past the cemetery) that this time, it wasn't me in front for the visitation. I know - it's selfish - but a natural feeling I think. We laughed after we cried with Moellers - Dan Miller is so damn funny. It was much needed.
Today I felt kinda selfish. Yes, I cried for the family and their loss. But I also cried for myself at the funeral mass. I couldn't help myself. Though I really could have sobbed at times, and I didn't resort to that. That situation - and the funeral in our church where Patrick's funeral was - with On Eagle's Wings playing - was just too close to home. It hurt. I hurt for the family.
I'm glad it's over with. Pat, Steve and Steven have a long way to go, but they've got this step over with. Prayers to them.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Water my solace
I love the water. It's very therapeutic for me - like a massage, or meditation. I needed the water this week. It was a long one. Work was difficult - only to be dwarfed by the sad news about Jess Moeller.
So this a.m. I headed out to the good 'ol Southern Prairie YMCA for a dip! My foot - yeah the one I broke - bothered me for the last week or so. I know not what happened - no clumsy trauma on my part that I recall. Maybe I just overdid it walking at the Y the week before - I did do a little jogging. I know - totally unlike me to run. This week my foot felt like just after I got out of "the boot".
The pool was a good way to get some exercise without stressing it too much. I didn't life weights, or walk to warm up - just popped into the water at 6 a.m. sharp. Water aerobics was happening in the shallow end, so I did short way laps - fake breast stroke (not using my Sunnyside Pool record-setting form - using my "don't get my hair wet because it's chemically enhanced form) alternating with deep water walking.
I have a long history with pools - stemming back to childhood when my mamma was Spiro Agnew to Betty Pellett's President Nixon. Betty was the grand puba of Red Cross Swimming lessons in Atlantic. Mom helped with those and we also headed to Griswold to the Boy Scout Camp (now a Catholic camp) to teach the little rural Cass Countians to front float.
I have vivid memories of that summer - I must have been 9ish. The pool at the scout camp was in a park where there was a cave where Jesse James hid. Big stuff for someone my age! That summer I was learning to do the elementary back stroke. When the instructor (not my mother or Betty Lou) showed us on land how to do the whip kick, she of course left one foot on the ground. So that was exactly how I did it in the pool - and losing track of where I was, I smacked my head into the pool wall. (yes, an excuse for my behavior today...)
I remember listening to Herman's Hermits "Henry the 8th" during the 20 minute drive to Griswold. There was a commercial on the radio for Dad's Old Fashioned Root Beer, but I thought they were saying Razzle Frazzle Root Beer. I was very proud that my mommy was one of the important people at the pool.
And that is just one of the gazillion memories I have - joyous times that involved swimming. Today was one too - my best bud Debbie joined me. So I could exercise my mouth as well as my body. Deb is therapy just like water! My swim today was good.
So this a.m. I headed out to the good 'ol Southern Prairie YMCA for a dip! My foot - yeah the one I broke - bothered me for the last week or so. I know not what happened - no clumsy trauma on my part that I recall. Maybe I just overdid it walking at the Y the week before - I did do a little jogging. I know - totally unlike me to run. This week my foot felt like just after I got out of "the boot".
The pool was a good way to get some exercise without stressing it too much. I didn't life weights, or walk to warm up - just popped into the water at 6 a.m. sharp. Water aerobics was happening in the shallow end, so I did short way laps - fake breast stroke (not using my Sunnyside Pool record-setting form - using my "don't get my hair wet because it's chemically enhanced form) alternating with deep water walking.
I have a long history with pools - stemming back to childhood when my mamma was Spiro Agnew to Betty Pellett's President Nixon. Betty was the grand puba of Red Cross Swimming lessons in Atlantic. Mom helped with those and we also headed to Griswold to the Boy Scout Camp (now a Catholic camp) to teach the little rural Cass Countians to front float.
I have vivid memories of that summer - I must have been 9ish. The pool at the scout camp was in a park where there was a cave where Jesse James hid. Big stuff for someone my age! That summer I was learning to do the elementary back stroke. When the instructor (not my mother or Betty Lou) showed us on land how to do the whip kick, she of course left one foot on the ground. So that was exactly how I did it in the pool - and losing track of where I was, I smacked my head into the pool wall. (yes, an excuse for my behavior today...)
I remember listening to Herman's Hermits "Henry the 8th" during the 20 minute drive to Griswold. There was a commercial on the radio for Dad's Old Fashioned Root Beer, but I thought they were saying Razzle Frazzle Root Beer. I was very proud that my mommy was one of the important people at the pool.
And that is just one of the gazillion memories I have - joyous times that involved swimming. Today was one too - my best bud Debbie joined me. So I could exercise my mouth as well as my body. Deb is therapy just like water! My swim today was good.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
The good part
There is a good part to the Patrick story - though it's taken a long time to truly appreciate it. It was the people. All the people who rallied around us during that awful time.
They started coming to our house right away, after the word went out that he was terminally ill. Church ladies stopped by with coffee and paper products. Others brought food - homemade and meat trays from the store. Some just dropped things off with whomever opened the door (we had relatives helping) and others came in for a hug and a chat. Others just wanted us to know they cared - and showed us with a card and a smile and a word.
Everyone helped with Amy and Jud, who were nearly 3 and 6 at the time. Making sure they ate, keeping them entertained. My sisters did Amy's hair for the funeral.
Father Howard, on one visit, expressed concern about how we would pay for the funeral and medical expenses. He whipped out an envelope full of several thousand dollars in cash and insisted we take it - and pay it back when we could. It was from someone who preferred to remain anonymous he said. (I still think it was him...)
Our parents helped us with funeral expenses, so we paid it back shortly - it made us nervous.
After the fog of the events of Patrick's birth, short life and death followed by the funeral, I took the most solace in talking with other parents who had lost children. They were the ones who showed me how to do it. How to be a parent of a dead child. Pat Pokorny was one of those - a survivor of three babies and infants due to birth defects. And to add to those sorrows, the Pokornys also lost a teen to a tragic motorcycle accident. Pat ran the Friends of New Parents program.
Methodist Hospital hooked us up with a couple other grieving parents - some who were a bit farther down the path than we were. One took the time to call me - and we shared our stories with each other. That was very therapeutic for me. We also attended a couple grief groups - one included someone from the family that lost the daughter the day Jud was born.
I wish I could fast forward through the worst of the grief process for the Moellers. Alas it can't be done. Each of us has to work through the tough time ourselves. But the people help. They help us get through it.
When Paul and I started going out in public again, after Patrick's death, I felt like a glowed in the dark. Like I had a sign on me saying "sucky parent". I didn't want to smile lest those who knew would think I was over it already. I couldn't make my body dance - that was too joyful for someone grieving.
This too shall pass. But it takes a long time. Steve, Pat and Steven need us to help.
They started coming to our house right away, after the word went out that he was terminally ill. Church ladies stopped by with coffee and paper products. Others brought food - homemade and meat trays from the store. Some just dropped things off with whomever opened the door (we had relatives helping) and others came in for a hug and a chat. Others just wanted us to know they cared - and showed us with a card and a smile and a word.
Everyone helped with Amy and Jud, who were nearly 3 and 6 at the time. Making sure they ate, keeping them entertained. My sisters did Amy's hair for the funeral.
Father Howard, on one visit, expressed concern about how we would pay for the funeral and medical expenses. He whipped out an envelope full of several thousand dollars in cash and insisted we take it - and pay it back when we could. It was from someone who preferred to remain anonymous he said. (I still think it was him...)
Our parents helped us with funeral expenses, so we paid it back shortly - it made us nervous.
After the fog of the events of Patrick's birth, short life and death followed by the funeral, I took the most solace in talking with other parents who had lost children. They were the ones who showed me how to do it. How to be a parent of a dead child. Pat Pokorny was one of those - a survivor of three babies and infants due to birth defects. And to add to those sorrows, the Pokornys also lost a teen to a tragic motorcycle accident. Pat ran the Friends of New Parents program.
Methodist Hospital hooked us up with a couple other grieving parents - some who were a bit farther down the path than we were. One took the time to call me - and we shared our stories with each other. That was very therapeutic for me. We also attended a couple grief groups - one included someone from the family that lost the daughter the day Jud was born.
I wish I could fast forward through the worst of the grief process for the Moellers. Alas it can't be done. Each of us has to work through the tough time ourselves. But the people help. They help us get through it.
When Paul and I started going out in public again, after Patrick's death, I felt like a glowed in the dark. Like I had a sign on me saying "sucky parent". I didn't want to smile lest those who knew would think I was over it already. I couldn't make my body dance - that was too joyful for someone grieving.
This too shall pass. But it takes a long time. Steve, Pat and Steven need us to help.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Surreal
Have you ever had one of those surreal occasions? A time in your life where it almost seems you're watching yourself in a situation, outside your body watching. This has happened to me in both good times and in bad.
When our baby Patrick crashed in Greater Community Hospital a couple days after he was born was one of those times. I remember hearing a baby crying during the night - I was still in the hospital after my C Section. I wondered why the nurses didn't do something!
Then one of the nurses came in to tell me that Patrick was in tough shape. What they didn't know was why. Life Flight was on the way and Father Howard Fitzgerald had been called. They tried to call Paul but he wouldn't answer the phone, so they called some neighbors who woke him up from a sound sleep and they stayed with Amy. He rushed to the hospital just in time to shoot up to Des Moines following the helicopter to Blank Children's Hospital.
During that moment, when the nurse told me it was Patrick in trouble, I shot out of my body - in denial that it was me going through this trauma. It was fucked up! Howard and I sat in my room the rest of the night with Fr H, making idle talk, trying to pretend it wasn't me - it was a mistake - he was going to be fine. Even now, when I hear of others getting bad news like that - it takes me back to that awful time. I get that dreadful feeling. I'm so sorry anyone has to go through that.
I've had that happen to me in funny situations too - in my current funk I can't come up with any specific ones. But they can be quite funny - though not always right at the time. When telling them later they're a hoot though. I'll try to think of some. Anything to think happy thoughts...
When our baby Patrick crashed in Greater Community Hospital a couple days after he was born was one of those times. I remember hearing a baby crying during the night - I was still in the hospital after my C Section. I wondered why the nurses didn't do something!
Then one of the nurses came in to tell me that Patrick was in tough shape. What they didn't know was why. Life Flight was on the way and Father Howard Fitzgerald had been called. They tried to call Paul but he wouldn't answer the phone, so they called some neighbors who woke him up from a sound sleep and they stayed with Amy. He rushed to the hospital just in time to shoot up to Des Moines following the helicopter to Blank Children's Hospital.
During that moment, when the nurse told me it was Patrick in trouble, I shot out of my body - in denial that it was me going through this trauma. It was fucked up! Howard and I sat in my room the rest of the night with Fr H, making idle talk, trying to pretend it wasn't me - it was a mistake - he was going to be fine. Even now, when I hear of others getting bad news like that - it takes me back to that awful time. I get that dreadful feeling. I'm so sorry anyone has to go through that.
I've had that happen to me in funny situations too - in my current funk I can't come up with any specific ones. But they can be quite funny - though not always right at the time. When telling them later they're a hoot though. I'll try to think of some. Anything to think happy thoughts...
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The club
I got one of those phone calls today. The kind that upset one's world. You know how it is, you put everything in its place, and sooner or later a chunk pops out (big or small) and upsets your world is rocked - and not in a good way.
My friend Pat's daughter was found dead yesterday, apparently of a drug overdose. Those are the only details I know right now. She was in her late 20's - a great student athlete from Creston. I didn't know her well, but appreciated her talents. She was a good friend to our neighbor Abbie, and our former babysitter Erin.
Pat is one of my homies - somebody I do things with in groups. She in our walking/breakfast group and of course that group has come up with lots of other excuses to get together lately. Girls need their friends. Pat's son Steven is Jud's age and there were at Malachy classmates. He went to Marco Island one spring break with us a few years back.
Jessica attended Luther College in Decorah, and then I believe went on to grad school at the U of I. Lately, last I know she was back in Decorah working as a waitress, living with several people. But Pat's pretty quiet about her children, not volunteering much. Her husband Steve is just plain quiet.
Pat has a very close knit family - I am sure she'll need their support to get through this awful time. Sadly, when something this happens, all I can think is - now there is a new member of the club. The one that no one should ever belong to - the deceased child club. It's like that Eagles song Hotel California - you can never leave.
I write this with a heavy heart. Please keep Pat and family in your prayers.
My friend Pat's daughter was found dead yesterday, apparently of a drug overdose. Those are the only details I know right now. She was in her late 20's - a great student athlete from Creston. I didn't know her well, but appreciated her talents. She was a good friend to our neighbor Abbie, and our former babysitter Erin.
Pat is one of my homies - somebody I do things with in groups. She in our walking/breakfast group and of course that group has come up with lots of other excuses to get together lately. Girls need their friends. Pat's son Steven is Jud's age and there were at Malachy classmates. He went to Marco Island one spring break with us a few years back.
Jessica attended Luther College in Decorah, and then I believe went on to grad school at the U of I. Lately, last I know she was back in Decorah working as a waitress, living with several people. But Pat's pretty quiet about her children, not volunteering much. Her husband Steve is just plain quiet.
Pat has a very close knit family - I am sure she'll need their support to get through this awful time. Sadly, when something this happens, all I can think is - now there is a new member of the club. The one that no one should ever belong to - the deceased child club. It's like that Eagles song Hotel California - you can never leave.
I write this with a heavy heart. Please keep Pat and family in your prayers.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Dryer sheets
I went a little crazy recently and purchased some flavored (scented) dryer sheets. That's pretty wild for me, because with our fair skin, and Pablo's penchant for hunting, I usually stick to the unscented sheets.
Our fair skin breaks out and rashes up easily! One time Jud broke out in huge hives from eating holiday Lucky Charms - all that green and red dye. Plus scents sometimes bug me due to my migraines. Okay now we sound like seriously genetically challenged, or at least hypochondriac-like. But don't get me started about some chicks and their perfume...
So, with all that background, you now know what a stretch it was for me to get almond vanilla dryer sheets. Every time I smell them....I think of my grandpa, Bubba, and his pipes. Smokin'
Bub smoked a pipe right to the end. The last time I saw him, he was in the Atlantic hospital, using his flame thrower pipe lighter to light up. Nearly getting his eyebrows instead. He spent a lot of time lighting pipes - more probably than he actually smoked them.
Bub kept his pipe collection in a special case that sat right by his chair in their home at 909 Poplar. I loved to open up the lid and get out each pouch of tobacco and take a deep whiff. Such a mellow aromatic tobacco smell. The pipes themselves had a smoky ashy smell. But those pipe cleaners were fun to play with.
So Bubba, wherever you are - every time I do laundry I think of you!
Our fair skin breaks out and rashes up easily! One time Jud broke out in huge hives from eating holiday Lucky Charms - all that green and red dye. Plus scents sometimes bug me due to my migraines. Okay now we sound like seriously genetically challenged, or at least hypochondriac-like. But don't get me started about some chicks and their perfume...
So, with all that background, you now know what a stretch it was for me to get almond vanilla dryer sheets. Every time I smell them....I think of my grandpa, Bubba, and his pipes. Smokin'
Bub smoked a pipe right to the end. The last time I saw him, he was in the Atlantic hospital, using his flame thrower pipe lighter to light up. Nearly getting his eyebrows instead. He spent a lot of time lighting pipes - more probably than he actually smoked them.
Bub kept his pipe collection in a special case that sat right by his chair in their home at 909 Poplar. I loved to open up the lid and get out each pouch of tobacco and take a deep whiff. Such a mellow aromatic tobacco smell. The pipes themselves had a smoky ashy smell. But those pipe cleaners were fun to play with.
So Bubba, wherever you are - every time I do laundry I think of you!
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