This is my only photo from tonight that shows detail - it's too dark outside, the sidewalks and streets are packed with people. The police and parking control were in the process of closing off our entire street as I walked down a couple of blocks. As usual, the kids are polite and downright darling. It's a good night. 

There's a growing sound off in the distance. Shrill screams...young voices yelling, "Yaaaaaah!" Tiny, little feet shrouded in cowboy boots, ballerina slippers and ruby-red sneakers are stampeding their way to my front door.

Soon, the doorbell will begin ringing incessantly and at times, we'll have 40 children lined-up along our walkway.

In four hours, it will all be over...except for the paper wrappers strewn in the streets and the smattering of eggs on some unlucky soul's car.

It should be another hoot. "Yaaaaah!"

Autobiography, Part II
1990

I have spent the last nine years of my life trying to unlearn two main lessons taught to me by my family throughout my childhood: Reality, if painful, can be mentally and emotionally rejected until it no longer exists. And, appearance is more important than truth.

My earliest recollection of situational denial is when my father abandoned my family for one year. My mother and I had just returned home from an afternoon of shopping, and I distinctly remember the puzzled tone of her voice as she sensed something was wrong. Frantically calling out my dad's name, mom searched the entire house. In my parent's bedroom, drawers and closet doors were slammed open and shut, and I ran back there to see what was causing the turmoil. Dad's closet was empty, the bathroom vanity was in disarray, and his wedding ring rested suspiciously by itself on the bedroom bureau. At the time, I didn't recognize the significance of the discarded wedding band; I was only eight years old.

After a telephone call some hours later, my mother confirmed that my father had moved out. However, to this day she has never fully confessed the real reason for my dad's departure. "Your father has been called away on business," mom explained. "Do not tell the neighbors and anyone in the family that he is gone. If asked, you are to simply reply that your father is in Northern California and you do no know when he'll be back."

The time that my father was gone was long and lonely. I missed our nightly games of Battleship and Canasta. Another favorite evening ritual of mine was to read the comics with dad as he relaxed in the den after work. Dad was very understanding of my isolation as a kid; I grew up with two sisters who are five and seven years older than myself, and it was very rare for me to be included in their activities. During his absence, I received several letters from dad describing his life on the road. He attempted to explain his lifelong dream of gold mining and his quest to follow that dream. Each letter I received revealed his unspoken agony over his decision to leave; tear drops had been carelessly wiped away, leaving a few smears and resin spots.

Neither my sisters or I was allowed to talk about dad's absence. The three of us were expected to continue with our lives as though nothing was amiss. Holidays and vacations were spent at home without any involvement of my uncles, aunts and cousins. The truth of the situation was never spoken. I was never allowed to express my emotion or talk to any of my friends about my confusion and feelings of guilt.

It's taken me years to understand my father's desperate decision to fulfill a dream*. However, I no longer feel any resentment. The most important lesson I have learned is that personal growth occurs through the acknowledgement of adversity as well as prosperity. I despised being forced to suppress my pain and frustration and to essentially live a lie. This lack of communication has put incredible limitations on our closeness as a family, and we have never shared the intimacy that comes from being vulnerable and pulling ourselves together.

(*Note: I learned in 1995 that my dad left because he suspected my mom of having an affair. He wasn't off chasing a dream to live in the hills and gold mine. Rather, he sat in a rented car that was parked on a side street and he spied on us and the house...hoping to catch my mom in an illicit tryst. It's hard to describe the anger I feel over this. It was as though a piece of my heart was ripped out of my body when he left without a word or even a goodbye....yet he was actually there, only a block away...spying on us.)

(*Note: As part of a final project to complete my college degree, I was asked to submit an Autobiography. I haven't looked at it in years and thought it would be interesting to copy here onto my Blog. I am rediscovering all that I wrote as I transcribe. I anticipate this will be a cathartic experience.)

Autobiography, Part I
1990

"You have the unique talent of sparking excitement in the people around you."
Excerpt from a Christmas card sent to me by a friend, 1989

"I love you because you're vivacious, warm-hearted, and I can beat you at tennis."
Quote from boyfriend, 1990

"You are the most self-absorbed person I have ever known. However, I do admit that you don't do it on purpose."
Quote from sister, 1989

More than anyone I know, I am guilty of allowing my life to be controlled by what other people think of me. It is appropriate that I begin my autobiography with descriptions of myself by my peers and family. My perceptions of my strengths, abilities and weaknesses are derived from the feedback I have received throughout my life. A good friend once told me that I reminded her of a peasant walking down a road in the country, carrying a long board across my shoulders with a heavy, overflowing bucket suspended at each end. The left bucket was filled with the ghosts of my past; criticisms, scathing remarks and embarrassing situations that continue to haunt me and give me self-doubt. The right bucket was filled with my dreams of achievement and the responsibility I feel to live up to the expectations others have of me. The result is my continual focus on what others think of me, and not what I think of myself.

My childhood was filled with daily expectations from my mother of what to do, how to do it, when to do it and who to do it with. I believe this is what contributed to my inability to make decisions based on what I wanted for myself. Reinforcement for self-discovery was scarce in our household. The most frustrating aspect of trying to continually satisfy my mother's expectations was the fact that she is impossible to please. Christmas gifts were invariably returned, my weight was always too high, or my school projects were not supported. I remember once being told that my high school girlfriends were not acceptable that I would have to find new ones. Every aspect of my life was judged, and I was never once told that I had done a good job. Instead, a typical response to an achievement would be, "You should have done that the way I told you to. Then it would be better."

A good example of this is the time I presented my mom with an ink drawing of a Siamese cat. During the summer of my fifth grade, it took me weeks to trace and color a cat sitting in a hunched position. The stance seemed very unnatural to me, so I added a free-form daisy underneath the cat's nose. Upon presenting the picture to my mother as a gift, she remarked, "Can you make me a new one without that God-awful flower on it?" My chest still tightens up like a vacuum when I think about this. It's very difficult to be internally happy when you're always being told that you don't do anything right.

As a senior in high school, I was extremely self conscious about my looks and reputation. Margie, my best friend, persuaded me to tryout for the cheerleading squad with her, even though I considered myself to be awkward. I spent two hours a day after school for 3 weeks preparing for the tryouts. When the day finally arrived, my mother informed me that no one from the family would be there to watch - mom didn't want me to be a cheerleader and refused to allow anyone to offer their support by being in the audience. Facing all of my friends and their families at the competition was difficult. I really had no explanation to their questions about the absence of my parents. My humiliation ultimately turned to bitterness when I missed making the team by .05 points.

I grew up with a family that lacked cohesiveness. Throughout my entire life, we took only one vacation. That was when we went camping for 3 days. Somehow, we have always been incapable of sharing a good time. There was constant tension and yelling between my mother, father, sisters and myself. I do not recall my parents having an intelligent, calm discussion about any issue. Additionally, I have only seen my parents kiss or hug approximately five times in my entire life. Clearly, neither my mom or dad was satisfied with their marriage, and this deeply impacted the way we all related to one another. Experts in the field of psychology claim that it is healthier for children to grow up with two unhappy parents than in a single parent household. Without a doubt, my childhood caused me to feel painfully inadequate and unhappy with myself. I question the logic of any "expert" who advocates raising a child in an emotionally dysfunctional environment. I believe that parents are obligated to provide their children with examples of overcoming obstacles and living a balanced, happy life. Marriage is not always a part of this equation. Kids need to see that a life defined by stagnation and emotional suffocation is not the way it has to be.

Losin' It Is Not the Answer.

I have just finished watching the RMAs - Radio Music Awards. I lasted for only one hour.

Has the world gone Mad? I sat in disbelief as I listened to these people perform, watched them wiggle their piggles, and look utterly ridiculous. And for this, they make millions?

I could continue the rant, but in fairness I should say that it has been a very hard two days that has given me this bitter edge. Mom was in the ER yesterday because of excessive bleeding. It was in truth only nine hours total, but it seemed like fourteen. An ER experience always feels like time and a half. We finally got her back home around 9pm, but neither of us could get to sleep...we were so shaken up. Then I received a call today that mom now has a staff infection in her arm. It took me 6 telephone calls to locate a doctor who could see mom tomorrow. The rest were booked all the way through the end of November.

Am I missing something here? How in the world do people manage their sickness when they have to wait so long to get in to see the doctor? It's as bad as getting in to see your hairstylist - will I have to set her next appointment before we leave the doctor's office tomorrow?

To add further angst to my stress, mom went "wacky" tonight. She couldn't close her slider...that resulted in 5 separate phone calls. She couldn't close her blinds...that was another 2 phone calls. Dad took her blood test result papers with him to his room...that resulted in one very hysterical conversation. Then she called to tell me that I had to cancel the doctor's appointment...that she needed to take a bath. I got most of this worked out with her (growing more tense by the minute)...then she called one final time to tell me to not use her debit card. ...Huh?

Finally, I Blew. Seriously, sometimes Enough is Enough.

At this point, I began to yell. At mom, telling her that she needed to "Grow up." At the cat for chewing on the new, spooky Halloween tree. At the other cat for leaving a poop mark on the couch. At cat number 3 for eating the pot pie off my plate while I was on the phone.

It's been several years since I have yelled like that. It's typically not my way.

I know I need to be more compassionate and understanding. I know that I am limited because of my tendency to be self-focused and worried about work. I also know that I am not a great manager of my emotions and all of this stuff weighs heavily on me - which ultimately distracts me during the day. I realize that my tolerance level is lower than others.

I. Just. Can't. Handle. The. Multiple. Incessant. Grating. Phone Calls. After. A. Ten. Hour. Day.

Tomorrow, I will call and make the necessary apologies. Tonight, I will just feel like a lousy daughter who is incapable of helping her sickly mother.

Crikey. I'm going to take my sorry butt to bed.

Who has time to sit down and pose when I could be running amuck through PetSmart? 

I am a Walking Contradiction.

I fell in love with public speaking when I was in college. I discovered that I had an ability to transform myself whenever I stood up in front of a group of people. I don't know exactly what it is. The rush of adrenaline...increased blood pressure....emotional horsepower kicking in. Somehow, I become different. More confident. Effervescent. Completely secure in my skin.

I have presented to groups of 300. I have discussed market strategy to executive teams during operational reviews, which included the likes of Bill Reilly. I participate in budget reviews with divisional CFOs and CEOs. And I'm a deejay on a weekly radio program.

The point that I am trying to make is that I am no shrinking violet when it comes to public speaking.

So imagine the depth of my self-loathing because I cannot and will not attend evening soirees with my husband when they include his clients or the area's interior designers. I am terrible at making idle chit chat and feel ill if I am compelled to do so. I don't fit in with anyone who subscribes to elitism, and I am prone to feeling less than the other person right there in the moment. It doesn't help that I am the size of a Rotunda and extremely self conscious that people are looking at me and wondering how in the world I ended up with my husband. "Did he really choose to marry a Full-Figured Gal?" Seeing the disbelief and disappointment in their eyes causes my heart to feel as though it's being squeezed like a wet sponge. I typically end the evening not liking the people I've met and not liking myself. Who needs that kind of torture?

Sadly, my husband really wants me to attend these events with him. There is a party tomorrow night, and I have already put him on notice that he will be attending by himself. Even if I say "yes" and attempt to go, I will become physically sick one hour before the event because I can't handle it. Just as my body kicks in extra mojo whenever I have to present to a workgroup....I have the opposite reaction when I am plunked into a social scene. My emotions literally implode.

I know that I am a disappointment. I know that my husband doesn't understand. This issue is my Achilles Heel and I yearn to discover why there is a lesson in this for me. "What you resist, persists."

What have I failed to learn that has kept me stuck behind this emotional obstacle? Will it prove to be bigger and stronger than I am...for the rest of my life?

It was a Good Day.

Work doesn't start until 10am on Wednesdays, which means I get to sleep in. The wind was blowing and it's been raining ferociously. Which makes being inside feel downright cozy. I love-love-love waking up and being able to Stay Put for about an hour, while I contemplate the day, kiss Baxter's whisker-cheeks, and watch the birds on the feeder just outside the window. I was ho-hoed nicely inside my comforter and feeling happily at peace.

The HR Director treated me to a dim sum lunch, and I didn't splash a single drop of soy sauce on my shirt.

All I ate for dinner was a frozen banana.

I received my climbing spiders and they are awesome! Can't wait to put them up the side of the house.

I have the promise of a foot rub from my husband. Now that's a great way to end the day.

I already miss her too.

This little note was left for me by my niece, who stayed with us on Saturday and Sunday night.


Dear Aunt Jill. Thank you so much for letting us stay and even letting me bring friends. I enjoyed seeing you so much. Thanx. Your niece, Brittany.

p.s. I already miss your hugs & kisses.

Pinch Me, I'm Stunned.

My sister-in-law spent the night with us last night, and while my husband was at the video store, she launched into a conversation that went something like this:

"You know Jill...Steve and I are finally growing up. I'll be 40 this year so it's about time! But we're ready to see family again and be part of the holidays. It's going to be 7 months since I've been clean and off drugs."

"Shelly, that's great," I reply....while thinking to myself, "Did she say drugs? When did she start taking drugs? I thought she was an alcoholic. Keep smiling and nodding. Did she say drugs?"

"Yeah, well, it was the toughest thing I've ever done besides quitting smoking. Steve is doing really well. I don't think he's done anything lately, but everyone has to make a choice and if he did, it would be when he was by himself. He's been really addicted."

"Shelly, what drug?"

"Speed."

The silence was deafening. So I say the first thing that comes to my mind. "Speed. Those are pills, right?"

Shelly then peeled off a big, wet raspberry and replied, "Nooo Jill. Speed is the poor man's cocaine." She then laughed at me and walked out of the room. And there I sat, all by myself...stunned and wondering, "How could this be? How did I miss it?"

Steve and Shelly have 3 daughters and I love ever square inch of them. I have unofficially "adopted" my nieces because they are darling and tender hearted. My hub and I have always known about Steve and Shelly's ongoing financial struggles...their inability to buy food or clothes. Steve apparently went to Alaska several years ago and made a lump of money from fishing. He then spent it all (about $75,000) in less than 3 months on drinking and parties and friends. When it came time to pay Uncle Sam, the money was long gone. The IRS went after him so he went Underground. Steve and his family moved to the mountains and he worked for cash. He couldn't support his family so all of his brothers chipped in to pay off his tax bill, which included gobs of interest. (So we have been very involved in seeing that the kids have coats and shoes and adequate clothing to wear to school every year. This is what my Aunti Hazel did for me, and I feel strongly about passing that generosity on. It's one of my obligations for having been blessed with it as a child myself.) Steve has been able to work legally for several years now...but he hasn't held a steady job. He was fired from his last position because he showed up late to work and then yelled at his boss to Get Off His Back.

I always knew about the drinking problem. The kids would tell me how their parents passed out and they had to make their own dinner...breakfast...etc. Several times, the kids sat terrified at home for hours because Steve passed out and hit his head on the coffee table on the way down. We have tried some intervention but our attempts to help were denied. "It's my business how I live my life. Please stay out of it."

About 4 years ago, I noticed that Steve and Shelly were drinking beer as they drove down to visit. They had a mini-cooler that stayed on the floorboard. I was furious and was thisclose to calling protective services to report them. Everyone I spoke to advised me not to do it - they felt the kids would end up in foster care and they would be hurt more deeply in the long run. In the meantime, I was panicked that Steve or Shelly would kill them all in an auto wreck.

I didn't know what to do. Cause and Effect. Whatever path I chose could save them...or it could cause their demise.

I never made the call and I ultimately pulled away from interacting with Steve and Shelly. I have stayed close to the kids and they have always known that they have a warm, safe place right here with us if they ever need it.

I'm glad my sister-in-law has kicked her addiction to methamphetamine. I hope my brother-in-law has been able to do the same. But more than that, I hope my sweet kids are safe...and learning a very big life lesson from all of this: It's extremely easy to become your own worst enemy. The choices we make every day can help us or hurt us. Cause and Effect. Think about where your actions may take you.

My Dream Job is to be....a Philanthropist.

I've been thinking alot about winning the Lottery. What would I do with the money. How quickly would I quit my job? How would I chose to spend my remaining time here on Earth.

I don't actually play the Lottery, which improves my odds of winning...or so I'm told. But I certainly like to dream about how my life would be different if I did indeed win.

I suppose I'm searching for some type of release...this endless daydreaming. I frequently coddle myself and think that I have worked Harder than the Average Bear. The truth is that I have been greatly blessed in my life.

I'm not an embalmer. I don't work in a slaughterhouse. I'm not a prison guard and I will never work in a paper mill. These are tough jobs that require hard work day after day after day.

My path in life has been to work in sales management. I've been doing this for 15 years straight. The upside is that one can be compensated very well if one is sales savvy. (My reps at a former company earned $150,000-$200,000 yearly for about 5 hours of work a day. None of them had a college degree. They were arrogant, ostentatious and acted like prima dona's. They got away with murder because they generated the revenue. They sold print advertising and were hated by the editorial staff, the production crew and the admin team. Oh, their Ad Director hated them too. (That was me.) Which is why I quit and took a sabbatical to recover from the idiocy that pelted me every day while I had that job. The payouts were so high and the effort on the reps' part was so low...it began to feel immoral. But the reps stayed on and continue to earn ridiculous amounts of money, even to this day.)

Despite the upside, sales is difficult. Every day, you are only as good as the number that you produce.

• You exceeded your targets last month? Terrific. Now exceed that number by 10% this month.
• You missed your targets during the summer season? Here is a warning that your position is at risk. The company depends on You to generate the revenue to keep operating/growing/ expanding/amassing cash.
• Fulfillment is operating at 75%? We need more sales to make up the difference. You must generate 1500 additional sales this month in the remaining two weeks.
• The competition has dropped their price point by 25%? Too bad. Sell value.
• Customers yell at you because our service record is below 60%? It's all a Numbers Game. Keep selling.

No wonder so many people give in to the Dark Side. The lure of the fake sale...the falsified expense account...the claim of making 6 sales calls when one is really enjoying a sunny day in Sausilito. Sales is a grind, day in and day out.

So, to help me get through this fire-drill existence, I daydream about winning the lottery. I meticulously plan how I would spend the moola.

• Tithing is automatic. We love our church and eagerly support their good works.
• $350,000 would go to a pastor in Northern California. He is a wonderful person with 3 children...and he just lost his wife to breast cancer. He has never owned his own home and I would love to see him be able to buy one.
• The current home we own would be sold and we would move to Carmel...an artist's heaven. I would stay home and raise our two adopted kidlets. My husband could paint all day long and never earn another nickel. I could buy my goats, get two dogs and attempt to write a book.
• I would develop several community services for children across the country. Free art classes, free theater classes, free books from a book mobile and free coats for the winter season.
• My (blind) sister's mortgage would be paid outright.
• We would make anonymous gifts to people who are helping others...or need some extra cash to just make it through a difficult time.

And that's about it. No fancy cars, no flat screen anything, no minerals for my ears, neck or wrist. Just the freedom of spending time where and how we want. Plus a little work on the side to help others' lives a little better, a little more secure.

We Call Him...Elfus.

Part of the fun of being married to an artist is being able to see all of his pieces before they're shipped out to clients. This is a darling little sign that my husband made for a local group that runs a decorator showcase house with holiday boutique. This little guy greets visitors at the front door.

Fun, Frivolous and Fearsome

To decorate or not decorate.....do I feel Up To It?

The answer this year, is "Yes." So I have gone online and purchased a bunch of Halloween decorations with the goal of having a killer-home for the trick or treaters. Have I ever mentioned that we get 1,000+ kids at the house? This is no joke. Everyone on our street decorates (some people started in September, which I think is just w-r-o-n-g). The street also happens to be long and flat, so kids are literally bussed into our little town and dumped off for a night of Mayhem and Booty.

It's really a sight to behold. Several neighbors do a bonafide Haunted House and we are put to shame every year. My idea of decorating? I have a spider nest that goes up on the front of the house - it has huge purple spider - but that has been the extent of my effort ever since our first year in this house. That's when the kids played kickball with our Malibu lights and they were never to be seen again.

Nowdays, we typically strive to just keep up with the crowds and give out the "good" candy bars...Snickers, Skittles, Milky Way bars. I usually spend about $250.00 and we are picked-clean every year.

I have decided to get back in the spirit and spruce the place up. I purchased the tombstones and the purple Haunted House in the picture above, plus a 5' scary tree with purple lights and 9" spiders that climb up the side of the house. My husband, the master artist-handyman-electrician will assemble all of these items and create the stage.

When Halloween finally arrives, I'll be dressed up like a Pilgrim and handing out the candy. I'll also be:

• Shaking my head at the line of kids that spans from my front door all the way to the street sidewalk.
• Crying at the sight of the sweet little toddlers dressed up like Pooh or bumble bees.
• Giving high-fives to the kids dressed up like Spider Man or Sponge Bob.
• Pouring wine for our neighbors who are taking their kids door to door.
• Managing the panic when the candy dwindles down too fast to last the night.

And all the while, as I take in this amazing scene, I'll be thankful that we live in this great house, on this awesome street that is filled with such darling kids and creative homeowners. My heart will be aching for the time when we have our own kids and are able to go door to door ourselves. And I'll be grateful for the chance to meet so many new people...nice people...from towns nearby.

But no Halloween would be complete without me saying this Silent Prayer: "Please God, don't let anyone trip on our front path or down our stairs....because even though we have an umbrella insurance policy, I really, really don't want to use it."

Braggadocious.

I'm not sure that this is a real word, but it describes a colleague to a tee. Whenever I see her, she makes these insane comments about how much she is accomplishing. These are the types of statements that come out of her mouth...

"Hey, I saved the company $4 million dollars last week. That's going to look good on the performance evaluation."

"The Senior VP asked me to manage XYZ project. He knows that I get the job done."

"I found an investment partner and we're bidding on 3 different homes in Los Gatos, each one over $1,000,000. I'll be a millionaire within 6 months."

Blah, blah, blah, blah blaaaahhhh.

We used to be friends. We'd actually talk about her two kids, her husband, her life outside of the company. Now, it's all about money, promotion, exposure and The Terrific Things that only she can do. I literally feel my bone marrow draining out of my body whenever I spend time with her. It zaps the energy right out of me. The world revolves around her Big Happenings.

So here I sit tonight, wondering if anyone perceives me this way. I love to talk about eBay and shopping. Get me started on color and fabrics and I'll talk for an hour. I know exactly how much I have earned annually for the last 15 years - and many of my goals in life are tied to materials things or personal accomplishments.

I worry that I am superficial. But I am repelled by someone who is braggadocious and subscribes to blatant self-promotion.

So, I'm timid and she's aggressive. Yet at the core, there isn't much difference is there. We're fundamentally the same...aren't we?

Thank you, Carmi.

What is it about his writing that makes my heart grow warm with familiarity?

The words flow so smoothly. Their depictions bring back memories from my childhood... seen through the eyes of the innocent. A feeling that I thought I had lost quite some time ago.

Reading his work somehow feels nostalgic yet full of discovery.

I encourage you to give it a look.

Hello, Gorden.

Four years ago, my husband and I exchanged handmade gifts for Christmas. We wanted to get away from the burdensome feeling of having to buy ourselves More Stuff....when there was very little that either of us wanted or needed at the time. (I'll post the gift that I made over the coming days.) In the meantime, here is the item that my husband made for me. It's a shaved coconut that opens (like my little box collectibles) and it's handpainted. It's something that only an artist could dream-up. It's an odd item, yet in our living room it appears eclectic...which adds a nice touch. The overbite gets to me every time I look at it.

I love it, and I love the man who made it...just for me.

Little Boxes, Hidden Treasures.

I collect little boxes. They have always captivated me. Although mine are empty, I love to feel them, smell them and imagine how people through history have used them. Many still carry the smell of the snuff that was once stored inside.

Throughout my teens, my mom hammered on me daily about my weight. "No wonder you don't have a date tonight...you're fat" is perhaps my favorite memory of the personal hell she put me through. When I started dating my first boyfriend, I stopped eating. At times, I got so sick from hunger, I had to take a Dramamine to keep from throwing up. At one point, I weighed 113 lbs and mom declared that I was "perfect." I'm 5 foot 7.5 inches tall, and I was emaciated. But I hovered around this weight for years....until my first true heartbreak around 30 years old. When I was married (that's a honeymoon photo above) my weight was OK...but I wasn't feeling good about it. I made some comments about myself, my husband replied back in a way that I didn't like, and my weight became an issue in our marriage. It happened thisfast. Looking back, I must have started the fight on purpose. My husband disengaged from the weight conflict many years ago and actively showed me his unconditional love. He's been amazing. In many ways, I feel that I "owe" him so much more than I have given him. He is definately the Better Half of this couple.

Foul Play.

My computer has been operating very inefficiently over the last several days. Finally, on Thursday, I could no longer manipulate my mouse. I got connected to the Dell Support team and learned about spyware. After installing PestPatrol, I discovered 83 vermin attached and draining the life's blood out of my system. The good news? I'm back and able to blog. The bad news? I naively thought my Netgear firewall was going to save me from all of this.

In other news, my Dad is a die-hard Cal Alum. Today, we are going over to his new place to watch the Cal vs USC game. We're talking Togo's sandwiches and lots of munchies - and my dad is giddy with excitement. It's his first "social event" in his new apartment.

Perhaps during halftime, he can explain to me exactly why he announced this morning that my mom is on depression medication and seeing a psychiatrist.

To. Her. New. Neighbors...The. Entire. Lunchroom. Crowd.

This is my husband when he was just a baby. He acutally still looks the same! He's 48 years old but looks about 38 - that baby face has stuck with him through all these years.  

Behind Door #223

I think it may be time to buy a book. Seek advice. Learn how to deal with an unexpected situation.

Angela is the caregiver who assists my dad with his shower three times a week. She's originally from Fiji, she's a mother of 3 young kidlets and she's downright delightful. So warm, so nice, very helpful and patient.

Dad was waiting for Angela to show up for his shower this morning - and she walked in to find him sprawled-out on top of his bed...totally nude.

So Angela had The Chat with him: "Even though I help you in the shower, you still need to be respectful of me. You need to have something on - or you should cover yourself."

It didn't help that my mom followed Angela into dad's room and witnessed the whole thing. And according to mom, this wasn't the first time this happened. She mentioned something about his stay at a rehab hospital last year.

Egad. This is one of those times when I don't know whether or not to get involved. Truth be told, I really don't want to. But I'll check in with Angela to see if this did occur (Mom's a bit loopy today) and then apologize on behalf of the family. I also need to counsel dad on not calling Angela his "girlfriend" any longer.

Is this typical with the elderly? Do they lose their sensitivity of what is proper and what is not? The man doesn't have a head injury. He isn't senile. He is a tad forgetful, but not about something like this.

I'll need more info to help me understand the bigger picture and what else I should anticipate. In the meantime, we'll be taking a road trip tonight to deliver a terry robe to my dad. Gratis.

True Goodness.

Dear Husband,

I continue to be amazed and in awe of your unlimited capacity for unconditional love. You didn't blink an eye when I asked you if we could move mom into our home. Your acceptance was immediate and sincere. Your willingness to handle the hard labor was unflappable - there wasn't a single request that went refused or denied.

Purchase a new bed and move the unwanted furniture into a storage unit?
No problem.

Make midnight runs to Walgreens to pick up a bag of Depends?
You did it without a complaint.

Return to Rite Aid 4 times in a single day until they filled the prescription correctly or fitted the correct bottle caps?
I didn't even have to ask, you just did it.

Drive home for lunch to confirm mom was out of bed and eating?
You brought her a turkey sandwich every time.

Take mom to multiple doctor's appointments because I couldn't leave work?
You did it without flinching.

Escort mom to the assisted care facility without me?
You handled it beautifully.

Move 3 sets of furniture into mom's new apartment until she decided which one she wanted?
You never once complained about the stairs.

Spend 5 hours assembling dad's new computer desk with the nifty slide-out keyboard tray?
You actually had fun doing it.

And then came the Ultimate.

Last night, at dinner, over chips and salsa. You told me that I rescued my parents...probably saved their lives. That I was heroic and fulfilled the Honour thy Parents commandment. That I handled the entire situation with grace...and that I am a good daughter.

(Smile) My sweet, sweet man. Don't you know? You are what I strive to become. Through your acts of love, I have learned to be a better, more loving person. You have enriched my life, and I am so very blessed to be married to you.

Just a Few Words.

I have spent the last three days digesting and processing the events of the last 6 months. Mom moved into her new apartment on Thursday, and I got my first taste of solitude in what feels like a very long time.

The experience of moving her in to live with us, learning to be her caretaker, adjusting to a disciplined regimen, and transitioning her into an assisted living facility has been complex. There is no simple way to describe what transpired.

Words like wonderful, heartbreaking, infuriating, and enriching come to mind.

I have given more of myself in the last 6 months than I have given in the last 10 years. And although my anger spiked to new levels when dealing with mom's incessant needling and defiance...my heart was also cracked open to allow feelings of true forgiveness and compassion when she sobbed because of fear or physical pain. Years of pent-up criticism and resentment flew out of my body in a single heartbeat the night I hugged and kissed her for the very first time.

Without a doubt, I am a changed person from this experience. My life has finally been filled with the Right Stuff. A preoccupation and focus on someone other than myself.