The moving guys are here to pack-up the house. Tomorrow, all of our wordly goods are loaded onto a truck.

Destination: Denver.

>Wha-Hoo!!

Femme a la Meme

Okay, Diva. This one is for you.

1. Number of books I own?
Around 300 but that's not counting the 200+ that we recently donated to the library in anticipation of our move to Denver. Some people go for shoes or make-up or diamond jewelry. I go wild in the book store and show zero restraint. At least 100 of my books are old, crusty and leather bound. Many are written in German, French and Chinese, and I love the way they look and feel and smell.

2. Last book I bought?
I purchased these two books for my father a couple of days ago. He is fascinated with history and is especially piqued by Mesopotamia and the Sumerians.

History Begins at Sumer: Thirty-Nine Firsts in Man's Recorded History by Samuel Noah Kramer

Sumerian Mythology: A Study of Spiritual and Literary Achievement in the Third Millennium B.C. by Samuel Noah Kramer, Hiroshi Tanaka

For myself, I bought:
The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom by Miguel Ruiz

3. Last book I read?

Honeymoon by James Patterson,Howard Roughan

Secrets of the Millionaire Mind: Mastering the Inner Game of Wealth by T. Harv Eker

To be fair, you also need to know that I regularly read (subscribe to) these magazines:
Art & Antiques
Real Simple
The Economist
The Atlantic Monthly
Reader's Digest
Traditional Home
People
Time
Consumer Reports
The Robb Report
San Francisco Magazine
Architectural Digest & O

4. Books that mean alot to me: (This is really hard because all of my books are packed in boxes and I have to rely on my memory.)

Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl

Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

The Essential Calvin and Hobbes: A Calvin and Hobbes Treasury(Calvin and Hobbes Series) by Bill Watterson ( I was devastated when Calvin was retired. I have yet to find such an insightful, witty, entertaining and clever cartoon.)

How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie shaped much of who I became as a salesperson and sales manager.

Ogilvy on Advertising by David Ogilvy launched me into the field of marketing back in the early 80's.

Shortly after we signed the paperwork with our real estate agent to sell this house, we were contacted by potential buyers who were highly qualified to make the purchase. They asked us for special consideration to not list the house on the market until they were able to view it and make an offer. We complied and negotiated a lower commission rate with our agent for having located the buyer for him.

After their first meeting, our agent's demeanor toward us changed. Rather than be on our side and push for the highest amount possible, he encouraged us to accept an amount significantly lower than what we wanted. Ultimately, we ended-up somewhere in between, but his defense of and loyalty to the other couple was shockingly transparent. I suspect this has to do with the fact that they were both a buyer and a seller for him - he was able to get them to agree to having his sell their current house.

Today, I received the closing statement for the transaction. Several figures are wrong, including the percentage amount for the commission. The agent apparently hasn't taken any time to review and correct the document, nor has he taken the time to call us to keep us in the loop. I only hear from his "assistant" now that the deal is done.

Bleh. Selling a home is a sticky wicket. I regret selecting this particular agent and feel slighted by his lack of assistance and loyalty to his us, his primary client.

In other news, today is my mother's birthday.

We have 50% of the house packed.

I keep trying to reach a live person at Aetna to dispute a denied claim and the customer service automated system keeps hanging up on me.

I don't know the entire story about Oprah being snubbed at a French boutique, but it sounds as though she arrived after closing without any advance warning. Why would this cause her to be humiliated?

A disheartening story out of Russia today. I am growing antsy to get this in motion.

House in disarray? Check.
Head befuddled? Check.
Excited? Check. Check.

Dry Mouth

I am scared spitless.

Fear of the unknown is stabbing my innards incessantly, and I can't help but wonder how people mustered up the courage throughout the 1800's to travel West and homestead in an unknown land.

• They had to cope with the possibility of an attack by Indians and wild animals. We have to battle 18-wheelers and teenage speed demons on a super highway.
• They had to cross rivers in wagons and dump their belongings if they weighed too much. Our 18,000 pounds of belongings (we are Big Furniture people) are being packed, transported and unloaded by the mover.
• They had to go to the bathroom in the bushes - with no toilet paper. We have struggle with hours of driving through the Nevada flat-lands with a mere sprinkling of gas stations, so bio-breaks must be timed perfectly.
• They had to sleep out in the wild with snow and rain and wind pelting their dust-caked bodies. We have to spend the night in a pet-friendly hotel room that allows 6 mewing cats.
• They had to hunt and catch game for a hearty meal cooked over a campfire. If we get hungry, we'll nosh on a Power Bar or Met-Rx nourishment.
• They had very few medicinals to treat their sick children or ill spouse. If we feel fatigued, we'll drink an Emergen C orange pack for a little extra mojo.

Enough comparisons. I'm a total wimp, there are no two ways about it. I gotta get me some Gatoraid and.just.shut.up.

Dichotomy-Squared.

The overcast sky looked like a watercolor painting with a hundred different shades of grey and blue. As far as the eye could see, the colors were mottled together, forming a large and depressing dome over our heads. The ocean below us was brackish and foreboding. Looking down into the water, all I could see was a density of cold, black nothingness that sent tingles of fear down my neck. All of this seemed pitifully poetic, when you consider that we were about to bury my mom and my sister at sea.

We anchored the boat directly in front of the Huntington Beach pier. A landmark that we could always use to say hello to our loved ones. I held my mother's ashes tightly in my arms. She was in a beautiful heart box that was made from biodegradable paper. I was surprised by the weight of her ashes, they were so much heavier than I imagined. My sister Denise held my sister Ann's ashes and together we placed them into the ocean with bundles of hydrangea's and roses and spring flowers. My brother-in-law whispered a prayer, and we silently watched the boxes float away with the tide.

Later, Denise and I simply stared at each other. The immense gravity of our sadness was wedged between us, and neither of us could speak. A sister lost at the age of 46...and a mother gone after a terrible illness. Shock and weariness were etched on our foreheads. Neither of us could find the words to adequately express our emotions. This was our final, tactile moment together with Ann and mom. It was hard to let go...we were reluctant to accept the finality. We stayed out there, in the middle of the ocean, and watched until boxes drifted completely out of sight. And then we turned around and headed home.

It's amazing how poignant life becomes after losing a sister and a mother. I find myself caring about others more than I care about myself. I allow myself to smile more often and swallow critical thoughts that used to slip mindlessly through my lips.

Most of all, I feel everything.

I live very close to the pulse, now. Sights, smells and words are amplified and bristle against my skin. I can feel my heartbeat in my eyeballs and the hairs on my arms twitch. A ringing telephone causes my heart to skip a beat. A startled cat causes my stomach to drop down to my ankles. I hear strangers sigh all of the time. I watch road rage and arrogant behavior play out before me. I can feel a person's distress just by looking into their eyes. I live in fear of the pending and the unknown....unable to relax and wander through life numbly. Yet I feel slivers of hope penetrate my broken heart. Opposite emotions rage relentlessly throughout my body.

I have never been so confused. I have never been so at peace with my own mortality. I have never loved so deeply. I have never felt so meaningless.

Unknown Hero

As I sat on my couch and listened to the ongoing reports about Natalee Holloway, I shook my head and wondered, "Tsk, what was she thinking, getting drunk and going to a deserted place with a stranger?"

And then I remembered.

I was 19 years old and met him on an airplane. He was significantly older, and he complimented me on my skin...said it was so clear and had a gorgeous glow. He called me later that week to ask me out. I was flattered and said, "Yes." We drove to a restaurant 40 miles away...one that "would serve me alcohol." It was located in a rural town called Lodi. There was nothing else there, no other reason to travel that far. I wanted to be cool so I said, "Okay."

When we were seated and ordered drinks, I was Carded. I told the waiter that I didn't have my license with me, and he replied that I wouldn't be served. Dinner conversation lagged after that, my date was bitterly disappointed. A little knot of fear started to bud in my belly, and I requested that we call it an evening...early. He and I never spoke again after that.

I know now that I made a foolish decision going to a restaurant in a remote area with someone who I'd just met. I was lucky - that waiter saved me from my own poor judgment, and I fondly remember him as my Unknown Hero.

Now I sit on the couch and watch the updates on the search for Natalee, and I understand. It just takes a succession of bad choices that seem innocent enough at the time.

Still around and still going strong. Whodda thunk?!

Available here.

The memorial service is to be held out at sea. Denise has made the arrangements for the boat and we depart at 9am. My sister's ashes are in a water-soluable box which will be placed in the middle of a hydrangea wreath. I plan to include a sterling silver bracelet with charms of things Ann loved: Birdhouse, Bee, Telephone, Cat, Dragonfly, a dime with the year she was born...I had planned to give it to her for her birthday in February. Ann also wanted the ashes of her two cats, Madison and Murray, to be placed with her so they could spend eternity together.

My mother's ashes will be placed in the middle of a wreath bursting with spring flowers, her personal favorite. I plan to include a note that has yet to be written. Husband has been the keeper of the box with her ashes, because I can't bear to see my mother reduced to that.

I have been asked to speak during the service. Public speaking is something I've done all my life and considered to be my professional forte. But this....this...is different. Somehow, I will need to put my grief aside and speak words of encouragement, hope, gratitude and thanks.

I suppose I have delayed my availablity for the memorial because it will be the very last tangible, earthly togetherness that we'll share with JoMama and Ann.

Summertime Memories

• Tang and Captain Crunch for breakfast...Who Yeah!
• Playing Army in the hills behind the house and using flowering buds from the iceplant in our slingshots.
• Skatboarding down the front driveway, consumed with the fear of not being able to stop at the curb and rolling right into a passing car.
• Getting my first pair of roller skates with red leather straps and steel wheels.
• Practicing figure eights on my bike in the backyard...until Dad called me into the house to watch Adam 12 or Get Smart.
• Playing on the neighbor's Slip N' Slide and drinking grape flavored Kool-Aid.
• Wearing a plastic wristband with rhinestone buttons that when pushed, allowed me to become invisible and fly.
• Catching grasshoppers in the mint plants under the banana trees.
• Spending a month practicing pull-ups on a tree branch until I could finally do 5 in a row without cheating.
• Sitting in the sun after being drenched with baby oil.
• Playing Marco Polo at The Islander, the neighborhood pool.
• Making little felt outfits for my Trolls and baking Creepy Crawlers.
• Playing ping-pong with my dad every single day.
• Coloring with my brand-new Doodle Art colored pens.

Beeda-Boom

The Scene: Jill and Husband sharing their morning cup of coffe in the family room, reflecting on the upcoming move to Denver.


Jill: I am so excited about the new house. It's fun to daydream and imagine what it'll look like with all of our furniture. I can picture us sitting out on the deck with our coffee in the morning...getting dressed in that beautiful bathroom. It's been 10 years since we've had a bathtub. I can feel myself in that soaking tub!

Husband (without missing a beat): And I can feel myself watching you feel yourself in that tub.

Ah, l'amour.

Perspective.

I finally completed a project on my To-Do list yesterday: I met with the assisted care facility General Manager to express our thanks for all that she did for JoMama. Two months after the fact, I was finally ready to discuss mom's death with one of the two people who were with her at the time.

I'm so thankful that I did. The conversation went something like this:

Jill: We truly thought mom was going to get better before she got worse. Your telephone call to tell us that she was dying was a complete shock.

GM: Jill, every person here was stunned that afternoon. Usually, we know in advance when someone is passing away. It can take days or weeks. I can honestly tell you that in all the years that I have done this job - and being the nature of what I do, I see a lot of people pass away - this was the fastest and most peaceful passing that I have ever seen.

Jill: I'm so grateful for that. I just wish I knew what happened. What caused her death? Just the week before one doctor predicted mom would live for at least 3 months while yet a different doctor projected 3 to 8 years.

GM: I talked to the discharge planner when your mom was hospitalized that very last time. They didn't expect her to live long enough to be discharged.

Jill: No one told me that.

GM: Your mom had esophageal varices, which is bleeding in the throat.

Jill: I know. She had surgery for that.

GM: We've had many liver patients with esophageal varices here in the hospice program. What typically happens is that they start hemorrhaging blood out of their mouth. It's like a murder scene, Jill. Blood sprays out everywhere and there's nothing that can be done to stop it. The patient eventually bleeds out and dies. It's a horrible thing. They know exactly what is happening.

Jill (sobbing): I didn't know.

GM: It's very traumatic for the patient, the family and the staff.

Jill: Mom told Denise that the liver disease would cause a "horrific death," but she didn't share the details and I couldn't find specifics on the Internet. We didn't realize...

GM: Your mom was ready to go, Jill. A lot of times we see patients struggle at the very end. Not your mom. She literally put a smile on her face, closed her eyes and died.

And in that moment, a transcontinental shift occurred. My heart recalibrated from abject grief to utter relief. I finally understood why mom was so distraught when she had nosebleeds or bleeding gums. It seemed irrational at the time, but she knew something that the rest of us didn't realize. Mom had a 70% chance of bleeding to death through her mouth.

Blessing.
Miracle.
Lucky Break.
Mercy.
A final gift from God.

My mother's death was all of that. And I am profoundly grateful.

Renewal

Over the last two weeks, I have started to emerge from The Fog.

It officially started back in December when a succession of bad incidents started happening. My dad had a heart attack. I was rear-ended while stopped at a light. My sister Ann was hospitalized for 5 days (we now realize that we don't know the real cause). My mother's health started deteriorating.

In January, Ann passed away and we were all completely blindsided. I spent days sobbing and it didn't matter where I was. In the car. In the grocery store. Sitting alone in the living room. Curled up on the bed.

Meanwhile, Mom's health took a complete pit dive and the problems began to accelerate. She was continually hospitalized. Surgery. Blood transfusions. A bloated stomach that had to be drained. A cracked sternum from falling in the middle of the night. By the end of March, I was wondering if I was going to be able to survive. I was stressed and exhausted beyond anything I'd ever experienced.

It was around this time that a rotating doctor at the hospital told me that he didn't think mom would live more than 3 months. He was the first to provide a timeline. My sister Denise flew up to help me with mom. She'd been hospitalized yet again and the dementia was especially bad. The nurses had to put an apron on mom that kept her strapped to the bed...because she kept trying to escape. We had been through this cycle before, only two years earlier. Because it was so similar to that situation, Denise was convinced that mom was going to rebound. I began to believe that myself.

When mom was entered into the hospice program, I pretty much told them that their services would be short-term. They didn't know my mother. She was tough and she was a fighter. She had already outlived the original lifespan estimated by the doctor who diagnosed her disease by more than 5 years.

Four days later, mom passed away without warning.

I didn't have time to grieve the passing of my sister because I was trying to save my mother. Then suddenly, she passed away too. And Ka-Blam. I went Kaput.

I am just beginning to feel good again. It has been a lifesaver for me to be out on leave and not have to work. I can honestly and truly say that I would have collapsed if I had not been given that opportunity from my doctor. In the beginning I resisted, because I wanted to be a reliable and responsible employee. But she knew better. She saw how stretched I was. She recognized the depth of my depression. She already knew that I wasn't able to function. Apparently, it isn't normal to refuse to get out of bed for days on end.

Now that my head is clearing, I'm able to juggle more. Sure, there are still days when I don't leave the house. And I have yet to socialize with friends again. But it's all coming back...very slowly.

Today, I am going to sit in the sun and sort through old papers. The more I catch-up with issues that have been ignored for months, the more my head clears. I'm able to look back now and recognize that I wasn't able to deal with anything.

Today, I am also going to thank God for the chance of renewal. I'm grateful for the chance to lift myself out of the darkness.

The following entry was written last July. It was one of those rare evenings when the entire family was together and we all got along. No bickering, no hurt feelings. Just a little birthday celebration for my Dad, who was turning 80.

I had forgotten that I'd written these words until I went exploring in the Drafts section of Blogger. I'm so glad I preserved this memory, I had forgotten some of the details.


My entire family has desceneded on our little household. My sister Denise is chopping red and green bells for the salad. My sister Ann is shucking corn. My mom is at the hairdresser getting stylized. My husband is at Costco picking up the flowers and a peach pie. And I have been running around, decorating all of the tables and making my famous mushroom gravy. The pianist will be here at 5:30 - the same time we pick up the fillet mignon fillet (cooked to perfection every time), the balloons and the Starbucks party boxes filled with regular and decaf.
Tonight we party-down.

Dear JoMama and Patti-Ann,

I miss you so much.

There are alot of things that I wish I had done differently to let you know how much I love you. I want to reverse time so badly. I want to see you again, to hug you like a barnacle.

I didn't realize that either of you were going to pass away when you did. I wasn't prepared. And I'm having a really hard time with acceptance. Every day, I think about picking up the phone to call each of you. But your numbers have been disconnected. These numbers that you both had for so long that they became synonymous with you. What was, now isn't.

It's utterly impossible to outrun this sadness. I'm trying, believe me, but it can't be done. So I cry and hope that one day this gaping whole in my heart will mend.

I miss you both so, so much. And I love you deeply, all the way down to my bone marrow.

Chain - Chain - Chaaange

Change does something funny to a person.

First, one realizes that they are irritated over The Way Things Are and a nebulous feeling of malcontent that's the size of a nugget grows into an Annoyance.

That Annoyance balloons internally until it materializes into actual words that burst out of your mouth to anyone who might listen. As the feelings spill out, the Annoyance becomes solidified and one begins to feel self-righteous. Now, it's become an Issue.

Slowly, one's perspective becomes shaded. The Issue nags incessantly and relentlessly. One tries to fix the problem to no avail. The easy answers don't work. And the incessant nagging continues until one detaches emotionally...just for the sake of survival. The Way Things Are becomes vilified. It is now Intolerable. It cannot continue. Which is when the Decision to Change occurs.

After months or even years of agony, the Decision to Change happens almost like flipping a light switch. Snap! And you're ready to move on. Just.like.that.

Once The Decision is in motion and there is no turning back, one's perspective changes again. Nostalgia seeps in and the once reviled Way Things Are becomes charming again. Little pangs of doubt start knocking on the brain and one begins to second-guess the Decision.

"Egads, what was I thinking? This is huge. I'm terrified! I could never be as happy as I used to be. For the love of Mary, what have I done?!" Fear envelopes the brain and heart. And suddenly, the once confident Decision-Maker feels adrift and in flux.

The Way Things Are is no longer possible. And The Way Things Are Gonna Be doesn't exist yet.

I have gone through this process many, many times. With men I've stopped dating, with every job change, and now, with this relocation to Colorado.

Today I found myself admiring the gorgeous trees lining our street. I became wistful when thinking about our fabulous, supportive and trustworthy neighbors. And I dwelled on the fact that we will never, ever be able to afford to move back.

Last month, I rotated a list of 100 things that I hate about the Bay Area through my mind.

• The painful memories in this house and at the assisted care facility.
• The cost of living.
• The inability to buy a bigger house.
• The freakish politics.
• The terrible school systems.
• The commute time to work.
• And an overall feeling of restlessness...because the area seemed stale...a perspective tainted from living here for over 20 years.

I needed to loathe this place so I could develop the courage to move away. However, now that the decision to move has been made, I'm scared senseless. I have a vision of The Way Things Are Gonna Be...but there are no guarantees.

Intellectually, I'm confident that we'll make it through and things will work out. But in my heart, I'm utterly panicked over the possibility that I may have really screwed-up. Because at this point in the process, we have sold our house and we're moving to an unknown area with unknown neighborhoods and never-experienced-before weather conditions.

I'm excited. I'm scared. And I'm getting just a little Wiggy.

Radonaphobic.

The process continues, though we aren't on Cloud Nine anymore. Concerns about the radon pretty much marred that...and the sellers won't pay for the full mitigation work. We are moving forward, regardless of the recent hurdles. And I will remain true to form and have the basement mitigated with 2 systems including 2 fans to ventilate fresh air inward.

Because that's the kind of Eccentric Paranoid that I am.

I-n-t-e-g-r-i-t-t-y

Real estate is an ugly business.

When we first met with our real estate agent, we listed our set of city-approved architectural drawings and mechanical blueprints as an Asset. He agreed and estimated that the fair market value of our house would increase by $15,000 to $25,000 with those plans.

We were later contacted by an interested buyer before we listed our house on the market, and we sent them to our agent for the negotiation. When he met with them, he took the plans to help support our desired price. When he came back with their offer, it was lower than we expected. He said that the buyers liked the house "As-Is" and had no intention in doing the add-on. "The plans are of no consequence, they're out," he emphatically stated. We were stunned, but we lowered our asking price per his guidance...which sealed the deal.

Yesterday, our agent called to tell us that the buyers had changed their minds and could he please pick up the plans for an 8pm meeting that he had scheduled with them?

My inner-Mount St. Helens erupted. I was furious and felt duped, but I said nothing. "Tom, my household is partially packed and I have no idea where they are. Husband has them stashed and I don't know where."

Okay, I may not be courageous...but I'm also not dumb. There was no way in hell that I was going to hand over those plans. When Husband got home, I told him about our realtor's phone call. Husband was so angry, his scalp started flapping and he turned beet-red. "I knew that agent just wanted an easy deal. This is a rip-off, and he lacks integrity. No way is he getting those plans!"

After much consultation with family and friends, Husband called Tom to explain that the plans were not part of the negotiated deal, as per his direction. Tom blew a fuse, as we expected.

I have no idea how this scenario will play out. What I do know is that Tom told us that buyers didn't want the plans and we lowered our price accordingly. If they want them now, they'll have to renegotiate with my Husband.

It's hard to know who really duped who. Did the buyers play Tom, or did Tom play us? I don't know that answer and I don't care. There are moments in one's life when Snidely-Whiplash behavior cannot and should not be tolerated.

Let the games begin.