When I walked into Grandma's hospital room, the first thing I thought was, 'gee, Grandma is tiny.' She was asleep. A little later the nursing staff woke her when they checked one of the machines she was hooked to. They were great, and I could tell they were glad that I was there to ground Grandma with a "Hi Grandma, it's John; you're in a hospital in Corvallis. These nurses are here to take care of you."
I then spent about four hours playing a lap harp. I figured that Grandma would enjoy the music, and she did; I didn't realize how much the staff would, too. It really changed the energy of the room to something more relaxed and positive and I got to enjoy a Christine Lavin moment. Grandma dozed off and on; I'm always amazed at how friendly and happy she is, because I'd be afraid if a room full of strangers was taking my blood and blood pressure and pulse and EKG and I didn't know why my back hurt and I was in traction.
Grandma went into surgery for a hip ball replacement; she gets to keep her socket. The doctor said that she went through it really well and has a strong heart and lungs. Man, I hope I can do half as well as she does at her age.
We'll visit her tomorrow morning.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Grandma
I just got a phone call. I was ripping out a small kitchen counter. Um... it wasn't WOTF. It was my mother. My grandmother, who was born in 1909, fell and broke her hip. She's comfortable now, and probably asleep (and in traction), but they're going to give her surgery to replace her hip sometime this afternoon. She's a tough little old lady, but I know that surgery at her age is risky. So, I anticipate spending time in Corvallis helping both my parents and my grandmother.
Time to light candles.
Time to light candles.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Perpetual Anticipation...
... is good for the soul but it's bad for the heart.
Who would have thought that my life would become a Stephen Sondheim musical? Still no word from WOTF. No "Weekend in the Country" for us; we're going to try to replace the smaller of our two kitchen cabinets.
Who would have thought that my life would become a Stephen Sondheim musical? Still no word from WOTF. No "Weekend in the Country" for us; we're going to try to replace the smaller of our two kitchen cabinets.
Sleep?
Ack! Arthur woke up this morning at 6. So, after stumbling around the house while Mark fed him and got ready for work, I took Arthur to the store to watch the flaming chicken rotisserie. It wouldn't be so bad except that Arthur kept us both up really late; he just doesn't like going to sleep by himself in his room. Mark wins a medal for something, and once I have my nap I'll be able to figure out what it is.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Send Chocolate & Pepsi
I thought for sure WOTF would call tonight.
It's the full moon and it's the Ides of Winter, for crying out loud; all sorts of fruition things are supposed to happen on the full moon. I mean, I got my finalist notification on my birthday! Surely I'd hear something on the Mid Winter Moon. Then again, I thought for sure they'd call before Tuesday's Wordos meeting.
Right now I'm singing Happily Ever After from Once Apon a Matress along with Carol Brunette. But it's getting to the point where I'm about to play the role of Sally the Doll in a reenactment of the last scene on the Island of Misfit Toys from Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer (you know, where all the toys are huddled around a lonely little campfire).
Apparently Damon Kaswell (a Wordo and 3rd Place Winner for 2006 Q2) was on the local TV station. It was mentioned on the WOTF's blog site, and when I read it the first time through I thought a heretofore unknown Eugenian writer had become a WOTF darkhorse.
I'm in the weird state of knowing some of the other finalists' names and all of my obsessive web surfing for WOTF 2006 Q4 results has shown me that I'm not the only one waiting for the phone to ring with good news; so on one hand I'd really like to take first place, but on the other hand I have some feeling for what my competitors must be going through. I'm really glad that none of them are Wordos, because that would make things even weirder.
It's the full moon and it's the Ides of Winter, for crying out loud; all sorts of fruition things are supposed to happen on the full moon. I mean, I got my finalist notification on my birthday! Surely I'd hear something on the Mid Winter Moon. Then again, I thought for sure they'd call before Tuesday's Wordos meeting.
Right now I'm singing Happily Ever After from Once Apon a Matress along with Carol Brunette. But it's getting to the point where I'm about to play the role of Sally the Doll in a reenactment of the last scene on the Island of Misfit Toys from Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer (you know, where all the toys are huddled around a lonely little campfire).
Apparently Damon Kaswell (a Wordo and 3rd Place Winner for 2006 Q2) was on the local TV station. It was mentioned on the WOTF's blog site, and when I read it the first time through I thought a heretofore unknown Eugenian writer had become a WOTF darkhorse.
I'm in the weird state of knowing some of the other finalists' names and all of my obsessive web surfing for WOTF 2006 Q4 results has shown me that I'm not the only one waiting for the phone to ring with good news; so on one hand I'd really like to take first place, but on the other hand I have some feeling for what my competitors must be going through. I'm really glad that none of them are Wordos, because that would make things even weirder.
The Boy Thespian
Yesterday around 3 PM the phone rang. It wasn't WOTF; it was the shoe repair place telling me that Mark's shoes were ready for pick-up. Why are they calling me? I wondered. Why aren't they calling Mark?
This morning around 10 PM the phone rang. It wasn't WOTF; it was Candee Cole giving me a heads-up that the Unitarian Church wouldn't mind having a budget for next year's CUUPs activities. We exchanged other pleasantries, and she ended the call with "Well, I'd better get off the phone because you're probably worried that WOTF is trying to call you right now." She must know other writers.
In other news, Arthur woke up around 7:15 this morning. Whew, what a relief. It really makes a difference to my day if I can have about twenty to thirty minutes lead-time without having to worry about him. I think, though, that his "boy gene" has turned on or something; he's been in "destructo-mode" or "science is figuring nature out by breaking it" mode. Flip books in general are in peril right now, so is my harp, the kalimba, windows, and probably Muriel the Needy Irritant.
But the most troubling is that he'll say, "bonk" and then hit his head against something. This was fine when it was the futon mat in his room, but he's generalized to things like the hardwood floor, doorknobs, and his highchair tray. About half the time he'll hit his head and then start to cry. And then he'll say "bonk" again. About half the time that he's crying, you can point to him and say, "Faker!" and he'll smile.
In other thespian events, Arthur and I have a schtick where I'll say to him, "Oh my page boy, what have you brought Cleopatria, your queen? What message from Mark Anthony?" and he'll grab his fabric toy snake and bring it up to my neck. I'll fake shriek, and maybe add something like, "Oh, how sharper than a serpant's tooth!" or "Oh, come to my happy bosom." We've been doing this a while, and now Arthur can almost say 'Cleopatria.' I suppose that we're going to have trouble if we ever visit a reptile house or the Egyptian wing of the MET.
Oh, and before I forget; Arthur seems to have a much stronger preference for using his left hand when he draws with crayons or the aqua-doodle pen. Now if I can just keep him from putting them into his mouth...
This morning around 10 PM the phone rang. It wasn't WOTF; it was Candee Cole giving me a heads-up that the Unitarian Church wouldn't mind having a budget for next year's CUUPs activities. We exchanged other pleasantries, and she ended the call with "Well, I'd better get off the phone because you're probably worried that WOTF is trying to call you right now." She must know other writers.
In other news, Arthur woke up around 7:15 this morning. Whew, what a relief. It really makes a difference to my day if I can have about twenty to thirty minutes lead-time without having to worry about him. I think, though, that his "boy gene" has turned on or something; he's been in "destructo-mode" or "science is figuring nature out by breaking it" mode. Flip books in general are in peril right now, so is my harp, the kalimba, windows, and probably Muriel the Needy Irritant.
But the most troubling is that he'll say, "bonk" and then hit his head against something. This was fine when it was the futon mat in his room, but he's generalized to things like the hardwood floor, doorknobs, and his highchair tray. About half the time he'll hit his head and then start to cry. And then he'll say "bonk" again. About half the time that he's crying, you can point to him and say, "Faker!" and he'll smile.
In other thespian events, Arthur and I have a schtick where I'll say to him, "Oh my page boy, what have you brought Cleopatria, your queen? What message from Mark Anthony?" and he'll grab his fabric toy snake and bring it up to my neck. I'll fake shriek, and maybe add something like, "Oh, how sharper than a serpant's tooth!" or "Oh, come to my happy bosom." We've been doing this a while, and now Arthur can almost say 'Cleopatria.' I suppose that we're going to have trouble if we ever visit a reptile house or the Egyptian wing of the MET.
Oh, and before I forget; Arthur seems to have a much stronger preference for using his left hand when he draws with crayons or the aqua-doodle pen. Now if I can just keep him from putting them into his mouth...
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
New Cell Phones
Still no word from WOTF and the various web sites discussing the contest remain silent on the subject of the 2006 Q4 winners. I amused myself by pretending to be a paranoid delusional writer when one of the Wordos asked, "So, you hear anything from Writers of the Future?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, grabbing his jacket lapels. "What do you know? Tell me, TELL ME!!"
After Wordos, I came home and our new cell phones had arrived (Mark's old one refused to charge properly, requiring hours of charging for minutes of use; and mine gradually refused to connect to any cells to such a point that I couldn't receive any calls).
My new phone is huge. I guess that it was inevitable, but it takes photos and video. You can also flip it open to reveal a keyboard and a kind of joystick. For a small fee, I'm pretty sure I can get more internet connectivity than the computer I'm currently using to type this. About the only thing that it wont do is talk to the Macintosh... oh well, time to enter in phone numbers again.
Arthur woke up again at 5:45 this morning. I'm hoping this isn't a permanent switch, because I'm not much of a morning person. I amused him by taking him to the local grocery story and showing him the chickens rotating over an open flame. He still asked for "Itty-Itty Bang-Bang" as we left for some bananas.
"What do you mean?" I asked, grabbing his jacket lapels. "What do you know? Tell me, TELL ME!!"
After Wordos, I came home and our new cell phones had arrived (Mark's old one refused to charge properly, requiring hours of charging for minutes of use; and mine gradually refused to connect to any cells to such a point that I couldn't receive any calls).
My new phone is huge. I guess that it was inevitable, but it takes photos and video. You can also flip it open to reveal a keyboard and a kind of joystick. For a small fee, I'm pretty sure I can get more internet connectivity than the computer I'm currently using to type this. About the only thing that it wont do is talk to the Macintosh... oh well, time to enter in phone numbers again.
Arthur woke up again at 5:45 this morning. I'm hoping this isn't a permanent switch, because I'm not much of a morning person. I amused him by taking him to the local grocery story and showing him the chickens rotating over an open flame. He still asked for "Itty-Itty Bang-Bang" as we left for some bananas.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Then the phone rang...
Yesterday afternoon around 3 the phone rang. It wasn't WOTF; it was my sister. We had a nice chat about my dad's birthday and made some plans for president's day.
Last night around 7 the phone rang. It wasn't WOTF; it was some realator asking if we might be interested in selling our house in the next 18 months. I thought about all the painting we've done, the furniture rearanging, and the fact that we're still in recovery from moving and then I laughed, "I don't think so." When I told Mark, he asked, "How much were they offering? I'd sell this house if they offered us enough." I don't think Mark saw me cringe.
Arthur woke up this morning at 5:30. Luckily I went to be early-ish last night and Mark was already up so he fed Arthur French toast and a whole lot of other foods. I got up earlier than I normally do and took a shower so I could take over when Mark left for work.
As the sun rose, I read about five books to Arthur. We watched the red rectangle the sun painted on his bedroom wall and dancing rainbows from the leaded crystals. Around 9 the phone rang. It wasn't WOTF; it was the folks with our new sink and they wanted to deliver it. Arthur fell asleep a little later (he's about two hours ahead of his normal schedule), and I had time to clear some space in the garage for the new counters.
When the phone isn't ringing I try to remind myself that there are eight or so finalists and only one first place; so -- all things being equal -- I have about a 1 in 8 chance of placing first, and a 3 in 8 chance of placing, period. Then I distract myself by contemplating octahedrons. I'll have to dig out my old D&D dice.
Last night around 7 the phone rang. It wasn't WOTF; it was some realator asking if we might be interested in selling our house in the next 18 months. I thought about all the painting we've done, the furniture rearanging, and the fact that we're still in recovery from moving and then I laughed, "I don't think so." When I told Mark, he asked, "How much were they offering? I'd sell this house if they offered us enough." I don't think Mark saw me cringe.
Arthur woke up this morning at 5:30. Luckily I went to be early-ish last night and Mark was already up so he fed Arthur French toast and a whole lot of other foods. I got up earlier than I normally do and took a shower so I could take over when Mark left for work.
As the sun rose, I read about five books to Arthur. We watched the red rectangle the sun painted on his bedroom wall and dancing rainbows from the leaded crystals. Around 9 the phone rang. It wasn't WOTF; it was the folks with our new sink and they wanted to deliver it. Arthur fell asleep a little later (he's about two hours ahead of his normal schedule), and I had time to clear some space in the garage for the new counters.
When the phone isn't ringing I try to remind myself that there are eight or so finalists and only one first place; so -- all things being equal -- I have about a 1 in 8 chance of placing first, and a 3 in 8 chance of placing, period. Then I distract myself by contemplating octahedrons. I'll have to dig out my old D&D dice.
Monday, January 29, 2007
From the TMI Department
We gave up.
After about a week of hoping that Muriel would use the cat box in the garage (and cleaning up afterwards) we got a small litter box that we can wedge into our small bathroom. I suppose that it's useful to have the box so close to the toilet. What's weird is that she's figured out that the food is in the garage -- I can't figure out what was keeping her from using the cat box there. And she's certainly figured out how to rattle the cat door to achieve maximum sleep disrupting effect. Oh well. Muriel is truly an irritating creature in the shape of a cat.
In more pleasant news, I continue to marvel at how deeply the winter sun penetrates into the house now that we've removed that aluminum awning. I can only conclude that the previous home owners were trolls, or only lived here during the months of July and August.
After about a week of hoping that Muriel would use the cat box in the garage (and cleaning up afterwards) we got a small litter box that we can wedge into our small bathroom. I suppose that it's useful to have the box so close to the toilet. What's weird is that she's figured out that the food is in the garage -- I can't figure out what was keeping her from using the cat box there. And she's certainly figured out how to rattle the cat door to achieve maximum sleep disrupting effect. Oh well. Muriel is truly an irritating creature in the shape of a cat.
In more pleasant news, I continue to marvel at how deeply the winter sun penetrates into the house now that we've removed that aluminum awning. I can only conclude that the previous home owners were trolls, or only lived here during the months of July and August.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Going Insane
OK. Mark says that waiting for the WOTF results is driving me insane.
I did some Google searches, and the latest thing I've heard is that the contest administrators didn't have judging results last Wednesday, but that they were expecting them as early as next week (i.e. tomorrow). So... I suppose that if you want to call and ask, you should call Mark on his cell phone. If you call our house line, you'll probably get me; I promise to not sound dashed when I realize you're not WOTF.
I did some Google searches, and the latest thing I've heard is that the contest administrators didn't have judging results last Wednesday, but that they were expecting them as early as next week (i.e. tomorrow). So... I suppose that if you want to call and ask, you should call Mark on his cell phone. If you call our house line, you'll probably get me; I promise to not sound dashed when I realize you're not WOTF.
On the Domestic Front
Yesterday we went to Corvallis to visit my folks on my Dad's birthday. The night before I made a chocolate mousse, and we brought it down in our faboulus Denby Storm Ramkins. Although I poured all the chocolate into the custard instead of the other way around, the mousse came out okay, if a bit less creamy. I took a series of unfortunate photos of Arthur and my Grandmother (she was having a bad hair day), but I did get a good shot of him in the Corvallis waterfront park area. Arthur is going through some crazy sort of growth spurt or something -- his sleep schedule has been all over. He really likes Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and pesters us all day to watch it. Right now we're limiting his video viewing to no more than fifteen minutes at a time and we try to only watch videos once a day. That doesn't stop him from yelling out "Itty Bam Bam!" all the time; usually when he sees a car or when I'm surrounded by people who wonder where my infant learned how to swear. I prefer it when he says, "Chootchie," which is his request for the Baron and Baroness's song and dance routine.
Earlier in the week it had been up in the mid fifties, but yesterday and today have been a bit cooler and windier. Yesterday, I took off the awning over the dining room window. I did have one of those "stupid houseowner moments" where I was unscrewing the top screws of the awning while the ladder I was standing on was leaning up against the awning -- note to self: yes you really should leave the top two corner screws in place. Luckily, I escaped with only skinned knuckles when the awning (and the ladder and me) slipped. The result was worth it, though -- our dining room area is now flooded with light. Before, that area was like a cave; now I think we'll only have to use the dining area light on cloudy days or at night. I can feel my seasonal depression lifting already.
Mark and I have plans for the back yard, too. I think we're going to rip out a bunch of the uglier and ill-placed shrubs. I'm going to move the herbs (and their attendant bees) away from the patio area and to the sides of the yard. We have to figure out something for the patio, too; right now it's sort of like a landing strip with a tin roof over it. I want to figure out some elegant shade on the west side for when it's too sunny in the summer time and some storage benches so it doesn't look like a toy store delivery truck crashed in our back yard.
Still no word from Writers of the Future. Any day, now.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Wild, Wild French
I don't know how he did it. I turned my back on Arthur for a moment, and when I looked again, he had taken off his left green rubber boot, put it on his high chair tray, then stuck his bottle into it. I'm not sure if he was pretending to be from the Wild West or the opening of a French opera. So of course I grabbed the camera and started snapping photos. It wasn't until I had a few that I noticed the potatoe and other food in the tread of his boot. Luckily, there wasn't too much food on his tray, and I reasoned that if he had managed to get the boot on the tray in the first place, that he was probably finished eating anyway.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Update
Mark wins an award for dealing with the cat this morning at 4. During the clean up, Arthur woke up hungry and Mark fed him a lot. Arthur's going through a growth spurt; he's currently in the Buddha stage and I expect that he'll convert his extra fat into height in a week or two. And in the "rhymes-with-Buddha" department, Arthur's favorite cheese (at least this morning) is Gouda.
I managed to write for about an hour last night -- forgot to get a word count. I got an insight into the story just before I turned out the light; thank goodness for palm pilots by the bed. I'm still waiting to hear from Writers of the Future, but it will probably be next week before they call.
After a week of ice and snow, it's up to the 50's here. Yesterday Arthur and I did a little bit of landscaping, so now we have a step off of the west end of the patio. Oops, Arthur's stirring and we have to go to Scary Reading Hour soon.
I managed to write for about an hour last night -- forgot to get a word count. I got an insight into the story just before I turned out the light; thank goodness for palm pilots by the bed. I'm still waiting to hear from Writers of the Future, but it will probably be next week before they call.
After a week of ice and snow, it's up to the 50's here. Yesterday Arthur and I did a little bit of landscaping, so now we have a step off of the west end of the patio. Oops, Arthur's stirring and we have to go to Scary Reading Hour soon.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Muriel's Hair Salon
OK. One would think that having used her cat box once in its new location in the garage, Muriel would be able to find it again. Don't cats have honed senses that allow them to find things? Anyway, at something like 4:30 AM I heard Muriel rustling around and making the random cat trill. I woke up a little bit when she jumped up on our pillow, and I really woke up when I smelled juniper. In my hair.
This is simply more proof that Muriel is an irritating, useless creature in the shape of a cat; and I'm a few steps closer to selling her to science or the World Weekly News.
This is simply more proof that Muriel is an irritating, useless creature in the shape of a cat; and I'm a few steps closer to selling her to science or the World Weekly News.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
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