Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Dismantling the house

The kitchen is in absolute chaos. All the countertops are cluttered with the contents of the upper cabinets and there are stacks of moving boxes leaning against the lower cabinets. The big kitchen step stool stands in the middle of the room, a pair of scissors and a roll of packing tape on the top step. I move those to a bare space on a countertop, and drag the step stool over to the GE electric cooktop. I've never liked that cooktop. I guess it's great, as electric cooktops go, but I always wanted gas, so much so that a couple of light years ago I paid a plumber an enormous sum of money to run a separate gas line to the kitchen, where it's stubbed out under the counter, ready to be connected to a new, gas cooktop. But although I made many terrific changes and upgrades to this house, that's one of many projects that I never completed, because I ran out of time and money.

I climb up on the step stool and open the cupboard high above the cooktop. Because it's so hard to reach these high shelves, I always used them to store things that I didn't use often. I open the doors and look at what's there. On the top shelf, the surprisingly expensive stainless steel honey baked spiral ham rack. Stashed in a corner, a Williams-Sonoma Halloween pumpkin carving kit, never used. One brushed stainless whistling teapot, purchased during a time I worried about forgetting a silent teapot and starting a fire. Half a dozen packages of 4th of July sparklers that must be 15 years old and doubtful they have any sparkle left, but one never knows. On the bottom shelf, two beautiful enameled cast iron Martha Stewart pots. On the left, a burgundy colored oval 8 quart pot that I always used to prepare beef bourguignon at Christmas, and on the right, a rich orange, sort of butternut squash colored round 3 quart pot that I used more often, to make fondue or to heat Trader Joe's risotto with asparagus. Although they're affordable knock offs of the prohibitively expensive LeCreuset, both pots have served me so well that I've given a number of them to others as gifts. They're extremely heavy, so I carefully lift them down, one at a time. I place them on the floor, and gingerly lower myself to the floor beside them, so I can begin packing each of them for the move. I've already assembled a single small heavy box (that's an official category) for the 8 quart pot. I've used reinforced tape on all the bottom seams, and I've wadded up half a dozen big sheets of packing paper to form a sort of scrunchy bed beneath a thick layer of biodegradable packing peanuts. All I need to do is wrap the pot and lid in bubble wrap which I'll tape tightly before placing it in the box, where it will remain by itself, because it's so heavy, but as I sit on the floor thinking of how to best cut the bubble wrap to do that, it comes to me that I don't need to pack it after all. Because as I sit there I realize that at 67, with family scattered across the country, it's highly unlikely I'll use that pot to prepare that amount of beef bourguignon ever again. I could give it to one of the kids, but Alex is the only one likely to carry on the tradition of cooking beef bourguignon for Christmas, and she lives halfway across the country, and shipping her this heavy pot, which she might not even use, would cost more than buying a new one. So I rise slowly off the floor, my old knees sounding like a box of breakfast cereal. I bend over and pick up the pot and lug it to the wet bar, where I'm placing items for the estate sale. Ch-ch-ch-changes...

Friday, February 24, 2017

February bonfire

Several years ago (it seems like maybe in the past 10 years, which means it's probably more like 15) I bought a little metal chiminea from Crate and Barrel. I hauled it home and set it out in the backyard, and while Mike & Chris were still home, we had quite a few nice evenings sitting around it, enjoying an outdoor fire. After the guys moved out I used it less and less, but I maintained it, and always bought a small stack of firewood, including some pinyon, at the beginning of the season so I would have it "just in case".

Tonight I looked out in the backyard and realized the chiminea was filled with dry wood and kindling, all ready to provide a beautiful fire. Day temperatures have been in the high 80's for the past week, but today a cold front came through, and tonight the temperature is supposed to drop to the mid-30's, so I decided to take advantage of the cool snap to enjoy my chiminea for the last time at this house.

Within a few minutes of lighting the wood, the logs were blazing, spitting and popping like a wood fire always does: in addition to everything else, a pleasure for the ears. It was a clear night, with bright stars visible under the vast Texas sky, even in the city of Dallas. So I sat outside for an hour or so, enjoying my chiminea. I don't know where I'll be moving, but each day now it's as if I'm gathering pieces of a puzzle and putting them together to figure out what I enjoy and would like to have in the next place that I live. To my suprise, the chiminea turned out to be a puzzle piece. I hadn't thought about it at all, until I sat there and realized how much I love sitting outside with a fire. Realistically, I know it's unlikely that I'll find a place with everything that I love, so I'll have to pick and choose, but after tonight, the ability to have a chiminea (not necessary this particular chiminea) goes on the list as another feature I'd like to have.

Thursday, February 02, 2017

Reasons I hate going to doctors...

In December, when I saw a new optometrist for my annual eye exam, the IOP in my right eye was measured at a whopping 37. Normal range for adults is generally considered to be anywhere from 12 to 22, and previously, except for a couple of days after having eye surgery, my readings have fallen within the normal range.

I liked the new optometrist a lot, but she didn't exactly have state of the art equipment for measuring IOP, so I was pretty sure the measurement of 37 couldn't be right, and requested they measure again. They measured 2 more times, and by the end of the visit, they got readings of 9 in my left eye and 23 in my right eye. The doc was concerned about the discrepancy (and rightly so) and talked about prescribing glaucoma medication. 

I refused to consider starting glaucoma medication based on the discrepant results from that visit, but I did agree to follow up with an ophthalmologist. Yesterday I did so. I'd been to his office several times before, but I'd always seen one of his partners, not The Man himself. He's highly regarded, but (or maybe because of that) his office always overbooks. I arrived at 9:30 for a 10:00 appointment. To their credit, they began processing me immediately, and within 5 minutes of arriving, I was seated at a small machine engaged in a task to assess my peripheral vision. But although I started half an hour early, like most of the other patients, I spent approximately 3 hours in the office before finally finishing up at a little after 12:30.

I have no idea why, but most of the patients were, like me, older women ranging from late 50's to mid seventies. There were a couple of male patients and a number of male spouses accompanying their wives to help with things like reading from a list of questions for the doctor, which can be very difficult if not impossible to do once your eyes are dilated. I noticed one old guy with a bad case of bed head wandering around the waiting room. He was wearing blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a Slytherin sweatshirt, causing me to wonder why on earth anyone would buy, let alone wear, a Slytherin sweatshirt. I decided it must have been a gift from a grandchild, so imagine my horror when this turned out to be the esteemed ophthalmologist himself.

When everything had been done and my eyes had been dilated, after a wait of about 45 minutes, he wandered into the exam room with the very bright eyed, very likeable young assistant whom I'd met earlier. I was happy to see her again. He sat down on a chair in front of a huge computer monitor and reviewed the scans of both eyes. He asked me about my medical history. I gave him the quick and dirty history of my left eye, in which I already have an IOL, and told him in the past month I was also diagnosed with Type II diabetes, but that with my doctor's OK, I hadn't yet started any meds for that, but was attempting to manage it through diet and exercise. I told him so far by doing that, in just 30 days I've dropped my fasting blood glucose by 62 points. His response was to instruct the assistant to write "Advised patient to increase compliance regarding her diabetes."  

WTH?!?!?! 

"What were the results of my peripheral vision tests?" I asked. 

He said, "They're fine; no loss of peripheral vision in either eye."  

I said, "Great! I know I have a deep cup to disc ratio, but that's genetic. My daughter has it too."

He then said "You have moderate glaucoma in both eyes." 

"What?" I yelped. "Even in my left eye? Even though the pressure is only 17 in my left eye?"  

"Good point," he said, and he then mumbled to the assistant, "I agree with the patient. Modify the note to read 'low tension moderate glaucoma in the left eye'"

He crooked his finger at me. "C'mere!" he commanded. "Lookit this!" 

My eyes were fully dilated, and I didn't have my contacts in and wasn't wearing my glasses, so I sort of squinted at the screen, where I saw the scans of my left and right eye, side by side. I couldn't have read the writing to save my life, but I could see that there were large green sections (which is what you always want to see); however, on both scans, to my dismay, there were also noticeable yellow and red sections. He pointed to those. "These indicate damage that has already occurred to the retinas of both eyes," he said. "And based on this, I am diagnosing you with moderate glaucoma in both eyes, or rather, low tension moderate glaucoma in your left eye, moderate glaucoma in your right eye. You'll have to start on drops. I don't want you to be alarmed, because with drops you'll be fine, but these scans tell me if you don't use drops you will eventually lose all sight in both eyes".  

I was stunned. He prescribed latanoprost, which he couldn't spell (but I can). His assistant handed me a script for the latanoprost. He told her to instruct me how to use it, and told me he wanted me back for a new scan next week, and for a new pressure check in 30 days. 

All I could think was that even though it lowers pressure (and thus saves eyesight), a lot of people refuse to use this product because of the side effects, including bloodshot eyes (think alarmingly red), skin discoloration, eyelash growth (how can that be bad you ask? Think of eyelash growth to the point where you have to TRIM YOUR EYELASHES) and change in eye color. Yes, this is a product that can literally turn your blue eyes (or in my case, my green eyes) brown. Grrr. I was appalled by own reaction, because I know if the side effects were that it made the sclera really white and turned my eyes more green, AND saved my vision, I'd be fine with it. The ugly truth is, I'm that vain and I know it.

I put on my prescription sunglasses, and despite their being polarized, I had to squint to keep the light out as I drove back streets to the pharmacy where I got the prescription filled. Last night, just before going to bed, I instilled 1 drop in each eye for the first time. As instructed, I held each eye shut for 3 minutes afterward. I then wiped the excess off with a clean wash cloth, to avoid skin discoloration. I didn't experience any particular discomfort and so far my eyes aren't particularly bloodshot. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.



Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Things I Did Today

1. Participated in and filmed a protest of Trump's proposed wall between the US and Mexico, his ban on Muslims, his proposed cabinet members, etc. with Move On at Ted Cruz's Dallas office;

2. Completed and filed my 2016 federal income tax return;

3. Paid my COBRA insurance premium, bill received just today but due tomorrow (thank goodness there's an online option, sheesh);

4. Set up automatic payments for future COBRA insurance premiums.

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Thoughts on a dark Sunday

Earlier this week I chatted online, briefly, with a family member who is an avid Trump supporter. As I raised my objections to various Trump policies he blithely dismissed all of my objections, and I realized, with a shock, that like so many Trump supporters, he doesn't object to anything that doesn't affect him directly. This family member, who is in his 50's, is not a narcissist but he's completely egocentric. This is a developmental stage he should have grown out of at about age 7, but for some reason he didn't. He hasn't had a traumatic brain injury (which might explain it) but for whatever reason, his cognitive development is stuck at a preoperational stage. I wonder if this isn't the case for a lot of Trump's avid supporters?

Friday, January 20, 2017

Dark Days Ahead

Today Donald J. Trump was inaugurated as the 45th President of the United States. To say I'm depressed is an understatement. I don't know what's wrong with him, but it's obvious that something is very wrong with him, and I don't believe he will make it through 4 years without being impeached. But he can do a lot of damage in the meantime, and if he's impeached, that will leave us with Pence, who if anything is even worse. Trump's incoming staff has already begun to take steps to abolish the National Endowment of the Arts and to privatize PBS and NPR. I didn't watch the inauguration. I couldn't stand it. Instead, I spent the day applying for jobs. I doubt anyone will hire me, but I have to apply for at least 4 each week to collect unemployment benefits. Yesterday I did my taxes online, but I have to wait to complete them because I haven't received the form from Capital One with the specifics on refinancing the house. But everything else is done. I'm tired and achy and depressed. The future is completely uncertain.