Hedgehog

My reality-based reality

roscoe@drizzle.com — Fri, 10 Feb 12 13:27:00 UT

A number of years ago, i read something in a book that made me want to throw the book across the room. I don't usually act on that desire - as I've always thought, bad idea chez roscoe. if it didn't hat a bookshelf, it would hit artwork and the book would still be there, smirking at me. But this book used a horribly trite and completely wrong phrase when it offered "the pain was like an old friend."

Bullshit. Pain hurts. It is never welcome. You are never happy if it comes in and sits with you over tea and cookies. Pain is, they say, useful, sure. But pain is not friendly. I find that line to be so impossible to read. Put yourself in my fuzzy slippers for a week, then let's talk.

I've lived with a chronic pain problem since I was in my 20s. I had unsuccessful surgery and then a slew of other stuff that causes me to hurt every day. And while I'm reconciled to it, mostly, there are days when oh hell no, I am not. It is exhausting, it is distracting, it is limiting. I don't want to deal with any of that, but I'm stuck. More things keep showing up.

Last year, I angered a friend on Facebook by objecting to something in a post. I was NOT objecting to what she said or passed on but rather, the issue was something like grammar or a typo. I just have this tic about typos when someone is writing for "any" sort of publication. Even here, where I screw up a lot and try to catch all the errors. Errors, typos are time-consuming until you figure out what the word really was. Time-consuming is bad. I don't always have the energy to sit here as long as I'd like, so I'd rather not read bad writing. But there it was. She came at me, charging me with being cranky and negative and curmudgeonly. Yes, I was depressed but I was hard to deal with.

I apologized. I have no problem apologizing. She had read my comments as ad hominem and that was incorrect - I was bugged by the writing, not the ideas in it, but so? I apologized for upsetting her and we pulled my comment. After that accusation, though, I was sorely tempted (wouldn't you be?) to object, saying "but, but, but here's all the nice things I've said! Lookie here, see this post? See the picture of the adorable hedgehog? See where I told someone they were funny or talented or wonderful. See where I thanked someone for what they said or showed us? See where I gave credit where it was due? See where I acted as straight woman for someone so they could finish the joke? See? See?

I didn't of course, because that seemed really thin and I let it go. But I really didn't let go, apparently, because here I am justifying why I am such a crank. Because yes. I am.

I became disabled in my late twenties and it's been downhill almost ever since. I've gone from occasional cane use to constant cane use to crutches to scooter to power wheelchair which I use every minute of every day that I don't spend in or on the bed. I don't use couches and chairs because I often can't get up out of them. I've spent decades on prescription painkillers, starting with codeine, then years using vicodin and when that was no longer effective I tried two different heavy-duty time-release stuff. One works very well and is the reason I function at some level every day. I take more pills than I'd like but manage on muscle relaxants, pain meds, meds for neuropathy, topical stuff. I can't work, but I have a thing about "accomplishing something" every day, even if it's laundry, writing a blog post, making an appointment I've been delaying, cleaning up the piles of kipple that follow me like Pig-Pen's little dirt pile.

I've had a bad back since 1970. I have really messed up hip sockets. There's the severe curvature, the stenosis, protrusio acetabular. I have that inexplicable condition that involves fractures, thati've written about. Last month things got worse. (see previous blog post).

Yesterday I saw a doctor I see maybe once a year. She is a physiatrist, a specialist in "rehab medicine", a non-surgeon who deals with not-so-obvious pain issues. I wanted her take on what had happened. I brought her the x-ray report, and told her about the bruising. Knowing it's all after-the-fact, I still wanted her to know.

She said, and I tend to agree, that I probably tore the last remaining bit, string, thread holding my left rotator cuff together. It's wasn't 100 percent gone. The tearing caused the bleeding and the pain was probably from that bleeding until it could escape my shoulder and disperse throughout my body. That, she said, was the point at which I probably felt better. So what started as a damaged rotator cuff is now a ruptured "former" rotator cuff. Eu. One hundred percent "there's nothing there" gone. Probably a one-off, won't happen again. But there is nothing to be done about it. Surgery is pointless (and too dangerous for me, which is why I don't have hip replacement surgery either) and you can't fix what ain't there. There is nothing that can help here.

On to the rib fractures. What caused that? We don't know. Will that happen again? Maybe. Is there anything I can do to avoid it? No, probably not.

So I came home and crawled into a huge depressing hole. When you know something in your head, when you really already know something and you've really known it for a while, well, tough. It did not help. I spent the rest of the day thinking. A lot. About how I have a lot of life ahead, but it won't get easier. I've lost a few more inches, which makes even the kitchen shelves a challenge. I may develop more rib fractures (still no idea how or why on those). This morning was the first time in weeks that the inflammation eased enough so that I could be touched on my back without me wincing, my skin was too sensitive (inflammation maybe?) I haven't risked putting on a tee shirt for close to a month, and am relying on stretchy stuff and silk. I keep doing stuff that reminds me that while I'm healing, there's something still wrong in that shoulder. I want a little futuristic warning to appear on one of my lenses of my glasses reading "don't twist" just when I'm about to reach for that book.

And for the first time in years, I ended up in "why me?" land. I know, I know, there is no answer to that. I know there is no plan. I know it's a fluke that this happened to me. Oh gods, do I wish it had happened to someone else. Why yes, I am that vindictive and bitchy, thanks for asking. I live a life of tamped down frustration. I don't haul it out very often but dammit. I coulda been a contender. I had such plans. I wanted that Ph.D. I wanted to run that agency or form that new non-profit that would make a difference in people's lives. I wanted to be part of "The Innocence Project" or prisoners' rights work. I wanted to be published. I wanted to do so much.

I don't do this often. Every five or ten years or so, when something rather ordinary reminds me, and I am reminded of what could have been and it hurts, oh gods, it hurts. Of course I've found ways to copd. Of course I've re-focused and managed to find ways to feel like I'm contributing. I've found ways to work around the pain, the lack of energy, the uncertainty. I've done some good.

So I get to have my angst attack. I could have done without it, you know, but nah, it was going to come. As it did when this very same doctor asked me why I wasn't using a power wheelchair and threw me because I wasn't that bad yet, was I? Actually, yeah. She was right. She saw what I couldn't.

I've had to pry my fingers off some big ambitious dreams. I can get away from the pain, most times (sometimes i can't and that is hell.)

We work around it a lot. There is unbelievable joy in my life. There is laughter and love. There is warmth and support. Books and computer games are great distractions. But my body will never again me something I can rely on. I have another rotator cuff that, last we checked wasn't doing so well either, but I use that side far less (I'm severely left-handed)

I hate thinking about life being fair. it's not. That is bullshit of the first order and I've never believed it. My father, many years back, while he was in recovery from alcoholism, said that was an epiphany for him - that no one promised you that life would be fair, but if that's how you expected it to be, you could be so dismayed, so depressed. And sometimes you drank to deal with that disappointment.

Hate it,hate it, but oh dammit. It's not fair. It's scary and unpleasant to realize that nothing will get easier. It's not like I didn't know that but.....

I know people who would advise me to keep a positive attitude. I can't. I know the reality. Yes, medicine makes huge advances. I can't imagine how I would have managed 100, even 50 years ago. But I am not the "positive thinking" type. It' doesn't mean I'm negative but I tend to be realistic.

So alas, yes, I am cranky and curmudgeonly. I have a short fuse at times. I really do point out the good stuff too but I'm seen, apparently as a bitchy woman. Okay, so this is why.

So now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to head out for a latte, maybe to stop at that shop and buy something shiny, and try very hard not to think about all this.

Me me mememe me me it's all about me

roscoe@drizzle.com — Sat, 4 Feb 12 14:51:00 UT

So, for those keeping score, 2012 is not making a fabulous start. 2011 seems to have sucked universally. But here we are having plowed through January, well on our way to February (hey it's light out until 5! Yippee!) and I have to say it. I'm not impressed.

Can i just tell you why? I know last year was horrible and you who read my blog and my posts and who know me, know that. With the shock of my mother's death in January, the whole year seemed to involving coping and working with that, learning, realizing, dealing (often every badly), finding out what it all was going to mean. My mom and I had, for the most part, a very very good relationship. She was no more perfect than I - impatient, she had rules that you had to guess at and her disappointment could be fierce - but we did well. So from flying back to Connecticut in the middle of the worst winter in recorded blah-blah (I think) and dealing with all that entailed, going back in June to deal with the condo as best we could (my sister doing the massive lion's share of the work), dealing the surprise of a trust fund, the estate, well. it was a hard ahrd year. Stu flew to Florida three times and his parents had to give up their place and move into assisted living. It's so reassuring to know they are there, but it was so hard for his mom to accept the reality of it.

We made room for some fun, but the theme of last year was well, Mom died.

The new year? Yeah, I know, pretty arbitrary, but once the first anniversary of Mom's death came - after dealing with all the landmarks, rituals, dates. AT least there is some feeling of thinks easing to a close. So better, yeah?

Scuze me but oh fuck no.

I went to the doctor to discuss trying to treat my insomnia. She surmised that the insomnia was not the result, but a part of my depression. She was right. i started on two medications for both insomnia and depression which are working well. I should've realized earlier. So okay, I got it now.

Oh January 13, Stu and I went to dinner. I took a small framed photo of my mom with us. that as the day she died, and having a good meal, which she would have appreciated, figuring out what charitable donation to make in her memory was a good way to spend that evening. After dinner, we puked around the little shopping area near the restaurant down at Greenlake. We went into a new cake/cupcake bakery and I bought four "gourmet" cupcakes. The next morning as i went to get my wallet for something, i realized i did not have it. I had lost the canvas pouch in which I carry my checkbook, credit cards and wallet and money. I had $50 in the wallet for dinner, but had ended up not spending it (okay except for the cupcakes.) Brain freeze. Stop breathing. Where? How? Stu throws on his jacket and walks our route. We'd walked/rolled home from the bakery on Friday night and despite it growing dark, he took every step back to the last time I had the po8uch. Gone. Gone fucking gone.

that was Jan. 14. Jan 16 was a federal holiday. We discussed "what would YOU do?" and thought maybe you cuold mail it back to the person who lost it (minus the money even.) my checks did not have a phone number on them (they do now, eys) But we know we'd return it. When nothing showed up about Tuesday, i started making the dreaded calls. We froze what we had to at my bank. New stuff was to be sent "overnight" to me.

Then it snowed. The overnight UPS package, due Wednesday, showed up the following Monday. i was housebound, unable to get up the ramp and even if i could have, to what? The sidewalks were impassible, the streets the same.

At some point, i got hit with a mild norovirus that had me vomiting (with my back? Oy is that not fun!) And had me splat tired for about 3 days.

then came the magic moment when i leaned down to pick up a tissue and when I sat back up, I almost screamed. Something happened to my shoulder, something TERRIBLE. Getting to the doctor was impossible. 911 and an ambulance to the emergency room was possible but oh when you hurt that bad? My gods you don't want to leave your bolthole. For two hours, Stu and I tried everything we could, calling the doctor, using hot, cold, pills, until finally it calmed down. Since Jan. 17, i've spoken to two nurses, the doctor, I've had let's see, three doctor's appointments with another this week. I had x-rays taken. You see, after the pain became bearable, the next day, my chest was covered in huge creepy red purple bruises. The pain had been in back, but I looked like I'd hit the steering wheel after being rear-ended. Horrible. Not really painful but u-g-l-y? Eu!

It's February wha, 4? The bruising is gone from the original spot, but it migrated. Enough to worry my doctor who sent me to a hematologist this week. i'm okay, truly but we would like to know more of what happened.

I did not break y shoulder, nor did i dislocate it (I wondered if I might have partly dislocated it, the pain was that severe. It was, on the pain scale of 1 to 10, an 11. First time in my life I have said that. It is possible that I tore a muscle. It is also possible that the damaged left rotator cuff finally gave up. I have, according to the report NO left rotator cuff. Last I knew, I had lost one part of it. it's now totally gone. Maybe it snapped and let go. We don't know. I'm off one medication that I've taken for decades to minimize the whole bleeding/bruising thing.

I also learned that I had two heretofore unknown rib fractures. I have also learned that since I was last weighed and measured, I have lost about 12 to 15 pounds. And I've lost 2 more inches in height, even drawing myself up as best as I can (my hips don't really support me) and I'm now just under 5 feet. I sorta knew this but hearing it was really upsetting. Standing is difficult for me and not being able to reach stuff is a huge frustration.

I won't even tell you that I lost my replacement debit card already. Or that breathing can hurt in the middle of the night - lying down ON my back seems to help - maybe the rib fracture is to blame? But I'm often awake at 3 am. The sleeping draught (sorry I just had to say that) does help though, and I get back to sleep once the pain eases.

I would like a pair of futuristic glasses - you know the ones with the readouts that we all read about in various science fiction novels? Where you get a crawl of info on your helmet's face plate, or your glasses? I just need one that says"don't twist", since every time I go to pick that book up on the bed, well....you get the point.

I just wanted you to know.

On vanity and boring hair

roscoe@drizzle.com — Tue, 31 Jan 12 12:36:00 UT

So, as it turns out, I am vainer than I realized and apparently I'm not going to age as peacefully as I had expected I would.

I tend to describe myself, as a shorthand, as a "sixties kid". I was born in 1953, and became a teenager in those years when all sorts of things were being redefined. Not that I would have gone with the girdle and garters if things hadn't changed. I mean, eons ago, I swore (hah) that I would never take a job where I couldn't dress in a tee shirt and jeans. Yeah right, but I did manage to avoid wearing a suit (with as I recall one, and only one exception.) But so much changed, so many new things took place in those very formative years, huh? Pantyhose instead of girdles and garters. Bouffant hair helmets shaped with hairspray like our moms wore changed to bangs and falls (remember falls? "It's real Dynel"). Trial periods for girls wearing - gasp - pants to school (my senior year of high school.) The last time I used hairspray (except for the YWCA summer musicals) was for my Junior Prom. I got to college with my new wardrobe, spent one semester in New London damp, and swore of skirts for four years.

I was made for these times. I once designed my dream home and the living room furniture consisted of a denim couch, and armchairs covered with mattress ticking material. Pillows made of bandanas, red on one side, blue on the other. I was so not chic. I disdained the matching shoes and purse rules that my mom's generation grew up with and taught us girls. I gave up on the Bermuda bags and used one canvas bag after another, then switched to those Greek bags, then leather, usually handmade.

While I was totally into Yardley cosmetics and was in awe of Jean Shrimpton (but no, not Twiggy) I never did, never got the make-up thing. I used lipstick, lip gloss,chap stick even. I acquired other make-up I think, but used almost none (except, again, for performances. Theater (dance as a little kid) but not every day. i don't have drawers of discarded make-up - something I seem to read about a lot in novels about women. I tried mascara in high school and ended up with vertical lines on the lenses of my glasses (we tried contact lenses on me; I never did manage them. I probably tried eye liner. i never curled an eyelash in my life. And honestly, while it's not totally like this, not 100 percent, most of my make-up comes courtesy of Clinique's occasional promotions. If it weren't for those, I'm probably never have learned about certain eye shadow stuff, not found hat amazing moisturizer. Yeah, moisturizer because I'm in my late 50s and well damn. Yeah.

HOWEVER, despite that, despite that apparent disdain for all that, I recently realized that hoo-boy, I am very very vain about my hair. Oh yeah. From putting lemon juice on it as a teenager to "give it highlights", to using rosemary rinses, I have tried for years to make my hair, well, er, "interesting". It's great hair. Don't get me wrong, I than my parents for some really excellent hair genes. It's got great texture, does almost anything I want it to (I used to be able to twist it and put it up without anything holding it). But, well, I have always found it to be boring. It's brown, yeah. But it's just brown. Boring brown. So some years ago, I when I discovered henna, well there you are. Perfect. A natural product for this sixties kid. It was very good for my hair and added color. It was terrific. Right until i started having those upper back problems that meant I simply could not hold my arms up long enough to put the goo on my head. And all that long hair. Pooey.

I got lucky for a few years, having found a couple of great guys with a small hairdresser place near Mae's Phinney Ridge Cafe who helped me put some fabulous purple streaks in my yair. I'd admired a co-worker's purple hair back at CIL in the 70s, and always wanted to try that. But they moved away to Tacoma where they'd bought a house. Oh well. So I gave in and started using a commercial product. And loved it and have used it for years. the color I've been using, however has gotten harder and harder to find. So maybe, since it really was the color I wanted - that and no other - maybe it was time to stop.

Heh. Right. That worked. Oh man. I felt awfully sheepish when I spent far too much time looking in the mirror recently and finally realized that nope, I was not ready. That it wasn't about aging, and it isn't about my gray hair. I'm find with that. But once again, after years, my hair was back to boring. Brown, but boring. It cried out for a streak. Anything. I'm in the middle of severe back pain. a torn muscle or worse and learning that sometime in the last year or so, I fractured two ribs and didn't know it. So what exactly am I doing coloring my hair?

There. That's better.

I wonder if I'll ever be able to stop. I don't want to be once of those women who can't face aging. I can't imagine going with "champagne" colored hair (as I told Barry, my scooter guy, a few years ago when he was telling me about the new scooter color - champagne - I said "Barry? It's beige. Get over it." But I need to find a cure for boring, or maybe someone who can do a good purple streak again.

Blog for choice

roscoe@drizzle.com — Sun, 22 Jan 12 16:35:00 UT

Www.blogforchoice.com.

Friends, it's the anniversary of Roe v Wade. I can't come up with anything very original but I will say that every year, I mean it, when this date comes arnd, I DO stop and think what this ruling meant to me and many, many people I know. It would scare me, a lot to live in a country where abortion was illegal. Not so much for my life now, my reality, but for everything it says about the status of women in countries where you do not have a choice.

Fade to black

roscoe@drizzle.com — Wed, 18 Jan 12 00:34:00 UT

See www.Wikipedia.org

Trying to get it right

roscoe@drizzle.com — Thu, 12 Jan 12 20:03:00 UT

i probably will mess up, but let me try. I hope to offer my thanks to some people who really helped me through the past year. This isn't a list of all of you - I know I owe so many people for so much, but I really need to say some of this. I apologize for not naming at least 30 people (ok, like Roberta and Brad, Bonnie and Sandra and Nancy, Ruth and Ali, I really shouldn't have waited until Thursday night, when I was shaky and never as together as I had hoped, but it Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time and so forth, and so on.

If I don't mess up, believe me, this isn't me being coy and wanting to you say "oh no, really, you sound fine, really". There are times when that would feel really good and I bet I've done it more than once. This is must me, trying to focus and and say some things.

It's January 12, late at night. Tomorrow marks the first anniversary of my mother's death and I'm dreading the day like I have dreaded no other.

So here goes. And honestly, there's no order to this list. These are the starred names on a long list. When my sister called to tell me Mom was in the hospital ER and it did not look good, all I could do is ask "what can I do?" and of course, all I could do was wait. And during that hour, I sat here at the computer, scared, numb. Stu had headed out to a movie (using one of the plethora of passes we had). I was on Facebook and I saw in the "chat" list a long-time friend. And for that next hour, John Hedtke kept me breathing. I don't now what we said to each other. I just had someone to talk to, who knew me and could talk to me. And did. Not an easy job.

Once the call came, there was not much I could do until Stu got home. I had called his cell phone - turned off, of course, because he was going to the movies - and left a message to call me right away after the first call. After the second, I reiterated that he should call me right away. I figured he'd check and would call to let me know he was on his way home. Meanwhile, Facebook was there. As I recall, I posted something like "I could use my friends right about now". In seconds, another long-time friend, Janice, called. In no time, she asked what was wrong, what could she do and should she come over. I said, yes, please. Seconds later, as I went to turn on the outside light, the phone rang and Luke was on the phone, asking what was wrong and could he help. He talked to me until Janice knocked on my door.

Janice stayed with me, even when I said I was okay. She said she wasn't going to leave until Stu was home. She lives nearby and had still driven her car over so that she could go pick him up after the movie ended. When he called, I must have said something and then handed the phone to her. She had been with me for what, two hours? Listening to what? I have no idea. Grabbed her stuff, drove to Northgate, brought Stu home and took off. Absolutely amazing.

Getting back to Connecticut in January last year. You remember last winter in New England right? Ten feet of snow was it? We flew direct from Seattle to Boston and here is where two more amazing friends did amazing things. We landed at Logan and there was Cornelia - the woman I call my sister separated at birth (we were born a day apart. Ten years different but one day different. Cornelia was living in Exeter, New Hampshire. She had gone all over the place to rent a U-Haul and get a trailer hitch put on her car, drove down to Boston, met us. Stu and Cornelia put the wheelchair in the trailer and then she drove us to West Hartford (it wasn't snowing. Imagine!)

It's not over yet. We had a flight out of Logan on Friday. In talking to folks, it was suggested that we get the hell out of Dodg...West Hartford and be in Boston to fly out. The weather was holding, due to start snowing again late on Friday. Funny. The last time I tried flying out of Logan, there were no hotels. It's been a while. We were able to call and book a handicapped-accessible room at the Airport Hilton. But how to get to Boston? We had not figure this out. Cornelia was willing to come back for us but we wanted not to ask her. So back to Facebook, where we asked if anyone might be able to drive us to Boston. We'd pay. Maybe someone had a kid with a van who needed money?

That's when Leslie got in touch asking for specifics about the wheelchair. And while we were not sure - even after checking some on-line stuff (as I recall) Leslie risked driving down from the Boston area, picked us up and with help from a total stranger in the parking garage of Mom's condo, Stu and Leslie got the wheelchair on its side in her Subaru (right?) and drove us to the hotel. We checked in, went up to the room, called Alex (another old friend and my former housemate in Cambridge) who schlepped out to join us for dinner. At the airport's little Legal Seafood. We flew out the next day, just as snow was starting to fall.

Okay enough? Almost. I still need to name some names. To my terrific cousin Pat Stern, my mother's close friend from the day she was born. She's been so great, so wonderful. To my friends who came to the funeral, friends from high school. I didn't like West Hartford and left quickly, while many folks have stayed, liking it a lot, the seasons and the education system, the culture and the traditions. I am happy and grateful that I had gotten back in touch with a bunch of folks from school (2010 was a big reunion year). Some folks came by the house later, some had just attended the service. But to my amazing friend Richard, to Linda who I haven't seen in decades and might never connect with after all. To Laura, my childhood friend from the Blue Hills neighborhood where I grew up, who came when everyone had gone home so we really caught up. To Hollis, who made time for me and helped me a lot. And to two of my favorite people on the entire freakin' planet, Peg and Bill Cibes, here's where it gets maudlin folks, because I have run out of words. Bill is so wonderful. Bill and Peg were there at the funeral, at the house and later in the week. Every hour I spend with them is golden. I love them so much.

Finally to my family. My step-sister Jackie, my wonderful sweetie Stu and my amazing sister Patricia. Thank you for everything you did, everything you handled, everything you had to do and did beautifully and well.

I don't DO New Year's Resolutions, but

roscoe@drizzle.com — Sun, 1 Jan 12 15:40:00 UT

I've never understood the idea of New Year's REsolutions. Maybe that's inaccurate and what I mean is that resolutions just don't make sense to me. This comes out of a long-time reluctance to plan. i developed this oddity years ago, when I first started dealing with the whole chronic pain issue, because so often, I'd find, I could not plan. Period. I would feel fine, or at least okay, and then, well, not. Even when, as a science fiction and convention fan, i knew where i'd be every Labor Day for years (that used to be a truism as Worldcon was often held on Labor Day Weekend), everyday plans continued to be offy. When I was 30, the day I turned thirty, my then-partner, Bob Sparks, planned a surprise party for me. Alas, i learned of it several days earlier but tired not to show it. And on that day, I was in serious pain and really didn't want to leave the house. But I went along with his flimsy story about dinner, and well, it was so sweet. I still remember what a huge thrill it was for me to realize he'd hired my favorite band - no really - to play. My favorite band, then and now, tends to be any bluegrass ensemble that Laurie Lewis plays in. Many of the attendees at the party had no idea who she was. Alas. But what a sweet thing to do.

I tend to find myself making those big decisions, the "oh yeah" decisions when I am not thinking about them. i used to visit a women-only retreat in Napa (which I learned of at my then dentist's office, bless them) and come away realizing something big. it was being away from people and telephones and routine and schedules, maybe.

Today, I came up with two shower resolutions. Not about showers, no, but they came in the shower. One is to fund a project on "kickstarter". I have felt great joy at kiva.org, the microlending website. Currently, I sponsor two women, one a woman in Mongolia, a single parent with three children, one of whom is disabled. She supports her family by sewing. I also support a woman in Kenya who purchased a dairy cow. If this sounds like fun, there's a link below.

But one of the cool things about Facebook is that you occasionally see something in passing and you grab it and read. That happened last year hearing about Kickstarter. I went to the website and got lost. Like Kiva, there are so many amazing stories. I've added a link to this site so you can see for yourself what it is. They describe themselves as "the world's largest funding platform for creative projects."

That one was easy.

2011 was an awful year. A lot of us feel that way. For me, 2011 was "The Year My Mom Died" and everything was colored by that. I know I have not been there enough for my friends when they've lost a parent and I am disappointed in myself, and ashamed, for that. I lost my Dad quite a while ago and miss him still, still want to call him, and I've missed my step-dad Howard big time, but my mother's absence has been huge. I've had trouble concentrating, have developed insomnia and just went on antidepressants. Wow, big surprise there.

Much has been resolved by my sister and I are still dealing with the smaller issues (the headstone to mark her grave) and big issues (a wonderful condo in a lousy economy) and all the financial kipple that comes with someone dying. So I've read little, reviewed very few books, and dive back into comfort reading often.

A few months ago, I began a research project that has had fits and starts and which, I hope, will involve a lot of my time in 2012. It was triggered by my mom's death and the realization that a family story is on the verge of being lost. In the hope that we can find out if this story has real truth to it, I've begun what one person who talked with me, has dubbed "a treasure hunt". I am hoping my cousin is still interested in this project too. And I don't mean to be coy, but I will post about that on a different day. It has, so far, involved museums, the New York Public Library, and megadoses of internet searches. The history of a small town in Maine. Immigration records. And an on-line paper doll.

So here it is. What I decided in yon shower an hour or so ago is to find that draft, that manuscript of that Berkeley-based mystery novel I tried to write many years ago, and start anew, seeing if any of it is salvageable, come at it a different way, and see if, after waiting several years, I can write fiction - something I have tended to suck at. I began this after a number of wonderful people said to me, after a certain convention I worked on, "well, so what are you going to do now? And my snappy answer was, "Well, hell, write a mystery of course. I mean look at this place. A hotel, a bunch of mystery writers, readers, fans. Great setting, terrific characters." And I did. Sort of. Actually, that ended up as book 3, because I needed to get my character established and she did a lot of things before working on a mystery convention.

I'm terrified. I may give it up after two days. I haven't read it in years. It's not even on this laptop and I need to somehow fire up the iMac and find it. At least I have the "treasure hunt" if this doesn't pan out. I'd say "wish me luck" but I can't. Wish me something, would you?

Why NOT a Muppet "Hobbit"?

roscoe@drizzle.com — Mon, 26 Dec 11 14:32:00 UT

So yesterday, i heard a comment or two that the trailer for the upcoming film of "The Hobbit" is terrific. I'm delighted. Please note that I am not a Tolkien fan. I cannot read the books, and have not seen any of hte movies all the way through. But I know Tolkien fans and scholars. I know folks with excellent movie taste, who know, etc. What I have seen of the LotR trilogy amazed me with brilliant casting and gorgeous settings. Peter Jackson did the Lord of the rings proud and I'm glad he's behind this film as well. Somehow, the Muppets were mentioned as well; maybe it was movie trailers and parodies (many of which I have yet to see. I admit it. I've been watching too many "Simon's Cat videos. Apparently I can watch some videos on computer after all. Go figure.) But it sat there, burbling and giggling until this morning, Stu and I found ourselves casting "The Hobbit" movie with the Muppets. Aw come on, why not? Now,keep in mind the huge gaps in my knowledge of the work but Stu knows the books and films so thanks to Roscoe Casting Associates, here we go.

Frodo - oh come on . It's Kermit the Frog. (see below)

Samwise - we could go with Scooter here. Or Fozzie Bear. Even if Fozzie is a little large for a Hobbit here.

Hobbits in the shire - little frogs of course. Or, here's a great opportunity for chicken casting.

Galadriel - you have to ask? Miss Piggy.

Arwen - Janice, of the Electric Mayhem, seems to me the perfect choice.

Sarumen - Sam the Eagle

Gollum - I think it has to be Animal. But Grover's a distinct possibility.

Now it gets murky. I can't find the right Muppet for either Legolas or Aragorn. But even worse, is that i can't find the right Muppet for Gandalf.

Now I thought Kermit could handle it. But Stu argued against it, and he's right. It's just not Kermitty. So while yeah, we could hob share between Statler and Hilton, I'm going for a ringer. And I figure if Ian McKellan is not available (for he is Gandalf, as Sir Alec Guinness, to his dismay, became Obi-Wan) then I am holding out for Sir Ben Kingsley. I don't know if he would work with a bunch of fabric-Americans (thank you, "Greg the Bunny") but I love Sir Ben and haven't seen a lot of his movies. So here's my chance to be sure I will see it. And I pretty damn sure than Sir Ben Kingsley can play anything and would totally work as Gandalf the whatever color he wants.

Your thoughts?

Today it's about MS - and it's amazing

roscoe@drizzle.com — Wed, 21 Dec 11 21:19:00 UT

The first person I ever know who had MS was my friend Molly Frederick. She and I "came up", as it were, as disabled folks together, just learning what it was like to have a disability, to accept it, adjust to it, admit it even. We understood, as very few people did in our lives at that time, about the suddenness of an exacerbation (for her) or a sudden onset of pain (me) and learned about things like patience, like accessible bathrooms, like how to tell your disappointed date you couldn't go out that night, even though you were "fine" a few hours before. She educated me in so many ways; I hope I was a good friend to her and that she got stuff from me too.

My friend Regina had MS that was mostly in remission when i knew her but we still had tons to talk about, both in and out of disability. I knew these women when I worked at CIL in Berkeley. I remember arguing with Regina to get a handicapped parking permit. "Regina", I said, "if you're having a good day you don't have to use it." Oh, she said. Apparently that hadn't occured to her. Snort. When Regina got pregnant, well, her symptoms went away. We were both fascinated and amazed at what your body could do when it had a mind to do it.

That was 30 years ago. I know several other people with MS. It is a disease, condition, syndrome with a mind of its own that affects everyone so differently . This may all be old news to all of you. But there's a reason why I'm talking about MS tonight. A big one.

Go here please: http://bit.ly/uUn5tE. This is an article which is amazing, astonishing. The entire foundation of what we know about MS may be changing. This post, by Nicola Griffith (who lives with MS)is simply amazing news. Read it, read it, read it. The actual article will be released on Friday, but Nicola does a great job explaining what is going on.

One thing that has long been an issue about MS is how much more common it is in the "developed" world, and how rare it is in the Third World. I've no idea yet, having not read the details and taken this all in, whether this explains it but oh, this is fuck-all astonishing news. And yes, it may explain much. I remember Molly telling me about her reactions to everything from certain foods, to weather. So weird.

A major catch about MS has been that without knowing WHAT causes it (as we know about so many other diseases and conditions), it's pretty impossible to go after it, impossible to stop, cure, even lessen. The "immune system" links have long been promising - so we all thought - and it was always held that if we can unlock cancer OR RA or lupus OR MS, we might have a better, clearer shot at them all. And now this.

Please pass this on. If it's not relevant to you and yours, someone a third or fourth degree of separation from you will want to know. Even from a scientific POV.

And I will note for the gods of serendipity and circumstance how amused and keen I am on the fact that the story is coming out of - of all places - John Jay School of Criminal Justice. While no, that was not my graduate program (I went to SUNY Albany) and I'm not sure how exactly this connects (I have to read more), I am trilled that the CrimJ universe had something to do with this. It's a small world, ya know.

More later.

Favorite Books of 2011

roscoe@drizzle.com — Fri, 16 Dec 11 17:31:00 UT

As usual, I don't have a "top ten" list. I tried to remember what I'd read because I always forget to start this list early and assume I'll remember. Yeah. Right. .

And there's also the fact that I read fewer books in 2011. So here, at least is a first list. These are pretty definite. They are all 2011 books (I have lots of books I liked from other years but I don't track that well.)

So, here's a list of my favorite books of 2011. I may add more if my brain kicks in. And I bet it will, because I bet I've forgotten one or two titles. These are in random order.

GHOST HERO, S J Rozan
THE MOST DANGEROUS THING, Laura Lippman
THE END OF EVERYTHING, Megan Abbott
KILLED AT THE WHIM OF A HAT, Colin Cotterill
THE KILLER IS DYING, James Sallis
A TRICK OF THE LIGHT, Louise Penny
IN SEARCH OF THE ROSE NOTES, Emily Arsenault

And here are a few wonderful non-mystery books that you probably do not know about, but should

ITâS A BOOK, Lane Smith
THE SECRET RIVER, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Illustrated by Leo and Diane Dillon
NEVER FORGOTTEN, Patricia C. McKissack, Illustrated by Leo and Diane Dillon

"Chestnuts Roasting in a Vendor's Cart" - New York nostalgia

roscoe@drizzle.com — Sun, 4 Dec 11 14:50:00 UT

We grew up in Hartford, Connecticut. Dad was from Hartford, Mom from Boston and Brighton, Massachusetts. We (my sister Pat and me) grew up in a family full of, well, what is often called "culture". We went to museums regularly (the Wadsworth Atheneum, still Hartford's pride, is the first public museum in the United States and when Stu and I were back in June, we went to a special exhibit there. Monet's water lilies. Mom's favorite art in the world. Goddamn, she would've loved it.)

We listened to music on the hi-fi - lots of show tunes, lots of jazz and swing years bands and singers. Lots of classical music. We went to the symphony and the theater. We later ushered at the local rep company (which got us in to see plays for free.)

And I don't know how often, don't remember many details, but we went to New York for Big Deal Stuff. I don't know if it was every year, but a lot of years, around this time, we drove to New York for the weekend and became tourists. Smart tourists maybe, educated, classy tourists, maybe, but tourists. So you native New Yorkers? If you're going to sneer (and you will, I bet.) please go over there so I don't hear you.

I don't remember where we stayed but we stayed overnight. And yes, I remember Radio City Music Hall and the Rockettes' precision. I don't remember much else, so I am sort of guessing that we stopped going there after a year or two, once it was no longer a novelty. As Jews, too, the "Santa" aspects of everything were just not interesting. Of course it was everywhere, we knew that but...Again, there's clearly a lot I don't remember. But hey, the stuff that's still in there is good.

What I do remember? Trying to pry the real memories from the movie images, I remember the tree at Rockefeller Center and the skaters, always looking so great. There was usually one skilled person in the center ice, doing spins. I think. In a monochromatic outfit. Sometimes a boy doing jumps, sometimes a girl doing a layback. I think. I never skated there. We grew up skating on ponds, not rinks, in Hartford. These people looked so much better than I ever did. Maybe it was the outfits, the tights, the skirt.

I remember walking the streets with everyone else looking at decorated stores and windows. My memory provides the thought that Tiffany's and Steuben Glass were across from each other on Fifth Avenue (no no, don't tell me, I swear I'll go check later) and that we far preferred Steuben Glass. They used to advertise in New Yorker, one item, all very special. My favorite was "The Sword in the Stone". The fancy show pieces were in the back, in window boxes lined with, was it black or blue velvet, simply lit. It was so much more like a museum than the glitter of Tiffany's.

We would usually visit MOMA, as I recall. The Museum of Modern Art was so much more to our taste, I think, than the Met. We all, i think, had our favorites: the Brancusi sculptures out in the courtyard, the Rodins, the Monets, Mondrian, Van Gogh. Sometimes we would go to another museum; I remember the Frick, a place I might never have known about if I hadn't been taken as a kid.

We'd attend the ballet, I think. New York City Ballet, more than ABT. I remember only seeing "Midsummer Night's Dream" by NYCB. Did we go see Alvin Ailey or Dance Theatre of Harlem? I can't recall. I saw Nureyev in my life, but in New York? I don't remember.

I remember seeing Hall Holbrook as Mark Twain at, was it Carnegie Hall? Oh my gods. He was a young young man. It was enthralling. Hartford folks can claim a strong tie to Twain, as one of our best landmarks was the Mark Twain House, a major high Victorian pile of a house museum.

I remember eating pretzels from street vendors, but not chestnuts. My friend and cousin Joy asked me about that. We never tried the chestnuts. They were, perhaps too alien? We didn't now from chestnuts, though we walked through piles of something called "horse chestnuts" at home during Fall. Didn't we?

We went to the Rainbow Room (watch that snickering over there) which was exotic for us. It was high up, on the 65th floor. We went, I think, for drinks. Mom and dad might have been in their whisky sour stage. I had Shirley Temples. My sister might have too, or might have passed the age where that was fun and been too sophisticated for fake cocktails. The view was extraordinary for us (no, we never did go up the Empire State Building. I still haven't) nor out to the Statue of Liberty. This might have been as high as we got, though Mom, in later years, went with Howard to dine at the World Trade Center. So apparently my fear of heights was not inherited from her! Did we eat dinner there? I don't remember. I don't think so, just drinks and off we'd go to somewhere a tad more affordable. While it closed a while back, I just looked it up and the Rainbow Room might be getting remodeled and reopened. I don't know if I'd go back. I'm not much on Shirley Temples any longer.

I remember cheesecake, so I must remember Lindy's. That might have been our next stop, as I am sure we ate there. Maybe we ate at the hotel - I don't remember where we stayed. I know where our parents ate and stayed when they went alone to New York and brought back matchbooks and such. And don't snicker at Mama Leone's. They liked it. We probably tried a Chinese place or two, since we knew we liked Chinese food. (yeah right. Like so many New Englanders, our idea of Chinese food was sweet and our pork, chow mein and what was called Cantonese food. But it was a start, okay? The South Seas was a big deal birthday restaurant for us in West Hartford. Oh boy, egg rolls and plastic leis. And drinks in coconuts. Oy.)

I remember one year i received this amazing present for what must have been Hanukkah; a big fake fur hat and a matching fake fur muff, THE thing to wear for a trip to New York. Which I did. The muff was great - the hat's string would not stay tied (there were pom-poms on the ends. It was a great ensemble. Stop snickering over there. I was what, 9?

We went shopping at Takashimaya. I had a passion for things Japanese, and would find little things and giggle when I saw how many were made in China or even better, in the US. Ah, authentic Japanese souvenirs!

The best image I hold of these trips, while Rockefeller Center was so perfect an image, and while I can still see the stage for "Midsummer", and the showroom at Steuben Glass, what stays more than anything was something we saw as we walked down the street in Manhattan. What's lost is the specific. Was it the Japanese tourist office? Japan Air Lines? It probably was not an embassy, but on the corner of the street, there was a building with a lot of glass. It was two or three stories high, I think. And it had a Christmas tree (which, as someone passionate about things Japanese, I found odd, but never mind). The joy of this tree was that it was decorated - at least as I recall - completely with origami ornaments. No tinsel here. No blinky lights. Origami presents, and origami doves. Origami balls and wreathes and bows and gingerbread men and whatever goes on a Christmas tree. It was the best.

So from a tourist who hasn't been a tourist in New York for many years, thanks. If I get the chance to be a tourist again, i know that I will return to some places i loved (probably have to get to Moma and hte Frick again) but I know many of these places are gone. That's okay. I know that I will have to visit The Algonquin Hotel (I know, but I do. I don't have a lot of places I need to see, but this is one) and I will have to visit the Plaza to say hello to Eloise. Beyond that, I'm okay leaving memories as memories.

So what do roast chestnuts taste like? Did I miss anything?

Authors at your Ideal Table - a Thanksgiving blog post

roscoe@drizzle.com — Wed, 23 Nov 11 16:38:00 UT

I stole/borrowed this from someone who posted on Cornelia's Facebook Page. Yvette Baken blogs at http://yvettecandraw.blogspot.com/ and yesterday she posted (with illustrations and explanations) her "Top Ten Tuesday: Ten authors I'd want at my thanksgiving dinner" According to her post, "Top Ten Tuesday" is form another blog called "The Broke and the Bookish" "http://yvettecandraw.blogspot.com/" which I want to check out!

Given that there are no rules for this meme (the authors can be dead), this sounds like so much fun. The catch is for me not just name friends who write books. although they are gonna be in there. So I'm just going to list authors and at least try to explain why they made the list. And cheat. And then make a second list. And a third. Love to hear back from you if you too have a list and/or a blog.

Okay here goes:
Stu, by the way, is really #1, but come on. He's here (but we did just get the new book with his latest story in it!)

1) CORNELIA READ Are you kidding? You need me to explain? For entertainment of our other guests, Cornelia and i will recite verbatim "Alice's Restaurant" as we're all lollygagging around post-food. We'll get the couch cleared off, we promise.

2) SJ ROZAN. One of the best writers around, a very cool person, a good friend.

3) CHRISTOPHER MOORE. When he was in Seattle a few years ago, we went to a reading/appearance by him and I left with my face so sore from laughing, I couldn't stand it. It hurt for hours.

4) KATE ROSS. Gone too soon.

5) LEWIS CARROLL. I would just like to know him.

6) JESSICA MITFORD. Are you kidding? Decca Mitford's memoirs, her muckraking, her letters. She's always been one of my heroes.

7) STEPHEN FRY. Oh mannnnnnnnn....

8) LEO AND DIANE DILLON I know it's a cheat, but they are a team. Most of the work they've done over the years has been book illustration. They have written some kids' books but their brilliant talent in cover and interior art makes me gasp. I want to hang out with them.

9) SHIRLEY JACKSON. From her amazingly funny work to WE HAVE ALWAYS LIVED IN THE CASTLE, my life has been better because of her.

10) KAY THOMPSON. "I am Eloise. I am six."

Plus ca change...

roscoe@drizzle.com — Sun, 20 Nov 11 18:09:00 UT
I love that in recent days I've seen outrage, I've seen people writing "what is this! is this the 60s?". It means that people think that things have gotten better since some of the worst of the bad old days of "hippie" v "hardhat" of "long-hair v frat boy". That we think or hope or assume that the worst behavior during the years of anti-war protest is gone and that the worst violations of rights during everything from the sanctuary movement to the anti-apartheid days cannot possible happen again. I mean I was there, mostly, sort of. I was not in Chicago. I was never in a massive march where cops on horses chased people in the streets. I wasn't there at People's Park. And I know I've written about cops I've known who seemed like decent, good, ordinary people.

I'm torn now between believing that police are caring individuals who believe in the rule of law who truly desire to "preserve and protect" and that the people who become police officers do it simply because they know they're right, everyone else is wrong and order is theirs to enforce, no matter what. I want to be reasonable. It's important that I do, important to my way of thinking, of how I see myself. I just don't know.

I know that I believe in the First Amendment and think everyone who loves our country should hold it as what passes for as holy in our Not Christian Nation. And yet, the ACLU, the organization that exists solely to defend First Amendment rights is attacked viciously, is attacked constantly, is attacked as unAmerican, as unpatriotic because it stands for those rights that were considered so important. Those rights of speech and assembly especially seem to infuriate those "patriots" who wave the flag and claim to believe in the Constitution (even while making shit up. About parts that do not exist.)

And I want to believe that flag waving patriots who love this country and who allegedly love what it stands for can see what it stands for, can see past "get a job you dirty hippie" bullshit from the Occupy Wall Street, Occupy Oakland, Occupy the Tundra, Occupy Seattle ALL the people who are arguing, using their Constitutional rights, that the rich are too rich, and this country needs to stand for something again.

Back when I lived in Berkeley, I saw ugly behavior from the campus cops. The rumor/story was that if you couldn't get into the Berkeley Police force, UC Berkeley would take you. I, of course have no idea how true that was. But I saw police officers abuse their authority over and over because they could, because they seemingly wanted to out of boredom or belief in their own righteousness. They'd roust people in the park, they'd walk up to people and demand to see their IDs even if those people were apparently breaking no law. I witnessed this repeatedly. They did not care that they were being watched by the likes of people like me.

At Livermore, I saw police from various units tape over their badge numbers and their nametags. Jesus, that's chilling folks. You know when you see that that the cops intend, flat out plan to break the law. And maybe your head. It's a lot harder now with cell phone cameras and Youtube. And yet, it didn't stop a UC Davis cop from casually pepper spraying Occupy Davis protestors, completely peaceful protesters who were using their First Amendment rights of assembly and free speech, walking down a line of people and spraying them pretty much point blank. I don't have to describe it - it's there if you want to see it, you probably have.

I think I've mentioned this before that, years ago, a UC Berkeley police officer got the nickname "Chokehold Johnson" for his behavior toward protestors. We used to sign "Will you stand up to Officer Johnson though he's six feet four" to the tune of "When I'm 64" at demonstrations. His abuse of power was allowed and accepted by the University even when it was not acceptable anywhere else. (chokeholds were not allowed in most police departments at the time - even LA quit using them but that's yet another story.)

Finally, the Chancellor of UC Davis apparently accepted a police spokeswoman's "explanation" that the cops were scared, that they were "surrounded" by protestors. Right. That happens all the time. Just for the record? When I was locked up with several hundred other women at Livermore, we met daily, and then some, with a police officer. We were being held not in a jail facility but a gym. We had lots of meetings, lots of circles, lots of discussions. And every time this cop wanted to talk with us - not "our leaders" because like "Occupy Davis, Occupy Wall Street, Occupy Oakland" we didn't do that. But every discussion she had with us, she, like the rest of us, took OFF her shoes (we were asked to do so so we wouldn't damage the gym floor. no joke.) And came into the center of our circle to talk with us. Gee, imagine. Were we surrounded by riot gear wearing cops? No. Was she a police officer, trained not to let herself GET surrounded? Well, yeah. But she had a brain and she perceived that she was in no danger. It's not the same, I know, but I find this official explanation to be ludicrous and a lie. Did these cops say anything before attacking the demonstrators? Nope, they were just out to have some fun.

...plus c'est la meme chose.

Robert Reich's words at UC Berkeley

roscoe@drizzle.com — Sat, 19 Nov 11 14:38:00 UT
I got nothin' at the moment. There's the plumbing adventure from yesterday. Nah. There's the insomnia, the "I can't find anything to read" oh, yeah, there's the news that I might have a P-Patch, a community garden plot next spring -(if we can work out the whole wheelchair thing. I think it's iffy because there are at least three things that need to be not just fixed, but pretty much redone. But still. The planners seem to think it can be done.)

Instead forgive me, I want to share someon else's words with you today. This is an excerpt from Robert Reich's remakrs at Sproul Plaza at UC Berkeley the other night. Reich moved from the Pauley Ballroom where he was to give the "Mario Savio Memorial Lecture" to the steps of Sproul Hall where Occupy Oakland had joined with Occupy Cal to demonstrate, sit-in, sleep, make themselves heard as students and activists have been doing for decades.

The transcript of his remarks can be found at http://www.dailycal.org/2011/11/18/transcript-robert-reichs-speech-at/.

And as Robert Reich talked about that speech 47 years ago by the brilliant Mario Savio, he said in part

"Now the First Amendment, the right to speak that is not always convenient â it is not always inexpensive; it is sometimes messy.

And because it is sometimes inconvenient and sometimes expensive and sometimes messy â just like democracy â there is a temptation sometimes to want to contain it, to limit it. But it is more important than it has ever been that we all go out of our way, every one of us: leaders, politicians, those of us who have authority and those of us who do not have authority.

It becomes doubly important that we honor the First Amendment and that we are willing and make ourselves willing to pay the price of freedom of speech and also indirectly or â because freedom of speech is so related to democracy â directly the price of a democratic system of government."

I'll miss Kent

roscoe@drizzle.com — Sun, 13 Nov 11 13:15:00 UT
I lost a neighbor recently. I don't know when he died, and it's not like we saw him a regular basis. I tend to skim the obituaries in the Sunday newspaper, although I assume that I won't find anyone familiar. We've lived here for 20 years but almost any death is "reported" through the community, the s.f. people who make up most of our world in Seattle. So I was taken aback that my automatic scan of the newspaper brought news of the death of one of our neighbors, Kent Kammerer.

Man, I liked Kent. I knew him to chat with. When he was outside the house, as I or we Stu and I, would head to or from running errands in the neighborhood. His house was a half a block away. I did not know his history (seen in the obit) but I knew his enthusiasm for the city of Seattle, for the neighborhood we live in, for making life one where you are involved, you speak up, you have opinions. Kent taught art - ART - for most of his life. He also taught ceramics and photography to high school students. Wow.

Kent tried to get me to come to meetings of the Seattle Neighborhood Coalition, which yes, did interest me. He would have given me a ride, loading the manual wheelchair in the car. Mind you, the guy was 20 years older than me. And I never made it to a meeting as oh, it was just too early for me to get up on Saturday. I never knew, even after several conversations, that he'd actually created/founded the SNC. He also was willing to wake up at YUCK o'clock to drive his across-the-street friend and neighborhood to the airport, as i learned one day trundling by from one of my schleps.

Some months ago, maybe a year ago, a new commission was forming in Seattle and I wanted to apply to be on it. One day, magically, an application form appeared stuck between the storm and screen doors of the house. I did not know for what must have been six months that Kent had walked down to the house and left the form there for me. When I expressed my frustration, dismay and yes, hurt that I had not even been granted an interview for this volunteer gig (for which I was hugely qualified) he shared my mood and we talked about "Politics" as a factor. We both loved small "p" politics, but not that other kind.

The last time I talk Kent and his loquacious wife Sonja was when they "crashed" our block party, held on 87th Street back in August. Or July. Oddly enough, we bumped into two neighbors we met that night, Jen (at the grocery store) and Adam (who hosted it) this past week. We hadn't seen either of them since that party. It was a nice reminder - we hope to do it again in 2012.

Yesterday, I attended a meeting where I signed up for a community garden site, a "P-Patch" in nearby Greenwood Park. I hope to garden with a friend who lives nearby. After the meeting, some of us wandered over to see our plots and there are some concerns that, well, I'm not sure they can be addressed. I might have to withdraw. We'll see. I don't know who did the design and measurement, but there are issues, what can I say? Aren't there always? And I've been assured all will be well. I hope so; gardening soothes my soul like nothing else i know. But I know how much I was looking forward to talking about this with Kent the next time I went down the street on the way back from the grocery store. i might have even teased him about borrowing his level, which I saw him using a while back to ensure that some plantings in front of their house were even.

It appears that Kent Kammerer had a good life.He had a creative life, sharing skills and talents and was engaged in many ways in his city and community. It's a legacy to be damn proud of. His obituary suggests that to honor hi, people give time or money - bless them for that - to serve the arts, education or community civic interests. Right on.