Me Myself's Open Salon Blog

Loss

Wed, 27 Jan 2010 11:01:45 -0500

Some days I wake up and I'm fine. I can hang the cloak on a peg and walk away. Other days I wake up and I'm shrouded. Heavy blackness that I can't remove. This is it. Or is it? Will this be what it's like from now on?

I remember. Think back. I remember the smells as I got off the plane. Seaside; salty air. The sun glinting in my eyes. Palm trees. She'd pick me up at the airport and we'd cruise up Hwy 1 in her Eagle Talon, listening to the Beach Boys. Sometimes we'd stop for fish tacos at her favorite stand. Or we'd head home, where the house always looked the same. It never changed, all those years.

My room. It was really her office, with a futon for me to sleep on. But she always called it "my room" like I was there permanently, not just for a few weeks during the summer. I loved that about her. I was a permanent fixture, even in my absence.

In the middle of my teenage years, I'd want to sleep in. She was always up early. She'd shower, dry her hair, and be-bop into my room and prop her legs up on the desk, applying fake tan lotion. Shaking that curly blonde hair. "What do you want to do today? Hike? Walk on the beach?" The possibilities were endless, but she had only one rule. No laying around. We had to DO something. Life was short, she said, let's live it. "Get up!"

We'd drink wine, and talk. She let me have my first drink. I felt so sophisticated. We never missed a summer visit, me and her. It was our thing.

I can almost repeat verbatim the phone call when I told her I was moving out there. "Is it the guy you met at the wedding?" Yes, I told her. I was in love, and I had it bad. I'd met him three months earlier, at a wedding out there. We were instant. Instantly....in love? That sounds cheesy. Attracted? That's more like it. Soul mates? Most definately. "Do it, Sarah. What have you got to lose?" Nothing, I thought. I knew she'd be my safety net, if this adventure failed. It didn't. But her health did.

I lived there three years, in paradise. In a paradise she introduced me to. My life came full circle back to her. She gave me my sister, my best friend, and a husband. A grand adventure. It all goes back to her.

The last time the whole family was together was at my wedding. It was the most fun we'd all ever had. A short time later, my dearly beloved moved me back to my homeland, and all was right with the world. You can take the girl out of Texas, but you can't take Texas out of the girl.

And then, the phone call. It had gotten bad. Past bad. She wasn't eating and couldn't talk. I got on the phone with her, I could hear her breathing but that was it. I told her I was coming. Don't do anything until I get there. Please.

Within 12 hours I was on a plane west. It was a Sunday. We flew into the same airport as always. But I didn't notice the smells and sights. Just make the hour drive up there and let's see her before....before...I couldn't say it.

We made it in time. She was barely coherent, and had lost so much weight. I crawled in bed with her, like I'd done a million times before. I told her how much I loved her and she whispered it back. "I love you".

Hospice came the next day and explained how it all worked. They left a binder. The end of a life, all summed up in a binder, with multi-colored tabs.

I cooked. I'm from the South...I didn't know what else to do. Crisis = food. I cooked and cooked, and no one ate.

And then she was gone. It was over. No more pain, or suffering, or doctors, or treatments.

But also, no more phone calls, camping adventures, bottles of wine, hours long phone calls, or cards marked with 14 x's and o's.

I still miss her. Thanks for letting me vent.

Cancer Sucks

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 23:09:32 -0400

Cancer sucks.

I mean, I hate it. If I ever meet cancer on the street, I'll punch it in the face repetedly.

My Aunt is dying.

My sweet, beloved, caring, special Aunt is succumbing to cancer. She is one of my best friends. My second mother. My confidant. The reason I met my husband for god's sake. And she's dying. And there is NOTHING I can do. I hate this feeling.

Please make it stop. Make her better. She's fought for so long, SO hard. She deserves a break. And it's not coming. She's unresponsive. She's done all the cutting edge treatments, travelled all over the country, and it's not working. They told my Uncle to not even bring her to the hospital...there's "nothing" they can do. Hospice is coming.

So, we wait.

I'm four states away. I sit, and I wait. And figure out how to fit a last minute $900 plane ticket into my budget, because I need to go see her. One last time. I put it on my credit card, and don't think another thing about it. Who cares.

Cancer sucks.

Shifty

Wed, 22 Jul 2009 14:07:18 -0400

I don't know if this is kosher or not, by OS standards. I'm going to post it anyway.

A friend forwarded me the following email, and I thought it important enough to pass along. I'm not posting this to advocate war, or start any arguments. This man should be considered a hero for the things he did and the acts he witnessed. If nothing else, for risking his life. He served our country, but he has passed on and we're too busy gushing over Michael Jackson to notice. (PS - I have no idea if the airplane story is true)

"I want a nationwide memorial service for Darrell "Shifty" Powers.

Shifty volunteered for the airborne in WWII and served with Easy Company of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, part of the 101st Airborne Infantry. If you've seen Band of Brothers on HBO or the History Channel, you know Shifty. His character appears in all 10 episodes, and Shifty himself is interviewed in several of them.

I met Shifty in the Philadelphia airport several years ago. I didn't know who he was at the time. I just saw an elderly gentleman having trouble reading his ticket. I offered to help, assured him that he was at the right gate, and noticed the "Screaming Eagle", the symbol of the 101st Airborne, on his hat.

Making conversation, I asked him if he'd been in the 101st Airborne or if his son was serving. He said quietly that he had been in the 101st. I thanked him for his service, then asked him when he served, and how many jumps he made.

Quietly and humbly, he said "Well, I guess I signed up in 1941 or so, and was in until sometime in 1945 . . . " at which point my heart skipped.

At that point, again, very humbly, he said "I made the 5 training jumps at Toccoa, and then jumped into Normandy . . . . do you know where Normandy is?" At this point my heart stopped.

I told him yes, I know exactly where Normandy was, and I know what D-Day was. At that point he said "I also made a second jump into Holland , into Arnhem ." I was standing with a genuine war hero . . . . and then I realized that it was June, just after the anniversary of D-Day.

I asked Shifty if he was on his way back from France , and he said "Yes. And it's real sad because these days so few of the guys are left, and those that are, lots of them can't make the trip." My heart was in my throat and I didn't know what to say.

I helped Shifty get onto the plane and then realized he was back in Coach, while I was in First Class. I sent the flight attendant back to get him and said that I wanted to switch seats. When Shifty came forward, I got up out of the seat and told him I wanted him to have it, that I'd take his in coach.

He said "No, son, you enjoy that seat. Just knowing that there are still some who remember what we did and still care is enough to make an old man very happy." His eyes were filling up as he said it. And mine are brimming up now as I write this.

Shifty died on June 17 after fighting cancer.

There was no parade.

No big event in Staples Center .

No wall to wall back to back 24x7 news coverage.

No weeping fans on television.

And that's not right.

Let's give Shifty his own Memorial Service, online, in our own quiet way. Please forward this email to everyone you know. Especially to the veterans.

Rest in peace, Shifty.

"A nation without heroes is nothing."
Roberto Clemente

Keep Yer Butts in the Car!

Thu, 9 Jul 2009 09:07:45 -0400

I live in a rural area, on a large ranch. Our beautiful home is surrounded by pastures with tall, lush grasses and peacefully grazing cattle. And I came home yesterday to a horrific, heart-sinking sight. A sight that strikes fear in the heart of every rancher.

I pulled into my driveway and saw smoke and flames. A grass fire, right there by our front gate. It was small - it had probably started less than 2 minutes ago. I pulled out my cell phone to alert my husband - and then saw him running down the driveway with a shovel, and dragging garden hoses.

"CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!" He yells.

I call. The operator says she'll dispatch someone. I thank her - beg them to hurry - and hang up.

I start using the shovel, digging up dirt and throwing it on the small patches of flames. He starts spraying what he can get to. Although our road is very quiet with little traffic, those that do drive by stop to help. One gentleman is beating the flames with a sweatshirt. But it's getting away from us, and spreading like crazy.

The fire department had a response time of 15 minutes. It felt like 15 years. We were doing everything we could, and actually got alot of it under control before the FD got there. Thank God there was little to no wind. It could have been so much worse, as it was moving into a pasture we haven't grazed off yet - so the tall grass would have gone up immediately.

I would say that at least half of the people in town smoke. I would bet money that this fire started as a result of some idiot throwing a cigarette butt out the window. I see it happen all the time.

The moral of my post is this: If you smoke, or you know someone who does, please don't throw your cigarette butts out the window. Please.

Foodie Tuesday: Baked Lemon Pasta

Tue, 7 Jul 2009 10:07:25 -0400

This is a recipe I stole from another blog, the Pioneer Woman. Her recipes are incredible and her photography is to so vivid....I'm just sayin'. I didn't want anyone to miss out on this.

http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2009/05/baked-lemon-pasta/

1 pound thin spaghetti
1/2 stick (4 tablespoons) butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
Juice of 1 lemon
Zest of 1 lemon
2 cups sour cream
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, more to taste if desired
Plenty of grated Parmesan cheese
Flat leaf parsley, chopped
Extra lemon juice

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Cook spaghetti until al dente.
In a skillet, melt butter with olive oil over LOW HEAT.
When butter is melted, add minced garlic.
Squeeze lemon juice into the pan. Turn off heat.
Add sour cream and stir mixture together. Add lemon zest and salt. Taste, then add more salt if necessary.
Pour mixture over drained spaghetti and stir together, then pour spaghetti into an oven safe dish.
Bake, covered, for 15 minutes. Then remove foil and bake for an additional 7 to 10 minutes. (Don’t bake too long or the pasta will dry out.)
When you remove it from the oven, squeeze a little more lemon juice over the top.
Top generously with Parmesan cheese, then chopped parsley.
Give it a final squeeze of lemon juice at the end.

Serve with crusty French bread and a simple green salad.