Some good news, we'll take it!

Apparantly the Hospital's equipment is markedly better than our local Lab's and the new resonances show the tumour to be smaller than originally thought. This is very good news as it makes a difference in the type of surgery that is done.

Surgery is on Tuesday, and one week later the dreaded pathology report.
*fingers crossed, candles lit & negativity banished*

Tim C.

Is there ever a good time to say goodbye to a young person full of promise?

I am so glad my father failed his 3rd and final road test or it might have been him that hit this young man and cut short his life. As it is, some other 70 something has to live with it.

Tim was a vibrant young man, killed doing something he loved - longboarding.

Too soon. Way too soon.


Remembering Nick Drake

If you do not know of Nick Drake, take a moment to acquaint yourself with his work.
Nick Drake

There is a wonderful documentary airing on BBC this week.
Take the time to listen.
I think they leave the link up for seven days but dont wait.
Listen now. If my link acts up click off this page... http://www.bbc.co.uk/6music/shows/inthearchive/?focuswin
Tomorrow part 2 will be up.

I commemorate his passing each Nov 25th but this year I am a bit early because of the radio documentary.


Two shots of happy. One shot of sad.

After reading on Neil Gaimans blog that Jim Rigney (aka Robert Jordan) passed on, I was struck by the timing. September is indeed cruel this year.

How much nicer to read there about the Beowulf trailer. The second one!
Woohoo. Another thing to look forward to!

The other shot of happy is this:

(*insert your joy here)

Cancer, bloody cancer

My own cancer is at bay with more LEEPing and lasering and slice and dicing and all this without the benefit of a boyfriend to hold me and tell me all is well! Well, bugger the cancer anyway. It aint mine that is the worry, it is my best friend.

Once a Doctor says that dreaded c-word, the patient tends not to hear anything else as in their head a tape is playing.... Cancer, cancer cancer cancer. That is why they recommend you take a friend. We heard today that DREADED word. Yes, it is breast cancer. Now her choice is a surgical option of either lumpectomy or mastectomy.... but the part that she is staggered by is the radiation followup. She will be in Victoria for 15 treatments. Five a week for three weeks. Tuesday we go again for the last pre-microsurgeries Xray and consult.

My own date came and went. I went by myself because the only people I could ask are ex-husbands and elderly parents....
But I am strong in some key ways. I get mad and the anger propells me forward. My friend is more fragile and decidedly not a blogger or blog reader. I am ranting because I have paid my debt to cancer if debt it be. I want it to leave me alone now. And my friends too.

So we go.
In all honesty I would rather it were me than her. She has three beautiful daughters to raise.
Bloody cancer.



Sept 20th 1997

It was ten years ago today that my mother died.
It was a wretched time.
Her illness was awful in its wasting ways. She went kicking and screaming and lived 14 months longer than any team of Doctors believed possible. It werent pretty.

After Mom died, one by one we all fell apart.
In my case, after examining my life exhaustedly, I cast my lot in with a man I loved.
I loved him unlike any other person in my life. It was not the conventional romance, but a decade of longing and loving. I forgave him anything, permitted him everything and ultimately, watched as he walked away from me without a backwards glance.

Grief and loss. Twin themes.

It has been a strange ten years without a mother.
I have had to be companion, daughter and guardian angel for my father.
I long for the days of being just the daughter.

As I lay the flowers at Moms grave I will remember her for her secret legacy. Quiet charitable acts. I never knew about them until after her funeral when person after person came to me to tell me of her good works. She made them promise not to tell.

My mother was a warrior. Not gentle but fierce as Bodaciea.
She never had the struggles I have, but her own battles were epic. Somehow I think she emerged ever the champion.

One thing about Mom, -- she always commemmorated events.
So happy ten years in Heaven Mom.



Padraic Kennedy, FGA, GG

Sometimes you meet people who love life. Sometimes you find people who love words. -and- there are those who have such a love of both they spontaneously break into soliloquies verbose.
This then was Padraic.

We met at work. Padraic was the new Gemmologist. He had the very esteemed double degree that separates the sheep from the shorn. Padraic knew his stuff. He had to answer every question with a thousands words or more. He tried to fit in, he really did, but in an industry where speed is of the essence he really was a stand-out.

One night we went for appies and then back to his place for wine. He had the most amazing rental on the southern border of Chinatown. Padraic occupied the top floor of an ancient home. The ceilings were 12 feet high at their lowest which was a good thing as he had shelves of books everywhere, floor to ceiling. He lent me a book on Garbo (which I still have).

I had blue and pink hair and he was as straight as an arrow. For some reason it amused him to read me his long pedantic love poetry for his lost wife, and for an even odder reason it amused me to hear it. I used to think to myself: "No wonder she bloody left. The guy never shuts up."
Hey, I never said I was a nice person back then. I was a good person. Quite a different thing entirely.

I had heard that one of my co-workers from that time dropped dead at home suddenly. I thought it was Darren,(who used to dress up as Sherlock Holmes and take the bus to work).
It was just recently that I found out it was Padraic. To say it floored me is an understatement.

Now it is me sitting pedantically writing about lost loves and life.
I hope he looks down with a laugh and wonders when I will shut up.

I pulled down a book to read today and there was his signature.
Ah, Padraic. They were good times.


Late Summer Loverlies

mmm warm sunshine without the toxic heat. The winds are low and soothing; the skies blue and the touristas mostly gone! Woo Hoo!

It's paradise.
And I live here.


Downsides..... in Paradise

Perhaps I am slow on the uptake.
I did notice the markers in the concrete at the top of the street. I did notice that the concrete sidemarkers had been removed. The surveyers caught my attention. Yes, each detail was in my head but the meaning of the whole eluded me until....

7am.... my day off. Bang bang bang rumble bang.
Right til 6pm.

The inevitable yet again up close in my personal space.
The large and empty lot at the top of the street that once was industrial has been rezoned Residential (multi-family). So..... where noone lived will become 265 homes.
265. At the top of my street. 2 long blocks away.

There are currently 22 residential dwellings in this space including the (once) empty area.
Of the 22, 14 are in my estate (slash townhomes) . The road is being prepped for this upcoming change. Sewers, electrical, and yadda yadda bloody buggery yadda.


Everyone in Paradise wants to make MEGAbux. Noone wants to just *be* everyone wants to *maxx*. Yes it is inevitable, but golly it is sad to live through. Does every scrap of land have to be built on now? We are headed for a Los Angeleization of paradise.

I look down my hill to the water. It is about one mile away. I used to look up to the mountain.
Now I look at diggers and dump trucks.

Radio Boxes & Cosmic Checks and Balances

I awakened from the best single sleep I have enjoyed in years. Refreshed and happy and completely attuned to the wonderful world we inhabit. The day stretched out with promises unclaimed and like a little Mario I jumped up to touch every single one. The prizes glittered in my hands.

Seven clients were on my roster. Each one had some very nice thing to say as I departed. One, a 97 year old stodgy English woman, quite uncharacteristically laughed as she thanked me. Heaven on earth, as I saw the fruits of my labour ripened and sweet. The harvest was bountiful.

Now to the counterweights.
I had agreed to care for my parents dog whilst a wee trip was in the offing. Three days of the yappiest poodle ever highly bred, - a 4 pound menace to the eardrums. This dog is the apple of both my fathers. and my eldest siblings eye. Same eye, shared.
Every Thursday, faithfully comes sister 1, to care for the dog (and dad). Dad care involves med checks and simple meals. Dog care involved 5 or 6 walks a day, being carried around on her shoulder and lots of special treats. It is rather unseemly.

Our father has a pension hefty enough to care for extras such as dog-walkers, ex-wifes and new cars he cannot drive. His greatest challenge is to reach out and do things for himself. It is important that he maintain his independance. But no. In families like ours, someone always saves him. meh.

So I arrive to get the little menace and there is my sister who took an extra day off because she did not want the dog to be alone for 3 hours. (sigh) And on and on goes the advice and tips, as I am trying to register for an online semester of learning.

Radio boxes everywhere. I really am computer savvie, really I am. I am good at the human/machine interface after 17 years of this. It took, finally. But that damned background noise. Blah blah buggery blah.

So it was a wonderful day. A fabulous day. A day of late summer sunshine and roses.
And the registration somehow managed to leave off all the Core academics but included German and Cadets. Yes, Cadets. - - - cough


A Kindred Spirit - - - and my new addiction

My days are done by rote. I am a willing slave to routine. The need for peace in my head has brought my afternoons into a new pattern that contains my new addiction.


Listening to the "7th Dimension" I stumbled across a kindred spirit.
William Hope Hodgson. The dramatization of his "House on the Borderland"
has elements of my active dream life. I wonder if Hodgson had a head injury as a child?
Strange to find someone from my tribe in an audio story.

The story contains those things that I dream so strongly - the absence of time, the disassociation from the corporeal, the awareness of a presence not me. Gave me the creeps it did!

If Hodgson had not died in the first world war he would still be too olde for me to connect with sans fiction. I would have enjoyed speaking with him. Not many people can put into text that strange twilight world so few admit to occupying.


Bugger the Familes, Ask the Damned Client

This WAS my rant about families of clients.

Since we have similar issues in my own family with other siblings not me treating the paid help less than thankfully, graciously, and GRATEFULly, I shall consider the title of this post self explanatory.

Small life, small day - absolute bliss

The Work Day

04:30 open one eye and check the time. Yup too early.
05:30 Cuddle doggie and walk doggie
06:00 Oatmeal and mocha
07:00 - 14:00 work no break
14:30 Eat a big huge meal
15:00 Enter the sanctuary of my wonderful room
16:00 BBC7 and the seventh dimension and other dramas
19:00 Walk doggie
20:00 Lovely bath and book
20:45 zzzzz


The Waiting Game


The 6 month check up is now in the past.
My specialist assures me things look very good and just in case only, he took a couple of biopsies.
Strangely, I did not feel as badly this time altho I have been lounging about shamelessly since.

So good news all round.


Grey September

This weekend is summers last hurrah. Back to school on Tuesday for the kidlets and goodbye to the tourists. This is a holiday of course. Labour Day weekend. And I am labouring.

The beach is grey and quiet. The tide gently nears the shore. An abondoned lawn chair still sits on the float now beached. My lonely heron sit on the tide marker post. I realise that cranes and herons are different birds but I am fairly certain this is a heron. As a runner pelst the sands, shoes in hand, my bird flies away.

It is 7:15 and the morning regulars pull into the lot by the change rooms. The affluent dog walkers who visit while their dogs strain at the leash, alas, no walk just a chat. These particular regulars all drive 100 thousand dollar vehicles. They may be in the sunset years but they arent immune to the shiny thing bug. Several of their luxury SUVs are overly gold-plated. The Octogenarian bling.

Today I am close enough that they look over to me and strain to read my visible name-tag. They wonder why I come and go in these spurts. Simple, Watson. Early morning weekend and holiday visits are fraught with a built-in hazard. NOONE wants to see Community Health at & am. Or 8am for that matter. My regular assignments this day these times are not pleased. So I come back to my beach.

I know that on my next assignment I am lucky to have my quiet helper. The gentlest of the Workers has the uncanny habit of seeming slightly dense altho he is very caring and capable.
The usual helper I get there is a stocky woman of bad attitude who broadcasts her distaste through her body language. Today's helper is possessed of that great trait which cannot be trained nor bought - the trait learned only by the willing.

More dogwalkers breeze by. The average age on the boardwalk this morning is 75. They walk, I sit but we both heal the spirit.


- Apology

Alas the shiny thing blog still be not linked here.