I haven't been myself lately...

I've been the "Sick Woman of Squirrel Manor". As luck would have it the same day I found out about the new treatment for my autoimmune disorder was the same day I also found out I had pyelonephritis. Pyelonephritis, besides making one's kidneys hurt like hell makes one very tired, and therefore, not much inclined to write anything.

Unable to sit at the computer to write, I filled my time actually reading, fininshing a book I started awhile back, "Schulz", by David Michaelis. I discovered I had a lot in common with Sparky Schulz; we're both Norwegian/German; both depressed; both have Halvorson relatives somewhere in Minnesota, so we may even be related...

I learned he incorporated a lot of his own life into the strip---somehow, that had never occured to me. I always thought of the "Peanuts" characters existing in their own little world. (Also learned the title was someone else's idea, and for a long time, he hated it.) He worked in his studio about 12-14 hours a day, which probably helped him to become a very good cartoonist, but cost him in his personal relationships.

His wife once suggested he see a psychiatrist; he claimed he never could because it would "cost him his talent." And poor Charlie Brown---Schulz always said he would never get to kick that football.

Which is why I was so caught up the the Super Bowl Coke commercial this past Sunday. Stewie (from "Family Guy") and Underdog giant balloons fighting over a Coca-Cola balloon, only to have Good Ole Charlie Brown emerge at the last minute to win the prize! And no Lucy in sight to yank it away at the last minute. I think Sparky would've approved.

CURSE OF THE CAT PEOPLE

(Powder Lomax, feline companion of my esteemed collegue, Elisabeth Lomax, looks down on my activies with disgust...)

I had my new kitty declawed this week.

I also had her spayed, but that isn't what's bothering me. I was always adamantly on the "say no to declawing" side. Everything I ever read about it sounded so cruel. "What's a few mangled sofas?," I'd think to myself.

Then I met my S/O, who had always declawed her cats, and wondered why I allowed mine to rip upholstery with such reckless abandon. The "discussion" could've gone on forever, but a couple of weeks ago some problematic issues dawned on us that seemed to have only one logical solution.

Our cats are fairly young, and are more than a little playful---they are extremely rambunctious. They chase each other at high rates of "cat-speed" throughout the house several times a day. A few weeks ago, during one high speed chase, kitty #1 attempted to land on the arm of the sofa. Coincidentally, my arm was also there. Kitty #1 grounded her landing by digging her claws in ...my arm. She ripped a 1x1 inch gash in my wrist, which is now turning into a lovely keloid scar. That one incidence was not so bad, but then we had a couple of close calls with baby Molly, and I'm afraid that sealed the cats' fate.

Kitty #3 (Sabrina) is back and seems okay, despite her inability to jump up on anything. I have been told that effect will be short lived. But I look at her little paws and think "What else could I do? Have happy cats, but a scarred up grandchild?"

Kitty #2 goes under the knife next week---must buy extra tuna to assuage the guilt....

Happy Birthday, Alice

She was born in Ecuador in 1926. Her father worked there briefly, for the U.S. government. He delivered her, as the doctor that showed up was too drunk to do so.

Some months later, the family returned to New York, where she contracted encephalitis, and was in a coma for 9 months. This caused a slight loss of use in her left arm and an even slighter speech affect that mellowed over time. When she recovered, she spent much of her time in private schools, or living with her grandparents while her parents travelled the world. In college, she and her sister lived with the mother's cousin's family, a fact that would not be very remarkable except that her mother's cousin was Eleanor Roosevelt, and they lived in the White House. She even dated Mickey Rooney.

At age 19, she rebelled and broke with them all, dropping out of school to marry a handsome sailor she met at a U.S.O. dance. The young couple moved in with his parents, and the next year she gave birth to a daughter, also named Alice. They moved to one of the first homes buit in Levittown, N.Y., where two little brothers and another sister were also born.

When she was 25, she dealt with the illnes and death of her oldest daughter , from a brain tumor. Once again, she became close to her parents and siblings, only to lose her youngest sister to a mental institution, and her mother to cancer. But she held her family together, through moves to California, to Missouri, to New York, and finally settling in Missouri for good. While in California, she had a "change of life " baby, another son.

Her husband died of a heart attack in 1978; her second son died in 2003 of the same thing, at almost the same age. She helped me to raise my children while I worked and went to college, trying to make a better life for them. She gave both my daughters a safe haven at different times while they were rebelling against their father and me. She's 81 years old, and still mows her own lawn, walks 4 miles a day, and avidly follows professional tennis and argues with me periodically about politics. She was once my mother-in-law, but is always my friend.

Happy Birthday, Alice.

The Brain and I

I'm a little worried about my brain.

I just read this article in December 26th's New York Times: "Finding Alzheimer's Before A Mind Fails" by Denise Grady. In this article, Ms Grady reveals that for years, doctors thought Alziemer's struck it's victims suddenly in old age, when in fact, the disease starts many years before. Some doctors think people with Alzheimer's may have always had it, growing slowly in their brains throughout their lives. There are those that think Alzheimer's is the real culprit behind learning disorders, behavior and memory problems.



My interest in this disease is not unselfish. My great-grandfather, Caspar Fergen became "senile" in his elder years, as did his father before him. His daughter, my grandmother, Kathryn, was also given this diagnosis, which was later re-diagnosed as Alzhiemers. Her son, my father, Vincent, is currently in the throes of the disease. To paraphrase the old saying, "Alzhiemer's doesn't run in my family; it gallops."


The current theory is that Alzheimer's may be a chronic condition in which changes begin in mid- life, or even earlier. Could this be the explanation as to why some things are so difficult for me to learn and remember, while others are aquired easily? Why my memory is so peristantly poor that I have to keep a notebook to keep dates, events and names straight (and even that is insufficient?). Why do I have such bad mobility problems, and no one can seem to agree on what is causing them?

Most scientists believe the only hope of treating Alzheimer's is detecting the disease early and finding treatments to halt it before the brain damage spreads. They would like to intervene even sooner, by identitfying any risk factors, even treating patients preventively if possible.

Unfortunately, the current practice of not diagnosing patients until symptoms develop and become severe is the norm, and by then it is already too late to rescue the brain from damage. There are drugs now being used to slow the progress in some, but do nothing to halt the underlying disease. Experiments are underway to find out if drugs or a vaccine could be used to remove the amyloid plaques that build up in the brains of Alzheimer's patients; the hope is this could stop the progress of the disease.

I'll admit it---this disease is my biggest fear. It killed my grandmother. Failing any upcoming advances in medical science, my father will die from it. And I may die from it--and perhaps my brother. There's something I see in the two of us that I don't see in my other siblings. (Thank God, he doesn't read my blog.)

I know we don't get to pick how we die, but I don't want my Dad's life to end this way. I don't want him to wake up one more morning in a fog of confusion , incontinent, mute and bedridden, completely dependent on others. And yes, I don't want that to happen to me, either. But I may not have much of a choice in the matter.

Happy Boxing Day

Yeah, yeah, I know----it's not that kind of boxing. But come to think of it, it sometimes feels that way when one attempts to brave the stores once more to exchange something. I have a snowsuit I need to exchange for a smaller size (like all good grandmothers, I bought it a little too big), but I don't have the stamina to face the chaos today. Perhaps in a couple of days, when things calm down, and S/O is back from Texas. We've rescheduled our Christmas for Friday, when she comes home. Which I am looking forward to with baited breath---this has been our first Christmas apart, and it's been driving me crazy! But really, how could I miss Baby's First Christmas? Not to mention I had to work.

Note to self: Find a job this year with benefits and major holidays off. I'm sick of working Christmas.

News From The Frozen Tundra

Sorry it's been so long since my last post; there's been a lot of drama surrounding our little baby which has taken a good deal of my time. I've also been babysitting, which is way harder than I remember. Don't get me wrong---I loved it, and I love her. But there's a reason 52 year olds should not have babies...

And then came the ice. Then more ice. Then snow. And more snow. We were stuck in the apartment for 2 days, and no sun for a week, so my SAD went into overdrive.

At least my power stayed on throughout---many around me were not so lucky. Some folks in outlying areas won't have power for another two weeks. That means after Christmas.

I'm going to borrow an idea from my friends at Bitch Phd, and list my Christmas wishes here.
World peace and an end to hunger are a given.




What I Want For Christmas:

1. A REAL job (that means with benefits--unlike the one I have now).

2. A real job for my daughter, preferably with onsite daycare.

3. A major attitude adjustment for grandbaby's daddy.

4. One more day with my Dad, where he remembers.

5. All those people out there to get their power back.

What would you like for Christmas, girls and boys?

ISN'T SHE LOVELY?

Here she is---Molly Alice O'Roark ,

all 9lbs., 8 oz,

and 21 & 1/2 inches of her.

I know it's been a long time since I posted, but it's been a long time to get these pictures.

I heard a saying once that goes something like this;"A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on."

I totally agree.