PART V
8/24/2010 Monday:
Slept well, up about 7:00… Pig ‘n’ Pancake (again), Steve got the Western Omelet (again), I opted for a healthy breakfast of buckwheat pancakes… well perhaps it would have been a healthy breakfast had I not ate all fourteen dozen of them… Rolled out of the restaurant and had to put an extender on the seatbelt of Magda… should we had gotten into a collision that morning, my airbag probably wouldn’t even be able to deploy… We headed out to Hug Point, our absolutely favorite beach on the Oregon coast… there’s this nifty little waterfall there which we discovered on our honeymoon 10 years ago… wait a second, there’s no waterfall here… WTF?!?! Could we have gone to the wrong beach? Impossible! Well, maybe, we are the same two people who despite cramming our SUV with so many incidental items it became impossible to fit purloined Fire Sauce from Taco Bell in the glove compartment, forgot necessities such as maps… On to the next beach, nope, not there either… we did go to Oregon for our honeymoon, right? I mean, I have a picture of us standing in front of the fricking thing… Hmmmm… Curious indeed! Drove to Steve’s “pondering spot,” which is an overlook with a stunning view… either he didn’t have a lot to ponder, or it was too warm as we didn’t tarry long. Back to town meandering in & out of shops with my wallet meandering & out of my purse. I bought Steve a silver charm of Haystack Rock which he liked so well, he put it on his chain right away. Bon! How generous you are! How thoughtful! How sweet! How full of shit! I’m no dummy – this helped soften the blow of the many receipts for my little trinkets…
8/25/2010 Tuesday:
Woke ‘bout 7:00 again, P ‘n’ P again, Western Omelet again (I told Mr. F that we should suggest they change the name of the Western Omelet to “The Steve”), daredevil that I am, I ordered the veggie omelet that came with the most delicious muffin I’ve ever tasted in my life… next stop: Mt. Saint Helens (no apostrophe, I checked)… Nice drive, I fell asleep for about 40 minutes… when I awoke Steve entertained me with the story of the psycho in the white SUV “who needs to get his ass kicked”… now, understand most of the road is one lane 55 mph, with the occasional passing lane; these are twisty, windy mountain roads so ya really need to be alert, courageous, and justthismuch nuts to pass anyway… so there’s this guy in a white SUV that is going like 35 mph and when they’d come to one of the places where Steve (and any number of cars behind him) could pass, white SUV guy speeds up to like 90… after several minutes of this and knowing we were miles from a hospital should he actually suffer that stroke he felt on the verge of, Steve pushed Magda to her maximum velocity and finally passed the guy… next time you see him, ask Steve for the oral version of this story, I just can’t do it justice. We met a nice couple from Portland at the St. Helens Visitor’s Center who had a darling cocker spaniel named Betty. They informed us that dogs are not allowed at the St. Helens sight… Bummer! Sarah would have to stay in the car, no big deal to her as she’s not all that into history and we were counting on the temperature dropping as we got to higher elevations… 45 minutes and about 45 hundred feet later it was still close to 90 outside… no shade in the ginormous parking lot either. Oh well! I dropped Steve off as he is our official photographer (there’s not one photo of him in the 16 thousand pictures of our vacation, not even one) while Miss Bean and I drove around… from what I could see, it is pretty cool, volcano smoking and all. I drove back and stopped at the Dairy Queen in Astoria for Blizzards… Steve asked me if I’d be able to eat my Blizzard and drive at the same time, imagine! I’m the gal who used to operate a 5 speed with 3 dogs on my lap while simultaneously smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee… Blizzard & driving? Bush league! Took a walk up to Haystack to give poor Sarah some freedom after being cooped up in the car all day and to walk off that Blizzard, but judging by the size of my thighs in the vacation photos, I clearly should have kept walking…
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
S A B A S M E A
PART IV
Monday, 8/28/10
Good night’s sleep, even Steve… we didn’t get out of bed until 7:00 am, an almost unheard of, decadent time to awaken… Our room is beginning to grow on Steve as the shower is awesome… I think it has something to do with the decorative tiles but he claims it’s more of a water flow thing… whatev. Pig ‘n’ Pancake is a local restaurant that serves breakfast and lunch only and it is a tradition that we go there for breakfast when in Cannon Beach… we tuck Sarah in her carrier in the car and walk in… I order the veggie skillet and Steve opts for the Western Omelet… in Oregon there is no meat in a Western Omelet… they’re so enlightened up north! Off to Ecola State Park where you’ll be able to visit our ashes once we die, in case you’re into that kind of thing… it’s a most beautiful park with sweeping vistas (yes, I just said “sweeping vistas”) of the ocean… it’s gorgeous, absolutely… I’m admittedly not very well traveled but it’s hecka pretty, really… the fee to get in is $5.00 and it’s an honor system thing as there is no attendant on duty… they take credit cards now… ‘seems kind of out-of-place, this modern convenience in a place that looks almost prehistoric… huge trees (even bigger than that lamp in our room), ferns as big as the lamp shade of that lamp in our room, and as we are all about tradition, I always look out the window during the drive into the heart of the park and say, “Sasquatch!” ‘Cuz if there’s anywhere in the lower 48 states your likely to spy the elusive critter, it surely would be here… the woods are sooooooo dense… it’s really a lovely drive, made all the more beautiful by the trees, dappled sunlight, (how often does one get to use “sweeping vistas” AND “dappled sunlight” in a day? Not very damn often, but I digress), and no music! Blessed, blessed silence, broken only by my occasional Sasquatch (!) sightings… Steve takes his obligatory one million pictures as the one million he has at home apparently are not enough but I keep this to myself as even though I have enough shoes to last three lifetimes, I know at some point in the future, I’ll want more.
Later that day: We went back to town to lie on the beach. Steve decides a beach umbrella is just the ticket for he (who I’ve long suspected is part vampire) and Sarah… the Oregon coast is having spectacular weather: Sunny and Warm (note the capital letters)… so a beach umbrella does sound like a good idea – you’d think so but cruel fate had something else in store for my white, white husband… We took a walk to Mariners Market, the local grocery/sundries/caramel (or is it carmel?) store where he purchased a really cute one with these 3 matching bags you’re supposed to fill with sand to keep it from blowing away… first we settle ourselves on the private deck of the hotel, reserved exclusively for guests only or anyone clever enough to reach around and open the gate… it’s very nice with REAL Adirondack chairs and tables (but sadly, no ashtrays)… of course the umbrella is not cooperating as there is no sand on the deck with which to fill those three bags… no problem! Let’s go on the beach (where I can smoke) and put those cool bags to use! Blanket laid, we settle down for a nice, relaxing afternoon… Fast forward to 3 seconds later and “Whooosh!” Our fancy new umbrella is tumbling down the sand towards Haystack Rock, a mere mile or so down the beach… Steve goes running after it, retrieves it, all the while using those colorful expressions you might hear when watching a rerun of The Sopranos and plants it all the more firmly in the sand… Fast forward five seconds and “Whooosh!” it takes another tumble… Steve catches it before it gets too far, and starts to close it up, peppering the sea air with language that would make any sailor proud… “Here, let me try,” I suggest, knowing full well of my superiority at these things which require patience and woman’s touch… Lovingly, with great care and precision, I refill the bags, meticulously placing them just so, precisely anchoring the umbrella itself, confident it would hold… You know where this is going, right? Fast forward to seven seconds later when the whole damn thing turned inside out and ripped in three places…. More swear words from Steve, (I think I actually saw a few seamen blush) as he scoops up Sarah and announces he’s going back to the room… I stayed on the beach, sans shade, smoked cigarettes and took a nap… the umbrella is now in a landfill in Oregon I’m sure, but we still have the 3 bags… I know there’s no earthly reason to keep them, but somehow just the sight of them makes me giggle.
Monday, 8/28/10
Good night’s sleep, even Steve… we didn’t get out of bed until 7:00 am, an almost unheard of, decadent time to awaken… Our room is beginning to grow on Steve as the shower is awesome… I think it has something to do with the decorative tiles but he claims it’s more of a water flow thing… whatev. Pig ‘n’ Pancake is a local restaurant that serves breakfast and lunch only and it is a tradition that we go there for breakfast when in Cannon Beach… we tuck Sarah in her carrier in the car and walk in… I order the veggie skillet and Steve opts for the Western Omelet… in Oregon there is no meat in a Western Omelet… they’re so enlightened up north! Off to Ecola State Park where you’ll be able to visit our ashes once we die, in case you’re into that kind of thing… it’s a most beautiful park with sweeping vistas (yes, I just said “sweeping vistas”) of the ocean… it’s gorgeous, absolutely… I’m admittedly not very well traveled but it’s hecka pretty, really… the fee to get in is $5.00 and it’s an honor system thing as there is no attendant on duty… they take credit cards now… ‘seems kind of out-of-place, this modern convenience in a place that looks almost prehistoric… huge trees (even bigger than that lamp in our room), ferns as big as the lamp shade of that lamp in our room, and as we are all about tradition, I always look out the window during the drive into the heart of the park and say, “Sasquatch!” ‘Cuz if there’s anywhere in the lower 48 states your likely to spy the elusive critter, it surely would be here… the woods are sooooooo dense… it’s really a lovely drive, made all the more beautiful by the trees, dappled sunlight, (how often does one get to use “sweeping vistas” AND “dappled sunlight” in a day? Not very damn often, but I digress), and no music! Blessed, blessed silence, broken only by my occasional Sasquatch (!) sightings… Steve takes his obligatory one million pictures as the one million he has at home apparently are not enough but I keep this to myself as even though I have enough shoes to last three lifetimes, I know at some point in the future, I’ll want more.
Later that day: We went back to town to lie on the beach. Steve decides a beach umbrella is just the ticket for he (who I’ve long suspected is part vampire) and Sarah… the Oregon coast is having spectacular weather: Sunny and Warm (note the capital letters)… so a beach umbrella does sound like a good idea – you’d think so but cruel fate had something else in store for my white, white husband… We took a walk to Mariners Market, the local grocery/sundries/caramel (or is it carmel?) store where he purchased a really cute one with these 3 matching bags you’re supposed to fill with sand to keep it from blowing away… first we settle ourselves on the private deck of the hotel, reserved exclusively for guests only or anyone clever enough to reach around and open the gate… it’s very nice with REAL Adirondack chairs and tables (but sadly, no ashtrays)… of course the umbrella is not cooperating as there is no sand on the deck with which to fill those three bags… no problem! Let’s go on the beach (where I can smoke) and put those cool bags to use! Blanket laid, we settle down for a nice, relaxing afternoon… Fast forward to 3 seconds later and “Whooosh!” Our fancy new umbrella is tumbling down the sand towards Haystack Rock, a mere mile or so down the beach… Steve goes running after it, retrieves it, all the while using those colorful expressions you might hear when watching a rerun of The Sopranos and plants it all the more firmly in the sand… Fast forward five seconds and “Whooosh!” it takes another tumble… Steve catches it before it gets too far, and starts to close it up, peppering the sea air with language that would make any sailor proud… “Here, let me try,” I suggest, knowing full well of my superiority at these things which require patience and woman’s touch… Lovingly, with great care and precision, I refill the bags, meticulously placing them just so, precisely anchoring the umbrella itself, confident it would hold… You know where this is going, right? Fast forward to seven seconds later when the whole damn thing turned inside out and ripped in three places…. More swear words from Steve, (I think I actually saw a few seamen blush) as he scoops up Sarah and announces he’s going back to the room… I stayed on the beach, sans shade, smoked cigarettes and took a nap… the umbrella is now in a landfill in Oregon I’m sure, but we still have the 3 bags… I know there’s no earthly reason to keep them, but somehow just the sight of them makes me giggle.
Steve and Bon and Sarah's Most Excellent Adventure... the saga continues
PART III
8/23/10
Sometime in the afternoon:
So Jill apparently has an occasional problem with right and left but Cannon Beach is like, this big, so the hotel wasn’t that difficult to locate… we find out that “ocean view” is NOT the same as “ocean front.” Mr. Flowers is not happy… we walk in the room to which I exclaim, “I love it!” Steve’s response: “I hate it!” It’s a great room really: very nice bathroom with decorative sea glass type tiles, nice sized refrigerator, microwave, fireplace, closets, sofa, table & chairs, bed of course, and the BIGGEST lamp I have ever seen in my life: the thing stands like 9 feet tall and has a shade the size of Orson Wells… what’s truly hilarious about it though, is it has like a 3-watt bulb… my glow-in-the-dark rosary emits more light… I try to lighten the mood by pointing out the classy tile in the bathroom, the fact that we can see the ocean, (“f**king street!”) and of course the giant lamp… he’s having none of it… A foul mood that won’t even be softened by the gargantuan floor lamp: Clearly, I have my work cut out for me… “You need a walk on the beach, Mr. F… get some negative ions to chase away your grumpiness…” So, off we go… we walked up to Haystack Rock and met all kinds of other puppies, all whom were better behaved than Sarah, but none cuter… she’s developed this interesting way of walking: zigzagging in front, in back, port and starboard… it’s like she’s avoiding guerrilla gunfire from a helicopter… we see many starfish (or do you call them “sea stars”?), anemone, and all types of birds… I casually mention to Steve that, “Haystack Rock is like a regular bird sanctuary!” He looks at me nonplussed and says, “It IS a bird sanctuary…” Oh! Duh! That (seemingly) innocent, albeit dim statement lifted Mr. Flowers’ mood… nothing like a silly, yet attractive wife to put a smile on my man’s face… back to our ocean view (not ocean FRONT) room for a healthy dinner of corn chips and salsa… Early to bed… we’re spent!
8/23/10
Sometime in the afternoon:
So Jill apparently has an occasional problem with right and left but Cannon Beach is like, this big, so the hotel wasn’t that difficult to locate… we find out that “ocean view” is NOT the same as “ocean front.” Mr. Flowers is not happy… we walk in the room to which I exclaim, “I love it!” Steve’s response: “I hate it!” It’s a great room really: very nice bathroom with decorative sea glass type tiles, nice sized refrigerator, microwave, fireplace, closets, sofa, table & chairs, bed of course, and the BIGGEST lamp I have ever seen in my life: the thing stands like 9 feet tall and has a shade the size of Orson Wells… what’s truly hilarious about it though, is it has like a 3-watt bulb… my glow-in-the-dark rosary emits more light… I try to lighten the mood by pointing out the classy tile in the bathroom, the fact that we can see the ocean, (“f**king street!”) and of course the giant lamp… he’s having none of it… A foul mood that won’t even be softened by the gargantuan floor lamp: Clearly, I have my work cut out for me… “You need a walk on the beach, Mr. F… get some negative ions to chase away your grumpiness…” So, off we go… we walked up to Haystack Rock and met all kinds of other puppies, all whom were better behaved than Sarah, but none cuter… she’s developed this interesting way of walking: zigzagging in front, in back, port and starboard… it’s like she’s avoiding guerrilla gunfire from a helicopter… we see many starfish (or do you call them “sea stars”?), anemone, and all types of birds… I casually mention to Steve that, “Haystack Rock is like a regular bird sanctuary!” He looks at me nonplussed and says, “It IS a bird sanctuary…” Oh! Duh! That (seemingly) innocent, albeit dim statement lifted Mr. Flowers’ mood… nothing like a silly, yet attractive wife to put a smile on my man’s face… back to our ocean view (not ocean FRONT) room for a healthy dinner of corn chips and salsa… Early to bed… we’re spent!
Monday, August 30, 2010
Steve and Bon and Sarah's Most Excellent Adventure, Part II
8/23/10, Sunday
8:53 am: Sarah & I slept well, Steve not so much… Leisurely morning, shower then continental breakfast provided by the hotel… now we need an Oregon map. Steve PROMISES to stop at the first gas station to get me one…
9:00 am: Cannon Beach here we come!
9:38 am: Okay, we’ve passed like a hundred gas stations and we still haven’t stopped – Ha-rumph! I had to pee so we stopped at a Chevron station… back on the highway and that’s when we remembered the map… Gawd, we’re too stupid to be adults… Stopped again like 2 minutes later for both Oregon and Washington maps… okay, NOW I can relax… ate Cracker Jack while listening to Emerson Lake and Palmer which prompted me to call my brother Michael… the listening to ELP prompted me to call Mike, the eating Cracker Jack just pissed me off as they give you like 3 peanuts and the prizes suck! My brother & I had an in-depth discussion about the demoralization of Cracker Jack. We stopped at a rest stop and twelve ounces of Cracker Jack crumbs fell off my boobs, my face, my hair, and shorts… I opened the bottom of my shirt and more pieces fell out… thank God! I thought perhaps those irregularly fashioned lumps were my cancer coming back in the form of popcorn shaped tumors…
Back on the road listening to Epica… it’s a band Steve likes, me not so much… it’s too bad I don’t still drink, we could make a drinking game where you gotta do a shot every time the guy in the bad growls… despite the continental breakfast and Cracker Jack, I’m getting hungry… DRINK! Only 24 miles to Salem… DRINK! It’s hecka cloudy here, I commented. Steve says no, it’s (DRINK) always cloudy… Jumping out this car window to escape this (DRINK) “music” doesn’t sound like too bad of an option (DRINK) about now… The next song requires either a bigger shot glass or an IV liquor drip… F**K you, Galante was Steve’s comment when I read him (giggling) this portion of my journal… DRINK!
Weird, I paid only $2.00 for the CA map, even though it’s marked $4.95… I just played a bunch of games of Solitaire on my iPod to help tune out the growling…
1:37 pm: on 26 headed toward the Coast… Time for Red Vines! Reading all the signs along the road: Fresh Fruit Next Right, Cherries, Homemade Jams, Blueberries, Elk Jelly… Elk Jelly? “I think that’s Elk Jerky” comments my husband… Oh, yeah, I was wondering how they’d even make Elk Jelly… Too many Red Vines. Yuk! Dying for a smokey treat… you can’t smoke in Magda, per the rental agreement… there’s stickers over the whole care warning a $250.00 cleaning fee may be levied if they find evidence of cigarette smoke… wonder what the cleaning fee is for an overindulgence of Cracker Jack? Sorta have to pee… we’ll be stopping at Camp 18 for a late lunch… I need a green salad chaser for all that red licorice.
Camp 18 is this old logging camp that they’ve turned into a very cool restaurant… yummy green salad… my innards are thanking me for the authentic fuel… the year we got married, Steve hid a quarter in the men’s room and every time we come here he checks… yep! 10 years later and it’s still there… I went to their gift shop, which BTW is darling, and bought Steve a t-shirt and 2 caramels… is there a difference between “carmel” and “caramel”? This is a question that has plagued me for some time now (in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not that deep of a thinker) … the woman who works there complimented me on my earrings, some silly little white beaded numbers… seems she makes jewelry to supplement her income, as she raised 10 kids (yikes!) and didn’t build up a huge Social Security fund nor is there a big 401K program for being a mom… her name is Susan, originally from Southern Cali and has lived in Oregon for 30 years and loves it… I gave her one of the earrings so she could have a “live specimen” to work from instead of the picture I originally suggested she take with her phone… I told her my wish was that she becomes to jewelry what Debbie Fields is to cookies… I also (secretly) wish that I will be telling some traveler that I was from California but have lived in Oregon for 30 years… but wait a minute, even if we move next year, I’d be freaking 80 years old. Shit! I don’t want to be an octogenarian hawking souvenirs… Next stop: Cannon Beach!
8:53 am: Sarah & I slept well, Steve not so much… Leisurely morning, shower then continental breakfast provided by the hotel… now we need an Oregon map. Steve PROMISES to stop at the first gas station to get me one…
9:00 am: Cannon Beach here we come!
9:38 am: Okay, we’ve passed like a hundred gas stations and we still haven’t stopped – Ha-rumph! I had to pee so we stopped at a Chevron station… back on the highway and that’s when we remembered the map… Gawd, we’re too stupid to be adults… Stopped again like 2 minutes later for both Oregon and Washington maps… okay, NOW I can relax… ate Cracker Jack while listening to Emerson Lake and Palmer which prompted me to call my brother Michael… the listening to ELP prompted me to call Mike, the eating Cracker Jack just pissed me off as they give you like 3 peanuts and the prizes suck! My brother & I had an in-depth discussion about the demoralization of Cracker Jack. We stopped at a rest stop and twelve ounces of Cracker Jack crumbs fell off my boobs, my face, my hair, and shorts… I opened the bottom of my shirt and more pieces fell out… thank God! I thought perhaps those irregularly fashioned lumps were my cancer coming back in the form of popcorn shaped tumors…
Back on the road listening to Epica… it’s a band Steve likes, me not so much… it’s too bad I don’t still drink, we could make a drinking game where you gotta do a shot every time the guy in the bad growls… despite the continental breakfast and Cracker Jack, I’m getting hungry… DRINK! Only 24 miles to Salem… DRINK! It’s hecka cloudy here, I commented. Steve says no, it’s (DRINK) always cloudy… Jumping out this car window to escape this (DRINK) “music” doesn’t sound like too bad of an option (DRINK) about now… The next song requires either a bigger shot glass or an IV liquor drip… F**K you, Galante was Steve’s comment when I read him (giggling) this portion of my journal… DRINK!
Weird, I paid only $2.00 for the CA map, even though it’s marked $4.95… I just played a bunch of games of Solitaire on my iPod to help tune out the growling…
1:37 pm: on 26 headed toward the Coast… Time for Red Vines! Reading all the signs along the road: Fresh Fruit Next Right, Cherries, Homemade Jams, Blueberries, Elk Jelly… Elk Jelly? “I think that’s Elk Jerky” comments my husband… Oh, yeah, I was wondering how they’d even make Elk Jelly… Too many Red Vines. Yuk! Dying for a smokey treat… you can’t smoke in Magda, per the rental agreement… there’s stickers over the whole care warning a $250.00 cleaning fee may be levied if they find evidence of cigarette smoke… wonder what the cleaning fee is for an overindulgence of Cracker Jack? Sorta have to pee… we’ll be stopping at Camp 18 for a late lunch… I need a green salad chaser for all that red licorice.
Camp 18 is this old logging camp that they’ve turned into a very cool restaurant… yummy green salad… my innards are thanking me for the authentic fuel… the year we got married, Steve hid a quarter in the men’s room and every time we come here he checks… yep! 10 years later and it’s still there… I went to their gift shop, which BTW is darling, and bought Steve a t-shirt and 2 caramels… is there a difference between “carmel” and “caramel”? This is a question that has plagued me for some time now (in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not that deep of a thinker) … the woman who works there complimented me on my earrings, some silly little white beaded numbers… seems she makes jewelry to supplement her income, as she raised 10 kids (yikes!) and didn’t build up a huge Social Security fund nor is there a big 401K program for being a mom… her name is Susan, originally from Southern Cali and has lived in Oregon for 30 years and loves it… I gave her one of the earrings so she could have a “live specimen” to work from instead of the picture I originally suggested she take with her phone… I told her my wish was that she becomes to jewelry what Debbie Fields is to cookies… I also (secretly) wish that I will be telling some traveler that I was from California but have lived in Oregon for 30 years… but wait a minute, even if we move next year, I’d be freaking 80 years old. Shit! I don’t want to be an octogenarian hawking souvenirs… Next stop: Cannon Beach!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Steve and Bon and Sarah's Most Excellent Adventure
OUR VACATION TO OREGON
PART I
Saturday, 8/21/10
7:38 am: Steve sets the GPS, so for the next two days, we'll be accompanied by Jill, the voice on the GPS... don't ask me how I know her name... that's what Steve calls her: Jill, she sounds more like a Melinda to me but I digress... Jill's estimated arrival time to Grant's Pass, OR is 1:51 pm... we'll see... our rental car is cool, a 2010 Nissan Murano which is a small SUV which is good as I've brought 25% of our wardrobes (mine, Steve and Sarah's), enough food to survive till spring, our own 12 cup coffee maker, a beach blanket, and a very large paperback book I'm sure I'll never read...
7:40 am: 'forgot the FASTRACK for the Benicia Bridge, went back home to get it... yup, 2 minutes into our trip and we've already blown the ETA...
7:43 am: OK, now we're REALLY on our way...
7:49 am: forgot California and Oregon State maps in our cars... opted to stop at a gas station instead of suffering the embarrassment of returning home yet again... gas station had California map only... well, they actually had Nevada, too but since our ultimate destination is Oregon, just bought the CA one... will pick up an Oregon and Washington map closer to the border... Mama loves her maps!
9:00 am: We're on I5! 302 more miles to Grants Pass, I'm really excited now!
(I guess it's around here I stopped marking actual times...)
Snow on Mt. Shasta! Freakin' snow... in August!!!!!!!!! Oh! I named our rental car "Magda" after a Grayson Hall character on Dark Shadows as she is silver (the car, not Ms. Hall) and silver is kind of like gray and she was so over the top on that show (Ms. Hall, not the car).
Lunch at Taco Bell in some town just north of Redding... this family of about 16 (okay there was only 6) walked in like one second ahead of us and apparently had never been to a Taco Bell before as it took them forever to read the menu, discuss lunch options and finally frickin order. LONG wait for lunch... but then we were entertained by a small child throwing a fit and grandma angrily marching her back to the car. No taco for YOU!
Stopped for gas in Montague, CA... forgot to purchase Oregon map... 87 miles to go! So excited, so excited!
2:07 pm: WELCOME TO OREGON
3:07 pm: arrived at Riverside Inn... looks nice... is nice... balcony overlooks the river, hence the name, I guess... that's the Rogue River to you rubes... took a walk. Lots and lots of Emo/skater kids... two hit me up for smokes... 'seems Oregon takes the whole "Must be 18 to purchase tobacco" thing pretty seriously... Black Forest Family Resturant for dinner... veggie sandwich and black forest cake (what else would one order at a dining establishment with the name Black Forest Family Resturant?) for dessert... the absolute yummiest cake ever! Had the sweetest waitress named Megs... she was quite touched by Steve's generous tip as she told us she is new to waitressing... I commented I never would have known, being a former food server myself, we can spot these things... back to the hotel to rest up for PART II of our trip tomorrow... hope the Emo kids are all home in bed...
PART I
Saturday, 8/21/10
7:38 am: Steve sets the GPS, so for the next two days, we'll be accompanied by Jill, the voice on the GPS... don't ask me how I know her name... that's what Steve calls her: Jill, she sounds more like a Melinda to me but I digress... Jill's estimated arrival time to Grant's Pass, OR is 1:51 pm... we'll see... our rental car is cool, a 2010 Nissan Murano which is a small SUV which is good as I've brought 25% of our wardrobes (mine, Steve and Sarah's), enough food to survive till spring, our own 12 cup coffee maker, a beach blanket, and a very large paperback book I'm sure I'll never read...
7:40 am: 'forgot the FASTRACK for the Benicia Bridge, went back home to get it... yup, 2 minutes into our trip and we've already blown the ETA...
7:43 am: OK, now we're REALLY on our way...
7:49 am: forgot California and Oregon State maps in our cars... opted to stop at a gas station instead of suffering the embarrassment of returning home yet again... gas station had California map only... well, they actually had Nevada, too but since our ultimate destination is Oregon, just bought the CA one... will pick up an Oregon and Washington map closer to the border... Mama loves her maps!
9:00 am: We're on I5! 302 more miles to Grants Pass, I'm really excited now!
(I guess it's around here I stopped marking actual times...)
Snow on Mt. Shasta! Freakin' snow... in August!!!!!!!!! Oh! I named our rental car "Magda" after a Grayson Hall character on Dark Shadows as she is silver (the car, not Ms. Hall) and silver is kind of like gray and she was so over the top on that show (Ms. Hall, not the car).
Lunch at Taco Bell in some town just north of Redding... this family of about 16 (okay there was only 6) walked in like one second ahead of us and apparently had never been to a Taco Bell before as it took them forever to read the menu, discuss lunch options and finally frickin order. LONG wait for lunch... but then we were entertained by a small child throwing a fit and grandma angrily marching her back to the car. No taco for YOU!
Stopped for gas in Montague, CA... forgot to purchase Oregon map... 87 miles to go! So excited, so excited!
2:07 pm: WELCOME TO OREGON
3:07 pm: arrived at Riverside Inn... looks nice... is nice... balcony overlooks the river, hence the name, I guess... that's the Rogue River to you rubes... took a walk. Lots and lots of Emo/skater kids... two hit me up for smokes... 'seems Oregon takes the whole "Must be 18 to purchase tobacco" thing pretty seriously... Black Forest Family Resturant for dinner... veggie sandwich and black forest cake (what else would one order at a dining establishment with the name Black Forest Family Resturant?) for dessert... the absolute yummiest cake ever! Had the sweetest waitress named Megs... she was quite touched by Steve's generous tip as she told us she is new to waitressing... I commented I never would have known, being a former food server myself, we can spot these things... back to the hotel to rest up for PART II of our trip tomorrow... hope the Emo kids are all home in bed...
Saturday, April 10, 2010
unexpected boons and busts
For those of you who've been checking my blog, my apologies for not posting sooner... I suppose it's okay as, who am I kidding? It's not as though anyone IS actually checking my blog... anyway, the reason I've been remiss of late is, my sense of humor was apparently either a) living in the lymph nodes they removed; b) has been radiated out of me; c) my pithy posts were a fluke and I never was amusing to begin with. I'm going with option "a". I haven't been feeling especially funny or creative since surgery.
I had a total breakdown about 3 weeks after surgery. The severity of it all hit me… apparently I’m too stupid and/or too slow and dim witted to have realized earlier that cancer is bad and potentially serious. I know, right? “It’s just little cancer… no biggie!” I kept telling myself and everyone else. Glib and nonchalant, that was me. Anyway, after I recovered from my little (or not so little if you ask my husband) breakdown, I told Steve I was going to phone my surgeon and ask if she could see if my lymph nodes are still floating around somewhere at the lab in a test tube. It’s just not like me to lose it like that and to NOT view everything as potential for fun and hilarity. So, I surmised that along with cancer and a half a dozen lymph nodes, Kaiser removed my sense of humor and I want it back!
Truly, though, the whole cancer thing turned out fine, no cancer found in any of the lymph nodes (I’m guessing there wasn’t room, what with my humor cells taking up most of the space), surgery went great, radiation is going fine… A cool and unexpected thing is that my radiation oncologist told me NOT to try and quit smoking right now because of this “stressful time.” HA! I’ve experienced more stress at the DMV than with any of my numerous doctor visits, including surgery AND radiation.
So far I’ve had 10 radiation sessions and only 15 to go. All I do is go there at 8:15 every morning, Monday through Friday, strip from the waist up, stuff my bra and whatever top I happen to be wearing in my purse which is too small to hold both items, put on a hospital gown and wait for one of the radiation techs to call me. Once they do, I go lay on a table with my arms over my head, the tech(s) position the machine over me and leave the room. I’m assuming I’m actually receiving doses of radiation because the machine makes noise. I don’t feel anything but am confident something dangerous is happening or else why would they be so quick to leave? Monday I had a radiology student who was there to observe and help my regular tech. He introduced himself and asked if I’d feel uncomfortable having him there. I laughed and assured him that as 40% of the medical population of Northern California has already seen my breasts, I had no problem with one more.
Fridays are “Weigh In” days. As of this past Friday I’ve lost 3 pounds since I’ve started. I’m not supposed to lose more than 5 lbs. during radiation as they’ll have to re-do all the measurements, etc. so I’ve been admonished and warned NOT to lose any more weight. Okay, medical personnel have told me not to quit smoking and not to lose weight… yeah, this radiation stuff is okay… I suppose my glib and nonchalant attitude was warranted after all.
I had a total breakdown about 3 weeks after surgery. The severity of it all hit me… apparently I’m too stupid and/or too slow and dim witted to have realized earlier that cancer is bad and potentially serious. I know, right? “It’s just little cancer… no biggie!” I kept telling myself and everyone else. Glib and nonchalant, that was me. Anyway, after I recovered from my little (or not so little if you ask my husband) breakdown, I told Steve I was going to phone my surgeon and ask if she could see if my lymph nodes are still floating around somewhere at the lab in a test tube. It’s just not like me to lose it like that and to NOT view everything as potential for fun and hilarity. So, I surmised that along with cancer and a half a dozen lymph nodes, Kaiser removed my sense of humor and I want it back!
Truly, though, the whole cancer thing turned out fine, no cancer found in any of the lymph nodes (I’m guessing there wasn’t room, what with my humor cells taking up most of the space), surgery went great, radiation is going fine… A cool and unexpected thing is that my radiation oncologist told me NOT to try and quit smoking right now because of this “stressful time.” HA! I’ve experienced more stress at the DMV than with any of my numerous doctor visits, including surgery AND radiation.
So far I’ve had 10 radiation sessions and only 15 to go. All I do is go there at 8:15 every morning, Monday through Friday, strip from the waist up, stuff my bra and whatever top I happen to be wearing in my purse which is too small to hold both items, put on a hospital gown and wait for one of the radiation techs to call me. Once they do, I go lay on a table with my arms over my head, the tech(s) position the machine over me and leave the room. I’m assuming I’m actually receiving doses of radiation because the machine makes noise. I don’t feel anything but am confident something dangerous is happening or else why would they be so quick to leave? Monday I had a radiology student who was there to observe and help my regular tech. He introduced himself and asked if I’d feel uncomfortable having him there. I laughed and assured him that as 40% of the medical population of Northern California has already seen my breasts, I had no problem with one more.
Fridays are “Weigh In” days. As of this past Friday I’ve lost 3 pounds since I’ve started. I’m not supposed to lose more than 5 lbs. during radiation as they’ll have to re-do all the measurements, etc. so I’ve been admonished and warned NOT to lose any more weight. Okay, medical personnel have told me not to quit smoking and not to lose weight… yeah, this radiation stuff is okay… I suppose my glib and nonchalant attitude was warranted after all.
Friday, February 12, 2010
surgery is easy, comedy is hard
...and it’s done… my surgery. The most competent, kind, caring staff at Kaiser removed that pesky little cancer and a couple of lymph nodes for good measure. The worst part of it was, no coffee... and I'm not even kidding. We (my darling, wonderful husband and I) had to be at Ambulatory Surgery (’sounds so official!) at 7:30 am with the patient eating or drinking nothing after midnight. The no eating part was no biggie, I’m not generally a breakfast eater… it takes too much time away from drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, and being on Facebook… but no drinking?!?! And by that I mean of course, no coffee. Yikes!
We arrived early, owing to the lighter-than-expected traffic on 680, and checked in. The only other people there were a mother and her three children all under the age of 5 with volume levels all over the setting of 10. Not terribly calming, but I was just jealous they had so much energy and I felt like shit. It was the longest I’d been up with nary a drop of caffeine since I was 10 years old.
After a brief wait they sent me to get wired… not the good kind of wired, either. They literally stuck a wire in me so the surgeon could more easily locate the cancer… then, why more mammograms, of course! I have new respect for my left breast… A delightful woman came to wheel me into pre-op. I asked her if she’d like my husband to push the wheelchair as we seemed to be going excruciatingly slow. “Oh, no! It’s electric! This is as fast as it goes!” Who knew?
In pre-op, I had the best RN who popped me into bed with 3 warm blankets and a pair of socks I got to take home… they didn’t offer me my hospital gown, but who’s kidding who? It’s not as though I want to add that to my evening wardrobe. The rest is rather hazy... and I wasn’t even drugged yet. I was just so flipping tired, I was in and out of sleep for the next few hours. My most precious husband sat by my side. I felt bad I wasn’t my usual sparkling self and provide him with some company, but obviously I need coffee to sparkle.
A parade of medical personnel came by: the surgeon, the anesthesiologist, my OR nurse, Hawkeye Pierce (I’m pretty sure that was a dream) and probably a few more I don’t remember. I answered a barrage of (mostly the same) questions from many of them: What is your name? Date of birth? What are you here for? Are you allergic to any medications? Do you feel safe in your current living conditions? (My pre-op nurse pointed out the irony that they ask that question with the husbands standing right there. I assured her that I felt quite safe and that should I get hit — by anyone - I am quite prepared to strike back.)
There was a delay as the operating room wasn’t yet available. Everyone was apologizing to me for the wait… hell! What did I care? I was all comfy-cozy in a nice, warm hospital bed wearing jazzy new socks and had an army of trained staff making sure I was comfortable! It’s poor Steve I felt bad for! It’s harder to be the spouse than the patient. He had a hard chair, no blankets and was wearing the same socks he came in!
Anyway, I very vaguely remember them telling me it was time and the next thing I knew, I was awake and being offered juice. “Can I have coffee?” Nope, no coffee but Diet Coke was a welcome substitute… I was still shaky and Steve helped me dress. They sent us home with a plethora of instructions and a jar full of pain meds. Our first and only stop before hitting the freeway was, of course, for coffee. Gawd! Has anything, ever, in the history of the world, ever tasted so good?
I’ve been home for less than 24 hours and am on ibuprofen now instead of the heavy-duty stuff they gave me… I just don’t need it… I feel splendid! Well, not splendid-splendid, but splendid-for-just-having-surgery-splendid. No test results yet from the actual tumor or the lymph nodes but I’m optimistic. I can’t help it. It’s just the way I’m wired, I guess… that and I’m on my third cup of coffee...
We arrived early, owing to the lighter-than-expected traffic on 680, and checked in. The only other people there were a mother and her three children all under the age of 5 with volume levels all over the setting of 10. Not terribly calming, but I was just jealous they had so much energy and I felt like shit. It was the longest I’d been up with nary a drop of caffeine since I was 10 years old.
After a brief wait they sent me to get wired… not the good kind of wired, either. They literally stuck a wire in me so the surgeon could more easily locate the cancer… then, why more mammograms, of course! I have new respect for my left breast… A delightful woman came to wheel me into pre-op. I asked her if she’d like my husband to push the wheelchair as we seemed to be going excruciatingly slow. “Oh, no! It’s electric! This is as fast as it goes!” Who knew?
In pre-op, I had the best RN who popped me into bed with 3 warm blankets and a pair of socks I got to take home… they didn’t offer me my hospital gown, but who’s kidding who? It’s not as though I want to add that to my evening wardrobe. The rest is rather hazy... and I wasn’t even drugged yet. I was just so flipping tired, I was in and out of sleep for the next few hours. My most precious husband sat by my side. I felt bad I wasn’t my usual sparkling self and provide him with some company, but obviously I need coffee to sparkle.
A parade of medical personnel came by: the surgeon, the anesthesiologist, my OR nurse, Hawkeye Pierce (I’m pretty sure that was a dream) and probably a few more I don’t remember. I answered a barrage of (mostly the same) questions from many of them: What is your name? Date of birth? What are you here for? Are you allergic to any medications? Do you feel safe in your current living conditions? (My pre-op nurse pointed out the irony that they ask that question with the husbands standing right there. I assured her that I felt quite safe and that should I get hit — by anyone - I am quite prepared to strike back.)
There was a delay as the operating room wasn’t yet available. Everyone was apologizing to me for the wait… hell! What did I care? I was all comfy-cozy in a nice, warm hospital bed wearing jazzy new socks and had an army of trained staff making sure I was comfortable! It’s poor Steve I felt bad for! It’s harder to be the spouse than the patient. He had a hard chair, no blankets and was wearing the same socks he came in!
Anyway, I very vaguely remember them telling me it was time and the next thing I knew, I was awake and being offered juice. “Can I have coffee?” Nope, no coffee but Diet Coke was a welcome substitute… I was still shaky and Steve helped me dress. They sent us home with a plethora of instructions and a jar full of pain meds. Our first and only stop before hitting the freeway was, of course, for coffee. Gawd! Has anything, ever, in the history of the world, ever tasted so good?
I’ve been home for less than 24 hours and am on ibuprofen now instead of the heavy-duty stuff they gave me… I just don’t need it… I feel splendid! Well, not splendid-splendid, but splendid-for-just-having-surgery-splendid. No test results yet from the actual tumor or the lymph nodes but I’m optimistic. I can’t help it. It’s just the way I’m wired, I guess… that and I’m on my third cup of coffee...
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Ugly Betty, breast cancer and lost keys...
As if this week wasn’t bad enough… I lost my keys, was diagnosed with cancer, and now come to find out that Ugly Betty has been cancelled! Good grief! Do they need to make a time slot for yet another inane reality show? Come on ABC! Ugly Betty ROCKS! The cast is spot-on perfect (I have a HUGE girl crush on Vanessa Williams, aka, Wilhelmina Slater), the stories are compelling in a “cute-but-I-don’t-have-to-think-too-much” sort of way, and the clothes, the jewelry, the shoes… to die for! I’m crestfallen, to say the least.
What’s that? Oh yeah, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It’s little cancer, really… I don’t think that’s a sanctioned medical term “little cancer” but that’s what I’m calling it. I went for my yearly mammogram, they saw “something” and wanted to take a closer look – I’m accustomed to people wanting a closer look at my breasts… “They’re real and they’re spectacular”… typically, however, special machinery is not required. Anyway, I was sent to the Imaging Center (not nearly as glamorous as it sounds) and had an ultra-sound and “Lefty” got another ride on the Titty Press. Sure enough, they found I have something to which warranted a biopsy. Now, most people would be fearful at this point, but clearly, I am not most people. I just knew when I received the first phone call asking me to come in for the second mammogram because they’d found something, and that something was not, unfortunately, my lost keys… but I digress. I seriously just knew it.
Steve, wonderful, caring husband that he is, insisted on coming with me, though I was assured it was no big deal and that I’d be able to drive home myself. He was having none of it - of course he wanted to be there! I felt bad for him… I’ve seen those chairs they make the husbands sit on in the hallway/waiting area, and they don’t look comfortable. Plus, their magazines are really lame. He had his book, his iPod, and a constant stream of medical personnel passing by to keep him entertained. Off we went!
I was, once again, asked to disrobe from the waist up and put on one of the attractive hospital gowns and lay on the same table in the same room as my ultra-sound the week before. The doctor and nurse were very nice and explained everything they were doing. They found the “something” that still wasn’t my keys in my left boob, made a tiny incision, shot a grain-sized piece of titanium in the spot, and took 6 samples of that nameless something. “Can I see what you just took out of me?” I asked, curious as to what this supposedly scary stuff looked like… and just to confirm they weren’t a set of keys... hey, they had to be somewhere!
“Sure!” said the doctor, sounding pleased her patient was taking an interest in her work.
“They look like Sea Monkeys!” I exclaimed. They really did. I have personal experience raising the little critters and the stuff floating in that hospital jar looked like my Sea Monkey family at about 8 weeks. The doctor and nurse laughed… apparently none of their other patients had made that observation.
After one more ride on the mammogram – “That’s it, hold still, take a small breath and hold it!” – I got dressed, grabbed Steve and went out for breakfast. Did you know IHOP lists the calorie and fat content of all their menu items? Well, be warned, they do. “What are you getting?” Steve asked after being seated and getting our coffee.
“Nothing!” Cripes! Twelve hundred calories before 11 o’clock in the morning? The little Sea Monkeys they just took out of my left boob would not account for the 18 pounds I was sure to gain from an IHOP breakfast. Thankfully, they have a “lite” menu on the back with a more manageable 300-500 calorie range of choices.
Okay, back to the pesky cancer thing… This past Monday, the biopsy doctor called me to break the news. It’s tubular carcinoma. Tubular, man! Apparently, it’s small and totally operable. “I’m not your surgeon, but typically, they’ll just do a lumpectomy and radiation,” she advised me.
“So, I don’t have to start cutting out the left cups of all my bras?” I asked her. God! I’m such a smart-ass.
There was dead silence, then, “What???”
I repeated my question, “So, you don’t think I need to start cutting off all the left cups of my bras…”
“Oh!” Laughter from the doc. “You’re joking! You’re going to be a great patient!”
No shit!
She told me to expect a call from the “Breast Care Coordinator” at the “Breast Clinic” (who knew?) the following day. Sure enough, a lovely woman, who is an RN, NOT a former bra model as I originally suspected, called me to book an appointment with her and another appointment with my “team.” Wow! I’ve never had my own team before! I must be very important! I mean, my boobs have earned me dates, attention, and envy, but never a team! This is really getting interesting…
More later as my saga unfolds… oh yeah, I found those darned keys! They were in the lining of my purse. How they got there, I don’t know… I had to cut the lining to get them out… and just like the cancellation of Ugly Betty – strange but true…
What’s that? Oh yeah, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It’s little cancer, really… I don’t think that’s a sanctioned medical term “little cancer” but that’s what I’m calling it. I went for my yearly mammogram, they saw “something” and wanted to take a closer look – I’m accustomed to people wanting a closer look at my breasts… “They’re real and they’re spectacular”… typically, however, special machinery is not required. Anyway, I was sent to the Imaging Center (not nearly as glamorous as it sounds) and had an ultra-sound and “Lefty” got another ride on the Titty Press. Sure enough, they found I have something to which warranted a biopsy. Now, most people would be fearful at this point, but clearly, I am not most people. I just knew when I received the first phone call asking me to come in for the second mammogram because they’d found something, and that something was not, unfortunately, my lost keys… but I digress. I seriously just knew it.
Steve, wonderful, caring husband that he is, insisted on coming with me, though I was assured it was no big deal and that I’d be able to drive home myself. He was having none of it - of course he wanted to be there! I felt bad for him… I’ve seen those chairs they make the husbands sit on in the hallway/waiting area, and they don’t look comfortable. Plus, their magazines are really lame. He had his book, his iPod, and a constant stream of medical personnel passing by to keep him entertained. Off we went!
I was, once again, asked to disrobe from the waist up and put on one of the attractive hospital gowns and lay on the same table in the same room as my ultra-sound the week before. The doctor and nurse were very nice and explained everything they were doing. They found the “something” that still wasn’t my keys in my left boob, made a tiny incision, shot a grain-sized piece of titanium in the spot, and took 6 samples of that nameless something. “Can I see what you just took out of me?” I asked, curious as to what this supposedly scary stuff looked like… and just to confirm they weren’t a set of keys... hey, they had to be somewhere!
“Sure!” said the doctor, sounding pleased her patient was taking an interest in her work.
“They look like Sea Monkeys!” I exclaimed. They really did. I have personal experience raising the little critters and the stuff floating in that hospital jar looked like my Sea Monkey family at about 8 weeks. The doctor and nurse laughed… apparently none of their other patients had made that observation.
After one more ride on the mammogram – “That’s it, hold still, take a small breath and hold it!” – I got dressed, grabbed Steve and went out for breakfast. Did you know IHOP lists the calorie and fat content of all their menu items? Well, be warned, they do. “What are you getting?” Steve asked after being seated and getting our coffee.
“Nothing!” Cripes! Twelve hundred calories before 11 o’clock in the morning? The little Sea Monkeys they just took out of my left boob would not account for the 18 pounds I was sure to gain from an IHOP breakfast. Thankfully, they have a “lite” menu on the back with a more manageable 300-500 calorie range of choices.
Okay, back to the pesky cancer thing… This past Monday, the biopsy doctor called me to break the news. It’s tubular carcinoma. Tubular, man! Apparently, it’s small and totally operable. “I’m not your surgeon, but typically, they’ll just do a lumpectomy and radiation,” she advised me.
“So, I don’t have to start cutting out the left cups of all my bras?” I asked her. God! I’m such a smart-ass.
There was dead silence, then, “What???”
I repeated my question, “So, you don’t think I need to start cutting off all the left cups of my bras…”
“Oh!” Laughter from the doc. “You’re joking! You’re going to be a great patient!”
No shit!
She told me to expect a call from the “Breast Care Coordinator” at the “Breast Clinic” (who knew?) the following day. Sure enough, a lovely woman, who is an RN, NOT a former bra model as I originally suspected, called me to book an appointment with her and another appointment with my “team.” Wow! I’ve never had my own team before! I must be very important! I mean, my boobs have earned me dates, attention, and envy, but never a team! This is really getting interesting…
More later as my saga unfolds… oh yeah, I found those darned keys! They were in the lining of my purse. How they got there, I don’t know… I had to cut the lining to get them out… and just like the cancellation of Ugly Betty – strange but true…
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