Missing Myself

Crazy week.  Seriously really crazy week.

No blog post for the last few days, no page views either... interesting! I have had actually a number of silly thoughts that could make a post only to be lost in oblivion by the time I was able to sit down and try to put pen to paper-- rather fingers to keyboard.  All three fingers.

This week cancer keeps coming to the forefront of my brain.  Not only with patients sharing their cancer stories with me and friends with polyps in their colons (benign thankfully) and my aunt laying on her deathbed with hospice counting her every breath. (Why would a hospice nurse be concerned about constipation? really? Or is there a different message there?)

So what is the universe telling me? There really needs to be some greater message.  But maybe that is just it. No big message.  Rather, no big message?  Why not? So, three is the charm and now I can be done.  Except I really need to schedule that colonoscopy for myself.  So I can look at the universe and breathe a little sigh of relief. (fingers crossed)

And on the lighter side, amazing sleep for the last few days, and the crazy dreams have calmed.  With the exception of Monday night, rather Tuesday AM with a jolt from sleep at 4 AM with no hope of further sleep for the night.  But the last two nights....perfect. Discussing my sleep...pretty boring,  That should be enough to put anyone to sleep.  So I shall now.  

And tomorrow perhaps a more coherent thought with some entertainment value. Or not.

busted!

I was so almost busted yesterday.  No we did not drink too much wine and get pulled over, although I did show my adult daughter views from Washington Wine Country.

Early in the day my kiddo throws out her first bone.  It was early and I had only had one cuppa joe, so I knew I needed to be wary.  She has a habit of throwing out something and letting me talk.  And then jumping on me with the info she already knew.  

Yesterday was no different. 

"I read your blog. " 

Yikes am I busted?  Some of you may know that I am hiding out in plain site by blogging here.  Long story but suffice to say it was just short of a restraining order.

"Oh really?" I say, ""and?"  (perfect non committal and doesn't give her any information that she doesn't already have. 

"And you are kind of funny, actually," she relied.

OK, so now I gotta know if I am still hidden.  "What did you read about?"

"Don't you remember?  I guess it was a while since you posted something."

Whew, I think I might still be in the clear. "Yeah I don't really blog anymore.  Show me what you read."

Score! She pulls up my old site "the world according to gidge," I remain sequestered.

"How funny that you found this.  How did you find it?" 

OK, so all of you out there thinking all the stuff you do that you don't think your kids will find out, she tells me she "googled Aunt H and found her blog, (she's really funny too) and saw that you had commented and followed that link to your blog."

This my friends is exactly why I do not sleep in anymore!  The moral of this story, google yourself and all your friends and family to find out what's out there.  Oh and don't write anything your don't want your kid to see.

wine-ing weekend

Tomorrow we start our yearly pilgrimage to Eastern Washington.  This year for the Zin. The big bold red grape is finally ready to be picked.   The grapes this year are reported to be great! Perfect spring, high heat units, great hang time, big yield, no frost.  All the makings of a great vint this year. This year, we are making a small batch (only 250 pounds) so we shouldn't have contorted backs after lifting, packing, stemming crushing and initiating the ferment.

I love this trek. For the past 9 years I have made the great grape quest with Herb yearly.  We start at o'dark hundred and make a day of racing to Zillah or Prosser or places further.

This year our grapes are once again from a favorite vineyard, Portteus from Zillah WA, another place in my heart on Highland drive. (Topic for a picture post of Highland Drive/Street/Avenue favorite places in my life.)

This time I get to share a passion with my adult daughter.  For the first time.  Our kids have not been very interested in the hobbies we enjoy.  Who can blame them, really.  Seriously my parents never did anything of interest....until I moved out, and/or turned 25, had a child or any combination of all the aforementioned. 

And  so tomorrow we will share a long car ride, a yummy lunch at one of my favorite Mexican (the real thing not a Taco Time franchised fast "food" gut filler) restaurants with a tiny bit of wine and port tasting in the Zillah area.  And we show her how our wine starts.  How we find some great grapes, and hope to Baccus we don't screw them up.  How basic chemistry enriches our life. And how we like to spend our autumn in hopes of basking in accolades in 2 years when this years harvest is finally sipped.

And perhaps we will become that much closer.

Or we can just get drunk, fat and pray for sleep on the ride home.

made it!

Many years ago, I was told I would be a writer. I listened, but did not realistically believe it would be so.  The prophecy also suggested I would live by water, in the northwest.  At that time I was planning a trek to the east, some small town closer to a sister, who the further away she moved the closer we became.  So my plans included humidity, high taxes and a new frenetic lifestyle.  But writing? Northwest?  No way.

So fast forward to now.  I am a Northwesterner to the point that there is webbing between my toes (you aren't the only one Ellen). I live by a big lake. And I write. Yeah this little bloggy thing, but the thing that is getting me a distinction is a silly newsletter that has become a monthly email my coworkers have come to enjoy.  My boss and boss's boss all have given me accolades for my "work."  But I knew I made it when after more than a year of publishing my little tome, the one naysayer to the project, the person who refused to participate on any level finally did.  And additionally sent me one sentence that ended with, "I look forward to reading the newsletter monthly."

Oh yeah I made it!

Even though I am far from being a card carrying "writer."

And now a comment on this little blog.

I am doing the happy dance.  Not only do I have two "followers" but a comment from someone who IS a writer.  Something I wrote provoked her to take the time to say something. (Thanks Libby.)

And it made me smile.

dreamweaver....

When I was in 9th grade, "Dreamweaver" was my favorite song.  Not because my friends and I would sit around getting stoned or anything because really we never did.  My dad was the marine and I knew if I got caught doing anything bad (like sitting around with a bunch of stoned friends) I would have been dead. I left that kind of fun having and trouble doing to my sister, (not that she would have done it either--"nudge-nudge, wink-wink"). I loved the song because I loved the thought of being able to dream and make things happen.  That the dreams would protect you and bring you into the next day, or at least those are the words I thought were being sung.  (Don't burst that bubble, k?)

But now, dreams?  Yeah, not so much. My dreams are not my friends. Seriously, my morning dreams send me into wakefulness in a panic. Sweating, hyperventilating, shaking panic. Who can go back to sleep even if there is no work or wedding planning on the days docket? I can usually sedate myself into sleep without early night dreams, but if for some reason I awaken in the night (gee thanks menopause) I go back to fitful dreamy sleep until finally I can get out of bed as a semi-reasonable time.  I am not sure which is worse, not being able to get back to sleep (again thank you menopause) or dreaming scarey dreams until sometime after 5:30.

Saturday morning was one such day. Right before 6:30, because at 6:30 I sat straight upright to go take care of what I was dreaming about, heart racing, skin sweaty, wide awake. The dream? I was dreaming that I forgot to feed my cat.  I also forgot to get the cat box for the cat.  Since the time I moved into my house. Eight plus years ago! I completely bolted straight out of bed to go find my cat and finally feed it. And make sure it had not left a cat mess on the laundry room floor. The crazy thing is, I have not had a cat for more than 9 years. Dear Dreamweaver, my last cat, Spock, passed away about 6 months before I left Salt Lake. 

Another common dream that panics me deep to my soul is having signed up for a chemistry class and forgotten to go until I need to take a test. Seriously? Chemistry? And I have been out of college (for the fourth time) since 2003. And even then, during my last stint in college, I never missed a class or a deadline for a paper or presentation.  In fact the last true "final exam" took was in '98. And truth be told, I never missed a class or failed to prepare for a quiz or test since the first time I graduated. So why now, Dreamweaver?

Of course, I have those ridiculous being chased or murdered dreams too. And although they awaken me, they are less unsettling.  The worst one of all is dreaming that I am pregnant.  Not only is there no way this could happen (thanks again menopause and surgical interventions and ablations) But still that dream leaves me so panicked that there is no way I can even think of sleep for the next sixteen hours!

So Dreamweaver, do me a favor tonight, don't get me through the night.  I think I'd like to do it without the dreams!

words in my fingers

Conversations in my head. Constant. I think it might be a DSM-IV diagnosis. But for some reason it's not the "bad" kind of dialog.  At least I hope not.

But it gets me thinking, really it get's the inside my head voice talking, what would be that "bad" kind?

I mean its pretty obvious the really bad stuff.  Psycopathic ideations from that inside voice can never be good. For the most part the dialog is harmless, you know those comments that are incredibly inappropriate but funny as hell.  Thank goodness most of those remain instilled in my brain; thank goodness I don't tweet because its bad enough the comments that do make it to my facebook pages.  But a friend recently posted a FB remark commenting on "looking in the mirror and not liking what you see." and it got my inside voice thinking. Thinking without speaking.   And maybe that's the good thing.

It solidified a realization a few weeks ago that the negative self talk is ridiculous. For someone who has achieved a pretty high level in my professional and personal life, I have to ask. "WHY???" Why does my brain insist on recognizing the negative and not the positive.  Why does that call to go to the principal's office have to always be a bad thing?  I can be pretty freaking awesome.  And it's about time I recognized it, (dammit).

And to my friend, who posted that FB comment that sparked this train of thought (no pun intended): Stop it now!  Because really when I look at your life with my rose colored hindsight vision glasses, I see so many similarities with my own.  And dammit I am pretty freaking awesome. And so are you. And so are all my friends, because I really do know some pretty amazing people.

We all need to redirect that conversation to the positive, after all, you are telling your kids to think positive aren't you?  Shouldn't we demonstrate that for them too?

Especially when it's a funny comment without too much inappropriateness for the situation.

sleep?

Really?  3:30 AM and sleep eluded me.

Why?

 I took a melatonin. I went to bed on time, didn't watch those scarey shows that start after 9. OK so I didn't wear earplugs to protect me from that vibratory cacophony my hubby shares nightly (although he swears I am the noisemaker). Although sometimes I think the lack of noise is more bothersome... when he is silently dreaming the dreams only engineers find entertaining. What does that dream mean?

Yeah 3:30 AM and I am wide awake. Toss, turn, turn toss.... A trek to the bathroom, but really the argument in my brain says  that's not why I woke.  Having to pee in the middle of the night would mean I might be... older? Somehow "the new 30" doesn't equate to midnight potty break from sleep. Yeah that didn't work.  Read for 20 mins, close eyes; 10 mins reading, close eyes; then again no sleep.

By 4:30, the fight was really getting irritating.  Yes there was more snoring.  Apparently a pillow over ones husband isn't the most optimal way to drown out the noise. I tip to the couch to avoid a prison sentence.  So more reading.

Five AM, if I go back to sleep now, I will definitely be worse for the wear.  SO...maybe I will make a pot of coffee... Yeah sleep was not in the cards.

And tonight, I am not as tired as I should be. Or am I? Is it a plot?  Thank goodness the debate is on a 4th grade level and Project Runway is On Demand.

At least I was early to work, but sadly my husband, who slept the whole night (that should be written in all caps!) wants me to be ready to go to work tomorrow at the same time. I's hitting my head against the wall.