Home Again, Home Again Jiggety Jig

A week ago I left home on a last-minute road trip. My maternal grandmother isn't doing very well and my mom was planning to visit her, so I dropped the cats off at my other grandmother's, asked my much put-upon neighbors to watch the cabin and try not to let the pipes freeze, and hit the road to join them. It was a good trip. I stopped on my way through Portland to see a friend, had an out of control four hour lunch with Zach, re-bonded with my parents' dogs, spent some quality time with my mom, aunt, uncle, cousin and grandmother, loaded up on lefsa at the Norwegian bakery and spent way more hours behind the wheel than can possibly be good for me.

I'm really glad I went (and not just because my aunt loaded me up with quilting supplies!). I count it as one of the great and unexpected benefits of coming back home that I've reconnected with my mom's side of the family. I'm closer to all of them now than I have been at any point since my very early childhood. I love hearing the stories about their childhoods, and the stories they heard and can tell about relatives I'll never know. I love the stories about my roguish great-grandfather and much put-upon and not terribly nice great-grandmother. I love having this multi-generational connection to the soggy and sea-faring Pacific Northwest, so different from the multi-generational connection my father's family has to the arid grazing land of Southern Idaho. It feels good to know more about these roots.

But it feels REALLY good to be back home, with my cats, drinking tea by the fire in my quiet little cabin as the snow melts and drips from the tin roof.

Confession is Good for the Soul, Right?

I've become completely addicted to young adult fiction about teenage vampires. Not only did I read all four books of Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series, each book in less than 24 hours, but I got online and read the unfinished, unpublished manuscript for the fifth book. And the fifth book isn't even a new story, it's just the first book from a different character's perspective. Oh, but that's not the worst part. When I'd finished that (which I read on a slow day at work), I poked around on the author's website and read the OUTTAKES from the books. These are scenes that didn't make the final editing cut, and yet still I read them. And then I started going into serious withdrawals. Like, I didn't want to get out of bed. I started reading the books AGAIN. And that's just sick and wrong, because they really aren't THAT good.

But instead of just going cold turkey, turning to a mystery or even something that might be considered literature, I followed the advice of an old college friend who recently re-entered my life through the true magic of Facebook (to which I'm also addicted, but I'll save that story for another time) and started reading a new young adult series about teenage vampires. Only this time I didn't even bother getting one book at a time. I ordered all four available books from Amazon at once. And then I waited, brooding in my house, quite literally swearing OUT LOUD each time I went to the post office and they weren't there waiting for me. And then finally when they showed up and I started reading the first book I was really disappointed. The narrator made too many pop culture references, she sounded like a teenager, she wasn't Bella! But I still read it in one sitting. And then I woke up the next morning and read all three of the remaining books in one sick and twisted orgy of teenage vampire goodness. And then it was over. I had no more books left. And . . . I won't lie. I got a little depressed. (I'm waiting for my next shipment of vampire books from Amazon right now.)

And I know why I've gotten on this obsessed train. I do. It's the romance that I'm addicted to, not the vampires. In college I came up with this theory that the human brain had a certain amount of bandwidth that was specifically and solely allotted for thinking about interpersonal relationships. Not necessarily romantic relationships, but . . . that's usually what it's used for. That's why we spend so much time thinking about crushes, or dreaming about our new loves, or pondering what he really meant when he said, and wistfully wondering about our exes. It's a biological imperative. And that's true for a spinster too. All my non-romantic relationships are great. No drama. Nothing I need to obsess over. My last bit of romance was with someone I've known for donkeys years and I'd already thought all the thoughts I could possibly think about him ages ago. I don't have a crush on anyone. And so this is what it's come down to, this bandwidth, which hadn't been used at all in months, has been completely taken over by fictional interpersonal relationships and now I'm stuck in that new love stage where all you can think about is the beloved and the beloved is a frakking set of teenage vampires. It's RIDICULOUS.

Winter Stinks

So . . . long time no blog!

This winter has been CRUMMY. The snow was late in coming, and now every time we get a nice snowfall, it's quickly followed by a couple of days of rain and above freezing temps. So the snow turns into ice, and the roads and parking lots are horrid, and I haven't broken my neck yet, but it's only a matter of time.

For all the complaining I've done about my driveway, I've never actually not been able to get up it, or even come close to sliding off. (As opposed to straight up DRIVING off which I did early last winter.) Until this morning. The entire driveway is a solid sheet of ice, a couple of inches thick, and this morning, with the rain, the ice was covered with a nice skim of water. And as I was turning the corner at the cemetery, headed down the steep section, my car lost all traction and began a slow slide toward the edge of the road and the trees. It was completely terrifying. There was nothing I could do. I kept hold of the wheel and just hoped that the trees would stop the car from rolling to the bottom of the hill as I slowly slid toward the edge. And then the car sort of gently bounced off what remained of the snowbank and somehow it was pointing the right direction and I went on my completely freaked out way. I'm anticipating a return to my normal heart rate sometime in February. Because now, I'm going to spend all day wondering what's going to happen when I try to get home tonight . . . and try to get back to work tomorrow.

So, if you love me, pray for nice sticky, tractiony snow.

Facebook is killing my blog

My ability to post facebook status updates three times a day has totally killed my desire to blog.

But, I can't just leave that weepy post about Sugar sitting here at the top of the page. Sugar's doing alright for now. She had three tumors removed from her leg last Monday. Yes, in the week between me finding them and taking her in for surgery, another tumor appeared. Not good. The vet wasn't sure she was able to get all of the tumors during the surgery. One was deep, and one was undefined and looked like it might have infiltrated her lymphatic system. Not good. We're still waiting to get the pathology reports back, to find out exactly what kind of cancer we're dealing with. I've gotten the names of two vets in Boise that someone I trust, trusts. I'm not comfortable with my vet anymore, so depending on what the test results are, I might be taking Sugar down to the valley for treatment. Sugar's godmother has offered to underwrite her care, which is taking all kinds of stress away from the situation. I couldn't afford to do all of this for her myself.

I've set up Sugar in the guest room, which is driving Freckles insane. Freckles really needs a companion, but Sugar needs a quiet and safe place to recuperate. And they both need me. It's wrenching. But it makes me really glad I didn't get a dog this fall when I was feeling the fever to collect another pet. I think two animals per human is all a household should really hold.

Sugar

I just found two more tumors on her leg. The same leg where a tumor was removed last spring. I feel guilty and horrible for not finding them earlier. I knew when she started losing weight again that something was wrong. I kept meaning to check. I can't stop crying. My poor kitty.

Relief

Last night was pretty great, wasn't it? There are so many beautiful, tear-inducing things on the internet today about the election, I don't know that I can add much. I'm thrilled, I'm relieved, I can finally lift my 8 year ban on television news (not that I have the ability to watch TV news at the moment, so the ban has been essentially symbolic for over a year anyway, but still). I'm proud to be an American. And it doesn't feel embarrassing to say that, for the first time in a long time. As I told Zach yesterday, we can finally tell Europe with their snooty (and completely accurate but horrifically hypocritical) accusations of racism to shut up. I mean, can you imagine France, Great Britain, or Germany electing a racial minority as president? Heh. Non, no, nein. And, on a completely personal note, I think it is awfully cool that the next president of the United States is someone who once graded a paper of mine. I mean, honestly. No degrees of separation!

I'm also proud to be my mother's daughter today. Yesterday Zach sent me a frantic text from the beach where he'd found an abandoned, cold, shivering kitten. He brought it home, and the other abandoned cat that's basically taken up residence at his house freaked out. Being a 12 hour drive away I couldn't do much other than volunteer my mom to save the day, and she did. Zach brought the cat to my mom's gallery, she left work and installed it in the greenhouse at home, and there's one more kitten who won't be starving in the wilderness. I'm not sure this is a permanent solution, but it will work for now. My stepdad is allergic to cats and this kitten seems to want to be an inside cat. So if anyone lives in Oregon and wants a really sweet kitten, let me know!

Happy Election Day!

I woke up to the first snow of winter this morning, with an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. I plan to hide under the covers until the results are announced.