tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20404571022562796462024-03-18T05:33:47.517-04:00Lemonade & Kidneysa sweet-and-sour blog about life, baking, and <br> living with polycystic kidney diseaseRuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.comBlogger463125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-2746281359955271492018-03-02T20:06:00.002-05:002018-03-03T10:04:20.245-05:00What I Wish I Had Said<i>(I suspect no one will read this post. But I'll know it's here.)</i><br />
<br />
Over the years I have from time to time idly wondered whether I should shutter this blog for good. I haven't written in so long, and while I loved blogging and this community, it truly feels like its time is past. Then I get an email out of the blue from another woman who was affected by <a href="http://lemonade-and-kidneys.blogspot.com/2008/04/february-3-2007.html" target="_blank">this man</a> - a woman who found me via this blog - and I know I can't close it down. We are a sisterhood, and leaving space for us to find one another is the least I can do. <br />
<br />
I received one such email in January and it was a gut-punch. It took me several days to understand why it was hitting me so hard, but I got there eventually. The one piece of this experience that is unresolved for me is my guilt at having not reported Gerald Klever when I could have - and wanted to. Each email I receive forces me to face how many other women were victimized over the years because I said nothing.<br />
<br />
So in January I mourned again, and accepted again that I have not been able to forgive myself. I bitched a little at the Universe for bringing this up for me - again. And I carried on.<br />
<br />
And this week I learned what the Universe was up to. The January email was a reminder to pay attention. To be present and conscious and ready. Because this week, while at a play in Philadelphia, I gradually became aware that the man sitting opposite me in the theater was Gerald Klever. <br />
<br />
(I had seen him in court in 2008, of course. But not face to face. And not unexpectedly. And prior to that, not since roughly 1983.)<br />
<br />
If I hadn't been looking at his mug shot a month ago, I might have missed it. As it was, I was only 90% sure that it was him. It felt like such an invasion, that he would be in the same space as me and not be aware, and I had to know for sure. So I followed him out into the lobby.<br />
<br />
<i>- Excuse me. I think we know each other. Are you Gerry Klever?</i><br />
<br />
<i> -Yes. </i><br />
<br />
<i>-I'm Ruth Fischer.</i> (No sign of recognition.) <i>From Swarthmore.</i><br />
<br />
And his face fell. And he said --<br />
<br />
<i>- I'm sorry.</i><br />
<br />
And I turned and walked away. <br />
<br />
And what I wish I had said is, your apology is not accepted. Your apology will never be accepted. I'm standing on my two damn feet and I will <b>never </b>accept your apology for what you did to me, for what you did to my classmates, to your family, to countless, countless other girls. For what you did to the women who email me, decades later, to share their stories -- women I have never met and will never meet who are still processing their pain -- for all of <b>them</b>, on their behalf, I do not accept your apology.<br />
<br />
In the names of all of the women, men, girls and boys of #metoo: your apology is not accepted.<br />
<br />RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-7801109713773227782014-11-06T20:29:00.000-05:002014-11-06T20:29:14.766-05:00To Zen, Or Not To ZenYesterday I was trying to make an appointment with my new acupuncturist for after work, and he asked me what was the earliest I could make it without hurrying. And I realized, I am never not hurrying. Hurry is my default mode. I'm either hurrying or I'm asleep (or trying to get to sleep).<br />
<br />
My first reaction to this realization was, holy crap, I'm always hurrying, I really ought to do something about that. Find more zen in my life. But then I thought, hold it, do I really <i>have</i> to be more zen? Hurrying seems to work for me. Maybe the healthier thing to do would be to embrace that truth and not feel bad that I'm not more zen? When did zen become the default goal we should all strive for?<br />
<br />
I do wonder.<br />
<br />
<br />RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-79875312631678804142013-11-25T16:41:00.001-05:002013-11-25T16:41:13.627-05:00GunsHere's what I don't understand. I don't understand why our national discussion around guns and gun owners' rights and gun safety don't acknowledge the simple truth that the easy availability of guns in our culture leads to more deaths. Isn't it really just that simple? The solution to that is FAR from simple, but cannot we all agree that the presence of guns = more deaths?<br />
<br />
My life has been touched by gun violence three times in the last 18 months. In one instance, the family member of a dear friend died at the end of a gun following a domestic dispute. In another, a relative of mine defended himself against a perceived threat and unintentionally killed one of his peers. And in another, the child of another dear friend was killed in a mass shooting by a very disturbed individual.<br />
<br />
In each of these cases, the guns were legally obtained and easily available. In each of these cases, death was the direct result of the easy accessibility of the guns in question. Why aren't we asking, as a nation, how outcomes would be different if guns were not so easily accessible? What might have been different if, in the heat of the moment, the person who ended up pulling the trigger did not have access to such an efficient killing tool?<br />
<br />
Here's a frightening thought: over 40% of guns purchases in the US last year are not subjected to background checks. They are purchased through loopholes, at gun shows and over the internet. <br />
<br />
Here's another chilling fact: gun manufacturers gave over $50,000,000 to the NRA lobby last year. (Just in case you were wondering how legislation supported by 90% of the voters was defeated in the Senate earlier this year.)<br />
<br />
Yale University spent this gorgeous fall day in lock down while FBI and SWAT teams conducted a building-to-building search for a reported armed gunman. How is this okay? How are we not discussing how to limit access to guns?<br />
<br />
There are a lot of issues at play in the US when it comes to gun violence, none of which have easy solutions. But surely we can agree that there is no sense requiring background checks for some gun purchases, but not all. Surely we can agree that more resources are needed to treat mental health issues. Surely we can agree that there is too much money from gun interests polluting our political system. <br />
<br />
Surely we can agree that the more guns there are, the more deaths there will be.<br />
<br />
We need to start somewhere. We must keep this conversation going. We must make our voices heard in Washington, and in our state capitols. The cost of doing nothing is too great.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-30268789963330501622013-11-22T10:41:00.000-05:002013-11-22T10:41:08.102-05:00Bah HumbugI've been a little slow to get into the holiday spirit this year, so the other night when I was browsing Netflix for a few hours' diversion, "Love Actually" seemed like a good choice -- something light and heart-warming and holiday-themed. I remembered the movie as being essentially good-hearted and reasonably entertaining.<br />
<br />
I must be getting cynical (or old, or both), because upon repeat viewing, it has left me incredibly crabby. The two "successful" romantic relationships at the end of the movie are ones that began with the women in servile positions to the men (the Hugh Grant/whatshername and Colin Firth/otherwhatshername relationships) and the two independent, fully-realized adult female characters are left either in limbo or in sad solitude (Emma Thompson and Laura Linney). <br />
<br />
Is this the message we really want to be internalizing? That in order to have a happy ending with an successful man who adores you, a woman must bring him lots of cups of tea, anticipate his desire for chocolate biscuits, and jump in a freezing cold lake to retrieve the pages of his manuscript that he was stupid enough to be working on outside on a windy day? Whereas if you are a woman who is good at her job or a dedicated mother, you will either loose your husband's attention to the first young tart (arg, such a cliche) that bats her eyes at him or you will live out your life as the lonely, sad, slightly frumpy caretaker of your mentally ill brother. <br />
<br />
Don't even get me started on the male fantasy-fulfillment nonsense of the guy who travels to America to get laid and finds himself immediately in a threesome.<br />
<br />
I dunno, folks. Is it me, or is the message of this movie actually quite depressing? RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-81063119183171936812013-07-06T12:46:00.000-04:002013-07-06T12:46:03.723-04:00KvellIn this, my year of not-blogging, I have let a lot of milestones pass by unremarked: Garrick's entry into high school, Quinlan's driving permit, Garrick's first featured performance on stage, Quinlan's first prom (with a date!), Garrick's first shave, Quinlan's two-week participation in Brown University's pre-college program.... It's been a busy time full of prime Bloggable Moments, is what I'm saying, and I've blogged none of it. No poignant reveries about How Big They're Getting, How Time Flies, How Happy/Melancholy/Impressed/Proud I am as a parent, Sunrise/Sunset, and so forth. For whatever reason and reasons, I have felt no impulse at all to document these moments. Which is probably a post unto itself which will also likely remain unblogged, at least for now.<br />
<br />
HOWEVER.<br />
<br />
I realized yesterday that the Milestone to End All Milestones recently occurred, and that I'd want to be able to look back on this one, captured here in my digital memory book, to remember fondly as one of my proudest moments as a mother. <br />
<br />
A few months ago, I convinced the boys to let their father haul two 50-gallon tubs of Bionicle pieces to the attic.<br />
<br />
*mic drop*<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-57035797635657661922013-06-28T09:43:00.000-04:002019-01-14T18:04:52.036-05:00UnretouchedIn response to a job ad placement posted yesterday, this morning, in my in box:<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hello how are you doing <span class="Object" id="OBJ_PREFIX_DWT596_com_zimbra_date"><span class="Object" id="OBJ_PREFIX_DWT597_com_zimbra_date"><span class="Object" id="OBJ_PREFIX_DWT601_com_zimbra_date">today</span></span></span>, i
just wana know if you are still looking for job, if so kindly reply
asap.<br /> Thanks</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I weep for humanity.</span>RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-42045874158974470042013-06-23T19:44:00.001-04:002013-06-23T19:44:26.248-04:00Fuck My LifeThings which have broken in the last month:<br />
<br />
- Michael's car battery<br />
- my car windshield (3rd time in fewer than 6 months, for those counting)<br />
- Michael's car's starter<br />
- the kids' bathroom shower faucets<br />
- the not-even-two-years-old dishwasher (again)<br />
- Michael's father (though it looks like he'll recover, thank god - another few weeks in rehab pending)<br />
- and now, the main drain stack from the kitchen (again) (resulting in a thrice-flooded basement in the last 36 hours)<br />
<br />
Thank god I'm such a cheap date, as 1.5 glasses of Sauvignon blanc are enough to deaden the pain. FOR NOW.<br />
<br />
RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-42624592878626707922013-06-14T11:29:00.001-04:002013-06-14T11:29:16.905-04:00StrategyOn Sunday I'm driving 10 hours round-trip to drop Quinlan off at Brown University's Pre-College Summer Program for two weeks.<br />
<br />
It will be the first time he's been away from home without family.<br />
<br />
I am trying to hold the lesson of <a href="http://lemonade-and-kidneys.blogspot.com/2009/04/friday-flashback-birthday-edition.html" target="_blank">this essay</a> in my heart as an alternative to totally losing my shit.<br />
<br />
Which may or may not work.....RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-26670522859925592782013-06-12T11:46:00.001-04:002013-06-12T11:46:22.747-04:00I Was Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis CloseI almost blogged this week. I had a whole thing in my head about school finishing up, Quinlan going off to Brown for two weeks for their summer pre-college program, the upcoming college applications and senior year and graduation and then he's gone and in my head it was a little witty and a lot bittersweet and when I sat down to type it up it just slid out of my head between my brain and my fingers and it was absolute crap.<br />
<br />
I'll try again in another four months.<br />
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<br />RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-63733961747782990272013-02-25T21:30:00.001-05:002013-02-25T21:31:18.770-05:00MathI took three tubes of SPF 55 to Mexico and came back with a tube and a half remaining. This totally means I get to go back next month, right?<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmUlakmoC5Rg-x6z2GhEOtdcVLfJ8qxhqzeLT_8f7-0xZwwYPnseSnZvITS4rMTPmkQkDPNEinTq8U8uWgQF4n8u5AmGSGJnYYI6BryoExJbn6m3o3qDR5EJOUoQbP_WiCbPGY0JUfHog/s640/blogger-image-1976600495.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmUlakmoC5Rg-x6z2GhEOtdcVLfJ8qxhqzeLT_8f7-0xZwwYPnseSnZvITS4rMTPmkQkDPNEinTq8U8uWgQF4n8u5AmGSGJnYYI6BryoExJbn6m3o3qDR5EJOUoQbP_WiCbPGY0JUfHog/s640/blogger-image-1976600495.jpg" /></a></div>RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-47715333959111472932013-02-16T08:49:00.001-05:002013-02-16T08:50:57.613-05:00Happy Kidneyversary to UsOne year ago today, my older brother gave me one of his kidneys. It's been a long year of recovery for me, with rehospitalization due to bad reaction to new meds, weakness, physical therapy, and persistent scar pain, but one year later, I finally feel like I'm back. As of 2 weeks ago I'm back to full time work, I'm seeing friends, I'm participating in my life in a way I hadn't fully for years. It's an amazing realization. <br />
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It's been a tough year, one made possible by unwavering support from Michael and the kids, and by the incredible ongoing encouragement and love from all of our friends and relatives. There are times that it truly does take a village. So, happy kidneyversary to you all for seeing us through! From here it just gets better.RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-38280071314177721262013-01-15T10:41:00.001-05:002013-01-15T10:41:17.923-05:00Unanticipated ConsequencesThe GYN was not able to palpate my right ovary this morning, as there is a chicken breast-sized kidney in the way. Huh. Didn't see that one coming.RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-49690133040711899422012-12-30T12:45:00.000-05:002012-12-30T12:45:48.941-05:00BookendsThe year began with a dear <a href="http://lemonade-and-kidneys.blogspot.com/2012/01/choking.html" target="_blank">friend's diagnosis of a brain tumor</a>. It is ending with helping my oldest friend bury her murdered 6-year-old in Newtown, Connecticut. In between, amongst my circle of closest friends there have been: sudden job losses (and attendant lawsuits), emergency surgeries, sudden hideous implosions of marriages, extended hospitalizations of children, chronic untreatable pain, deaths of parents, familial financial crises, untreatable cancer, and even more causes of grief and worry that are not mine to write about.<br />
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2012 was supposed to be the year that the clouds would lift after having spent much of 2011 watching my father die by degrees while descending into kidney failure. Instead, there has been a steady cover of oppressive anxiety permeating our lives, broken occasionally by glimmers of the good stuff (my successful kidney transplant [lengthy recovery notwithstanding], my brother's wedding, Obama's reelection, Garrick's smooth transition to high school). I will plead "overwhelming sorrow" as a reason for not posting much this year - it is hard to bear witness to one's constant state of worry and grief.<br />
<br />
This is where I would usually insert some hopeful language about booting 2012 out the door and expecting better times in 2013. Truth is, I can't convince myself. I fear that 2013 will be just as difficult and worrisome as 2012, and it feels somehow (irrationally) like a character flaw that I can't shake this off or break the cycle. We will persevere. But I might not be writing much in 2013, either.RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-59074387845452373102012-12-14T10:12:00.004-05:002012-12-14T10:12:27.008-05:00The Mayans Might Be RightI was emptying garbage pails this morning and made a shocking discovery: someone <i>who wasn't me</i> actually changed the toilet paper roll in the kids' bathroom. Not only that, the empty tube and wrapper were in the <i>trashcan</i>.<br />
<br />
I cannot think of a more definitive sign of the End of Days for the life of me...RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-83398089878177937732012-11-12T17:18:00.000-05:002012-11-12T17:18:06.543-05:00Letting the Days Go ByThis returning-to-normal-life stuff is weird. My physical recovery seems virtually complete; with the exception of some lingering physical weakness, I feel... good. Like myself. I no longer fade out by 8pm and can actually do fun things like bake for a few hours at a time and rake leaves for a while without feeling like I want to die. So that's good.<br />
<br />
And there's so damn much going on. Like, both my kids are high school now. And Garrick has jumped in with both feet, joining clubs and getting involved with the theatre program, and auditioning for the select chorus. Quin is adding activities, too, albeit at a slower pace. The point is, it almost feels like traditional teenager stuff around here, with people needing rides to and fro and deadlines and activities and schedules to keep track of. It's impossible to ignore, so it's all getting done, somehow. Being busy keeps the engine moving. <br />
<br />
Re-engagement is strange and I don't know how successful I'm being at it. It's akin to having taken an 18-month nap (starting with the death of my father), then woken up and no longer recognizing the universe. Re-engaging with everyone's busy schedules is relatively easy. Re-engaging with my inner landscape is proving way more difficult. All the things that were put on hold -- grieving for my father, reacting to the abrupt upheaval last year of my professional life, other conflicts and traumas -- are now clamoring for attention that I don't know how to give.<br />
<br />
So the days go by, and I tell myself I really should be writing more, doing more, seeing friends more, but I don't. It seems time for some reckoning, and instead of digging in, I'm bouncing from deadline to deadline, from obligation to obligation. <br />
<br />
Same as it ever was.<br />
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RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-60571615858587225932012-11-04T00:04:00.001-04:002012-11-04T00:04:15.519-04:00Back in the SaddleI didn't mind the dark so much, but the cold sucked. The power went out Monday evening and stayed out until mid-day Saturday. The house temperature hovered around 54* for most of that time. I took to sleeping in yoga pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt, long wooly socks, a sweatshirt, and leather gloves. Getting out from under the three comforters in the morning tested my fortitude mightily.<br />
<br />
But it's over now and the house temperature is up around 60* and the first load of dishes is almost done and the laundry awaits. <br />
<br />
We are so lucky to have my mother down the street (and on a different electrical circuit - she did not lose power!) for showers, hot meals, and Internet access. We are so lucky to have a neighbor with a generator who shares with us, so we didn't lose any food.<br />
<br />
How did you all make out?RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-79470196528450270172012-10-16T20:41:00.001-04:002012-10-16T20:41:16.924-04:00TestingI'm trying out a new blogging app. Is this thing on?<br />
RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-31999992232855303732012-10-02T16:44:00.001-04:002012-10-02T16:44:58.665-04:00Random Acts of What-the-FuckerySo yesterday afternoon I'm sitting in my car in the dentist's parking lot with the car door open, talking on my cell phone with the insurance company about Michael's car, in which Quinlan took his second ever practice drive last weekend -- and while I'm holding for the agent to transfer me to the Total Loss Department, some random older gentlemen with a small bouquet of zinnias in his hand walks by, stops and reverses, and hands me a flower and, with a huge smile, exhorts me to have a nice day!<br />
<br />
Which I thought was really very sweet of him, so while I was holding for the agent to look up the Total Loss Value of the car v. the Salvage/Repair Value of the car five minutes later and he happened by in the other direction, I hailed him and thanked him again, and told him that the good cheer was especially appreciated today. To which he replied, with a somewhat crazed look in his eyes:<br />
<br />
"Stop worrying! Stop being negative! Stop being neurotic! Get out and smell -- stop and smell the roses [herewith gesturing to a large rose bush nearby]! These roses smell great! Smell them! Get off the phone! Hang it up!"<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
At least I didn't have any cavities....RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-12229245401893093562012-09-07T13:02:00.001-04:002012-09-07T13:02:10.640-04:00What Do My Green Beans Say About Me?I read somewhere that Victorian gardeners placed straight glass tubes over their growing cucumbers, as it was a sign of moral turpitude to have your cucumbers kinked.<br />
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Which may or may not have any relevance to the below green beans from my garden....<br />
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RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-12187715623502788102012-08-16T08:10:00.000-04:002012-08-16T14:47:00.589-04:00Happy Semi-Kidney-versary to Me <p class='bloggerplus_text_section' align='left' style='clear:both;'>Six months ago this morning, I was gowned, IVed, pressure-cuff-legged and dopey on Benedryl in a pre-op waiting room, dozing while a surgical team removed my brother's right kidney. So much about my health has improved since then, but I am still fighting my way back to a semblance of myself pre-kidney failure. As I type this, I'm sitting in a gastroenterologist's waiting room, hoping he'll be able to shed some light on the ongoing digestive issues that continue to knock me out for a few days each week.<br><br>When a transplant patient tells you that transplant is a treatment, not a cure, believe them.<br><br>I am simultaneously so grateful for the incredible gift my brother gave me, and incredibly frustrated that I'm not yet all the way back to health. And guilty over that frustration. But I have faith that I'll get there eventually. The transplant clinic has turfed me back to my "home" nephrologist for alternate check ups, now extended from monthly to every two months. After bouncing up to 1.7, my creatinine seems to be settling in at 1.5-ish, which is respectable (if not as sexy as the 0.9 it was immediately following the transplant). And with the help of physical therapy, I have very little incision pain, am regaining use of my lower abdominal muscles, and no longer need to rest after climbing a flight of stairs.<br><br>I will take progress wherever I can find it.<br><br><br><br><br><br></p>RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-67740503803123185542012-08-03T18:56:00.002-04:002012-08-03T18:56:42.480-04:00This Also Happened in Singapore<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We visited the National Library in Singapore and this sign tickled me to no end. No studying in the library! At least they're polite about it.RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-73858794252894164282012-07-31T20:57:00.004-04:002012-07-31T20:57:52.108-04:00Not to Be Taken Too LiterallyIn the dream last night we were staying at the home of old family friends. It was very late in the dream, around 2AM, and I could not sleep for all of the various noises in the house. In the dream I went from room to room, sobbing with exhaustion, trying to solve the problem. But the radio that the father of the old-family-friends' family was listening to in the kitchen was an intricate mass of wires and knobs and equipment, and I couldn't figure out how to turn down the volume. I explained to him how the sound traveled up and was amplified by the stairwell, to no avail. In the room next to me, the kids were... I'm not sure what they were doing, but it involved making noise and for some reason I couldn't stop them. Noise seemed to emanate from every room in the house, and my earplugs were powerless to block it. <br />
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In the dream I finally went to the room where my mother was sleeping, thinking at last I'd found a place to rest, but then realized/remembered -- she sleeps with the television on. In the dream I felt doomed, and I awoke this morning with an ache in my throat from sobbing, sobbing, sobbing for some sleep.<br />
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<br />RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-50050967544958844992012-07-12T22:35:00.001-04:002012-07-12T22:36:20.260-04:00The Big Thing That Happened in SingaporeDid I forget to tell you that we all went to Singapore in June?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My brother got married.</td></tr>
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<br />RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-618816184211704542012-07-03T09:35:00.000-04:002012-07-03T09:35:34.154-04:00Things I Found While Cleaning My Closet<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqjywlnp1a1s6A2h_RhcMBOyz-EoSatSOlGjifMo_xEMaF9JY-f8NazBz4tDWi6hskahxZoye59e4K0IOFWX37aSpzf04_N4QRcP0B-ESX4WfQyFRggFlPAwab_dPkx9UZbjBfefaM4KQ/s1600/image0" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqjywlnp1a1s6A2h_RhcMBOyz-EoSatSOlGjifMo_xEMaF9JY-f8NazBz4tDWi6hskahxZoye59e4K0IOFWX37aSpzf04_N4QRcP0B-ESX4WfQyFRggFlPAwab_dPkx9UZbjBfefaM4KQ/s320/image0" width="320" /></a><br />
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Too many handbags.<br />
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An old note to Santa.<br />
<i>[Dear Santa Claus,<br />
I am writing this in case I am asleep when you come. This potholder is for you. (The top looks a little messy because I was missing two threads.) I hope you and your wife enjoy it!<br />
Sincerely,<br />
Quinlan Schultz<br />
P.S. Some of the threads even have Christmas colors!]</i><br />
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A pair of purple corduroy overalls made by my mother, with my name embroidered thereon.<br />
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Five pairs of black boots.RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2040457102256279646.post-2111489852309496712012-06-30T07:06:00.000-04:002012-06-30T07:29:42.303-04:00Post With No Name <p class='bloggerplus_text_section' align='left' style='clear:both;'>The anniversary of my father's death was this week, and it has become clear to me that I hadn't allowed myself to really grieve yet. When you're chronically ill, your world shrinks to fit whatever energy and space your illness does not consume. My world had shrunk to accommodate little more than work (and work stress), immediate family needs and sleep, so it's not surprising that now that my life is re-expanding to normal proportions I'm finding all sorts of unfinished business tumbling out of the recesses of my emotional closet. It is unnerving and disorienting.<br><br>I won't be blogging about much of it, but would like to get back to writing more regularly, if not particularly linearly. The recent shattering-death of my iPad is going to result in the organizing of photos as I shift and download files, so expect some random postings about Stuff That Happened as I sift through them. Bear with me?</p>RuthWellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022925821891020061noreply@blogger.com3