Singular Events

So it's been one month since I learned I must get some medical monitoring and be very alert for the return of an old affliction after a routine blood draw gave up some worrisome news. Yes, it is a serious ailment and I've already had a 2-year turn standing in the watchtower. I don't care for it much. I wrote about whirling around like a dervish for a week, doing the avoidance dance and then being hit hard after seven days when I was forced to slow down and look it in the eye. Get an update on the enemy's position and plan from there. I don't like "one". It is the loneliest number, just as we were told. One day, one week, one month, one year out of how many? How many ones make "all"? As in "all over, let down the drawbridges". I like definition, as the reader can see.

At least half of the illness fear focuses upon my head and what goes on inside it. No illness ever arrives at a convenient time, I am sure, but when I had to face this beginning in 2006, I handled it perhaps as poorly as it could be handled. Fired by the flaming fuel of terror, I got myself to appointments, procedures, blood draws and emergency rooms, in the company of advocates when needed. I was well-supported by friends and loved ones. My work did not suffer and I maintained my home as usual. I weathered more than 2 years of chaos and came out "optimistically good" in the end. That's when I lost it. The erosion of my self by fear caused me to behave in ways that are unlike me. I acted out. I drank. I broke things that may never be repaired. I harmed myself and others in ways that may never be remedied. My personal store of resources is still low and I cannot afford to "lose it" again, for any good reason. I can pony up for any briefly unpleasant form of treatment or diagnosis. I feel less certain of my ability to hold myself together metaphysically.

Ah, but there is this: almost literally simultaneously with my little physical surprise, I'd been enjoying some temporary sunshine. I was renewing a relationship that is important to me, with a person I love. This was exciting, and I fairly bubbled over with it. I suffered a good deal of teasing and winking. However, the issues that have always been issues are still issues, to my disquietude. I imagine it is my sobriety that has cleared my head, but some things cannot be molded to perfection and I became silent. We're two nice people who shouldn't spend a lot more time beating a dead horse, in my opinion. My withdrawal into self was noticed at AA. "Why so quiet, Les?" I said I had more on my plate than I could deal with. I didn't feel up to handling any of it well, and that I'd possibly make a mess of all of it (again). I was encouraged, day after day, in meetings and in private, to get every bit of the buffet out onto the table in full view. Guess what? I still have health issues. I have resolved a human issue. Everyone involved it in has retained their dignity and love for one another. In fact a love offering was delivered right to my door on Saturday, to my surprise. I nearly broke my face grinning! This may sound day-to-day dull to some readers. This is earth-shattering for me. I don't resolve issues. I bomb the planet and leave no man standing. Including myself. I sense this new way is going to save me a lot of time formerly spent in reinvention. I got through without drinking, without destruction, without hurting anyone. Even myself.

If you heard a thundering din followed by the roar of a rushing river, that was me. For my years-long creative logjam has been freed by a surge of ideas, adhesives and more. I have made and completed a project I am OK good with! I cannot show it here and now as it is a gift for a friend who won't see it for a few days. It is an imperfect item, to be sure, but it is whole and it shall be presented with joy. It should be noted that I called out for my usual absolutions: "Wrong adhesives on hand." "Don't own the good scissors any more." "I'm depressed." I was gently urged forward. "Try this." Keep at it." Finally it was completed after some pretty close handwork accomplished without my glasses and with muttered curses. I christened it with a histrionic and overwrought name, will feature it on my blog at some future date, and immediately jumped into plans for more such items. As described in my recent post, I'm in full "Hey, I've Got an Idea!" mode. Oh, this will affect others and change the world as we know it. Or so I see it right now. And the beauty of this is that my strong yen to create has lay dormant for so long, I thought it was irretrievable. But maybe not.

The monsoonal season is back in full force with a day of showers and glowering clouds on Sunday. Oh, I enjoy a rainshowerjunk art supply treasure. Yeah! Uh-huh. Within moments, I opened the big garage door in order to breathe. After 5 minutes, I needed to sit down, sweat pouring. Unlike myself, I felt a little faint. Short of breath, kind of. Glancing at the new instrument, I saw it was only about 80-degrees, with humidity at 65%! We're accustomed to single-digit humidity. I came inside, wiped my brow and wondered how people in the east can tolerate that for even a moment. Ugh!

A man introduced himself as a newcomer at AA. There's no requirement for a person to do so, but when one does it, we who are veterans make a point of welcoming him or her. He said it was the first AA meeting he'd ever attended and he was fewer than 24 hours sober. He was back today. "Hi, this is my second AA meeting ever. I'm more than 24 hours sober." Members applauded. I was sitting near him, so I smiled and said, "Good for you! Keep coming back." During the meeting, the topic being discussed prompted me to share an anecdote. It was a rerun, but that happens. Sometimes the day's subject only reminds me of one event, or I'm in a different group. It's OK to tell a story more than once. Some AAs even become legends due to their one seminal story. So I told my true tale and spent the rest of the meeting feeling uncomfortable as I'd been sandwiched tightly between a couple who were sparring and tossing angry energy at one another through me. I bolted for the door after the Lord's Prayer.

In the patio, the man made a beeline for me. He'd been struck by my sharing and took pains to say so. He reiterated he was 24-hours sober and hit my sponsor up for a cigarette, but turned his attention back to me. "Well, let's talk, though I can't help you with a smoke." He said he wouldn't have thought so. I must give off rays or something. For those who do not share our disease, this man is in a hard spot. His face showed it. We talked about my sharing and about how difficult the first days are. He asked when he could find meetings during the week, so we agreed to meet up tomorrow when Jenn and I will introduce him to some of the men in our group who can perhaps sponsor him and who can certainly help him. He was so grateful. He said so. And he showed it. Walking to the parking lot, I said, "Well. My first. A newcomer reached out for help from me." Jenn said, "Yep. He was definitely seeking you. And you did  it really well." Imagine this. Exactly one year ago I lost my job and other major parts of my life because my drinking was so out of control. And today I helped a man. He didn't know my story was a retread. He didn't know I'm struggling to work my own program as I am distressed over my other problems. He gave me the opportunity to be of the highest service we can give: get sober, stay sober and help another alcoholic get sober. I just seemed safe haven to him. A drunk with something to offer another drunk. I am humbled and awed.

And so, another day. It's August! Driver's license to be renewed, already. A writing deadline looms, which promises income. The humidity is torturous, causing even my straight-as-pins hair to curl a little. Smokey Robinson on the iPod. And so it goes.

In my ears right now: Because I love it, because it makes me dance, and because the focus just now is on "up", "fun", "hand-clapping".

This post dedicated to the memories that were made.

Learning from Home Dudes

We've transitioned from monsoonal and mild to mixed monsoonal and blazing. Soon we will be simply blazing, but only for 60-75 days. The intense heat hit suddenly and it is hard on home dudes. They are in and out of hot vans every day, doing hard physical work, sometimes for 12 hours. I see them drag up the stairs at the end of their workdays and my heart hurts. I don't know how they do it. To their credit, they always manage to look pretty presentable, too! I know Cesar always has a man-purse tucked away somewhere with cologne and supplies for cleaning up his face and clothes in case of messes. They all know which on-board products to use on accidental spills to their clothes ~ they care about the image they project. We like that here.

We started the morning yesterday with 90 degrees at 6:30 a.m. Heavy silence reigned. Paper coffee cups picked up on the way in. Another cigarette for each of the home dudes. David and I don't do that. No one was very perky except Limes, but we talk about these things and everyone at least manages a chuckle or a "well, we're all in it together, so let's start the day."

One of David's favorite sayings is "there are miles of carpet in this city" ~ usually said with a dreamy grin on his face. We're called out to clean a lot of it. We do huge commercial jobs and one room jobs. We take them all. It happened that we cleaned the corporate human resources department of a major hotel/casino operation and our contact person loves our work. She seems to be very social, so we hope she'll talk to people in other departments and we'll get more and more work in that monstrous facility.

No one who follows this blog would know it, but I'm a talker. I am an only child, so I grew up thinking people wanted to hear what I have to say. I am a communicator and harmonizer by nature, always trying to make the connection with others. My mentor at the union (a crusty old curmudgeon teaching a sweet young thing the ropes) taught me, "If you can't give them substance, give them form." So with communication, I'm always two steps out in front. It's damned hard to shut me up. With respect to carpet cleaning, I had to learn from the ground up, but by now I have a barrel full of really cogent discourses on - you name it: pet urine issues, water damage restoration, cookie cutter patch repairs . . .

Home dudes rolled and my day started. July may have started in spits and fizzles, but it's going out screaming. I am an octopus - arms reaching out everywhere for phone, calculator, BlackBerry, keyboard . . . I took the next call. "Hi, Limes, this is Diane from XYZ Casino. You were out in May to clean our carpets . . . " I went on instant charm alert, because this is an important customer. [All customers are important, but you get my drift.] My fingers flew on the keyboard as I pulled up the customer record. If she had questions about the services or the cost, I would have the answers immediately. "Hi, Diane, I remember you well! How may we be of service today?" ["Got 10,000 square feet of carpet to throw at me?," I hoped.] "Your men did an excellent job for us and we plan to call you back in 10 months, but I wonder if you can help me with something." "I'll certainly try . . . . " "Limes, why would we be growing mushrooms through the carpet?"I sat up so straight, so suddenly, I could hear bones cracking. "M-m-m-m-mushrooms?" with a slight squeal in my voice at the end of the word. "Living organisms? Mushrooms? Through the carpet?" What the heezy? WTF? Folks, the words I was sputtering were just time spenders, because my brain had stopped. I'd crashed into the brick wall and was broken. "Well, they were living, but we keep pulling them out." I have to tell it as it was, readers: I couldn't come up with anything. She'd rendered me word-free. I got off the phone with a firm promise to investigate and get back with her. Yes, the lame old, "Let me look into this and I'll call you back." Blush.

I went to David's office doorway, which is a place where I often take refuge, my hands each placed on a doorjamb. He and I cackle a lot each day, but he could see the shock and distress on my face, and this was no laugh-fest. We're both brow-furrowers when faced with something mystifying, and this time the ruts were deep. Although you've read me blog about David's brilliance, he's not a nuts-and-bolts, take-it-apart-and-put-it-together kind of man. I think he would not like puzzles. He pays other people to work certain things out. All day I freaked out about those mushrooms. I spoke to almost every home dude as they radioed in: "Home dude, what do you think about . . . ?" "What? What, Limes? What did you say? You're kidding, right? Giving me the business?" No, home dudes. It's real.

By coincidence, all vans and service teams ended their day at the same hour. Home dudes collected in the office, where I could literally feel heat emanating off of their bodies. I started the mushroom talk and the noise level rose. "What the hell?" "Limes, are you sure that's what she said?" And then, Troy, in his quiet way, piped in. I had to hush the others in order to hear what he was saying. "Either their slab is cracked or the mushrooms are growing near an exterior wall. There has been some water source and the mushrooms are growing through the cracked slab or through the wall." Dead silence. Thought I: "Yeah, can that really happen? Is that something you've actually heard of?" I silently gave him Diane's telephone number. He called and spoke quietly with her. We all listened. He hung up the phone and grinned. "Mushrooms growing through the carpet along an exterior wall where they recently had a plumbing emergency that spewed thousands of gallons of water." Because Troy is a nuts-and-bolts, take-it-apart-and-put-it-together kind of man.

After Troy's show, Justin suddenly remembered an apartment he lived in where his bedroom abutted the neighbor's bedroom. The neighbor had a flood in his apartment and apparently appropriate water damage restoration work was not performed. Justin went to his bedroom closet one day and thought about fainting. "Limes, it was a forest. Mushrooms, little trees . . . " I'm adding mushrooms to my list of topics about which I am knowledgeable. Just like action-back carpet and Pet Urine 101. Once our CPA was visiting the office to make a presentation at our staff meeting. She watched us interact for an hour. When she was leaving, she touched my arm and said, "They are all so lucky to have you." Uh-huh. It goes both ways, home girl. Can't wait for the first phone call when I can ask, "Are you growing mushrooms, Ma'm?"

In my ears right now: Mushrooms, what did you think?

Something that charmed me: Justin growing a forest in his closet.

No More Bitchy Pills for You, Little Miss Crabby Ass

Mr. Insomnia and I were blogging around together on our date. I'd stepped away from the computer for a few days - surprising, because I've come to love to blog and have quite a group of favorites I follow, interspersed with writing my own. To be really straight about it, I was so unprepared to succeed at my first long training walk that I kind of stopped in my tracks and spent a couple of days changing the way I approach almost everything. There were actually some Bambi-in-the-Highbeams moments of fear. "Even if I did 17, I bet I won't be able to do 20." Which is rubbish, because adding 3 the next time won't be anything. But there were far more moments that were simply "What just happened here and what do I do next?" Should I go get the M(arathoner) tattoo? Probably premature, since I am not one yet. So, in the spirit of regaining my equilibrium:

David's back from vacation and I was never as happy to see a head covered by a baseball cap rising up out of the stairwell. He grinned, I grinned. In the first hour he made a one-sentence proclamation, "It was a $70 job - give the woman her money back," that took the weight of the world off of my shoulders. Geez, I know his philosophy very well. Why didn't I think of that? He took a group of extended family to San Diego for a week and did everything the way he does things - top shelf. He rented a boat and jet skis on the Fourth. He had some good stories spawned by the fact that multiple members of the family turned out not to be seafarers. Been there. A zillion times. San Diego Bay is choppy much of the time. One's skin really does turn a greenish hue.


As I sat at my desk doing not less work, but more "my" work as David did "his" work all day, I was repeatedly annoyed by the chirp of the WeatherBug. I keep the WeatherBug on my desktop at work and at home. I can glance at the temperature any time, and if there's anything remarkable to tell, the WeatherBug chirps at me. It's a very efficient arrangement. So WeatherBug was at me all day long - the alert went from moderate to high to extreme fire danger alerts throughout southern Nevada as we are enjoying screaming winds, extremely high temperatures and single digit humidity. OK, makes sense to me. We're sittin' on a tinder box and we see fires frequently in the mountains nearby. So how does that comport with . . . .

Shocking to me, as I am a SoCal woman and we haven't seen such a sight in decades, the fireworks stands begin to spring up in every convenience store parking lot in the city about 10 days before the Fourth. We have a lot of convenience stores, folks. I'm going to say there are not hundreds, but thousands of stands, each one benefitting this good cause, that charity or club, another wonderful organization. Sold from these stands are notorious poorly made fireworks imported from China. [Yes, this paragraph is going to contain all manner of assaults to my sensibilities.] The prices are shocking, the fireworks are well known, maybe even expected. to be duds or faulty or dangerous. Oh yeah, and anyone one can buy them and set fire to them late at night after a day that might have included BBQ and beer.


Friday as I stepped out of the car at 7-11, the Metro PD K-9 unit volunteers were setting up their fireworks booth ~ hey! it was the day before the Fourth. A few officers were there with their K-9 vehicles and several of the mammoth beasts sat obediently and quietly in a row. That was to my left. To my right was the Channel 3 news van, cameras at the ready, staffers looking for a story. I was one of few patrons in the parking lot and a young cameraman and a chirpy girl reporter stepped my way. "Uh-uh, guys. I'm not the one you want. I don't approve of the fireworks and that's not the organization that tugs at my heart. You'll have wasted your time getting bad video." Shocked looks! I was concerned the K-9s might be loosed on me. But just silence, and I walked on to buy my crappy cup of 7-11 coffee.

The night of the Fourth, it was arranged that a group of us home dudes would meet up on the deck at the office, BBQ food left over and frozen from Limes Appreciation Day, with David's blessing . . . and watch all of the valley's offerings of fireworks. Limes didn't go after all, having practically erased her feet and legs from her body that day. Yesterday morning (Monday, after the holiday weekend), I was regaled with a story. In the yard just behind and below our office, a family was setting off an impressive number of dud fireworks. Children and adults were excited and the home dudes were having fun watching them from above. When the store of fireworks was exhausted, the piece de resistance was brought out. This object resembled a small hot air balloon - and, yes - the apparent "dad" ignited it in the same place such balloons are fired up. Home dudes watched the upper balloon portion inflate as it filled with hot air and started to rise slowly. Once the balloon rose to a height higher than the block wall surrounding the yard, the wind caught it. Flung it across the yard into a tree which immediately caught fire. "Get the hose!"

Extreme fire danger alert, indeed. After the story was told, I said, "Now, I have a problem with that." Silence in the office. "Aw, Limes, it's all in good fun." I'm just in from my walk and time to get ready for work. Flipped on the TV newscast I enjoy and half-listen to on weekday mornings. Right this moment, fire in the Wetlands near Sam Boyd Stadium. Flames 25 feet high. Roaring for hours. We don't have many wetlands areas in the Mojave, folks.

In my ears right now: Reports and predictions of heat, wind, fire danger. WeatherBug chirping, which intrigues Dylan and Virginia Woolf.

Something that doesn't charm me: The Michael Jackson Traveling Circus rolls on to its seminal moment this morning. Enough - more than enough - already! I liked his music, too. Everything else is not our business. Millions of people vying for 8,750 seats x 2 in the Staples Center. 250,000 people expected in the streets. As David said, "When they have the Coliseum, Dodger Stadium . . . . "

Whirlwind - That's Limes NOW

David is on vacation, so Limes is at the wheel. Not "in charge" (that makes me feel uncomfortable, like a skirt with a badge), just taking my turn at the tiller. It is the end of one month and the beginning of another - extra work. The year is half over, which means we just completed the second quarter - extra work. Oh, and did I mention we went 108-degrees Monday? The home dudes were feeling it. Their personalities are different, so they deal with in different ways. But they all had to deal with it. An e-mail from the Badger as I plodded down the stairs into the fiery pit, "107 degrees at 6:00 p.m. does not bode well for my race tomorrow." I paused on stair number 17 to e-mail back "Ditto, except I'm not racing."

None of which is griping, you understand. It's just different from what had felt normal for a little minute. David here, unseasonably cool weather. One morning you get up and things are different. The ebb and flow of everything.

While the Badger races near and far, I've got his birds lodging in at the office with my own pair and I must say that doubling the number of parakeets in one's office increases the noise level exponentially. The phones are jangling now (that's the best work juju) and I have people asking me all day, "Lady, are you with the birds?" "No, the voices in my head are channeling. . . "

Waiku No. 211, An Ode to Birdbrains With a Smile to Express Humor and Affection

Raucous birds, please hush!
Badger, come and collect yours.
I need peace to work.


I've now walked a walk of more than four hours- closer to 5 hours than 4, (only once, but weeks ahead of schedule). The price I paid was one fairly sore day - say 5 on a scale of 1 - 10. I justed wanted to see if I could do it. I did it. Many things happened I didn't expect to have happen. Some things didn't come up that I expected to have to deal with. OK - balance is good.

For a month or more, the Badger has been getting some wonderful shots with that new camera. He said June may be his most prolific month of good pics ever. Coming home from Mother Badger's and his Tortilla Flats race, he had a lot of pretty dull miles to cover. He e-mailed from WickedBurg, grumbling about the constant bottleneck there. I shot one back: "Hey, Badger, you've always wanted to capture that photo op out near Wikiup. Why don't you get the picture today? I'll put it in my blog." BlackBerry reply: "OK!"

I was buying our dinner hours later when my BlackBerry notified me the photo had arrived. Yes, folks, that is Snoopy(ies) and Woodstock taking off on a rocket from Wikiup, AZ. Why? I don't know. I'm not a rocket scientist or a Snoopy scientist. Woodstock is a birdbrain. He doesn't deserve a scientist. Who would we ask? I don't know. There's no one in Wikiup.

Photo credit: J. D. Morehouse

In my ears right now: The Girl With . . . you know what kind of eyes she's got. The CD came and was promptly burned for me. I believe Beast of Burden shall be played next.

Something that charmed me: I asked a man who is sometimes a curmudgeon to interrupt his journey and take a picture of something odd. Badgers are not know to tolerate nonsense. But you're looking at the picture. And, yes, Mother Badger's offerings have been delivered to me . . . all except for the upholstered chair!

Precious Stones

A soft spoken British lady called to request a carpet cleaning. Hers was a good address in the city. It was a smallish job - 2 or 3 rooms with some pet issues. On the appointed day, Cesar and Troy headed out to do the job.

Chirp! went the BlackBerry. Cesar, teasing with his voice, said, "Limes, this is the job I wish you had come out to with us." "Why's that, Cesar, what's up?" "This big house is full of pictures of the Rolling Stones. Everywhere." Said I, "Oh, some big fans, huh?" "No, Limes. Personally acquainted." Silence on my end for only a moment while I gathered my wits . . . "Cesar, if they've shaken Mick Jagger's hand, I want to shake their hands!" "No, Limes, they're much closer than that."

I scratched my head for quite awhile wondering what they'd stepped into . . . . they finished the job and chirped in again. "Limes, we're done and headed back in. They've sent you a gift!" And then he refused to say more. I was on pins and needles. What could this be?

When they strolled into the office, grinning evilly, they had a stack of CDs in their hand, one of which is for me. Here's the story, it's mine and I'm sticking to it.

A very British man with the unlikely name of Marino De Silva, is a music producer who has done a lot of work with the Rolling Stones and their immediate circle. It is very apparent that he has free, easy access to them individually and as the Rolling Stones. You're looking at his wife, the soft-spoken British lady, on the cover of Precious Stones and Other Assorted Gems.

This CD is the most fun I have ever heard. It features all current and past Rolling Stones in some role (including Bill Wyman) except the expired Brian Jones. It features a number of (my conclusion only, don't take this to the bank) studio musicians who are very intimate with the Rolling Stones. The juxtaposition on this CD is that the studio musicians are singing lead and people like - oh, Mick Jagger - are singing back-up. It is fun, it is humorous, it is intoxicating.

Track #1 is Mick Taylor singing a great "Twisted Sister" tune. Where did they pull him from? I don't recall. Brian Jones had died and they pulled Mick from ??where?? I think he was barely 21. I wouldn't have known what he sounded like at the time. Now I do. He sounds good!

Track #2 - Keith Richards sounding very Tom Waits-like in a torchy, torchy ballad with a great female, unknown back-up singer, and all kinds of brass from the Memphis Horns. I don't know the Memphis Horns or the woman. Keith has blown out his throat almost as badly as his face. And it's a great song.

Track 3 - some people I don't know doing a really credible rendition of Tumbling Dice. Who doesn't like the tune?

Track #4 made me bob in my chair. A little reggae, nice-sounding thing. The lead singer does it well. It's when his back-up singer pipes in a little ways into the song . . . . well, I do know Mick Jagger when I hear him! He takes a lesser role quite nicely.

There is a track I was prepared to detest when I read about it on the liner notes: Bruce Willis (I do not like smirky Bruce Willis) on harmonica and vocals . . . I'd never like this song . . it's the hottest kind of rockabilly thing I've ever heard with screaming harmonica and actually, a really good singing voice.

My favorite tune on the whole thing is Seven Days, written by Bob Dylan who has apparently never recorded it. Singing lead is Ronnie Wood. My opinion: the Stones should occasionally put him up front, but then what would Mick do, as he can't seem to play any instrument?

There's an unfortunate selection, Cole Porter's "In the Still of the Night". Charlie Watts selected it because that's what he loves, apparently. OK, so be it.

Another little oddity: a final track by Iggy Pop and Johnny Depp. I don't care for the tune, but I'm fascinated by the mix-up on this one CD.

Ironically, I do not care for the cut of Satisfaction. It features said Marino De Silva. He plays a smoking guitar while someone sings words we all know. "Satisfaction." Redone with permission from the Rolling Stones. If we didn't all know the song, I might like it. It smokes and screams and writhes . . . . but in the end, I guess I just don't think anyone should mess with Satisfsaction. It's been done. Leave it alone. Let it be, even.

Anyway, it's a fascinating CD that's played in all of my music makers for months. The home dudes said Marino De Silver was planning to e-mail them notices of events he puts on in town. I asked Cesar if he'd listened to the CD. "No, Limes, I don't really like that kind of music." Note to self: "What kind of music? This is unlike anything ever heard of." I asked Troy if that lady in the belly dancer costume was actually his customer. "Yes, Limes, but the picture wasn't taken yesterday."

In my ears right now: Ronnie Wood singing Bob Dylan's words. "Seven days that are connected . . . she'll be comin' home . . . seven more days, all I've gotta do is survive . .

Why I like it: all the musicians we know are in the mix here, but they're not doing what we expect. It's quirky. Bruce Willis?

Something that charmed me: We've officially hit triple digits and it's still June. I may not love roasting in my own juices, makeup rolling off of my face before my eyes. But this is what we expect. "Unseasonable" is more difficult to handle than "expected". I'm old and I'm crabby. Just dish up what I know and I'll deal with it as well as the next stranger on the bus.