My mother, by all counts, is an exceptional woman. One of her many talents is her ability to not only craft the perfect telling of a story, but to express it on paper just as it exists in her head.

It goes without saying that my talent for writing came from her, just as my talent for calmly making sense from utter chaos came from my father.

Last year, my Mom left her position as a Staff Reporter at the Morning Call; a newspaper office I had quite literally grown up in. Not so much in the sense that my diapers were changed, more so that I changed. I saw the hours of dull typing and editing in-between the brief moments of furious “on the scene” activity and the countless miles drifting past the car window for a five minute interview.

I learned that this was work and that the slight smile of satisfaction on my mother’s face as she read her article before submitting it made the drudgery worth it. I learned how to be happy about my accomplishments, no matter what their overall impact.

Mom carried this concept with her no matter where she was and no matter what she was doing. She took a job at a smaller, less “corporate” newspaper; earning far less in wages but gaining something far greater in importance. She gained time. She gained freedom. She gained the ability to write stories that she wanted to write and eventually, she was given a column.

The first installment is below:

We Will Come

Byline By CHRIS PARKER

Byline cparker@tnonline.com

It’s early Sunday morning, and I’m sitting on my front porch. Steam rises from the mug of coffee that’s warming my hands, and in the kitchen, dough is rising in the warmth of the coal stove for the bread that will grace the table at our weekly family dinner.

Threads of thin sunlight filter through the trees, and, after giving God thanks for another beautiful day, I set down my empty mug and venture out for a mosey.

The ground is cold and hard against my feet, the air chill and damp and the sky a sullen gray.

But to my delight, pale green shoots, the advance guard of a platoon of golden daffodils, have broken through the ground next to the porch steps, and I can see subtle changes in the buds on the lilac and forsythia.

Winter, finally, is warming to the promise of spring.

Brighter, warmer days are coming, but sometimes it can be hard to see the signs as we hunker down, waiting for the icy grip of an especially harsh economic winter to loosen.

Like the age-old rhythm of the seasons, financial cycles are nothing new. In this winter, though, our monetary climate is approaching a deep-freeze not seen since the Great Depression.

Hardworking mothers and fathers are being rooted from jobs. Their incomes gone, many families are losing their homes. With no jobs, there is no money to spend, and so businesses are plowed under. The economy stills, becomes fallow.

But, as have the lilacs, forsythia and daffodils, we will survive this frozen dormancy. We will come back, to grow and produce.

During the Great Depression, when a quarter of our workforce was jobless, the prospects were far more dire; life was far harder. There was no federal insurance on bank accounts. There were no food stamps, no government assistance for heating or cash support, no free school lunches or breakfasts.

And yet, somehow, we survived. In fact, we thrived with the help of families and caring neighbors; we supported each other and grew strong.

Children raised during those hard years, when food was scarce, when shoes were saved for school and church and when homes went unheated save for the coal picked alongside railroad tracks, grew up to become the Greatest Generation.

Grown in that rocky soil, they became hardy perennials, building strength and character as they forged ahead together against adversity.

They sacrificed lives to World War II, sacrificed unnecessary spending and worked hard to buy and keep modest homes - "Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without" was an oft-heard phrase - sacrificed their own wants to raise civil children and sacrificed leisure time do volunteer work for the good of all.

But somehow, ‘twixt then and now, too many of us have become fragile hothouse flowers, self-absorbed and obsessed with having every big, shiny new bauble we see, with having it all, and having it all now.

Oh, what a hard lesson we are learning as we shiver through this winter.

"To know you have enough is to be rich," Lao-Tzu once said.

Wise words, indeed.

While it’s too early to tell when our own economic spring will arrive, we must forge ahead with gratitude for our safety nets, for each other, and for the lessons taught by those who made it through that other winter.

Maybe, if we take them to heart, those lessons will enable us to again not only survive, but thrive so that we can teach our children what they need not only to make it through harsh winters, but to better appreciate the warm summer sun.

Luke is like the Anti-Superman. He leaps of short buildings after much cajoling and teasing.

The good news is that I made him breakfast (waffles!) this morning which makes me an awesome Mom.

I mean it’s totally cool that his normal breakfast is a pop tart that he shoves in his mouth in the car right?

Actually come to think of it, the same day I made breakfast (still waffles) he jumps off the roof of a building.

That is just too much of a coincidence for me.

Back to pop tarts it is.

I got a snocone today; that was pretty cool.

Oh, I also took a weird picture of myself in the elevator.

At least I think it’s a weird picture.

I look odd. And 12.

Also, I was odd at 12.

There are more important exciting things going on, but I am tired and quite frankly you’re not very titillating company.

Lying on the table today waiting for the technician to get everything in place for my MRA I was struck by how normal it seemed.

It shouldn’t seem normal to have your brain scanned to make sure that your weakened blood vessels aren’t going explode from the pressure of your blood racing through them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I just got sidetracked for at least 30 minutes reading an article on www.migraines.org

about myths and realities surrounding migraines. 

I am fairly certain that if I do wake up in the morning, it will be with brain stuff oozing

out of places it shouldn’t be oozing out of. At the very least I will be twitching or something.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back to me.

Head firmly encased in that pretty plastic cage thing pictured in the image above, the technician maneuvered me into the barrel. He told me to keep my head very still. As if I had a freaking choice. The procedure took about 10 minutes which was much shorter than previous MRI scans I’ve had done.

MRA stands for Magnetic Resonance Angiogram. An MRA is a specialized type of MRI that is used to study blood vessels. It is most commonly used to detect, diagnose and aid in the treatment of heart disorders, stroke, and vascular diseases.

This is an image from an angiogram which is not mine that shows an aneurysm. See that out of place looking blob in the center of the image? That is an aneurysm. That looks out of place because it’s not supposed to be there.

This is NOT my brain.

Still not my brain.

My concern is stroke. Given my history of migraines and their persistence, frequency and severity; I have grown more and more concerned about the integrity of those little tubes o’ blood in my head.

My mother had a series of strokes with I was 15. This scared the crap out of me, but I think it scared her more. Not so much because of the strokes mind you; more so because that when I was little I apparently told her that she was going to die when I was 15. Precocious little tyke wasn’t I?

It is a valid concern, this aneurysm thing. My sister Chris has some odd tangly brain vein thing that has a very medically srs bznss sounding name which I can never remember. At least I think she does.

Adding to the “hey, there really might be something wrong with my brain” theory is the fact that my memory is shot. I mean shot. I pretty much have zero short term memory and I have to write everything down in order to remember it.

At any rate….

While the MRI machine whirred and clicked around me I wisely spent my time thinking.

I briefly thought about my tax refund in as much as that I wondered where the hell it was. According to the “this is when we do this” IRS time table, it should have been deposited on 2/13. Of course there is a disclaimer on the chart stating that “this date is only an estimate’’ because god forbid someone is actually held accountable for something.

The rest of the time I spent planning exactly what I would do when (when, not if) the technician came back in the room to tell me that they had discovered a very unstable aneurysm and I needed to be taken to surgery immediately.

First I would ask the technician to get the key from the window ledge of the room I was in. The key was to a cabinet that housed my cell phone, wallet and car key.

I would explain that I needed to call my mother-in-law to stay with my Luke and notify my parents of the situation.

I would call her. She would take the news with a calm that belied her fear and then do whatever needed to be done. She would get Luke and gather some clothes for me. Luke would be worried.

He would make sure though, that I had all the things I needed at the hospital. He would stop mid-stride to think of everything I could possibly want and he would gather it for me.

He would tell the cats that I would be ok.

Then I would contact my boss to let him know that I would not be at work for awhile. I would apologize, because at this point in time my physical wellbeing would not be any different than it was 30 minutes before hand. I would “feel” fine, regardless of the fact that any moment a vessel in my head could burst forth with life sustaining blood and kill me dead. That wouldn’t occur to me because I would be thinking of the things that needed to be accomplished in my absence.

I would contact some other people and make some arrangements.

I would let a few friends know.

That’s it. No emotional outbursts. No freak outs or panicky moments. Calm, precision, logic.

I bet you’re thinking that I had one of those epiphany things where people realize that they are going about this whole life thing the wrong way.

I didn’t.

I’m happy with that flow of action, with that proposed reaction to a potentially tragic situation. I’m even happy with my choice of thoughts during the procedure that could very well lead to some not so pleasant news.

I like logic and calm in the face of chaos. That is where I am strongest.

I have had a rough day emotionally. I am struggling with guilt that is not mine to bear yet I bear it anyway. No one placed it on my shoulders; I heaved it there myself.

I feel very adult today.

It is an odd mixture of pride, excitement and longing.

6:00 AM Migraine.

Boy to school.

Then

Then Dr. Slater

who gave me a shot of Toradol

and a refill scrip for

and a new scrip for

then here

where I felt

until

when I went

briefly chatted with

still felt

so I

until about

and told Luke to

I went to

to pick up some

Now it’s time for

Night Night

Things happened today. There was a lot of sleeping.

Then grocery shopping, bunny petting, hermit crab choosing (ending in disappointment), food eating, pie eating, homework “discussing” and other unrelated things.

That said, I am too tired to form coherent sentences so I will write a post tomorrow and backdate it so it looks like I’m on top of shit.

Look at this instead:

So you can see here that I have applied my awesome multitasking skills to painter’s tape. Why you ask? Why would you feel the need to cover up the indicator lights on your laptop you perfectly normal and in no way psy-fucking-chotic person you?

The answer my friends lies deep in the genetic code of human beings themselves.

See, when I was young; my mother (whom I love dearly and have the utmost amount of respect for) began to reveal her technological shortcomings. In those days, we had a VCR that conveniently displayed the time.

Of course, if you didn’t set the time properly; it would flash 12:00 over and over and over and over. This drove both my mother and father nuts. Little did I know that it was driving me nuts as well. I was too young and innocent to fully grasp the depth of my inherent psychoses.

This problem was solved not by setting the time (because it would invariable get unplugged and have to be reset anyway), but by covering the flashing numbers with a little piece of cardboard or tape. Despite the rather advanced technical skills of both my father and myself, the cardboard or tape remained for years.

During this time my mother became affectionately known as a “12:00 flasher” or “she who is not one with technology”.

With that background knowledge; it should be easy for you to understand why, when my laptop battery shit the bed and the indicator light began to flash, it needed to go away.

Had I not been able to cover up the flashing light I would have driven to my office to get my spare battery. This is how much the flashing light bothers me.

Because I have very sensitive hearing, I have the same level of fuckedupedness when it comes to certain noises including fans (or any other source of that oh so awesome white noise). I cannot stand the sound of metal on metal; rattling anything, squeaking chairs/doors/floors, ticking, electronic whines, rustling fabric, or extremely loud sounds. I do not however; have any aversion to run on sentences.

Look at pictures of my cat!

Odin enjoys the new bathroom a great deal because this is another place in the house where he can get to almost eye level and scream incessantly while I am trying to do the things that one does in the bathroom. He is also much closer to the spot he has deemed as his (my right shoulder) because god forbid the cat the can jump 6 feet in the air from a standstill actually exert any effort to achieve his goal.

For the record, these pictures were taken while fully clothed and not performing any of the things that one typically does in a bathroom. I had come back into the bathroom to tell that towel ring there not to fuck with me.  (I will explain in a minute)

Odin’s coloring compliments the bathroom very well don’t you think?

Finally in his preferred resting spot, Odin did take a moment to mug for the camera. Eli, not to be outdone, hopped up on the sink as well. He does not do this in order to facilitate physical contact because that is akin to torture in his odd little kitteh brain.

No, Eli deliberately goes where ever it is that he wants to go. It is not for attention or to convey his need for food. He does it to scrutinize every square inch of every single surface that he encounters, regardless of how many times he has been in the EXACT SAME FREAKING PLACE. (I learned from Dane Cook that yelling makes things funny.)

Later, we all had a nice cuddle on the couch. This is Eli’s version of cuddling.

I think that both Odin and Eli miss Hercules a great deal. Odin had been exceptionally cuddly for a few weeks prior to Herc’s passing and continues to be so. He’s always been an affectionate cat, but has increased his need for comfort tenfold.

Not that I mind one single iota mind you. It is a great comfort to me as well.

I love that he meows plaintively as he walks toward me when he wants to cuddle. If I am not in a position for him to lie down on me, he will simply pop up on the nearest counter and meow. Much like a baby’s cries, his meows are quite distinctive and it is fairly easy to tell if he wants turkey or cuddles.

He is such a vocal cat, which at times is a humongous pain in the ass, but most of the time I am in awe of his ability to communicate his thoughts/needs through vocalizations.

Perhaps it was Luke’s cries and the process by which I learned what each one meant that enables me to understand what Odin is saying by the differences in tone, pitch and other attributes of his meows.

Eli is very vocal as well and over the past year or so has developed an impressive array of tonalities. He tends to be very loud, regardless of what he is communicating. His meows tend to be very low, almost a yowl but not as urgent or heated. The depth of his tone is so incredibly low most times that I swear I can feel the floor rumbling beneath him.

I do love these kitties. I love them with the same ferocity that I love my son and there is very little that I would not do for them. Our lives have been jolted by the loss of Hercules but we cannot honor his memory by sitting in misery. For him we press on, remembering he good times.

I suppose that I should turn in now. It is almost 3:30 in the morning and I am sleepy. I think that I will give Doug a call and see how the other kittehs in my life are doing tonight

Aren’t they swell

Mutegi (Mo, Mo Knows, MoMo)

Gamba (Gam, Gummy Bear, Gamba Goons)

In my review of my post after publishing (I always do this because I am never 100% satisfied with it once it’s published) I realized that I forgot to explain the whole “telling the towel ring to fuck off” thing.

The people who lived in this house before me chose (I believe because they were fucking morons) not to use the proper wall anchors for drywall so that every item on the bathroom wall not screwed into a stud flopped around like Hugh Hefner’s penis before his daily Viagra.

For some reason (likely related to the reasoning stated for the previous owners), this was the one things that I did not replace the wall anchors for when I re-hung the accessories. Today was the day that I could no longer stand the wobbly towel ring when I dried my hands on the towel.

I replaced the wall anchors and screwed that towel holder in nice and snug and then arrogantly told the towel holder not to fuck with me. 

Shut up, I am already on medication.

It has not been a good week.

I’ve also been extremely busy at work. That, I am actually grateful for though.I am glad that I had the distraction of work because otherwise I would have spent most of the week wallowing in the sad.

I miss my kitty

In happier, unrelated news; i had a smallish get together on Saturday, January 24th.

Aaaahhhahahahahahaahahaa. I love Rob’s hair and the look on his face. Balthrop (in the background) looks appropriately imposing.

I also found root beer that apparently already belongs to me when Amy and I went to the store before the party.

Master Chief did her duty by protecting the last of the Jell-O shots.

We had a pretty good amount of people show up.

In this picture from L to R is James, Chad, Jeff, Weldon, Rebecca and Rob

Rebecca is making guacamole and James is cutting the Jack Daniels marinated skirt steak into strips for fajitas.

The boys played poker. Well…..tried to play poker. I kept yelling at them because they were too loud. 

From L to R is Lee, JB, Weldon, Chad and Chuckles

Later, Chard and Elysia stopped by. I’m really unsure what kind of look is on his face or exactly why it is there but I am oh so grateful that I caught it. It’s very grumpy old men.

Eventually we did make it upstairs to watch “The Fifth Element” JB (left) and Rob (right) yapped through the entire movie

Luke spent most of the evening playing either Garry’s Mod or CounterStrike. He did make an appearance downstairs a few times and watched part of the movie.

Speaking of Luke….

I am somewhat amused (in that “are you fucking kidding me” kind of way) to have received both of the following papers on the same day…

Luke – you didn’t do your homework and you had a whole week to do it!

Luke! You’re super smart and made it into LEAP!

I truly love this boy and I am amazed by what he can accomplish but it is days like this that i just want to throttle him.

I’m getting pretty tired so I think I’m going to phone it in with a couple of random pictures…

Odin is such a classy kitty.                                                  Eli is just a sleepy kitty.

i r serious jam; this r serious picture.

this r not serious picture.

Odin likes to think that this is his bed.

Eli Many Paws

Daddy and Luke

Luke, passed out on the couch.

Hercules first came into our lives at the very end of May of 1997. Barely 2 days old, he had been abandoned by his mother and subsequently rescued by the receptionist at our Vet’s office.

I was a few months pregnant with Luke at the time and was definitely feeling those motherly urges. Somehow, I convinced Steve that we should take him home.

As we got back in the truck that day, the Elton John CD we were listening to started back up again. Blaring through the speakers was the song “Hercules”. Steve said we should name the kitten Hercules.

I laughed at the thought of this tiny kitten being named Hercules. He was so small and delicate!

Little did I know that he would grow to be a behemoth of a cat.

Hercules has been a part of my life for the better part of 12 years and has been the one thing always by my side.

When I was terrified of being a horrible mother; Hercules was there.

When Steve whistled or sang a little tune; Hercules would come running.

On those cold lonely nights when Steve was deployed; Hercules was there.

On the lonelier nights after Steve and I went our separate ways; Hercules was there.

When Luke was spending time with his Dad and I was alone; Hercules was there.

On the big gamble move from Spokane to Redmond; Hercules was there.

When it came time to discipline Odin; Hercules was there.

When Doug and I drove from Seattle to San Diego as part of my move to Dallas; Hercules was there.

When I moved from my rental into my very first “all mine” home; Hercules was there.

He was and still is an amazing cat and I am grateful that he chose to spend his life with me.

He never refused a cuddle and was certain that every plastic bag held catnip.

He had a crinkly ear from a cyst removal many years ago. It made him look gentle and sweet even when he was irritated.

Even in his younger more spry days; he never once jumped on a counter but he would defend his coffee table from the pesky kittens by dragging them off by the scruff of their necks.

I will miss you Hercules. Thank you for being my rock of stability for the past 12 years.

I am warmed by the knowledge that you are no longer uncomfortable

This was a Facebook thing….

1) There are only a handful of people in the world that I trust.

2) I am certain that everyone talks about me behind my back.

3) Sometimes I look at Luke in awe and tell myself how incredibly lucky I am.

4) No, I’m not working 12 hour days because I think I need to; I do it because I like to.

5) The cat just stole my hair tie. I can’t put anything down without it being "catted"

6) If I didn’t have my heating pad, I would be miserable.

7) Sometimes I consider my sensitivity a curse, despite the fact that I’ve learned to make it a strength.

A friend once told me that I was a walking dichotomy. I didn’t fully understand him until I realized how different I am outside of work. If don’t notice a difference, you’re not as close to me as you think.

9) I am fiercely traditional when it comes to relationships. I tend to get very upset if I am not able to serve/tend to my significant other or if my attempts to do so are rejected (regardless of the reason).

10) I routinely avoid going down aisles in the grocery store if there is a “sample lady” there, even if I need something in that aisle.

11) Some days; I come home from work, get changed, get a snack and lay on the couch with my heating pad for the entire night. It isn’t because I’m lazy, I’m just so wiped out by the end of the day that I can’t do anything else.

12) I finished painting the ½ bath, hung the new mirror and the freshly painted cabinet tonight.

Old                                                          New

Old                                                          New

13) I need so much more external validation than I get.

14) At work, I like to be in charge. Running things energizes me like nothing else does.

15) I am much harder on Luke than I need to be for him to succeed, but I don’t want him to just succeed. I want him to excel and have a huge impact on the world around him.

16) I cannot remember any of my young childhood; save for the stories my family tells me. This is one of the reasons why I document so many trivial things with photographs. I am terrified that I will not remember the days I am living now.

17) Anything that has a numerical counter (volume, timer) must be set in intervals of 5.

18) I have incredibly sensitive hearing and cannot stand sounds that most people find relaxing such as white noise and fans. I cannot tolerate the sound of metal on metal.

19) I am an incredible cook.

20) I have a very limited amount of patience in most areas except relationships.

21) I am fascinated by the period of history marked by the Nazis and that of Hiroshima.

22) I clench my jaw so much that my face aches most of the time.

23) I like to sit in the car in the heat of summer with the windows rolled up. There is something about the oppressive heat that relaxes me.

24) I have a hard time completing a task if I am focused on only one thing.

25) I refuse to give up. Ever.

Back in November, when Luke and I bought the house, bought a bunch of paint at Home Depot.

The only rooms in the house that were painted were completely icky.

The kitchen was this awful peach color. I found the paint can the other day. The color was called “Apricot Glow”.

Luke’s room was pink. Well…it’s still pink but it has a swatch of the gray that I intend to paint it at some point.

Every other room was builder’s grade eggshell white. Yay personality.

After painting the kitchen and the accent area above the fireplace a beautiful deep chocolate brown, the half bath downstairs was next.

Last weekend, I removed the cabinet from the wall. This was not a smart thing for me to do by myself, but I wanted it done. It’s one of those big kitchen cabinets; about 3×3.5 and all kinds of heavy.

A few weeks ago, i replaced the faucet from the builder’s grade crap to a pretty brushed metal classic faucet.

Here’s the old one….

Here is the new one…

The other day I picked up a cheap mirror at Ross. The gold color wouldn’t have worked in the bathroom but a little spray paint fixed that right up.

Here is the original mirror:

All taped up an nowhere to go:

Spray painted (no I didn’t paint it on the couch):

The final product:

Once the paint dried, I used steel wool to dull the surface and bring some of the original finish back. It came out pretty well. I need to put a coat of clear coat on it before I put it in the bathroom.

The old mirror obviously needed to come down. This proved to be a challenge. I took off the clips but apparently they were decorative because the mirror was attached to the wall with what I can only assume was some kind of super top secret government grade adhesive. Probably the same stuff they used to keep little Georgie’s mittens attached to his coat.

Old mirror aka My Nemesis:

I realized that I would need to pry the mirror off the wall. What to use…what to use….

Screwdriver? No…not flat/long enough

Butterknife? Hmmm…pretty flat and long but not very flexible. Oh, I tried it but it didn’t do much.

Think..think…

Oh yes. You are a genius.

Offset spatula.

It was at this point that I realized that as I was prying the mirror off the wall
; there was a good chance that it would shatter and leave me somewhat bloody and lacerated.

Safety first!

I used duct tape to cover the mirror in a lattice pattern. If the mirror did break, the duct tape would have kept it from shattering and flying in my non glass shard friendly face. I was too intent on the task at hand to take a picture, but you get the idea.

It took quite awhile to get the right leverage to start pulling the adhesive away. By this point, I was boiling hot because I was 2 inches away from the lights. I would have turned them off, but then…well….it would have been dark.

i did burn my arm on one of the light-bulbs but it only got a little red.

At last, I heard the distinctive sound of paper ripping. I had to force myself to apply slow steady pressure rather than yank the spatula.

There was some breakage, but not too much. I didn’t intend to keep the mirror so it’s not a big deal at all.

The adhesive tore the paper off the drywall, but again; I am not concerned. Another mirror will be going over that spot so I did not bother to patch the drywall.

The bathroom was fully prepped for paint. I hate prepping to paint, but it saves so much time/hassle that it is worth it.

It took a lot of moving about to not only prep, but paint the room. It’s a small under the stair half bath so the ceiling is angled. I needed to use a ladder to reach the higher places but didn’t have a lot of room to manipulate the ladder within the bathroom. This meant a lot of stretching and cursing.

At anyrate, the first coat is finished. I’ll do a second coat tomorrow.

This is the ceiling with the angled wall. Yes, I know how to cut in without the help of painter’s tape but the tape makes it easier.

This is a pretty crappy picture.

Right now, the bathroom appears to be very dark and overwhelmingly green. I am reserving judgment however because nothing has been put back in the bathroom yet. The cabinet will be painted a seashell color which will brighten up the dark area quite a bit.

The mirror will also help.

The previous accessories (soap dish, towel ring, toity paper holder) are a black wrought iron. I intend to seashell them as well.

I think that when it is all finished, it will be very nice.

For now, I am very hurty (and a bit smelly) but I’m proud of what I accomplished today.

I kind of forgot to eat after my migraine went away (I can’t eat while I have a migraine; it’s like throwing food directly in the toity).

Luke and I had “bad for us” food for dinner and now I’m snacking on some almonds.

I just realized that it is almost 1am. I really should go to bed.