This Sunday Jam’s right on schedule for once and perfect because it’s the Sundays singing Summertime.
O. o. Oooh. Mmmm. It is summertime. Like, full-swing summer times. I remember lamenting rain not too long go. What was that all about? I have so much to write about I’m not sure where to begin. In addition I am up past my bedtime but made the mistake of drinking a Coke about two hours ago and now it might as well be 10:AM. My mind’s telling me no, but my body.. my body’s telling me yes …
(that’s from Bump n’ Grind; I can’t make stuff like that up)
Shall I recap?
Gee and I boat trip to Sechelt for some RnR in June as seen here:
We were lying on the grass under the sun under blankets because the wind was brisk.
Gee disturbs my peace.
Then visits me under my blanket.
It’s like crabs in the bucket, but not really.
I found this to be one of the proudest wolf bust lamps I’ve ever seen.
Gee demonstrates “engrossed.”
If there was ever a Cutest Cemetery I’ve Ever Seen contest, this one would be my entry.
William’s in the photo holding their catch of the day, standing beside who he would have likely referred to as “a great catch.”
I’m kind of like, “Let me try engrossed now.”
My sweater won the Sweater of the Weekend award.
Once upon at time this was a floating Grocery Store, Pizza, Coffee Shop-type thing.
Grade 5 Chris came for Canada Day times. He lives in Arizona now but spent both Canada and Independence Day in Canada. I mean, obviously.
It was sometimes like we were in grade 5 again. But, that could have been my fault.
It’s hard to make a photo of this nature look genuine.
These guys were so easy-going.
Some pretty art along the sidewalk.
To Cathy, Chris is grade 3 Chris.
A really small W. Erskine Johnston Elementary School reunion.
So a week later, Hannes is in town from Mexico where he is studying Spanish while on an extended vacation from his home country of Switzerland.
Which now brings me to this past weekend. I had Kate’s puppy, Penny with me all weekend. The most precious Penny.
This morning I hauled Penny and all my purge-ables over to Cathy & Kyle’s in the hopes of making some cash at their multi-family yard sale. I sold nary a dollar, not even a quarter. But, I had fun and so did the dogs and the kids… and I was in the sun eating cookies, Cheezies, watermelon, and pink lemonade. Who needs money?
In Coquitlam dogs can actually float. It’s the neatest thing.
“The doggy licked my hand.”
Muffin loves how a half-off nightie makes her look like a flower.
Penny and Buddy demonstrate how to properly share a tennis ball.
My niece and my nephew whom I babysit.
Perfect Penny.
Claws on the inner arm feel so good.
So I’m kind of in the middle of these two dogs…
And after a hard morning of yard-sale’ing, Gee and I make for the beach. Kits this time.
While Gee read Barbara Wawa’s autobiography, I entertained myself with the latest GQ using a little treasure I found.
I think about my blog sometimes and my thoughts are usually something like: I wish I could think of something to write in my blog.
This weekend has already come and gone. It’s already 10:18 PM on Sunday night and I look back and feel like only an hour ago I was leaving work on Friday.
We did have a beautiful day on Saturday though, that day felt like it was around for 24 hours. Every other day though was pretty well blurry.
I brought Marscapone home Thursday right after work after his 48 hour stay at the clinic. I had visited with him Wednesday night where he basically held me tight for 45 minutes straight while he fell asleep on my shoulder.
The vet techs told me Marshall was such a nice boy. They taught me how to administer Subcutaneous Fluid Therapy (aka, sub-Q) to Marshall as well. We even did a trial injection. This is something that is going to become a part of our lives until the end.
At the clinic, during our trial injection, it was the three of us. At home, it’s just me. Me and a 1000 mL bag of Lactated Ringer’s Solution, an IV line, and a needle, plus Marshall, of course. Otis doesn’t really care to help but I don’t really blame him.
Our first attempt was in my bed. I figure the more comfortable he is, the better. At the clinic the needle slid right in so in my over confidence I was expecting the same ease. Poor Marshall turned into my feline pin cushion. So much for this comfortable position he was in. I felt like the biggest asshole finally getting my third poke into his scruff properly. He was semi-okay shortly after it was in although clearly not entirely at peace.
The techs had told me to hold the needle in place with my left hand while holding the bag with my right and at the same time squeezing it so the fluid gets into his skin faster vs the drip method like an IV. I remember the very moment Marshall noticed something strange was occurring in the subcutaneous layers of his neck and he jolted upward and attempted to walk away while he was still connected to the IV line. So I’m stretching across my bed trying to prevent him from jumping off thus risking sending the streaming needle in who knows what direction while at the same time trying to keep a steady flow through the bag.
The prescribed amount was 150 mL, I got in about half that before giving up because it just got so clumsy and precarious that if I had continued that process any longer one of us would have ended up tumbling off my bed.
Note to self: Don’t perform sub-Q on bed.
Today was our scheduled 2nd therapy treatment. This time he was passed out against the arm of my sofa. I tested his scruff accessibility in the position he was in and it was decent. So I practiced forming the tent of scruff that the techs had showed me. Marshall started purring – poor thing had no idea what I was about to do to him. This time, the needle went in all the way but he shifted his shoulder and it went on this weird angle and in realising this happened I attempted to squeeze the bag double hard to get as much in as possible before he knew its positioning was weird which then surprised him and up he shot again and froze for about 5 seconds while he tried to make sense of what the hell was going on then proceeded to jump off the sofa. I had to let him go that time.
We took about a 4 hour break when I realised that it was imperative that we make today’s therapy flawless because he only had half of what he was supposed to have two days ago.
Back on the sofa my Marshall was again and this time I decided I was going to do this procedure my own way. I looped the bag around the hook of a hanger and hung the bag from my floor lamp – just like my very own IV stand. Marshall let me massage and knead his scruff again only this time he was doing this kind of corner-of-the-eye staring game with me and began to purr with hesitation. I told him I was sorry and with one swift poke in the needle went. This time I kind of lay lightly on top of him and immediately started scratching his chin and forehead with both my hands while the bag dripped on its own time.
This was a MUCH more relaxing way to administer the sub-Qs for both of us. I don’t care if it took 5 minutes, I was able to get all 150 mL in and Marshall only tried to wriggle away once and I think it’s because his back paw was a little twisted under my weight.
It’s really interesting looking at a cat with sub-Q under its skin. He looked like Quasimodo a bit. He had this huge pouch of fluid sitting above his shoulder blades that felt as soft and squishy as what I imagine a saline breast implant would feel like, only covered with cat fur. Pretty, eh?
Apparently as the cat moves around so will the water under their skin and because gravity pulls things down then I am to expect that at least once the water will travel down his legs and he’ll look like he has elephant legs, only covered with … cat fur.
Cute.
I swear, this cat will survive based on my neuroses alone.
I don’t care though, I’d do anything for my boys.
This has been a difficult journey that began only 6 days ago. Part of me hopes it never ends.
Marshall’s life will be forever changed. Chronic Renal Failure will be terminal. The when is the missing piece now that I’m not going to focus on. Just my Marshy and the pure happiness he brings me.
We’ve got the Queen of Soul here. Aretha Franklin. Now, tell me this song doesn’t send shivers down your spine. That’s Whitney’s ma in the background, too. Ain’t No Way. I just find her so fantastic.
Some photos for reflection:
Marshall was admitted with his kidneys functioning at 5-7%. They had lost over 90% of their functioning. As a result of this, toxins were building up in his body which resulted in the ulceration of the inside of his poor, kitty mouth.
Looking at these again makes me feel like crying. He was so sick. My heart was in such agony for the first three days, it actually shocked me.
You’re testing me again. This time it’s for something I could never have prepared myself for. As you watch over Marshall tonight, alone in a cage at the vet hospital, please keep him safe and sound. Please alleviate any discomfort he may have and please, somehow, let him know that I love him with the very core of my being and cannot wait to see him again.
You see, Universe, I’m not ready for this. I am just not ready to let him go yet. I wanted him to grow into an old man, with old man problems. To meet up with you when his body is just too old to carry on in this life anymore. He’s not supposed to be facing this now, he’s only 11, Universe. Kidney failure? No. It’s just not fair.
You know of the connection we have. That’s what makes him most special. It’s how he stares at me before he falls asleep beside me against my pillow. Remember how he does that? How he doesn’t curl into a cat ball on the mattress beside me… but instead, how he rests his head and shoulders against my pillow, just like me, and watches me in the dark. You know what he’ll often do. He’ll reach out with his paw and touch my face gently, just so I know he’s there. Or, if I’m reading in bed or doing my crossword puzzle how he’ll lie his big body on top of my chest and peek his head under the book if he can’t see my face. How he’ll reach out for my fingers and curl his paw around them to bring my hand to his face because he wants his chin tickled. He loves to hold my hand. Oh how I would give anything to have those moments with him tonight. This isn’t right.
You know how he likes it when I dance with him in the living room. Holding him in my arms. How he wriggles his way into the perfect position that makes him as high as he can go and falls asleep with his head on my shoulder while I move us around the room.
Remember how he talks to me? How he looks me right in the eyes and tries so hard to understand what I’m saying back? How he tilts his head from side to side while I’m talking? How he tries to get it.
He’s my Marshall cat. He’s my fantastic Marshall cat and I’m not ready to let him go. Please, I’m begging you, not yet. Okay? Give me a little bit more time. I need to hold him again. How I ache tonight.
For me, I ask that I get some help to make it through these next 48 crucial hours with clarity so if I have to make the decision I’m fearing right now, I can do it with a clear head and the fear gone.
Please keep him in comfort tonight, put that around his body and take away his confusion. Please, do that for me? Do it for Otis too. Nothing feels right, right now. It’s just us two tonight; Marshall should be here too.
You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
I spend most of my waking life in constant thought and am most stimulated by those who are the same. I think it’s because in some sense it’s like being telepathic only there’s not necessarily communication in the verbal sense and it’s not el-creepo. It’s more like when you’re around someone similar your psyches do this kind of high five with each other. I know when it happens because I’m attuned to it.
You have to really be there to get it. I get a sense that some of you are going to know what I’m talking about. Still, some of you are going to wish you knew what I was talking about and some of you are reaching for the popcorn right about now to sit back just for the entertainment and stay completely out of it. It’s okay.
If I can try to explain it very simply: Imagine you’re traveling alone in a foreign country where you don’t speak the native language. You can move around and go relatively unnoticed when it comes to sticking to the universal standards of human behaviour (walking on two feet, feeding yourself with your hands, etc.) but at some point you will need to communicate with a local which you are already anticipating to be a challenge.
Your entire exchange will be quite basic and might include carefully flipping through the pages of your translation book as well as the odd, shameless charade in an effort to enhance what you’re trying to say. You would still be interacting, but it won’t be the most relaxed or natural way for either party. Each person is forced to augment the way they would normally communicate. Things might become so misinterpreted that you end up purchasing a live hen when your original request was directions to the latrine. You might try to explain yourself a few more times to no avail; the hen doesn’t fix the fact that you still need a toilet. With the other person’s hands waving in the air they motion you and your new hen away with reckless abandon. Frustrated and misunderstood, you have no choice but to give up and walk away.
Then, by some fortuitous happenstance you spot someone familiar through the wanderers. It’s someone you recognize from home – maybe the teller at your bank… anyone. It doesn’t matter that you’ve never officially met; what matters is you have found instant fellowship; someone who will understand you.
You rush over to the bank teller and bypassing all formal introductions, you both begin to laugh. You don’t need to offer a word of excuse for why you’ve got a dusty, old, clucking hen tucked under your arm because they will already know why.
There are some people who you meet along the way who will get you, even if you arrive at the friendship with a hen tucked under your arm. They won’t ask why because it will make sense because it’s just what you do. Find those people, keep them close, love them with all your heart, and be good to them.
…stay on the phone with me, I’ll wait until you fall asleep.
But how will you know when I’m asleep? What if I’m faking?
When you start to breathe heavy, I know you’re sleeping.
What if I fake breathing heavy?
Just stop talking.
Okay.
Good night, he said.
Good night, she said.
…
…
…
Are you still awake? He said.
Yes.
I like you.
Me too.
I can tell you were smiling when you said that.
Maybe.
Good night, he said.
Good night, she said.
…
…
…
Are you still awake? She said.
Yes.
Hey.
Hi.
Okay good night, she said.
Good night, he said.
…
…
…
Are you still awake? He said.
A little bit.
Okay, what position are you in?
I’m curled up into a ball.
Are you facing the right, or the left?
Right.
Perfect.
…
…
…
Are you still awake? She said.
I might be.
I do like you too.
Me too.
That doesn’t make any sense.
It doesn’t need to.
Okay, good night, she said.
Good night, he said.
Ooh, oopsie. My blog has taken a backseat to my living, breathing life. Actually it could have even been straggling behind my living, breathing life for a backseat would mean it’s still relatively close in thought but it really wasn’t.
At any rate, I’ve had a busy month or so and it’s funny because if I look back at one of my more recent posts, where I started doing that puzzle like a grandma, things were just plodding along then. Although I can tell you the exact moment life livened because it was when I finally finished that puzzle and realised I only had 499 of the 500 pieces. 99.8% of that damn puzzle was complete. It was such a crushing disappointment. I had been committing my evenings and early Saturday mornings to such a relaxing past time only to have it conclude on such a farcical and ass-chapping note. I swear I immediately got down on my stomach and slithered around every nook and cranny of my living room floor. It’s a good thing I live alone sometimes.
You’re probably picturing this harried, possessed, maniac writhing all over like a rabid ferret …
As a side note, don’t ever do this to your ferret. It’s weird.
But, let me explain… in many ways this would be considered maniacal behaviour. However, my mood never escalates to the point of complementing what my body is physically doing. So although it may look strange to the average person, I am actually very calm and purposeful in my mind. I probably get it from my mother. She once came home from a date to her water and smoke damaged home and her front tree smoking and crackling. She drove up and said, “Well I’m really happy now that I had such a nice date.”
I did go as far as cutting open my vacuum cleaner bag. There was enough cat hair in there to create a third and fourth cat and enough dust to create a bunny for them to play with. I found my favourite pen, some bobby pins, but no blasted puzzle piece.
I left that 99.8% complete puzzle sitting on my coffee table two weeks after that because I couldn’t bring myself to break it up and put it back in the box just in case by some miracle it turned up.
Kenny arrived at the end of the second week on Sunday. I still attended to my scheduled domestic responsibilities but this time had a helper. “Good. Reminds me of when we lived together; I’m glad I came.” He said in a not very nostalgic tone.
Kenny helped by using his big muscles to lift up my furniture while keeping his eye on Britain’s Peep Show he was streaming from the Internet. Lo and behold there was that cursed puzzle piece wedged under the far leg of my sofa! Only Kenny knows me well enough to accept that those tears in my eyes were confirmation of the level of absurdity I am capable of reaching and luckily he’s okay with that. I completed the puzzle and we tore it down about 5 minutes later.
So Kenny stayed for a week and we adventured around and lounged around. It was nice having him around. He left on a Friday and I flew home to Ottawa that Wednesday for a little four day jaunt. I just got back this past Monday night and I’m adjusting to simplicity, serenity, and autonomy again. I didn’t go through my usual withdrawals and feelings of vacancy that I get when I normally return from home. I think the reason I can feel that way is because of how surrounded I am with family and friends every single day that when I return to my apartment-for-one, on the other end of the country, life can all of the sudden seem overly still and eerily quiet. This time it didn’t feel like that which was fantastic. It might have helped that Vancouver’s weather has been so beautiful to welcome me. There is always something so redeeming about sunshine and a skyline that’s embossed with a luscious mountain range.
This trip home was nice because I caught up with two friends I haven’t seen in at least 7 years. One was actually a bouncer I met when I was an over-zealous teenager abusing my body by going out three nights a week and staying out until five o’clock in the morning. I was 18, underage, he was a bouncer. Sounds like a country song. So after we became grown ups there was no reason to see each other three times a week anymore. He went on to become a cop, I went on to … find myself, and here we are, still in touch after 15 years.
The other was a girl friend from 1st year college in the Advertising program. Neither of us were ready at the time to handle such an intense and immense workload let alone know if this was really what we wanted out of our lives so we didn’t return to second year. We remained friends but eventually relationships get in the way of frequency. She went on to get married and have babies, I … got disengaged and moved across the country that same year. I’ve watched her daughters grow on Facebook so it was wonderful to see her family in person.
I spent a lot of my time at home feeling guilty for having to tell people I couldn’t connect. I tried so hard but the days were just so short. On mother’s day I left so early in the morning to say bye to Chelsy and her family, then Shannon and her family, then lunch with my dad, then to reunite with my old classmate, that I didn’t even see my own mother until 6:30 that evening. Oi.
I suppose I’ll end this now. I’ve been typing it over this last day or so I don’t even know how fragmented it’s going to seem when I actually publish it. Perhaps I will distract and overwhelm you with some photos over the last couple of weeks now.
A young woman who died much too soon. I would have given anything to be around when she was. Janis Joplin | To Love Somebody. If you’re going to click the link it’s worth reading the two highest-rated comments as well. Nailed.
My birsday dinner with Keira and T-Mo.
Kenny and I discover Lynn Canyon.
A very long Seawall stroll.
Only at English Bay have I ever seen sunsets like this…
Home now. Family first.
My poor dad.. taken about fifteen minutes after he walked into his kitchen only to find me sitting at the table when I should have been in Vancouver. I’m such a trickster. His brows are still furled.
And then there was one. This was so much more majestic when my mom had four of these.
Aves had no idea I’d be there to greet her after school.
Cute.
My same-sex soul mate.
Time to play with their Auntie Andrea
Good-bye tea
Shaun wears his new, spiffy hat he bought at tarts n’ crafts.
…especially when Katie’s back in Vancouver! Oh how I miss my Katie B. She’s only a province away but she used to be only ten minutes away. She’s from home and home out here feels good. Comfortable.
Man this weekend was busy for this hermit. I moved TMo with Keira, got my atrocious split ends dealt with and my hair enriched thanks to Marlee, a birthday party that ended at 2:30 in the morning, coffee early this morning, and Katie’s baby shower Vancouver-styles.
And the weather was beautiful.
Oh wait, well… SaturDAY was not beautiful. It was rainy. But, Saturday evening was balmy because the finished rain made it so. The city smelled pretty. Clean almost. Moist too. Good for my soul.
So I spent the weekend with my circles of dear friends experiencing a sense of renewal. New apartment, new year ahead, new life on the way. And, I just kind of cycled through it all floating around and watching everyone experience their moments of magic.
Tomorrow’s back to work, back to the people who need me and back to the business life of Andrea.
I’ve got a week’s vacation coming up next Sunday. Oh my it’s my birthday too. I will feel this newness but at the same time I reflect and wonder how the hell it got here this quickly. How is it that I’m going to be thirty-three years old already? I test myself at times and my memory still goes vividly back to three years old. Okay good; I hope that never changes.
I wish I could present more photos, but I only brought my camera along for Katie’s shower. So here they are…
But first here’s your Sunday Jammin’ Music song actually on a Sunday for the first time in a long time!
Click it for the beautiful song, the lyrics, and the beautiful video.
I first heard and saw Chris Botti in Mike G’s living room on his 42″ HD. The room was dark and the music started. I remember physically feeling it. I remember needing to take a deep breath. I remember the goosebumps on my forearms and shivers up my spine. That was probably a year ago now.
This past fall I learned that he was coming to Vancouver to play at the Orpheum with the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra and immediately put two tickets on my credit card without even knowing who the hell I was going to go with.
As the months, then days neared I was still dateless in Vancouver. Mike G suggested I put an ad up on Craigslist looking for someone to go with. I had success with a similar type of venture Christmas 2007 – my first Christmas in Vancouver. I knew no one so I posted an ad looking for a date for my work’s Christmas party and found a very nice man to accompany me. So I figured perhaps I could actually have the same type of success this time around and posted an ad this past Friday after work for Monday’s concert.
It’s what I call cutting it close; really only giving me the weekend to find a suitor for the evening, and interviews were to commence immediately. Mike’s guess was that I’d have at least 80 replies. To my astonishment I received a total of frigging 193! In one weekend I read 193 emails from men who wanted to go with little old me to see Chris Botti. Actually wait I can’t say all 193 wanted to be my date because many actually couldn’t for various reasons but wanted to say hi. Some thanked me for actually introducing them to Chris Botti for the first time, some wished me luck, some loved the idea and just wanted to tell me. Some emails were short… you know of the “pick me!” variety, some emails were long and autobiographical, some were like cover letters. It was amazing.
I had narrowed my applicants down to four and penciled them in. Come the 2nd interview I knew I found the person I was going to take with me. He’s worth mentioning because I’m fairly certain this night was also something quite fantastic and memorable for him as well.
Here we’ve got a Cuban musician who uses words like Avant Garde, Latin, and Fusion Jazz to describe his style of music. His biography’s on his MySpace along with some of his compositions and are worth checking out. He’s a very humble guy, who does all of his mixing in his bedroom on outdated PC software. But, the passion’s there. You know?
So, I introduced a musician to Chris Botti. Gosh I’m so proud.
He loved special guest, Lisa Fischer’s appearances as well and in the corner of my eye I could see him all bopping and tapping and just clapping extra hard. She has such an incredible voice, by the way. He was so impressed by Chris’s jazz pianist, Billy Childs, that he wanted a photo and autograph with him after the show. Pianists appreciate pianists.
Are you saying that properly?
And of course drummer Billy Kilson. At first I must admit I was distracted by him because he’s quite intense and animated and extremely powerful so in the begining I couldn’t take my eyes off him and had to keep bringing them back to Chris. He worked though because the band is cohesive and by the second song I couldn’t really imagine him not being there.
Onto the show…
As of tonight there are only three performances I’ve seen live that have actually made me cry. The first being for my first love, Corey Hart, in 1986 at the Montreal Forum. I was 10, okay? The second time was during the Un bel di vedremo aria of Madame Butterfly at the Opéra de Montréal, June 2008 and finally, tonight. Four times I had tears streaming down my cheeks.
My poor date, this being only the second time he’s met me, must have been wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I reassured myself by saying “He’s a musician, he’ll understand” over and over in my head. I told him that I couldn’t help it. He said in a nice, thick, barely understandable Spanish accent: It’s okay. Oh. I know. It’s okay.
It was Emmanuel that really started the whole thing which was his duet with violinist Caroline Campbell. Luckily, it came right before intermission so I was able to compose myself. Not for long though, at least not until Hallelujah was played. I mean, I love Leonard. That master, or that genius of words. The lyrical poet. So then to hear Hallelujah come out of a trumpet in the stillness of the Orpheum. Even the woman who attended the concert alone sitting beside me was wiping her tears. So her tears made my tears come faster, then someone in front of me wiped their cheeks and then I didn’t feel alone in how everything was affecting me.
He actually played Flamenco Sketches by Miles Davis. (bawl)
Then Cinema Paradiso by Ennio Morricone. (maj. bawl)
You’re all… Man, thank God I wasn’t her date; she cried the whole time.
Okay, I wasn’t really bawling in terms of definition.
Truth be told though, there were moments when my surroundings just kind of faded away, you know? I didn’t really even care where I was. Who I was. Nothing really mattered except what was going on in front of me, seven rows ahead.
After the show was an autograph signing and photo taking. Autographs first, check. Photos after autographs. Um obviously. I talked to Chris for a bit but I wish I had more time to just … say thank you until it started to feel like I expressed it the way I felt it.
I will conclude this with Emmanuel only this duet is from the PBS special with Lucia Micarelli on the violin. I can’t find a good quality one online with Caroline Campbell. This version is clearly just as powerful and there’s one thing I just want to point out: Watch Lucia’s facial expressions. I mean, that’s what feeling music looks like. It’s something quite special to behold a musician in such a pure state.
I woke up early this morning… well, seven minutes before my 6:36AM alarm, early. The wind was whipping hard against my bedroom window making it rattle and gusts were fighting their way through the crack I leave open for fresh air. It was powerful enough but by the time it made its way into my bedroom it had opened up and only gently touched my face and cooled it much more than the way my body was feeling buried under my heavy down duvet.
I didn’t really want to get up but when CBC engaged at the same time it does every morning, I started to feel like this precious moment of deep and protective warmth in my cozy bed, with the graceful wind in my room, was limited and I wished it wasn’t. Marshall & Otis started to stir for when they hear CBC they know that breakfast is coming soon.
The sky was really pretty around that time. Just over my street was this giant puff of heavy, light grey cloud. It was light enough though that the colours of a sun rising soaked and turned it a beautiful kind of wisteria purple. That cloud has moved now as I’m typing this and the wisps over my street are a soft white because the sun is higher in the sky.
If I look to the right I can see a patch of blue sky. I feel like I haven’t seen that colour above my head in a very long time and it’s lovely.
