I haven’t posted here for almost a year! And so much has happened! I’m not ready to give up the blog just yet, so I’m going to pretend I’m a blogger for a while longer. Maybe my Facebook status is enough for me…? I should have more to say than that – I’ve been abroad, I’m planning my wedding…
I’m going to try and start posting again after the New Year. If I don’t improve soon, I”ll give it up.
I now know that I’m not really cut out to be a gardener – at least not yet. Avid gardeners are pouring over their seed catalogs right now and jonesing for spring so they can dig in the dirt. I, on the other hand, didn’t even look at the Burpee catalog that came last week before recycling it. I really haven’t recovered from our gardening debacle of last summer.
B. and I finally aired our differences about gardening – which are many – but agreed on a few things:
So. Here’s the compromise:
B. is going to plant a few tomato plants in a very sunny spot in the yard. I am going to do a little bit (probably a very little bit) of reading about no-till gardening, pick my gardening friends’ brains, and try a “pilot” no-till plot this summer. I’ll probably plant 4 things, and I’m hoping to prove to B. that no-till is less labor-intensive than what we did last year.
But I’m tired just thinkin’ about it.
I can’t believe it’s mid-January. I’m such a lame blogger…
LOTS of things have happened since my last post.
B. and I went to Savannah, Georgia for a vacation. Savannah is such a beautiful place. November or December is a great time to go there because it’s still pretty warm and there are few tourists. The whole historic district is very walker-friendly, with a historic square every other block, and beautifully restored mansions everywhere. Our hotel, Planter’s Inn, faced Reynolds Square, and was really lovely – wine and cheese every evening, wonderful staff, nice breakfast, only 2 blocks from the river – and a real bargain that time of year. Our first evening there, the annual Christmas parade of lights passed by right in front of the hotel! We had amazing food, and we didn’t even go to Paula Deen’s restaurant. We did, however, go to Mrs. Wilkes Boarding House for lunch and sat down to a table laden with 23 delicious low county dishes! 
Tybee Island is Savannah’s beach – a barrier island about 17 miles from the historic district. It’s a sweet little town in its own right, with some great restaurants (the Sundae Café, the Crab Shack and the Breakfast Club are not to be missed), a beautiful lighthouse and a couple of forts worth seeing. Our first night, we walked on the beach at twilight and were awestruck by the plethora of jumping dolphins and swooping pelicans. We also took a day trip to Charleston, and took harbor tour and saw Fort Sumter.
B. and I both got sick the morning after we got home. I had the stomach flu plus a respiratory infection, and B. just got the respiratory part. It was a misery. We survived. Enough said about that. We were well in time to decorate for the holidays and to finish Christmas shopping.
However…
My cat Grace had surgery on Christmas eve, effectively canceling my holiday plans. She ate sewing thread and some of it got wrapped around her tongue. Of course, I had no idea that’s what had happened… While I was wrapping presents on the 23rd she started vomiting and yowling, but, you know… cats do that, so I wasn’t too alarmed. The next day she was acting strange, but I poked her stomach and looked her over good and she didn’t seem like she had any pain, so I decided she had a big hairball, and went to work. On the way home, I went to PetsMart and got her some hairball treats, but when I got home, she was still not herself and wouldn’t eat them. I still wasn’t too alarmed, but since I was leaving town the next morning, I called my vet, but they were getting ready to close and wouldn’t be open until the 26th. I went back to PetsMart to get some hairball ointment, and saw that their vet clinic was still open. I talked to them, then went home and got Grace and brought her in, still thinking I was overreacting. The vet found the thread, clipped it and tried to pull it out, but she had swallowed too much and it wouldn’t come. They did an x-ray to see if there was a needle and found out that her intestines were getting bunched up around the thread, and that’s when they said she’d have to have surgery. Christmas: cancelled. I was feeling pretty blessed that things worked out the way they did – that I’d brought her in, that they’d got her in time – but it was all such a bummer. They had to keep poor Grace overnight and then the following morning she was in surgery for quite a while. In the meantime prepared for a couple of days by myself with a sick cat: I got a carry-out turkey dinner and made sure I had plenty of DVDs. I gave B. the presents for his family and kissed him goodbye and he went off to celebrate the holiday without me.
I brought Grace home at 4:00 on Christmas eve, strung out on anesthesia, no bladder control, a 4-inch incision on her belly, weak and confused and startling at every noise. She was supposed to wear a cone, but I took that off, seeing she was too nuts to bother her incision and hoping to give her some relief. I just held her in my lap for the first few hours. She wouldn’t eat that night, and on Christmas day she’d only lick a little food from my fingers – not more than a few teaspoons all day. The vet hadn’t been able to get all the thread from her esophagus, plus her stomach tissue hadn’t looked good in surgery, so she had said Grace still wasn’t out of the woods. I took her back to the clinic first thing the morning of the 26th and she had a fever and the vet (a substitute) was quite concerned about her not eating and said that they might have to open her up again. I took her home and coaxed her to eat all day, without much success. I was really upset. I was prepared for them to say she’d have to have more surgery when I took her back the next morning.
I know it’s not right to have favorites, and I’m not one to treat a pet like a child, but I love this cat more than all my previous pets combined, and although other people believe that they have the greatest cat, they’re wrong, because mine’s the best, and you’d agree if you met her.
When I took her the next day, the regular vet was back, and she seemed less concerned and decided to do some blood tests. They all came back normal, and her fever was down, so I took her home – no more surgery! Later that day, she started eating, and a couple of days later she pooped, and it’s been all uphill since then. She’s not a conehead any more, and although her belly is still shaved, she’s once again galloping around the apartment and acting like herself again. And I have a new vet! God bless those people! Your lesson from this long tale: KEEP YOUR PETS AWAY FROM “LINEAR FOREIGN BODIES!”
A late (tense) Christmas happened. You know that very bad day when Grace was really sick, December 26, described above? Well, I managed to dry my tears long enough to have a little Christmas with B. I got some lovely gifts, and enjoyed watching him open my gifts. But, you know… Not the best Christmas ever.
New Years Eve was fun though. Grace was better by then, and we had some friends in from out of town and I spent a couple of days playing tourist in my own town, which is always fun. A very laid back time with some great folks! And then we danced in the New Year.
I went back to work at some point and am still trying to get up to speed. I’m sure I will soon.
My 51st birthday. 50 was a great year – wonderful parties (see last year’s posts), two great trips, our engagement. 51 is off to a great start too. I had a relaxing day with B. on Sunday, dinner with his parents, and I plan to take a four day weekend this coming weekend and do some relaxing, girly stuff – pedicure (of course), massage, sewing, movies, and the like. Ahhh…. I am NOT changing the name of the blog to “Fiftyonebogue.com” though…
I know this should have been, like, five shorter posts, but it is what it is. I’ll try and do better.
B. and I got engaged over the weekend. We’ve been together for almost 6 years, and we’d started talking about getting engaged a few weeks ago, after I told him that the “boyfriend” nomenclature wasn’t really doing it for me anymore, that I like diamonds and that I don’t mind a long engagement. It seemed like time to get our intentions out in the open. He agreed, saying that it was time to “tidy it up.” So I didn’t know what he had in mind, if anything, but he loves to surprise me.
Good things always happen to me at dances. B. and I met at a dance. And that’s where he decided to propose.
Saturday night, at our regular midtown contra dance, the caller announced it was time for the half-time waltz before the break. I started looking around for B., and didn’t see him at first. Then I realized that he was up on the riser with the band, wearing the caller’s head mic. I swear, I can’t tell you exactly what he said, but it was something like, “I have something I want to say to a special lady. Laura, will you come up to the stage, please?” Again, I really have no earthly idea what else he said, but I heard, “Will you marry me?” (I hear one of our friends has it on video, so I’ll have to refresh my memory.) I think I said yes, or at least nodded vigorously, and he stepped down (or was he already down?) and slipped a ring on my finger.
As if that wasn’t enough, he had asked the band (one of my favorite duos) to play my favorite waltz, “Two Rivers” so then we waltzed! Everyone else started waltzing too, floating by us, wishing us well.
That’s the story. VERY romantic, don’t you think? We were surrounded by friends during the break, then danced a little more, then I slipped away to call a couple of people. We went out for a drink with the dance group later and had a marvelous time, then went home and talked about it all until 3 AM.
A truly stellar day! A great moment in my life! A completely awesome fiance!
And no, no wedding plans for the immediate future – we’ll keep you posted.
ADDENDUM: November 29, 2008 – B.’S VERSION
I asked B. to fill in the blanks of the proposal, since I was fuzzy on the details, and here’s what he told me:
What he said from the stage was, “May I have your attention? I’d like to dedicate this waltz to a special lady – on one condition. Laura would you come up to the stage please?” He said he enjoyed the puzzled look on my face. He said he stepped down from the riser to meet me, then took my left hand, then my right, kissed my left hand and said, “Will you marry me?” After I said yes, he said, “I believe it’s customary to seal the deal with a bauble.” He took off the microphone, then feigned not being able to find the ring, patting all of his pockets, then pulled the ring out of his pants pocket. He showed the ring to the crowd, but kept it hidden from me. He slid the ring onto my finger, still hidden, then pulled his hand away so I could see it, then kissed me. Then we waltzed.
ALSO – We’ve seen the video our friend shot that night, which has the very tale end of the proposal – the ring part – and the entire waltz – it’s really fun to watch, especially seeing our friends’ reactions. I certainly didn’t see that the first time around, since I was only looking at B.!
This is one story that doesn’t suffer at all from too many details. It just gets better…
Wow – That was some great dancing we got to do over the weekend in Lawrence. I’m just sorry I couldn’t come back for the Sunday dance. Everything was just right – the caller, Tom Hinds, was clear, concise, laid back and funny. The band, Lit Splickety, was solid and awesome. The lighting and the floor were perfect. A lot of great dancers and good friends in the room too. Another peak dancing experience. Thanks, Lawrence Barn Dance Association!
I’m also posting a short video from Solefest in Springfield, Missouri two weeks ago. This features Frederick Parks calling while giving the band a chance to dance – he accompanies his own singing square. Enjoy!
OK, I’ve skirted this very important issue long enough. Time to talk about contra dancing.
First of all, others have already described it better than I can, so I’ll quote a couple of them.
Here’s a good definition from Leanne E. Smith:
“Contra dancing is difficult to describe in words. It must be experienced. There are, however, some definitions that may be helpful. Contra dancing has its roots in Scottish and English country dancing and American square dancing. The progression and figures allow everyone to dance with everyone else. Two long lines of people face each other at the start, but as the dance continues, some couples progress up the set and some progress down the set. By the end of every dance you will most likely have danced with everyone in your set. Yes, this may sound confusing, but it is much easier to do it than it is to think about it.
The soundtrack of a contra dance may include celtic, old time, bluegrass, swing, and popular music styles – all from a live band – depending on where the dance is held. Our contra evenings also include waltzes, occasional squares, and other fun surprises.
Contra dancing is a great form of exercise and an excellent way to meet new people with varied personalities.
You do not need to bring a partner because there will be others with whom you can dance. If you do have a favorite partner, it is a great way to spend time together.
If you are doubtful about coming because you do not know exactly what it is or because you do not already know how, the best thing to do is to come and find out.
If it must be described…perhaps the best way is to say that contra dancing is as a self-inflicted amusement park ride…but do not let that scare you !
Here’s an excerpt from a GREAT article by Greg Rohde of St. Louis:
“What I discovered that July night was wonderful live music that compels me to move, a community that extends great hospitality to new dancers and a style of dance that is very easy to learn. Much of contra’s popularity is in its simplicity: if you can walk, you can contra dance. It doesn’t matter if you have two left feet. (Contra dancing uses a walking step so it doesn’t matter which left foot you start on.) I was thrilled to encounter a place where the whole community dancing together is more important than any one person or any couple looking good. I had previously taken some dance lessons that were horrible because the instructor kept chastising us for every small mistake. Worrying about getting each step right meant that the evening caused more stress than it relieved. The contra dance floor, on the other hand, was a playful oasis. Everyone was very patient with teaching someone who was new, had no idea what was going on and lacked a good sense of rhythm. I was hooked. Since then, it’s seeped into my blood as I’ve danced thousands of dances and have discovered a source of deep joy and great playfulness.”
Now, like I said, they’ve described it very well, but they can’t tell you what this “self-inflicted amusement park” means to me.
When I started dancing I was single. While I hoped to meet a nice guy at the dances – and there was always someone there I was interested in – it was never an atmosphere that was just about hooking up. In fact, it took a while to figure out who was already partnered, since couples don’t always dance together. And I did, in fact, meet B. at a dance, so that worked out very well. Before that, I had taken Irish and swing dance classes, but what I found was that this kind of dance took away my loneliness and gave me a community, much in the way that church does for many people, I guess. But this fix also satisfied my physical need to touch people. Contra dancers like to say, “Where else can you be in the arms of different man/woman every 30 seconds?” And although you may not be attracted to every guy or gal you swing (hopefully not, at least), a contra dance is a comfortingly safe place to be physical with other humans.
Plus, it’s just plain fun. It’s the only exercise I’ve ever loved. Since I seem to have no endorphins (I exercise, but I’m always grumpy afterwards), it was a big surprise to love something so aerobic and to feel so joyful during and after. It’s a very sociable environment too, and now contra dancers figure prominently among my friends.
And yes, it’s a little bit like the square dancing you did in junior high, but not very much, and you don’t have to wear a cowboy hat or a big petticoat unless you want to. And you’re older now, so you don’t have to worry so much about looking cool or no one asking you to dance. Besides, they will ask you to dance! And it’s OK for you to ask them! They will, too, I swear! It’s a very friendly place.
One surprise for me was that contra dance is like this huge, secret society that you don’t know about until you, uh… well, know about it. I’m sure there are a lot of things like that around, but I never fail to marvel at how many places there are to contra dance across the country and around the world. Just Google it, or search “contra dance” on youtube – you’ll see. Before I travel, I check dance websites to see if I can catch a dance somewhere, and when I do, the group is unfailingly welcoming. Many dance folks are “dance gypsies” and travel around to lots of regional dance weeks or weekends, which often offer nationally known callers and bands. I mostly stay in the Missouri/Kansas area, where I can enjoy four or five dance weekends a year, but I’ve traveled to Kentucky and Wisconsin just to dance. I know folks who travel to dances almost every weekend. (Some drive for 2 hours just to go to their “local” dance!) I have a friend who spent most of one summer traveling from dance to dance, calling or e-mailing ahead to a dance group to see if someone could put her up. They always did, and she was safe and sound and had a blast.
And the music! If you’d told me 15 or 20 years ago that I’d be this interested in old-time fiddle music, I’d have thought you were nuts. But if I had more time and money, I swear I’d be a groupie for some of my favorite dance bands. Hotpoint, Wild Asparagus, Airdance, Nightingale – the ones I like are non-traditional, incorporating some bluesy-cajuny-rocking funk into those old fiddle tunes. And don’t get me started about my waltz music! There are always at least two waltzes played at every contra dance, and waltz workshops are offered at most dance weekend workshops. I fell in love with the waltzing early on, then I fell in love with Larry Unger’s waltz music. If I were to get married tomorrow, I’d walk down the aisle to one of those songs.
So, it’s obviously more than dancing for me. It’s fun, family, friendship, fitness, love, and a twirlingly good reason to wear a skirt. It’s a high. It’s bliss. It’s a good reason to keep my knees in shape. It’s my guaranteed slice of joy.
You can take a look at my dance videos on Youtube here or click below. For those of you in the Kansas City area, who’d like to check out a dance, visit the CrossCurrents Dance website. For those of you who are elsewhere, visit here for national dance listings.
I have sleep apnea. Shocking, I know, that an overweight, middle-aged American woman might have such a thing, but I assure you, it’s true.
My apnea story isn’t one of those “…and suddenly I felt SO much better, I took up running and lost 50 pounds!” kind of stories. I didn’t even suspect I had apnea. I just always knew I wasn’t a “morning person.” I HATE getting up in the morning. My poor mom had to practically blast me out of bed every morning of my youth, and I still give my snooze button a workout.
When I started sharing a bed with B., he commented on my snoring, saying it wasn’t excessive, but was persistent. I told him, “It’s like a kitten purring. You’ll find it soothing.” He didn’t have any dramatic stories about me stopping breathing, so I wasn’t worried. But I finally started wondering if I shouldn’t wake up feeling more refreshed in the morning, like a normal person. So I did a sleep study.
For those of you who haven’t done it, sleep studies are no fun whatsoever. It’s a lot like checking into a hotel, until they strap 19 electrodes on you and tell you that they’ll be watching and listening to you from their booth all night. Oh, and if you need to go to the bathroom, just say something – they’ll hear it – and will come in and unstrap you from the monitors.
I sleep on my stomach and I couldn’t really get into my normal sleeping position during the study, but managed to drop off for a few hours (5.25 according to their records). Enough, at least, for them to determine that I was having about nine apnea episodes an hour that were keeping me from getting to REM sleep. I never wake myself completely, just kept myself out of deep sleep. The few minutes I dropped into REM sleep, I had 22 apnea episodes! And yet, this is considered mild apnea.
I learned from my new sleep doctor that folks with untreated apnea are twice as likely to die of a heart attack than those who are treated, or who have no apnea. That got my attention. So I got a CPAP. For those of you unfamiliar with that particular acronym (for Continuous Positive Airway Pressure), this is the name of the torture device that is choice #1 for apnea treatment (or at least it was 3 years ago). It’s a machine with a 6 foot hose attached to a face mask that you strap to your head to blow air up your nose all night. This somehow keeps your throat from closing while you sleep. It’s as fun as it sounds. It’s like sleeping in scuba gear – and just as sexy. For a stomach sleeper like myself, it was nearly impossible to sleep with, but I tried for three months, usually waking to find it sighing softly on the pillow next to me.
I was referred to Dr. A., my wonderful sleep dentist, who fit me for an oral appliance that holds my lower jaw forward just enough to keep my throat tissue from sagging while I sleep. I took to it immediately (although it gives me a monkey-faced look, also not sexy), and found subtle, yet consistent improvements in my life – increased energy, less horror about getting up in the morning, fewer morning headaches, etc.
The appliance is fitted to your teeth, so since I started the process of getting my new teeth, I’ve had to sleep without it. I thought I was doing pretty well during those three months, although in August and September I had some back problems that didn’t really going away. I was stressed out at work, and had a short fuse. None of this seemed serious or sleep related – and maybe they weren’t, who knows?
But here’s the thing: last week I got my new appliance, a cunning little lavender model, and even though it’s pinching a bit and needs some adjustments – voila! No more back pain, more energy, no headaches, happy to be alive, etc., etc. Yet another subtle miracle wrought through the magic of REM sleep!
If you’ll excuse, me, it’s my bedtime!
NOTE: Dr. A. says that many insurance companies are now recognizing OAT (oral appliance therapy) as the first protocol for treating apnea, rather than the CPAP. That’s good – maybe my insurance will pay for it this time!
I was born with bad teeth (well not literally, but, you know…). And then they got worse. Having inherited my mother’s bad dental genes (she had full dentures by 35), I then contracted scarlet fever and was given the antibiotic tetracycline when my adult teeth were developing. So my teeth were always kind of a grayish color and developed fractures. Add to this the fact that flossing wasn’t something known to occur in our house while I was growing up, and that I had more tetracycline for my acne as a teenager, and that’s how I wound up with a filling in every off-colored tooth. But there’s more! My jaw is small and my teeth are kind of scrunched up and one of my front teeth never fully descended and was always shorter than the other. They weren’t deemed crooked enough for braces back then, so they stayed with me. Fortunately, I was never very aware of how gray and crooked they were.
UNTIL I got veneers on my four front teeth in 1986, that is. Then everyone felt obliged to tell me how they’d always wondered how my front tooth got broken, but never wanted to ask. (In fact, no one HAD ever asked.) When I moved back to Kansas City I became a patient of Dr. M., and he’s taken good care of me, putting crowns on eight of my molars over the years. But he’s always been keen on improving my smile, something I wanted too, but couldn’t afford. But veneers aren’t supposed to last more than 20 years, and mine were 22. So, after selling the house, I put some of the money aside for new choppers and this past summer I started the whole grueling process. I was persuaded to have my canine teeth redone as well, and instead of veneers, I went with full “jackets” which I guess is what they call caps nowadays.
I’ll spare you the details – no one reads a blog for the dental procedures (I hope) – but suffice to say that after weeks of bleaching, 4 long dentist appointments, 3 of which involved 6-12 shots of a novacaine/epinephrine cocktail that left me jumpy and my face numb until bedtime, more drilling than I want to remember, and consultations with the “tooth artist” who makes the teeth, I now have a Hollywood smile. Here’s the proof:
Last week, I experienced that most infamous of the 50th year rights of passage – my first colonoscopy. It has capital letters in my head: My First Colonoscopy. Laura’s First Colonoscopy. I won’t say much about it, but I can’t resist saying a little. Here’s what I learned:
I truly, truly can’t believe it’s almost September. B. and I were talking about how we feel a little gipped since we didn’t get to do everything we thought we’d do – fishing, water parks and the like. We’re hoping to make the most of the fall, which is starting to look a little booked up. We’ve postponed our big vacation for a number of reasons, but are starting to think about some smaller trips in the coming months.
I did have a couple of adventures this summer that I’ve neglected to set down here. I’ll do it in brief, since it’s late and tomorrow’s plate is full.
Our deluxe accommodations
V. and I took a trip to Minneapolis to celebrate our 50th birthdays. We stayed in a very nice hotel (down comforters, pool, hot tub) near the Mall of America where we shopped a great deal (uh, like 14 hours) and we also took in the sights of Minneapolis and St. Paul. We drove and honest to god never stopped talking the whole way. I was hoarse when I got home. I mean, you’d think we’d listen to music or something for a few miles…
Then, a couple of weeks ago, some of my good friends and art school cronies got together for a reunion, some coming from out of town. I had fun houseguests for a few days and had a great excuse to play hooky and just generally PLAY. Good food, good friends, great memories.
I’ve had a bunch of doctor’s appointments lately and have been trying to get my nose back to the grindstone everywhere – at work and at home. I’m trying to get an HOUR a day of exercise on most days – a new resolution – and sheesh! it’s kickin my butt. But I managed it today and we’ll see how tomorrow goes. I’d like to live forever, so I have my work cut out for me, huh?
So I guess I’m sharpening my pencils and getting ready for fall – not a new school year, but it feels like something new, anyway. Time to put away the dreams of summer for another year, maybe? Well, not until the pools close, I guess.
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