Waking Up to Sweet Things

Portland, Oregon. O6.2o.2o17  O4:45


The Father’s Day 2o17 post had to go sit quietly by itself in the ‘Drafts’ holding area. It was just a wee bit too painful to tend to in real time.

So, Sweet Things will be the theme of today.

I woke up at O4:3o this morning. This may sound awful, but it’s a huge victory.
According to my CPAP machine, I slept a full 7 hours.
This is a big improvement from my normal 4 to 6 hours of nightly sleep.
And, I did not have any nightmares.
None that I remember, anyway. I will have to ask Mr. Blitch when he wakes up.
Apparently, sometimes, I wake him up talking or screaming in my sleep. Sometimes I am very well aware of this, sometimes not.
Oh, you don’t have this problem? Well. Lucky you.

What do I have nightmares about?
These things (in no particular order)…
1) my job
2) #45
3) my mother
4) my father
5) dance auditions from High School (circa 1983-1986)
6) that I don’t really have my bachelor of science in nursing (BSN) degree. There is still a college history class that I didn’t complete…
7) someone named ‘Jennifer’

So, today is already a great day!

Here is my better list – Sweet Things of Today:

1) My son HH and our neighbor, Max, slept out in the backyard last night. HH on the hammock, Max slept on the grass. There really are some sweet teenage boys in ‘Murica. I know of at least 7 or 8 of them. Good students. Musicians. Young men who are respectful towards girls and women. This does still exist.

2) My friend Julie’s daughter turned three yesterday. Her papa, Mr. Beastwood, gave her a rad pink, black, and white drum set for her birthday.
And, apparently, she learned that she’s going to be a big sister this winter.
Everything about this family is tremendously cool. Creative, super smart people. Julie and I used to work together at my previous job. She is one of the smartest women I have ever known. She taught me everything I know about Epic medical electronic systems. I could not survive or thrive at my current job as an Oncology Nurse Navigator if she hadn’t encouraged me to change my stubborn Luddite ways, and embrace the advent of medical technology.
When I graduated from the University of Portland School of Nursing ten years ago, my first job was as a night shift Bone Marrow Transplant nurse in a large teaching hospital. Paper charting was still a thing then. The noc shift nurses would grab calculators in the early morning hours to frantically add up each patient’s I’s and O’s (Intake/Output fluid balance) and ANC (Absolute Neutrophil Count) prior to the arrival of the Nurse Practitioners, Physician Assistants, and Hematologist-Oncologists at o6:00.
I was working the night when our Epic system “went live.” It was insanity. All managers on duty, people who had not worked through a 12 hour night shift in their lives. All the night nurses were snickering at them as they struggled to stay awake. Good times.
Anyway, Julie and her husband are outstanding people. They make life better though science and art. I truly, deeply, admire and appreciate them.
I mean, Holy Shit, had I been given a drum set when I was three years old? What might life have been like? What roads might I have traveled down? Kudos to them. Strong parenting. I am thrilled there will be a new addition to their family in the near future. Our world will benefit from this new arrival.

3) Mr. Blitch has gotten his groove back. After a couple years of limited time in the studio due to chronic back pain, parenting, “other work,” and me being away at work for 40 to 50 hours per week…. I went down to the studio this morning and found this:


4) And then there was this…








Self Soothing Behaviors


My job is stressful. Pretty much every aspect of my life is stressful.
Every day I drive to work, wondering when I can fit in my next visit to my father.
~ I have him situated in a very nice adult family care home, which is somewhat conveniently located in the midst of a triangle formed by my house, and the 2 hospital locations that I bounce back and forth between.


I’m a person who does better when I write things down. Words, drawings… mapping things out helps me get through life.
If I can somehow frame something within the boundaries of a piece of paper ~ there may be hope for me to survive another day.
Seems fitting that I ended up becoming an Oncology Nurse Navigator.

Non-pharmacological interventions for stress relief
Prior to heading out from my home in SE Portland, I make a trip to the backyard oasis that has been created by Mr. Blitch. I visit my Marigold (aka my therapy chicken), and snip some fresh Rosemary. I keep it in a glass in my car console.
The 18 mile car commute is eased by the smell of rosemary oil on my fingers.
Once I make it to my main job location, I can settle in ~ check my messages and the incoming referral line, make a few hard calls.

On my break ~ assuming there will be one at some point of the day ~ I head to the hospital Healing Garden.
I will always be rewarded there by some kind of tremendous beauty.








Piano Tuning

I actually have 2 piano stories.
The first, will take me years to complete. It is excruciating; it makes me squirm and rage. So best left untouched for the now.

The other piano story, is one of friendship, and heart, and community. A much more pleasant and easily digestible tale.

We are (?) care taking, housing, no: blessed with, the care of a piano belonging to a friend.

We just had it tuned. And while I appreciate it and cherish its presence in our home every.single.day, I am feeling inspired to sing its praises anew.


I played piano when I was a child… The comfort and joy in the playing weren’t there for me.
I viewed my practice as a chore; similar to the way I view a garden (flower, vegetable or otherwise): it’s a place you are sent to toil & pull weeds. Not a sanctuary or place of growth and joy.

Our son, Harrison, began playing about a decade ago. We found a teacher for him who has been a prefect match. Music theory, scales, chord progressions, are all covered as they should be. But from there, the sky is the limit. The songs they play are chosen together ~ whatever suits the mood. Ragtime. New Orleans jazz. Indiana Jones movie soundtrack music. The Beatles.
Just to name a few. A very few.
Recent musical obsessions of my son’s have included Stevie Wonder, Elton John, and now: Billy Joel.
To hear the songs of these artists played in our living room, by my son, on this amazing piano… Makes my heart explode. In a good way.

The piano belongs to a family friend, a member of my Quaker community. I met this woman when I was in my early 20s, long before I met Mr. Blitch. The piano is one she had in her home when her sons were young, and they had a spacious house with plenty of room. Two decades later, her sons are grown, living far away in places where they can’t have the piano. She also moved, to a beautiful home in the SW hills of Portland. There is a steep and treacherous walkway from the street to the entrance of the house, not a great place for this beautiful Baby Grand.

When Harrison was little, we were renting a small upright piano. My friend learned that we were making monthly payments that were hard on our budget right around the same time that she needed to move her piano into a “foster home.”

So we have this amazing instrument. We treasure it, and appreciate its presence. We’ll keep it until one of her sons moves somewhere where they would be able to enjoy it again themselves.

And we have Jeff Baxter. Harrison’s piano teacher for the last 8 years. Harrison is 16 now, so Holy Cow ~ half of our kid’s life has been touched by this amazing person.

IMG_8077 2

Jeff has his own son now, a super fun kiddo with the most excellent name of Arlo Baxter.
This is our community, our tribe. We raise our kids in this sketchy, sometimes terrifying world ~~ and music provides comfort, sanctuary, hope.

This is how we teach our children to survive. Music heals. Inspires, enriches.
Lullabies, hand clapping songs, symphonies, folksongs, requiems… All phases and stages of human life are accompanied in some way by music.
Without it, what would be?

Feeling tremendously grateful for so many things. Making every day a celebration.

FullSizeRender 3



Things I Am Not Loving About Aging/Perimenopause:

1) Insomnia
2) Fatigue
3) Decreased ability to handle my liquor
4) Age spots (on my once flawless, nay, porcelain-like skin)
5) Weight gain
6) Irregular menstrual flow / spotting (more unexpectedly ruined pairs of underwear than a tween-age girl)
7) Migraine headaches
8) QTR (Quick To Rage)


And, WHAT THE HELL is the matter with People?

In a desperate/practical attempt at self preservation, I have completely left Facebook. I also have strict rules for myself about my news intake. I have a 30 minute auto commute to work, and not surprisingly, #Fucking45 has made any kind of news difficult to digest.
I let myself check the TV news for weather and natural disasters prior to heading out for my dog walk with my geriatric Labrador.
I indulge in 5 to 10 minutes of OPB on my drive. When I catch myself screaming out loud to the radio, I switch over to audio books from my beloved Multnomah County Library.

I just finished Swing Time by Zadie Smith. (The link there will take you to the NPR book review that introduced me Smith’s book.)

Now I’m on to The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. Handmaid’s Tale was published in 1985. I read it for the first time in 1987, right after I graduated from Berkeley High School. I cannot think of another book that I read during my teen years that affected me so deeply. To this day, if I stand in my kitchen and am baking with butter, I recall the story and rub a pat of butter into my dry skin in tribute.

This morning, was a day off work for me. I awoke at about 4am, with a headache. I turned on the local TV news, and was treated to this:
FullSizeRender 2

Seriously. What the ACTUAL Fuck?

TV back off now… moving on.

Things That Make My Heart Explode (In a good way)

Pretty much, my husband and my son.

And my chickens. I do not know how I made it into my 40s without having chickens in my life.
Chickens are better than Citalopram, Prozac, Ativan, combined.
When I feel sad, anxious, as if we are facing The End Times…. I head directly out the chicken coop. Everything is happy, healthy, and good, in our chicken coop.

And my son, HH, who will be leaving soon to spend 7 weeks in Panama with the Amigos International program.

This was my Mothers Day card. My son made it, he’s 16 and digs calligraphy.
My life is good. Insomnia, tough job, perimenopausal rage, and all.






“Over~Exuberant & Weird”

…was what someone called me today. 
I will pretty much leave it at that. Or, second thought: I am appreciative of the fact that the speaker at least has a decent vocabulary.

Have I mentioned that I’ve had a bothersome earache for over 2 months now?

I have been unable to get in to see an Ear~Nose~Throat physician, so after polishing off a week of patient care, and elder care, I squeezed in a Saturday appointment at my own doctor’s clinic.


“We” are now trying a different antibiotic, and steroid ear drops.

In other news: I seem to be growing a lovely blond mustache and beard.

And, I’ll take exuberant, even overly so, over lackluster, or phlegmatic, any day.



Rabbit Hole Survival Strategies

Mr. Blitch is working an early morning bookkeeping shift for 7 straight days. Up at o3:OO, out of the house by o3:30, into the vault by o4:OO.
Yesterday (Saturday), I woke up when he left the house. Once awake, the hamster wheel that resides in my brain sprang to life.
There must be some residual from my 12-hour noc shift nursing days that enables me to snap from peaceful slumber to stone-cold awake & alert. And once there, not so easy to return.
I decided to make the most of it, and get in some Oncology Nursing Certification studying. Quiet house, deadlines always looming: seize the moment.


Half the day passed by. I ventured into the kitchen, down to the laundry area to stretch my legs and throw in a towel load. I became acutely, uncomfortably, twitchily, aware of the dog hair swirling around my feet. Our kitchen, the Bane of My Fucking Existence, had dirty dishes piled up over every minimal square inch of counter space.
An irrational, yet too-familiar, rage started creeping up from deep within.
Did I mention I’m on steroids? Crohn’s? No. Well, not directly.
I’ve had an earache for about 2 months. I’ve been to see my PCP twice now for it. We’ve tried antibiotics, nasal sprays, allergy medicine, the gamut. Now we’re trying steroids. It’s not helping. I even have *real* Sudafed. (Sudafed is only available by prescription in the state of Oregon. Thank you very much, Central Oregon Meth Labs. Way to ruin Over-the-counter decongestants for the rest of us.)
A fun fact about Crohn’s disease, is that some of us can develop Ear-Nose-Throat manifestations in tandem with our usual GI inflammation.
Ear pain, steroids, fatigue, stress. It can become a fairly speedy road to rage.

Text to my friend, M:  “Do you ever have thoughts about moving out of your home? (Asking For A Friend)”

M, back to me:  “I think maybe you’ve been studying too long and need a break. Why don’t you come over and we’ll go for a walk?”

Still in the possession of a modicum of sense, I was able to recognize M’s offer as a Beacon of Sanity, and drove straight to her home.
On the short drive, my mind started cycling again with unfinished blog fodder.
I dictated the following to my phone, and the phone actually got it mostly right: