Menopause plus a teenager equals wine
Mmm uornin moooom.
No mom.
Mom?
Yeah mom.
Mom? Never-mind.
Wait Mom!
Mom?
I dunno mom.
Maawm!
Maaaaaaom?
Yes mom.
Mom?
(sigh) Maooooowwwwwm!
Mom?
Mom?
Mom?
Mom?
(sigh) Nite mom.
Mom?
Until next time-
C
“Mom, why do I keep getting hurt in football?”
“One word: FOOTBALL!”
Until next time -
C
There are 4 drafts of posts just sitting in the back-end of this blog, waiting for me to finish them.
I just haven’t had a free moment. My son has given me much hilarious teenage fodder for this blog, but time has not been my friend in allowing me to complete my posts.
Just to give you an idea of what my life has been like, I leave you with these -
Could you say no to that face?
Thus he keeps me crazy busy.
Until next time -
C
http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
Photography by Ray Mabry.
“How’s school going?”
“OK.”
“Like it?”
“It’s OK.”
“Got a girlfriend?”
“No – mom.”
“Do you wish you had one?”
“Kinda.”
All across the world the sound of a pin drop could be heard from within the brain of this mom as time stood still.
Until next time-
C
To see the full photograph series on this actual bear visit Dan & Lynn Wolaver’s site by clicking here.
Until next time -
C
http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
“Wow Brian, tomorrow is the first day of high school.”
“I know.”
“Can I walk you to school?”
“Ha! Mom you’re kidding RIGHT?”
Well … kinda …
Until next time -
C
Fall is early this year. I can smell it in the soft warm breeze that moves the bangs about my face. The breeze teases my nose with touches of mesquite, dried grasses and falling leaves. It feels more like October than September.
Walking, ones shadow falls like a lazy dark friend revealing the distance of the sun’s movement away towards winter.
Usually in Sonoma County, summer runs July, August, and September with an Indian summer from September to the week of Halloween. This year has not followed the normal fall weather pattern, thus the grape harvest is late.
The grapes do not have enough warmth to sweeten on the vine. Growers are standing around waiting to pick. This is a scary time for wine growers, and the harvest fair celebration is just around the corner, the first weekend of October.
The vegetable gardens are thin and bare, as if in honor of those that suffered in the wake of Katrina. There is no abundance waiting in the bending green branches, summer has ended. These are the last weeks for kids to enjoy the evenings. Soon, daylight savings will have us in total darkness as we prepare our usual evening fare.
The weather will turn cold, frost will greet us in the wee hours of the morning, then the rains come.
Halloween costumes hang in the shops beckoning alter egos to come out and play, dress up and eat candy for two weeks. Firewood and rolled logs appear on every shelf reminding us that our heaters will kick on soon. Hibernation begins as we shut ourselves inside our homes and internet chatting comes back to life.
There is a type of quiet that comes with fall, a quiet, which seems to slow the rhythm of the day. It is as if time stops for small moments, takes a deep breath, then continues. Large gusts of wind burst forth – shaking trees of their dying leaves, spreading them about the air like large colorful snowflakes.
As suddenly as the wind appears, the gusts subside in mid-wind, hanging leaves in the air like vultures hovering prey, before dropping suddenly like a soft stroke of a paint brush. The landscape takes on the colors of redheads, hues of burnt reds, orange, pumpkin, chestnut and squash. It is our time of year.
Sounds of the whistling winds weave through the trees now replace the sounds of lawnmowers and swimming pools. Bikinis and shorts disappear to the return of leather and soft soothing sweaters. Comfort foods of casseroles, soups and chili spring up from the summer corn-on-the-cob, barbecued chicken and strawberries on sponge cake.
Lawn chairs are folded, outdoor place settings boxed for the attic and blankets are folded on the edge of the couch ready for use.
This year’s New Year resolutions are long forgotten while vacation photos sit in a top drawer and hot tea replaces the last glass of red wine. Football cheers fill the living room and next years Super Bowl champions are born. The holidays loom teasingly over the next horizon.
Before us looms the time of the year we are all forced to be around people we may or may not miss, throwing us into tight mingling around too much food and drink, hoping for the best. We wish for Santa to bring us back to that spark of a child’s innocence, and this will be the year that our long-held dreams come true.
Fall opens like a soft well-choreographed ballet, dancing lightly about us if we dare to notice. Act one finished, and I am ready to carve pumpkins and give out candy to the neighborhood. How I love this elegant autumn ballet produced by Mother Nature.
Brian will turn another year older. Be still my heart.
Until next time-
Tonight I enjoyed a dinner date with my son. We decided to walk to a Japanese restaurant at the shopping center about a mile from our home. Brian loves sushi or really any type of seafood.
So we dawned walking shoes and chatted our way there. Brian always tells me interesting things when we walk together. He tells me that I had better “keep up” with his walking pace (I was in labor with you boy you have no idea just how well I can keep up). He tells me of his plans for his future, what he sees for us, his favorite friends and stories of Pokemon. I can listen to him talk forever.
We have tempura and some sushi at the restaurant. It is a sweet dinner out. The service is top notch and I take this time to begin training Brian on how to take a girl out to dinner, although he wrinkles his nose and looks at me like I am nuts – girls? Ew Mom.
When dinner is over he cons be into going into a small bookstore because he knows I am a sucker for books. He heads straight for the Star Wars section while I find my way to the health section. I intend to buy nothing. Really. We leave with a Star Wars book along with a star Wars magazine. So much for a cheap night out.
We walk back through the center and passing a clothing store as I realize Brian has outgrown his sweat pants and could use some for his weigh in at tomorrows football game. I tell Brian it will be a quick trip in and out. That so called quick trip involved a new pair of tennis shoes for him, sweat pants and a youth football (as in the kind you throw). So much for a quick in and out and just sweat pants.
Will I ever shop for me again?
We walk back as darkness begins to fall. Brian runs ahead throwing the football back for me to catch one-handed because naturally I am carrying all the bags.
Will he ever carry his own things?
We return home as Brian exclaims he is tired. He asks for a bedtime story. No wonder I am too tired to date. How does someone do this with more than one?
Until next time-
C
http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
Today I am asking people to support stem cell research.
It could hold a cure for auto-immune diseases such as Hashimotos disease. I offer my reason why -
The following is excerpted from Johns Hopkins “Health Insider,” interview with Robert A. Brodsky, M.D., Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine -
“Rebooting” – A Promise For Autoimmune Diseases?
Johns Hopkins University researchers have developed a new technique in treating autoimmune disease patients which reboots the immune system with results that have cured some patients while dramatically improving the health of others. This is a new approach to the use of stem cells in treating autoimmune disease.
Autoimmunity occurs when the blood’s lymphocytes, which are designed to defend the body against infections and foreign agents, actually attack one or more of the body’s organs. Researchers in the past have focused on ways to destroy the disease-causing lymphocytes and replace them with normal ones. That attempt has not been successful. Bone marrow transplantation is now being used by many medical institutions worldwide. One attempt to get rid of the misdirected lymphocytes has been the use of high doses of cyclophosphamide, a chemotherapeutic drug. This method also calls for a blood stem cell transplant since it has been thought, incorrectly, that cyclophosphamide in high doses is destructive to the bone marrow’s ability to make new blood cells.
Stem cells, present in both bone marrow and blood, regenerate marrow and blood after chemotherapy. In stem-cell transplants, stem cells are harvested before chemotherapy by drawing some of the patient’s own blood or bone marrow. After the chemotherapy, the blood or marrow stem cells are returned to the patient’s body. However, patients who do go into remission after the procedure usually relapse after a time. This is thought to be the result of the “bad” lymphocytes returning to the patient along with the stem cells. How can pure stem cells be isolated from other blood cells?
Now Johns Hopkins researchers have found a way to circumvent the problem.
According to Robert A. Brodsky, M.D., assistant professor in oncology and medicine at the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine, “…stem cells contain an enzyme, called aldehyde dehydrogenase, which detoxifies cyclophosphamide. Like most blood cells, lymphocytes have very low levels of this enzyme, so cyclophosphamide destroys them but not the stem cells. That means it is not necessary to do a transplant to preserve the stem cells.” He further states, “Studies have shown that after chemotherapy–as the stem cells turn into the specialized blood cells that have been destroyed–those that become lymphocytes are normal and do not attack the body. The immune system has been repaired.”
This system was first tried with aplastic anemia patients. Seven out of the first ten patients treated by this method have remained disease-free for 10 years–and, in some cases, more than 20 years. The system was later tried with 27 other patients with autoimmune diseases, the majority of whom were lupus patients. Dr. Brodsky reports, “Most are still in remission, and some are off medications two and three years later.” He continues, “All the patients we’ve studied have, at the very worst, remained stable: Virtually all have had major reductions in their immunosuppression medications.” Dr. Brodsky cautions that, before this can be called a cure, the patients must remain disease-free for ten or more years.
Dr. Brodsky offers the comment that “When we have more information about the long-term effects of this treatment, and as more physicians and patients learn about it, the technique could well become standard protocol for autoimmune conditions soon after they are diagnosed and well before the diseases progress or become debilitating.”
All we can do is hope. And let stem cell research move forward.
Until next time -
C
Yesterday was Memorial Day, the day we honor all who died in War. I usually think of it as Red Poppy Day. Each year, I walk up my street, cut through a business parking lot, dash across a busy street to the Calvary Cemetery. My father is buried there. He died in July 1978 from Esophageal cancer. I just turned 18.
The cemetery sits on the side of a hill overlooking Santa Rosa. It is quite the climb getting to the top where my father’s grave is located. Usually I am out of breath – yesterday was no different – as I sucked in the warm air and looked down upon the stone marker. It is marked with a small American Flag. My father was in the Army and served in Korea.
My mother already laid roses over the headstone, she obviously had been there for the early service held to honor the dead. I sat down staring at “ELDON EUGENE HUGHES” like I do each year. It seems like a lifetime ago, and yet it also seems like yesterday. As I sit staring at his name I am transformed back to being a teenager, and the years spent dealing with his cancer.
A soft breeze hits my face and I remember the day he died. It was a beautiful sunny day just like this one. My boyfriend at the time, Steve, was driving me to work at Round Table Pizza. We were on the freeway when my father’s voice came through my head “Cathy come home – hurry”. I turned to Steve and said, “Take me home NOW”. “What? Why?” he is irritated, “We just left there” “Turn the damn car around and take me home. Its my dad!” Without another word, he takes the first exit and speeds me back home.
My father died in his favorite leather recliner. The cancer had gone to his brain and throughout his entire body. He died after watching his favorite movie, Spencer’s Mountain. He loved Maureen O’Hara and the Grand Tetons. My mother hugged me and placed a cloth over my dad’s face. And that was it. This larger than life man, who I adored was gone from me in an instant. I was in shock.
The wind across the fresh cut grass brings me back to the present moment and I cast my eyes about the graveyard. Other families are visiting lost loved ones too. We are a bonded community in silence, each understanding this type of pain. It never leaves you. You adjust, go on with life, but you are never the same, never that innocent again.
In different years this tradition doesn’t bother me and often fills me with peace, but this year I am unusually sad. My dear online friend “Yoda” says its the menopause…ha!…he would say that. Bless his heart. I think at different stages of my life I miss having a father. He was my foundation, my rock, the person I could always count on. Now, during these troubled times for me, I can’t call him and say, “Dad….”. He always gave the best advise.
I also miss his hugs, the way his large arms would surround me and I could bury my face in his chest. I felt safe, and loved. I loved the way he smelled after putting on his after shave. He smelled like a dad should. Every now and then when in a store that still carries that brand of aftershave, I open one and take a whif and remember what a dad smells like.
I walk back down the hill after having a small chat with his headstone. I wish I could hear his voice one last time, but instead there is only the sound of the wind and the birds. Would he be proud of me? What would he say about my life? How different would my life be if he were still alive?
He would have been crazy over my son Brian. Speaking of which, he comes back to me this afternoon. So enough of this sad talk, it’s time to get ready to see my living love.
Until next time-
C
We single parents don’t date, we just instant message and text our way through the dating mine field -
js: you are just getting the message from me?
js: and i am just reading your joke now…
me: yeah but he’s gorgeous, and drives a beautiful car and I wasn’t impressed with the date, he wasn’t up in my face teasing me like he did before
me: I just forgot that my computer was left on
js: who are we talking bout again?
me: the J___ comment
js: ahh…
js: so what was wrong with this one??
js: can you just get the car, and give it to me ????
me: lol
me: do I have to suck his dick for that?
me: he didn’t inspire me, and made everything all about him
js: depends on the car right…
me: some sort of 4 door leather seat sports car – I don’t know the type
js: ahh.. i like bmw
me: and I don’t like the way he kissed me…not strong enough…too wishy washy
me: and he wasn’t strong enough personality wise for me…I thought he was at first, he was so exciting, but after sitting with him and teasing him like you know I like to he just couldn’t keep up…
js: well thats a given… *laugh*
js: how many men have you known that is strong enough personality wise besides me?
me: Great question
me: You, Mark and maybe Chris, but he drinks too much.
js: list ‘em out…
js: can’t include your dad.
me: lol…damn
js: where is mark and chris ?
js: and who is chris… ?
me: that was insightful…my dad was fun and larger than life
me: Mark is now in Bakersfield and married, Chris is in Fresno and prolly drinking in a bar right now, or drinking on the toilet, or drinking out of a straw on his way home from work…
me: and JS is now married and in Houston – you know him?
js: that cocksucker… !!!
me: lol! I think I will just date my dog.
js: at least you can see her fleas
me: exactly
Until next time –
C
http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
My son Brian turned 10 this week. I love his birthdays. As I do every year, I allow him to skip school and we go on a day trip. Friday ended with his choice of going to the beach. He chose Schoolhouse Beach, which was rather ironic.
For anyone that might not be from this area Schoolhouse Beach is north of Bodega and one of the deadliest beaches for drowning. Brian believes it is called Schoolhouse beach because the never-ending crescendo of crashing waves are as loud as a bunch of kids in a schoolhouse.
We were the only two on the entire beach and sat leaning back against a large piece of driftwood. Boonie ran the length of the beach barking at the crashing waves as if warning us of their deadly charms. We sat far enough away and buried Brian in sand and dug for hidden treasures. I have been taking Brian to the beach for his birthday every year since he turned 3.
It was a rare spring day on the coast, warm and not a cloud in the sky. We could 
see west across the dancing ocean for miles and miles. It restores my soul. With each sound of the waves slapping against the shore, retreating and crashing again it is as if my troubles are beat down and pulled out, then washed out to sea. Brian is as addicted as I am to water, and the beach. It was a lovely day.
Saturday was the official birthday party for Brian and my ex husband agreed to host the party for the very first time. (Are you getting the feeling that this is the never-ending birthday party?) I had the pleasure of playing “Disneyland Mom” for my first time.
You can bet those little goodie bags for the boys were filled with candy. Who says ex husbands need any sleep?
Until next time -
C
http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com
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