Outcomes

The surgery went fine, thank goodness. Our friend will be in the hospital for about a week; her husband will be staying with us, since they live a bit too far away for commuting to be practical. I'm grateful we have a guest room to offer.

Still no writing today, but I am wet-finishing two pieces of weaving I'm pleased with. Tomorrow the car goes to the garage and I'll be stuck home most of the day. Will. Write. Then.

Honest.

Later: Got a little writing done after all. Ha!

Monday

Hella original post title, what?

I didn't write today, alas. I wove a bit, swam a bit, wasted entirely too much time on Facebook, and wound up going to the hospital after all (to visit a friend, not to volunteer). The friend will have surgery tomorrow. I can't be more specific here for privacy reasons, but let's all pray for everyone facing surgery, shall we?

Meanwhile, my friend Inez flew back home to discover that a hailstorm had destroyed her car's windshield while she was gone. So while we're at it, let's pray for everyone dealing with severe weather. Also, car repairs.

Which reminds me that I have to take our car in to the shop, so they can fix my perpetually illuminated "check engine light" icon (which has already been fixed at least four times) long enough for the car to pass its smog so I can renew my registration. My mechanic assures me that the CEL issue doesn't interfere with the actual operation of the car. What he needs to do to fix it this time, though (since the other fixes have lasted about ten miles each) will cost about $400.

Gack.

Today the loom I want (used and discounted) was advertised on Ravelry, but someone else snatched it up ten minutes before I saw the ad. Just as well, given the car situation.

Another Friday, Another Snowstorm

So, once again, it's crazy snowy here. I-80 is closed from Colfax to Truckee due to "zero visibility." 395 and Mount Rose Highway are closed, too. Down here, it's been snowing steadily all day. I cancelled both my chiropractor's appointment and my fiddle lesson.

We'll see if I get to the hospital tomorrow.

Sigh.

Good Day

This morning I met with my rector; we had a very pleasant chat, and he invited me to preach on Maundy Thursday and on May 29 (Memorial Day Weekend). I'm really looking forward to writing homilies again, and I'm honored to be preaching during Holy Week.

I ate my brown-bag lunch at church, raced to the gym and swam for thirty minutes, and then drove to the family shelter to teach my poetry class. I absolutely loved it. You can read about it on the UNR Poetry Project blog. The eight weeks of classes will culminate with a gallery show, probably at the university, and one of today's students has already given permission for her poem to be displayed (which makes me very happy, because it's a gorgeous piece of work).

It was incredibly moving to hear people in such tough circumstances express so much love for their families. As a side note, I was also very impressed with the physical plant; I'd been to the medical clinic downstairs to donate my father's meds after he died, but I'd never been inside the family shelter. It's clean and spacious, and seems very comfortable. Each family has its own room, and I loved looking at the kids' artwork posted on the doors.

When I got home, Gary and I decided to dash out to a store in Sparks that sells sports optics; we were hoping to get prescription snorkel masks. The store sells them, but they cost about $200 each, which is way too much money for an activity we indulge in once a year if we're lucky. So we're going to look for less expensive options. The cruise line supplies equipment, but we don't know if they'll have optical masks.

The store was fairly close to the fancy mall with the big sports store where I bought my wetsuit, so while we were in the neighborhood, we decided to go look at ellipticals. And, mirabile dictu, we found one! We hope to very soon be the proud owners of a Horizon Ex-59, which -- at its sale price of $599 -- was the second-least-expensive machine in the store. It seems really solid and smooth, though, and the online reviews we've seen have been good. We could have ordered a slightly older model, the Ex-57, from Amazon: less money, no tax. But after reading about people spending two or three hours assembling their machines, and winding up covered in grease, we've decided to spring for the tax, since if we buy from the store we'll get free delivery and installation, and they'll handle any necessary repairs. Right now the store only has the floor model in stock, but the sales guy is going to call me tomorrow about when they expect more in.

Of course, this is an even larger investment than the masks (and yes, I was conscious of the irony of embarking on this project right after a visit with homeless families), but we'll use it a lot more often. I hope to use it for at least a little while most mornings; I'll be able to work out in my PJs, which means I can give myself a serotonin boost on those mornings when crawling into clothing to crawl into the car to crawl to the gym is just too much effort. Gary dislikes most gym equipment but was very impressed with this, and he can use it when weather keeps him from hiking. So, yeah: big outlay, but I think the price is reasonable for what we'll be getting, and I think it will help with my health goals. My ultimate goal is to work up to using the elliptical half an hour in the morning and then swimming half an hour in the afternoon. That way, I'll get both weight-bearing exercise and the swimming I love, and I'll be able to rest between them. This may be too ambitious, of course, but if I could manage that even a few times a week, I'd be happy.

It was dark when we left the mall. I don't know Sparks very well, and I got lost. We wound up on a long highway without traffic lights. I couldn't see familiar city lights. I couldn't even tell which way we were driving. Finally I pulled up to a supermarket and told a lady there that we were lost. She laughed -- she's gotten lost there too, it turns out -- and offered to lead us back to town.

Talk about angels in disguise. I never would have found my way on my own; we weren't even close to my best foggy guess of our location. Thank you, lady in the silver Cadillac!

After that adventure, we'd have gotten home later than Gary likes to start cooking, so we went out for pizza, to the place that has gluten-free crust and soy cheese. It was very yummy. I'm very grateful to be able to eat pizza again.

Good Call

As friends have been commenting all day, we clearly made the right decision: it's been chains-only in the mountains since this morning, and even down here, the snow's so heavy that UNR canceled evening classes.

Note to Claire: Yes, you read that right. The accumulated snowfall in the mountains from today through Saturday is projected at twenty-nine to fifty-one inches. This ain't Central Park. Gary and I live at 5,000 feet, a bit higher than downtown Reno (elevation 4,500); Donner Pass, thirty-five miles away, lies at 7,085. (You'll recall from your history lessons that the Donner Party got stuck in lots and lots of snow, right?) This is ski country; also avalanche country; also if you get caught outdoors you could die country, which is why it's major search and rescue country. Even our little local mountain, Peavine, right across the street, can be deadly, which is why I insist that Gary bring his cellphone when he hikes there (which he does for two or three hours every other day, weather permitting), even though he loathes the thing. Neither of us has ever been caught in a storm on Peavine -- although other people have, and have died -- but I almost honest-to-god got bitten by a rattlesnake once. It was coiled and very well hidden in the middle of a trail, and I almost stepped on it, and it struck but missed. I've seen rattlesnakes lower down, too, a few blocks from here on walking trails, albeit not for several years. Granted, they're a warm-weather hazard; one needn't worry about snow and snakes at the same time!

So I'm glad we gave the mountains a miss, but I did drive around in the snow down here today. The new winter tires worked very nicely. In the late afternoon, Gary and I decided to be adventurous and check out a large mall in neighboring Sparks; at a sporting-goods store there, I found this funky wetsuit -- which fit me! -- on sale for $40. Sweet! The water in Mexico will probably be colder than Hawai'i (and Gary finds even those tropical waters too chilly), so I'd wanted to get a wetsuit for our snorkeling excursion, but I didn't expect to find one so quickly. I could do without the dorky logo on the front, and I'm pretty sure it's a guy's suit rather than a woman's, but it fits and the price was right, so I can't complain. Gary had less luck; they didn't have anything in his size that was reasonably priced, but it turns out there are a couple of dive shops in Reno, so we'll check those out. We both love snorkeling and plan to do as much of it as we can, so the investment makes sense.

Speaking of snorkeling, the sporting-goods store sports several huge fishtanks in the form of arched gates, so when you walk under them, you look up to see fish swimming over your head. Surreal photo, eh? I think those guys are catfish. They have whiskers, anyway.

Driving home from the mall was slightly scary; visibility was very poor, and even with the winter tires (going thirty-five miles an hour), I fishtailed a couple of times. But we're here, safe and sound and warm. Time for some nice hot tea!

Addenda:Turns out that I-80 was actually closed for part of today; westbound reopened at 7 p.m., but eastbound's still closed.

Also, tragically, when I looked at that SAR site, I realized that they did a search today -- and recovered a body -- only about six miles from here, in a residential area with lots of hiking trails. (My friend Sharon lives nearby.) A hiker had been missing since Wednesday. The paper notes that police haven't yet confirmed the identity of the body, but it sounds like everyone thinks it's the missing hiker. The body was only recovered a few hours ago, so the authorities haven't determined cause of death yet, either.

Scary, scary stuff. My heart goes out to her family and friends.

Adjustments

I'm now the proud owner of four new winter tires, mounted on four new wheels. This little project came to over $700, but that's much less expensive than either a new car or an accident.

I decided not to get studded snow tires because they're a) really noisy and b) offer less traction on dry surfaces than regular tires do. Winter tires offer better traction on all surfaces, but also wear out more quickly than regular tires. The solution's to switch back to regular tires in warm weather (as one would have to do with studded tires, allowed only from October 1 to April 1). Having the tires mounted on their own wheels will make the switching process much easier and less expensive, so the wheels will pay for themselves after a few seasons.

I haven't noticed any difference driving yet, but of course right now, the roads are perfectly clear. I told my mechanic, "Since I now have winter tires, we won't see any snow for the next five years." He laughed.

Meanwhile, my back's been hurting again -- a lot -- for the past few days, even though I've been good about swimming and stretching. A friend recommended her chiropracter, so I have an appointment there on Monday. I went to a chiropracter once in New Jersey and wasn't impressed, but the only time I've been completely pain-free since this whole mess started (and it started in early October, so this has been a haul) was for a few days after my physical therapist did an adjustment-type thing to straighten me out, and my friend says this chiro does small, gentle adjustments.

I'm trying to stay off pain meds, but I took one muscle relaxant yesterday and an ibuprofen tonight. Obviously I'm not in really awful pain if that's all I need, but I'd rather not need any. If a chiropracter can address the structural cause of the discomfort, I'll be most grateful!

Yowsa

My ER census today, in four and a half hours, was a whopping 119, tied for the highest ever. Mind you, that's just the number of people to whom I offered chaplaincy services, and includes anyone at the bedside, not just patients; also, most of those folks politely declined a visit. Like every other department of the hospital, though, we're asked to do basic bean-counting.

The shift did include one critically ill patient who left the ER only to code upstairs (but who'd stabilized when I left, thank goodness). Overall, it was actually a pretty quiet shift, for being so busy: quiet for me, anyway -- certainly not for the medical staff! -- since only a couple of people asked for prayer. I kept busy ferrying warm blankets and cups of water, though.

Anyway, I'm certainly glad I went in. The weather was moderately cruddy this morning, and I thought about staying home, but my car managed to handle the few inches of snow, only skidding once. A few inches of snow may sound laughable, but this town's bad about plowing and sanding at the best of times, and of course today's a holiday. A friend from Vermont, who swears by her SUV, says she thinks it's more important to have 4WD here than in New England, where everyone's used to snow.

My car handles so badly in snow that I've started to think about getting 4WD myself, or at least getting snow tires. I really don't need to be making car payments now, though. Also, I really want my next car to be a hybrid, and I don't want an SUV. On the other hand, I also really want to be able to get around town from December to May (last year it snowed on May 21, the night before we left for our Alaska cruise).

Feh!

The Last Two Days

This week's the annual Reno Chamber Music Festival, a marathon event featuring nine concerts in four days. In the past, they've done seven concerts in four days. One year, Gary and I actually attended all seven, but this was sufficiently grueling that we've scaled back and now pick and choose concerts according to the performers. This year, we're attending five concerts. We went to two yesterday and two today, and we'll go to another tomorrow.

Unfortunately -- for us, anyway -- yesterday and today's concerts were held in a church way south of here. (Reno money has migrated south, and of course the festival organizers want lots of rich people to come, so it makes sense to have a venue in their neighborhood.) The church is about a mile from the fanciest mall in town, so Gary and I have made it a tradition, on two-concert days down south, to shop and eat between concerts.

During the first concert yesterday, it started to snow. By the time we left the church, it was really snowing. We drove to the mall and shopped. I got two comfy cotton-knit cardigans on sale at Orvis, and a pair of Isotoner gloves on sale at Dillards. Luckily, I was wearing my mother's down parka with the fake-fur-trimmed hood, so I could bundle up between shops. (It's an open-air mall, and it's huge.) Then we ate dinner at the brew-and-burger place there. Partly because I'd been wandering around in the snow for a while, I ate far too much: a large plate of fish and chips followed by a bizarre dessert, a pizza cookie type thing, basically a huge chocolate chip cookie served hot out of the oven in a small pan. We were supposed to split this concoction, but it was too sweet for Gary, so I ate most of it.

Then we got back in the car to go back to the church for the second concert. It wasn't snowing by then, but everything had frozen into the proverbial skating rink. We were approaching an intersection when an SUV lost control and barreled in front of us (missing us by a few feet) and up onto the curb. Jeepers.

My little Ford Escort isn't crazy about bad weather, and getting to the church would have been pretty nerve-wracking even without the SUV near-miss. By the time we got back, we'd decided to leave our car at the church overnight and get a ride home with a friend who has 4WD, not to mention a lot of experience driving in snow.

That plan worked out well. She dropped us off last night and picked us up at eleven this morning for today's two concerts at noon and seven. The roads had cleared overnight, so my car was fine to drive again. After the first concert, I dropped Gary at the mall so he could see a movie (the new True Grit, which he liked but thinks would have been too brutal for me; we've recently seen together, and both loved, Black Swan and The King's Speech). Because we had so much time before the second concert, I dashed back up north to my gym, where I swam for an hour to stretch out my back and burn off even a crumb of the cookie monster from last night.

There's a Japanese restaurant at the mall, so Gary and I reconvened there for dinner. He'd suggested either Italian or the brew place again, but I wanted something healthy, with a menu relatively devoid of dairy and gluten. We had a large but healthy dinner of miso soup, salad, edamame, and sushi. It hit the spot! Also, the restaurant served green tea flavored with brown rice, which sounds bizarre but is absolutely delicious. I know green tea is good for me, but it usually tastes like grass. This had a wonderful nutty flavor. I loved it so much that I used my BlackBerry's Amazon app, right there in the restaurant, to order some for home.

I knit through all four concerts. I'm well begun on Christmas knitting for next year! During intermissions, various people asked me what I was working on. I hope no one thinks it's rude to knit during concerts, but I can actually concentrate better when my hands are busy.

Most of the music, as usual, has been wonderful. Alas, neither Gary nor I enjoy the longest piece on today's program, Messiaen's Quartet for the End of Time. The story behind the composition is indeed stirring, but the composition itself just doesn't do anything I ask of music. (After the concert, Gary and I both found ourselves wondering how many people claim to like this piece simply because they think they should on humanitarian grounds.)

Tomorrow we're going to an afternoon concert -- this one will be at the university, blessedly close to home -- and then spending a quiet evening at home. We were invited to a friend's house, but it's a bit far. I like just staying home on New Year's, which is my least favorite holiday in most of its public forms, although our friend's party would have been fun if we'd had the energy to get there. After all those concerts, though, I'd rather stay in. The cats are starting to forget what we look like!

Sciatica

So my back's been acting up since the day after Harley died. It hasn't gone into full-fledged spasm, but it hasn't been right, either, and my usual remedies -- like swimming -- haven't helped as much as they usually do.

For the past two days, the pain's been worse (although still not quite as crippling as in the most acute phase of a spasm). I've only been comfortable when lying down; sitting and walking have been increasingly unpleasant.

The day after Harley died, I had my primary-care doc call in a script for muscle relaxants, which I've used sparingly, mostly at night, ever since. But I've never gone this long without the back getting better, so I called today and got an appointment to see him tomorrow morning. In the meantime, though, I had an appointment with my rheumatologist today, so I told him what was going on.

He did an examination, discovered that I can't extend my left leg without sharp pain in the lower back, and frowned. "That's not good."

"That's sciatica, right? Which can be a symptom of a slipped disk?"

I was correct on both counts. He's sending me for an MRI, although we probably won't be able to schedule it until Monday, since we need to clear it with my insurance company first. In the meantinme, he's put me on bedrest for the next two days; I can go see my PCP tomorrow, can use the bathroom and get up to eat, but that's about it. (And I'll probably have meals in bed too, since sitting up is so uncomfortable.) I asked if I should take muscle relaxants, and he said they don't actually do anything directly for the muscles: they work on the brain and make people sleep a lot, which helps the muscles heal and also helps the time pass so you aren't bored in bed. So he said I could take them if I wanted to, and that I should use a heating pad (not ice, which I had been doing).

So here I am in bed with my laptop, phone, Kindle, knitting, and mountains of grading. We'll see how much I get done. I canceled my fiddle lesson tomorrow, my hospital shift on Saturday, and dinner with friends on Saturday night. Gary's being a dear about fetching and carrying, and when I'm lying down (even if I'm propped on lots of pillows) I don't hurt much, so things could definitely be worse.

One of my best friends from college has had a slipped disk for years now, and she's done great without surgery or anything: her main medicine is lots of swimming, which the doctor recommended too. (I swam today and it definitely helped, although I'm still worse than I usually am after swimming.) So if I do have a slipped disk, I also have a role model of someone who's stayed active and healthy.

Elsewhere in the realm of fun, the car woudln't start yesterday. The "check engine" light had been on since about two hours after my last oil change, but when I called my garage, they said the light probably had something to do with emissions and not to worry about it until the car needed servicing for something else. The AAA guy who came yesterday jumped the car and told me I needed a new battery, but when I dropped the car off at the garage, I told them to do the engine check too.

Turned out some nitrogen sensor was out, or somesuch. That plus the new battery ran me $662. Ouch! But yesterday we also got some of the money from Mom's estate, so again, things could have been worse.

As I drove home from the doctor's office today, the "check engine" light came on again. Criminy! I called the garage and my mechanic said I should bring it back next week, when I'm feeling better (he gave me a ride to campus yesterday, and was worried about how cautiously I moved getting into and out of his truck). He said there will be no charge for the follow-up visit.

So yeah, things could surely be worse, but I wish things would stop breaking!

Summation

So, kinda crazy week. Saturday morning I woke up at three or so and couldn't get back to sleep. I'd only gotten three hours of sleep, not enough by any definition. I finally got up, got a few papers graded after I'd dropped Gary off at the balloon party, took a nap, and went to the hospital for two hours. I was too tired to be there, and knew it, but I really wanted to go, because it was 9/11. My compromise was to work for two hours instead of four. On my way to the hospital, I passed a fire truck and waved, and one of the firefolk waved back. I bet they got a lot of that, on Saturday.

It's good I went; there were some folks who had a slightly easier time because I was there, I think, although I was definitely spacey. I responded to a code to find a staff chaplain already there, waiting outside the room while every medical provider in the building worked away inside. The chaplain peered at me and said, "Are you all right?" When I told him I was zonked on allergies, allergy meds and lack of sleep, he looked alarmed and said, "Go home! Take care of yourself!" But I am glad I was there, if only for a little while.

So: worked the two hours, went home, took another nap, got up, ate dinner, and went to the recital, which was glorious. Woke up Sunday morning in plenty of time for church, but got there to discover that according to the bulletin, our rector was preaching. I walked up to him and said, "Hey, I thought I was preaching today."

"No, I am."

I started to get upset; I'd expected him to tell me that the secretary had just put the wrong name in the bulletin. "What happened? I was supposed to preach. We talked about it over e-mail -- "

"I've already prepared a homily," he snapped.

"So have I!" I could hear the whine in my voice. "And it's my last chance!"

To my intense relief, he let me do it, although I don't think he was happy. Hey, I understand. (Two other folks on the preaching staff had thought I was preaching, too, so I don't think I'm crazy.) The homily went well and was well received. Afterwards, wired, I swam for half an hour and then came home to try to get work done, with very poor results. The push of the previous few days had done me in.

Monday my new computer came, but the plate on the front of it didn't fit properly, which made ports difficult to use. Also, I got a registered letter from the DMV saying that my registration would be suspended as of 9/30 because I hadn't responded to their request for insurance verification. What the #@!*? I never got a request for insurance verification! But since I only saw the letter after I got home from work, I couldn't do anything about it until yesterday.

Yesterday I called my insurance company. She said they've been having a lot of trouble with the DMV lately, and she knew exactly which forms to use to fix the probem, but it turned out that at least part of the problem came from the fact that the insurance agency had the last digit of my VIN wrong. I have no idea when that happened, but it's fixed now, and supposedly my registration should also be reinstated.

Meanwhile, a computer person arrived and installed a new faceplate free of charge -- the problem was a known issue -- and my new copy of WordPerfect came, which meant the machine was up and ready to use. Yay! When I wasn't on the phone with the insurance agency or running errands at work, I got fifteen papers graded, although I had to stay up until one to get that done.

This morning I went for a walk, got my remaining bit of class prep done, and drove to work, where classes went fine. I came home to discover that my new webcam had arrived; Gary made a very funny test video I'll post if Blogger will accept that large a file. (Turns out it won't: I tried. Nertz!) At 6:20, Katharine picked me up to drive me to Scrabble night, a tradition she has with friends in which I'm now included. The four of us had a lovely potluck dinner. I won the Scrabble game, to my own surprise; I'm a good player, but two of them are demon players. I got lucky with tiles and timing.

Now I'm home again, looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow, spending some time with my Kindle, reminding myself how to knit (which I haven't done in a week) and practicing the viola (which I haven't done for two days, although I'm delighted to report that YouTube has a bunch of free fiddle lessons). I also have to get work done and run various errands, but this weekend should be much less pressured than last.

Thanks be to God!

Lotsa Yay!

Figaro, aka Elegant Beast, was six years old yesterday. I neglected to post a timely birthday greeting, and hope he'll forgive me for the fact that this one is late.

In other news:

* The DMV issue is resolved, thank goodness. It was a glitch on their website, but I successfully renewed my registration.

* My Kindle came! I love love love love love love it. For years now, I've acquired books only reluctantly, because I have so little room for them. I've never liked library books, because I like to be able to underline and make notes. Now I can carry 3,500 books, with highlights and annotations, on a small object that will fit easily into a purse. Yowsa! And to my delight, audiobooks sound great on the Kindle. My challenge now is to keep from spending my annual salary on Kindle books within a week. I've told myself that I'm only allowed to buy a new book when I've finished the books already on the device, although I keep finding really inexpensive ones I can't resist, like a ninety-nine cent Book of Common Prayer (it's not easy to navigate, however, proving -- in this case, at least -- that one gets what one pays for).

* My story collection will be on Kindle sometime soon, along with the three novels. Having gotten the Kindle issue out of the way, I'm now making inquiries about Audible. I'd love to narrate and record my own books, if I could find the time for it (next summer, maybe?).

* I have my new viola bow, but the shoulder rest hasn't come yet. Sigh. Charlene and I hope the new one will work for me; unfortunately, the music store here doesn't have a lot of different shoulder rests in stock, so I can't try them all to see which one is the best. If the one Tim's ordered for me doesn't work, Charlene thinks I should do a road trip to Sacramento or San Francisco to find a music store that stocks a range of viola rests. I'm usually thrilled by the idea of driving over the hill, but since the roadwork that slowed me down so much on my way to Berkeley continues -- and shows no sign of ever being done -- I'm less enthusiastic this time. But at least there are options; it's just a matter of getting to them.

* My nephew Owen, who works for Movies Unlimited and loves both films and comic books, is starring in a YouTube video! Check it out! (I tried to embed it here, but half the video screen kept getting cut off, so I'll send you directly to the source.)

I have to say that I absolutely loathed Sin City, the only film other than Blue Velvet I've ever wanted to stop watching halfway through (I didn't walk out on either one, because I was with other people, but both of them made me almost physically ill). I know I'm in a minority on that, though.

Tonight I'll try to get my class prep done for Wednesday. Tomorrow: church, huge party shopping at Trader Joe's, and a swim if I have time before we pick our friend Wendy up at the airport. Monday: Party! Tuesday: Actual birthday. Gary and I will take Wendy out to breakfast, and then we'll probably go for a hike somewhere, and then maybe we'll catch a movie, since the Art Museum is closed on Tuesdays. Wendy flies back to Seattle Tuesday evening, at which point I have to return to my regular life.

If I get any decent party pictures, I'll post 'em. The official RSVP list is in the mid-sixties now, so there should be lots of photo ops.

Have a good weekend, everybody!

Westward Ho

It usually takes me three and a half hours to get from Reno to Berkeley. Yesterday it took six and a half. Granted, that included two sorely needed breaks to stretch, refuel and recycle liquids, but still.

Over the mountains, there was roadwork. Everywhere, there was incredible traffic, as everyone who'd been in Reno for Hot August Nights headed west again. Traffic crawled, rarely getting up to thirty miles an hour. The one time the road cleared enough for all of us to get up to actual highway speed, I got pulled over by the CHP and given a speeding ticket.

Sigh.

Granted, I was speeding. So was everyone else on the road. I wasn't going any faster than anyone else; I just got unlucky and lost the CHP lottery. They've cut me breaks at least twice before, though, so my number was up this time (and I saw a lot of other people pulled over).

Anyway, it was a thoroughly miserable trip, especially when I stopped for gas about sixty miles out of SF. I needed to use the bathroom, but it was out of order. I drove to the gas station across the street to use their bathroom, which had a line of at least fifteen people, no lie. Even worse, the people emerging from the bathroom looked really unhappy. I wound up driving west an exit or two, where I finally found clean, functional facilities in a fast-food place.

I guess the trip could have been worse. Eastbound traffic in the mountains, already down to one lane because of construction, was stopped dead: people had gotten out of their cars and were wandering along the side of the road. The CHP officer told me there'd been two accidents, including a big rig that had gone off the road, and no one knew how long it would take to get things moving again.

By the time I got to Berkeley around 6:30, I was thoroughly frazzled. Luckily, my suite's lovely: I have a living room, bathroom and bedroom to myself -- and the bedroom has a view of the Bay Bridge and SF skyline -- although when I unpacked, I discovered that I'd fogottten both a crucial piece of my CPAP and crucial items of clothing. Gary's FedExing all that stuff to me; it will get here tomorrow. Between FedEx charges and the speeding ticket, this has become a very expensive trip!

My course is interesting, if not entirely what I expected: more academic than practical so far, although I suspect that will change.

Felicity Fiddle, swaddled in blankets for insulation in the backseat, was nicely in tune last night and seemed to have weathered the trip fine. Tonight, everything had gone haywire, and it took me a good forty minutes to get her even remotely in tune again. I couldn't get the fracking pegs to stay put: I'd tighten a string and get it in tune and then, sproing, the peg would loosen again. Drove me nuts. I finally got everything adjusted and relatively stable, but I hope this doesn't happen again tomorrow! I'm using my practice mute so I don't bother anyone else in the dorm, and I'm having fun playing, but man, the tuning challenge was almost as frustrating as yesterday's drive (if not as expensive!).

The weather's cool and cloudy here. I usually appreciate that during the summer, but this week, I miss Reno's sun. Also Gary. Also the cats.

I'll feel much better when I get my CPAP and can get a good night's sleep!

The Funeral

As you can see, love of cats runs throughout my family.

This was Carol's favorite picture of Ken; she called it "The Cat Strangler." He loved to take self-portraits, but to get their beloved cat Wilson in the photo, he had to get a wrestler's grip on the cat.

When I called Carol the day Ken died, she said, "How do people do this when they have children? I don't even know how I'll tell our cat that Ken is gone."

I'd hoped to meet Wilson when I went to Arizona, but he hid from the houseful of people. It was great to see my cousins and their kids, all of whom are becoming smart and funny adults, but I was very emotionally shut down through the entire trip, feeling numb and distant and despondent.

At the funeral home in Phoenix, packets of wildflower seeds, printed with the Cat-Strangler photo, sat in a bowl next to the guest book. I took two packets, although plants die when I look at them, and our non-yards aren't exactly conducive to growing anything anyway. I may ask gardener Katharine if she wants some wildflower seeds for her yard. I had to have the packets, though, because of the photo.

The next day, we all drove up to Flagstaff for the burial in a family plot that holds my great-grandparents and great-uncle. It's a gorgeous spot, shaded by a huge tree. My uncle, Ken's dad and my mother's brother, is an entomologist who specializes in bees and has discovered many species. His granddaughter, my cousin Jim's daughter Maggie, travels and collects insects with him. On a previous trip to the family plot, the two of them discovered a ground-nesting bee, a new species they named after my aunt Barbara, known to the family as Bobbie.

After the burial service, Uncle Jerry and Maggie kept walking purposefully away from the plot and mourners. I thought maybe they needed alone time. Then I saw Maggie come back from the car with a white collecting net, which she began swirling in vigorous figure-eights. They'd found a nest of Bobbie-bees (not their scientific name, of course), and Maggie happily captured several for her collection.

Rather unfortunately -- at least from my point of view, and given the occasion -- this involved killing the insects by stuffing them in a test tube containing cyanide. "You don't want to stick your nose into this test tube," Maggie said cheerfully, evoking an oft-told family tale of how an ashen Bobbie once found toddler Ken (or was it Jim or Steve?) happily teething on a collection cork. Luckily, the baby hadn't gotten to the cyanide yet.

The best part of the trip, for me, was the drive Liz and Gary and I took from Flagstaff back to Phoenix, via Oak Creek Canyon, Sedona, and mountaintop artist's colony Jerome. Liz and her husband once made the same trip with my mother. Liz discovered she was pregnant when she threw up in Oak Creek Canyon, so it was a memorable journey, and I still have the beautiful silver ring and handwoven rug my mother brought back for me.

You've already seen the photos from our drives.

Gary loved Sedona and wants to go back sometime when it's not blazingly hot. I loved Sedona too, because Liz and I found a splendid yarn shop there, and I bought some lace yarn the color of the red rocks.

I love my family, and I love Arizona. I hope I'll get to see both again when I'm feeling less remote.

Friday: The Machines Revolt

Well, I overslept on Friday and got to the garage around nine, rather than around eight as I'd planned. The mechanic said that finding the AC problem and fixing it would probably take about an hour. I called Liz, back at the house, and we decided that for an hour, it wasn't worth renting a car. I headed off to a nearby chi-chi mall to browse.

An hour later, the mechanic called to say they hadn't found the problem yet. I called Liz. We decided to give it another hour.

Long, hot, sweaty story short: at 12:30, the mechanic finally found the problem, a failure of an obscure electrical part buried so deep in the engine that he'd had to trail bread crumbs behind him as he tracked it down. It would take another few hours to fix; I'd better rent a car. So one of the garage guys dropped me at the airport. I rented a car, drove home, and ate lunch with my sympathetic family, who'd been wondering if they'd ever see me again. (I should have just had the mechanic drop me back home as soon as I left the car, although it would have made getting the rental trickier.) Then we piled into the shiny rental, with its bodacious AC, and drove to the mall so Gary and I could buy a new fridge to replace our old one, whose freezer -- along with the car AC -- had gone on permanent strike.

Somewhere in there, the mechanic called to tell me that, checking out an annoying squeaking sound I'd told them about, they'd also found some brake problems. This would cost me another $400 on top of the $400 the obscure electrical problem was already costing. Was I okay with that? Should they go ahead and fix the brakes?

"Sure," I told him. "Brakes are good. I like brakes." What the heck did he think I was going to say? "No, sorry, that's too much money, I'll take my chances on broken brakes"?

We had the car back by the end of the day, which meant I only had to pay for one day of the rental. But between the car, the fridge, and the rental, we spent about $2,000.

Ouch.

Also, we'd been expecting the Coast Guard chaplain to call us on Friday to let us know whether Saturday was a go or not. He didn't call. We were puzzled.

The Day After Dad's Service

Thursday morning, we woke up bright and early and ate breakfast on the deck. Liz and Owen and I dropped Fran at the airport for her flight back to Chicago, and then we drove up to Donner Lake to go swimming (making the mandatory dining jokes along the way). The AC in the car didn't seem to be working, which was weird because I'd just gotten the car serviced. When we got to the beach, I called my mechanic, who said a lot of people were having that problem in the blazing heat, but that I should bring the car in the next day if things didn't improve.

We swam and got some sun. Here's Liz grinning up at me from her beach towel. She'd specifically requested a trip to Donner, because she and Mom and I went there together years ago and loved it. The water's very cold up there -- it's snowmelt, after all -- but we all got in and swam around a bit. It felt great, especially after the car!

Owen was shyer about the sun, and about the camera, than his mother, but I think he had a good time. He's considering moving out here at some point, and has been investigating the UNR website. I'd love it if he were here, although I imagine his mom would rather he stayed closer to home!

After our swim, we drove up Old Route 40 to the gorgeous lookouts over the lake. It's a stunningly beautiful place when it isn't under twenty feet of snow and inhabited by people eating each other. Actually, it's stunningly beautiful in the snow, too; Gary and I went up there for a cross-country ski weekend with friends once, years ago. We wound up -- surprise! -- getting snowed into the rented cabin, but mindful of history, we'd brought lots of food, as well as a Scrabble set. We had a fine time.

On this particular visit to the lake, our problem was too much heat. The AC stayed broken during the drive back down to Reno. Annoyed, I realized that I'd have to spend precious family-visit time taking the car to the shop. I decided I'd go first thing the next morning. They'd pump in more freon, and I'd be home in a jiffy. What could go wrong?

Hi! Remember me?

So I'm back: back in Reno, as of Friday, and -- obviously -- back on the blog. The last four days of the trip were less than ideal, I have to say.

Tuesday at the MLA wound up going late; we finished interviewing in the morning, but another search was starting its interviews as soon as we finished up, so we agreed to meet at 6:00 to make difficult choices. This meant that I couldn't head out to see Gary's folks until much later than I'd hoped, although his mother was working until 9:00 (she's an assistant in a children's room in a library, and loves it), so I wouldn't have seen her until late evening anyway. At least I could store my overnight bag in the interview suite.

With six hours to hang around the hotel, I had lunch with one colleague, went to an excellent paper by another, browsed various gift shops (acquiring small presents for my mother and sister), and perched on assorted uncomfortable pieces of hotel-lobby furniture -- mainly fashionable couches with no backs -- to knit. I was surrounded by anxious job candidates in business attire poring over notes, comparing interview experiences with friends, and generally looking crazed. Having been on the job market myself for three years, I sympathized completely, and was also indescribably grateful to have tenure. Nothing's completely safe in this economy, but having tenure is a lot more comfortable than being on the market.

At one point, a young woman in Interview Attire (immediately recognizable, especially since academics rarely dress up in their workplaces) looked over at my knitting, sighed, and said, "You're an island of calm in a sea of chaos."

Later on, I found myself sitting next to casually dressed Asian tourists, two parents and a little girl about six or seven. She was knitting; her mom was helping her. Mom and daughter wore matching knit scarves the mom had made. The little one was absolutely fascinated by my sock-in-progress, both by the multiple double-pointed needles and by the sock itself. "It looks like a pocket!" she said in delight, and I told her that was exactly right, since a sock is a pocket for a foot.

She was small enough that making each stitch was really hard work for her. I spotted a dropped stitch and used a crochet needle to fix it as much as I could, advising mom to tie it off with a piece of waste yarn. This process thoroughly enchanted the girl, who watched me with eyes so wide you'd have thought I was pulling kittens out of some other dimension.

When I meet a kid like that, I always briefly regret being childless. Then I see some other kid, screaming in glee, zooming around with that terrifying energy possessed only by children, and I remember my intolerance for noise and interruption and sleep deprivation, and I come to my senses. Parenting is the hardest work in the world, and I bow to those with the patience to do it well. I know myself well enough to know that I'm not one of them.

Back upstairs, our meeting dragged on. I finally got out of there at 7:00 and took the subway to 30th Street Station, where I learned that a one-way Amtrak ticket to Newark would cost $45. No, thanks! The round-trip SEPTA/Jersey Transit fare -- which involved taking slow local trains and switching in Trenton, and which would get me into Newark at 9:45 -- was only $31, a relative bargain. I happily bought round-trip tickets.

On the train, I called my hotel. Did they have a shuttle that could pick me up at the train station? No, they didn't, but they'd arrange a car service for me and call me back to confirm it. Sure enough, a few minutes later my cell rang. Most of the car services didn't have any cars available at that time, but a limo company could spare a town car. The fare would be $90 for the ten-mile ride to the hotel.

"Ninety dollars?" I sputtered. "That's unacceptable." Fellow train passengers were glaring at me; I'd become one of those monsters who holds loud personal conversations in public. "If you can't find something more reasonable, I'll have to take a bus."

The hotel called back a few minutes later, informing me brightly that, yes, they'd found another car service! This one would only charge me $65!

For ten miles? Ridiculous. "Let me see if I can arrange a ride," I said. "I'll call you back." Gary's brother is the only person in that household who drives. I hadn't wanted to bother them, but maybe he could pick me up? I called the house and got my grown niece, who gave me her dad's cellphone number. I called him and explained my predicament. He had to pick Gary's mom up at work and then drive his daughter back to her own house, and wouldn't be able to get to Newark until 10:00. Was that all right? I assured him fervently that it was wonderful, and called the hotel back to cancel the car service and to order a room-service chicken salad to be delivered to my room so I'd have something to eat when I got there, since the restaurant kitchen would be closed.

To make an already long story a tiny bit shorter, Kurt was delayed by traffic and didn't arrive until 10:30, which meant that I didn't finish my supper until 11:30 and didn't get to bed until a little after midnight. Under the circumstances, I decided not to set an alarm.

I got up around 9:30, called Gary's mom to say that I'd be there by eleven, and set about trying to figure out the hotel coffee maker, a "pod" model I haven't used much. I was leaning over trying to read the fine-print instructions on the side of the machine when my back spasmed.

It's been a few years since this has happened to me, but I recognized it instantly. It was fairly predictable, given the previous several days' combo of travel, stress, lack of exercise, and non-ergonomic hotel-lobby furniture. It wasn't as bad as other spasms I've had, which have put me in bed for several days on muscle relaxants and massive doses of ibuprofen, but it was bad enough to ensure that I wouldn't be able to see Gary's mom as soon as I'd hoped. I called her to explain, said that I'd try to be there by 1:00, and called the hotel to arrange late checkout. No problem on that one: thank goodness for small favors! In the meantime, a hotel clerk dashed out to a drugstore to get me some ibuprofen.

I don't remember what I was doing when my back spasmed again. This one was much worse, definitely in the bed-plus-ibuprofen-plus-muscle-relaxants category. I called my sister to say that I wouldn't be traveling back to Philly that evening, called the hotel to extend my stay by one night (all the time I could afford, since I had to fly back to Reno on Friday and most of my luggage was still in Philly), called Doris to ask pitifully if maybe she could come to the hotel instead of my coming to the house, and called my doctor to find out if he could call a script for muscle relaxants in to a local pharmacy.

My doctor was out for the day. The nurse would give a note to his partner. In fairly short order, the partner's nurse called back and told me in chilly tones that her doctor had looked at my file, but never prescribed muscle relaxants for back pain. I should take ibuprofen for back pain. "This is a back spasm," I said. "I have ibuprofen for pain. I need a muscle relaxant to ease the spasms. This has happened to me before, and two other doctors have prescribed muscle relaxants."

"Then call them," the nurse snapped, and hung up.

Holy crap! I'm an established patient in this office, and you have my records. You can see what he's prescribed! (And I did call him; it's not my fault I got you instead.) Muscle relaxants are not, as far as I know, drugs of abuse; they are absolutely standard procedure for muscle spasms. But the nurse was treating me exactly the way I've seen -- and heard -- ER staff treat patients they think are drug seekers.

I've always sympathized with those patients. I sympathize even more now. The hotel clerk had asked if I wanted to go to an ER, but I didn't need an ER: I needed a script for muscle relaxants. If I showed up in an ER 3,000 miles from home, I would be dismissed as a drug seeker, and I'd pay dearly for the humiliation.

I was weeping from pain and anger and shame. I'd come here to support my bereaved mother-in-law, and now look at me! I couldn't stand up straight. I could barely walk, could hardly move at all without sending my back into fresh spasms. I hadn't showered; my hair was a fright; I'm pretty sure I smelled funky. Just getting to the door of my room to unlock it for Doris was agonizing.

Thank God for Doris! She brought me ice packs. She'd eaten at home, but went to the hotel restaurant to get lunch for me, bringing it back herself so we wouldn't have to pay the that-will-be-double-for-room-service taxes and fees. And, at home, she had muscle relaxants. Having taken a cab from the house to the hotel, she called another one to take her home so she could get the drugs and bring them to me. I don't usually take other people's drugs, but my doctor's office had left me no choice.

With food and meds in my system, I felt much better. I lay curled in bed; Doris sat and chatted with me. She dismissed the housekeeper who'd come to change the sheets. We both took naps. I bought us both dinner, which Doris again collected from the restaurant, over their strenuous objections. "We can deliver it! We can deliver it!" I'd gotten a free cup of ice water with lunch, but this time, they tried to charge $8 for two bottles of water, no doubt to try to recoup lost room-service charges. Doris declined, and we drank tap water instead.

My sister called to say that she'd pick me up early the next morning, since it certainly didn't sound like I was up to multiple train rides, not to mention the hassle of getting back to the train station for less than the GNP of a developing country. Doris left. I knitted a little and slept a lot; muscle relaxants will do that. Liz was going to call me the next morning when she left home.

My phone rang at 7:45 a.m. It was Liz, psychotically cheerful. "Hi! I'm here! What room are you in?" Bleary-eyed and still in terrible pain, I hobbled to the door to let her in as she scratched at the door to annoy me. It had taken her two hours to drive up from Philly in light snow. But by the time she got me and my luggage into the car, the snow wasn't light any more. Roads were very slick. The radio informed us that several highways were closed because of multiple accidents. Liz stopped at a Starbucks to get both of us breakfast and coffee, and then we set out, passing a pick-up on its side and various cars crunched against dividing walls and any number of emergency vehicles. Liz used her GPS to look for alternate routes when we got snarled in traffic jams.

About an hour later, the snow stopped as suddenly as it had started. The roads suddenly cleared. We made it home in only three hours, much less than we'd expected. I used my mother's chair-elevator to get back up to my room, where I spent most of the day in bed. I called my airline to arrange wheelchair transportation; Liz helped me pack to go home. And, mirabile dictu, my flights the next day went very smoothly. No weather delays, very prompt and attentive and helpful wheelchair attendants, three seats all to myself on the second leg of the trip. Since I could now walk a bit but still couldn't stand up straight, all of that was a real blessing, as was being able to collapse in my own bed.

Yesterday I woke up feeling just better enough to swim, which helped immensely. I swam today, too, after going to church for the first time in forever: everyone seemed delighted to see me, and I got lots of hugs. I'm practicing the fiddle again after days of enforced absence. To my amazement, I don't seem to have lost much ground, and yesterday I finally finished sounding out a tune that had been eluding me. My sister told me today that her husband had said very kind things about my playing, and I appreciated that a lot.

I know I've gone into ridiculous detail on this, but it was all pretty traumatic! Oh, my psychiatrist says that the higher antidepressant dose might be causing my excessive sleeping, so as of January 1, I'm back on the old dose. So far, so good. Tomorrow I see my primary-care doc to follow up on other possibilities about the sleep issue. You can be sure I'll be talking to him about his partner! Knowing that I only have fifteen minutes, though, I'm already getting anxious. I have four things to talk to him about: the partner, a mild rash on my face, the fact that my right thumb's becoming increasingly arthritic from fiddle practice, and the sleep issue. I can't cover all of that in a quarter hour. Help!

I guess I'll just have to schedule multiple appointments with him. Aaaaargh.

Luckily, I see my shrink on Tuesday. She gives me a whole thirty minutes. What luxury!

Postscript: I've now learned that muscle relaxants can indeed be drugs of abuse. That at least explains the reaction I got, although it doesn't help answer the question of what one does for a muscle spasm 3,000 miles from home. I guess I would have gone to an Urgent Care clinic and asked them to give me only enough pills for a few days.

For anyone who's worried about me, the last time I took the muscle relaxant -- or even ibuprofen -- was Friday night. I took a total of seven five-milligram pills over three days: not even remotely excessive!

Mea Culpa

Gary's complaining that I haven't been blogging. Yeah, I know. My bad.

I either haven't had a lot to say or haven't felt like saying it. This weekend, though, we got two pieces of really excellent news. One is that Gary's mom took the initiative in having a difficult conversation with some other family members; I'm going to visit after Christmas and had offered to be there to lend moral support, but she did it on her own. We're really proud of her, especially since the anniversary of her husband's death is this coming Saturday, and she's having an understandably tough time.

I hope I'm as strong as she is when I'm eighty.

The other great news is that a friend with diabetes -- but currently without job or insurance, like so many other people right now -- e-mailed me to say that he went to one of the low-income clinics in town. Huge relief! He'd just been diagnosed when his previous doctor (who'd been seeing him for nothing) went out of business (one suspects, sadly, that there's a connection), so he hadn't been treated. This has been going on for months, or maybe even a year or two, and I've been very worried, so I'm really glad he's finally getting medical attention.

Speaking of which, I'm still sleeping a ton; I slept through church this morning, having handed off this morning's preaching gig last week because I had a hunch this might happen. My bloodwork isn't back from the lab yet. I'm going to call again tomorrow. I really hope the lab results show something, and that the something is fixable. (I don't think it's depression, since I'm pretty happy when I'm awake.) Meanwhile, I've committed to preaching dates in January and February, on the improbably optimistic assumption that this thing will be fixed by then.

In weather news, we got a lot of snow this weekend. I've stayed in the house to avoid slippery driving, which meant no hospital shift yesterday (and also means that I might have stayed home this morning even had I woken up in time for church).

Fiddle update: My first jig is still very rough. I know the notes, but my fingering and bowing are mega-messy. Practice will continue. Meanwhile, I'm doing lots of exercises to try to improve my tone (scales and variations thereof), and trying to polish my two polkas, and also sounding out various Christmas carols. I'm mostly happy with my rendition of "A Mighty Fortress is Our God," and Gary's said nice things about my version of "Simple Gifts." So, come to think of it, has Charlene, who told me it was good enough for me to play in church, which I do not plan to do! The strongest piece in my repertoire is still "Mary Had A Little Lamb." I expect this to be true for a long time.

Book update: I was making good progress until this evening, when I realized that to write the next bit, I need a library book that's somewhere in the house but that I can't find. Gotta clean my study before I leave town a week from Wednesday. Not looking forward to it.

Knitting update: I finished a new pair of socks for myself -- acrylic, but very comfy -- and am starting a pair for my sister from a lovely sock yarn Inez sent me. Also still working on a Secret Non-Sock Project for my mother, which I have to finish this week! I've made up a Sock Questionnaire so that I'll be able to knit belated Christmas gifts for friends and family. My post-Christmas projects already include a pair of socks for my friend Marin (a late birthday gift) and two Christmas stockings for my friend Ann's twin boys (her family's out of town for the holidays this year, so the boys don't need them until next Christmas). I expect all that, plus the questionnaire results, to keep me busy through 2011.

Work update: Tomorrow my freshmen give me their final revisions and portfolios; tomorrow we also have our final party for the writing workshop. Tuesday I attend the Mother of All Meetings to discuss search candidates. Grades are due Thursday; I hope to have them in Wednesday, but we'll see.

Oh, Tuesday we also have back-to-back dental cleanings. Saturday we're going to a dinner party given by some friends, which will be an especially pleasant diversion from memories of last year.

Somewhere in all this, I need to compile my annual-review materials.

Boring stuff, eh? See why I haven't been blogging?

Dream Come True

For the past week or so, I've been having academic anxiety dreams every night. They're always the kind where I have to teach but can't find my classroom, and as I wander a maze of halls and stairways, I know that if I ever do find the room, the students will all have left. They fall into the general category of "can't get there from here" dreams, and have much in common with, say, dreams where I'm rushing to catch a plane flight but can't seem to get to the gate.

This morning, I had to be at a master's oral defense in the nursing program at 9 a.m. I'm not a morning person, and sure enough, I overslept, leaving myself only time for a quick shower before I had to race out of the house. I hadn't had coffee or breakfast, and hadn't even fed the cats. I wasn't sure if I'd have time to buy coffee on campus, but it was my only option.

I knew that our street was being refinished tomorrow, but all the sawhorses had gone up today. A lot of the street was closed. I wound around sawhorses, cones, construction equipment, and other cars, and managed to get to school only a few minutes later than I would have otherwise. So far, so good.

But my parking garage is at the north end of campus, and the nursing building is on the south end, at least half a mile away. When I got out of the car and looked at my watch, it was suddenly later than I'd thought. Whoops! No time to buy coffee!

Then I decided to take a shortcut through a part of campus I don't know very well. What was I thinking?

Sure enough, I found my way blocked by construction. It was now 8:55. I could see the nursing building, but couldn't get there: the sidewalk was sealed off by chainlink fences. I ducked into the building behind me to try to find an exit past the construction site, and instead wound up wandering through unfamiliar hallways which eventually led me back to the door I'd just come in. I went back outside, walked a little farther, and went into another door, from which -- at last! -- I found an exit that was past the construction. Yay!

But then I realized that I'd overshot the nursing building, and had to go backwards and up some stairs, and when I was inside I had trouble finding the room and had to ask my way.

I arrived sweaty and breathless, convinced that I was late. Luckily, the student had been having some trouble with her AV equipment, so I was actually there on time. Even more luckily, she'd brought in large cups of Starbucks coffee for everyone on the committee. Yes! And I thoroughly enjoyed the two hours we spent discussing her project, so the race was worth it.

I'm happy to report that this nightmare is much scarier when you're asleep than when you're awake. But I still hope to avoid it in the future!

Bad Morning, Good Afternoon

I woke up this morning at 9:15 -- with fifteen minutes to get to church -- and didn't even try to make it. I rolled back over and closed my eyes. At 11:30, Gary wandered into the bedroom and said, "It looks like one of us is still in bed?"

At that point, I dragged myself upright (after he'd kindly brought me coffee!), although I felt like every limb was fifty pounds heavier. I wasn't sick; it was either depression or a grief reaction or, most likely, some combination of the two.

In any event, things quickly improved. I ate breakfast and felt a little more human, and then discovered that some folks on Ravelry had very kindly left comments telling me how to solve the double-knitting problem that's been plaguing me. Finally figuring out a new technique, and getting it to work when I picked up my project, made me feel much better.

It was now about 1:15, and Gary had left for a hike. I showered, dressed, packed up my lunch and some ice water, and got into the car to drive to Pyramid Lake, a place Dad loved and never got to see again during the five months he actually lived here. I'd written on my calendar months ago that I'd drive out there today in his memory, so I decided keep that promise to him and to myself.

The drive was very pleasant. I listened to fiddle tunes, ate my lunch, and admired the landscape. As you can see from the above photo, we had cloudy weather today, which meant that the water was steel-gray, rather than the striking turquoise it displays on sunny days. This picture can't do justice to the lake, but hardly any photo can. It's a place people have to see for themselves, and they generally either respond in terror because it's so stark and dramatic, or love it because, well, it's so stark and dramatic. Dad loved it; so does my mother, and so do I.

I didn't stay there long, but I stopped into a store that sells Piaute crafts (Pyramid Lake's on a rez). I found birthday gifts for my sister and a friend and a Christmas gift for Gary. My father would have especially liked the gift I found for Liz, so that made me happy.

When I got home, I practiced the fiddle. I'm happy to report that Felicity's been just fine (fit as a fiddle!) since I got her fixed again on Friday. Yesterday I even managed to straighten the listing bridge without breaking anything. What a relief! I can't say that I've been sounding much better this week, but I don't think I'm sounding worse, either.

So that was my day. On the way to the lake, I thought about writing a poem when I got there, but I was feeling singularly uninspired. At least the drive got me out of the house, though, which was exactly what I needed today.

Next weekend I'll be up at Lake Tahoe for our annual diocesan convention, where I'll get more than enough church to make up for having missed it today.

Strange Day

I had a lot of strange dreams last night. I don't remember most of them, but the last one I had before I woke up stuck with me. In the dream, Dad's phone number was still programmed into my cellphone, and I dialed it by accident, and he answered. I was surprised, because he was dead, but we had a friendly chat. But he was vague and out of it -- pretty much the way he was the last few days of his life -- and couldn't really tell me where he was or how he was.

We didn't have much to talk about, since I couldn't get a coherent answer out of him. So I told him I had to go, and he said, sounding annoyed and plaintive, "Stay on the phone! Just talk to me for ten minutes!"

And then I woke up, feeling sad and guilty. While he was alive, he kept wanting to see more of me, to spend more quality time with me, but I was always running around coordinating medical care, trying to juggle his life on top of mine. We very rarely got the chance simply to visit. Now I regret that, although I'm not sure what else I could have done. But the dream left me feeling like I'd let him down, abandoned him, refused to honor his wishes.

Sad. Guilty.

Anyway, I spent the morning working at home, and then dashed to the gym for a quick swim before my first class. I had plenty of time, and ordinarily would have gotten to campus at least half an hour before the class started.

Instead, as I was leaving the gym, I managed to lock my keys and my cellphone inside my car. Aaaaargh! I raced back to the health club, used their phone to call AAA, raced back to the garage to wait for AAA, raced back to the gym, ten minutes after AAA should have arrived, to call work and have someone tell my class to start without me (it's a workshop class, so that's possible), and then raced back to the garage again and found AAA waiting for me.

I managed to get to class only about fifteen minutes late, and we got everything done I'd wanted to do, but it was still a discombobulating start to the workday.

And then, in my second class, only twelve of twenty students showed up. I know that several people were sick -- including someone who came to class and whom I sent home, with strict orders not to come back until he'd been fever-free for twenty-four hours -- but it was still an awfully low census. And that kind of situation raises difficult teaching issues: do you cover material all the students will need, even if almost half are missing, or do you veer from your lesson plan into "extra" stuff, or what? I wound up more or less doing the first, but I really wish more of them had been there.

Oh well.

On a happier note, I've now found a reasonably comfortable fiddle position -- although I think I'm still going to buy a gel chinrest -- and managed to keep Felicity anchored, with only minor hand adjustments, for sixteen minutes. Not bad! I just hope I was using the correct position; Gary wasn't sure. Felicity was parallel to the floor, but not along the same line as my back, if that makes sense. She was at an angle to my back.

I've been concentrating on the fiddle and really need to catch up with the bow. In the meantime, though, I've been disobeying instructions and touching bow to strings. Last night I figured out basic scales (my technique and tone both suck, but I'm getting some sense of how the instrument works), and even managed to scratch one out with my eyes closed, not looking at the tape markers on the fingerboard. And tonight I topped that by sounding out a very wobbly, scratchy version of the first bar or so of that infamous melody . . . the bane of violin students and their loved ones everywhere . . . the tune that sets neighborhood dogs howling and drives apartment dwellers mad . . . (drumroll, please), the dreaded "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."

I've always hated "TTLS." I even threw a hissy fit when Charlene mentioned it last week, and made her promise that I'd get to start with something else instead. But having produced a scratchy, wobbly version of the first few notes, I now find I'm much fonder of it.

Funny how that works!

On a somber note again, I realized tonight, with a start, that the wood-and-varnish smell of the body of the fiddle reminds me a lot of how Dad's boat always smelled. The scroll, though, smells sweet and spicy, a bit like cinnamon. It reminds me of Christmas.