What a stinker

Silent but deadly

It is once again that time of year during which my neighborhood stinks.

Like, really stinks.

It's the Bradford pear trees; they are the actual REASON it stinks.  Like a zombie's armpit, or so I've heard it called.  It's bad, and there's nothing to do but live through it or don't go outside.  CERTAINLY don't fling the windows open even if it is a glorious Spring day that really does call for the flinging open of windows.

Why, they're so bad even the polite persons at Southern Living can't stand them.  They even had to go so far as to import some grumpy Northerner to rant about them, just so Mama wouldn't get too hot under the collar and sweat BB cream all down the front of her housedress.

So, I'm hiding in the house until...next week maybe, or until I see the shower of bright white petals start to fall to the ground during a wind or rainstorm.

That will be a happy day, for sure.

---

Y'all, if I manage to make it though the next couple of weeks (stinky trees and all) it will be through a minor miracle and a major jug of bourbon.  We are reaching the finish line for a major work project and if you're not familiar with the gut-clenching thrill of a looming deadline, count yourself lucky.

And because it's nearing 5 p.m. here, it's time to go put in another couple of hours of work.

Oy.

---

Tiff out.

Daffy-liciousness

 Yesterday and the day before it was in the 70s around here.  Windows were opened, rooms aired out, shorts were worn.  It's been an amazing time.

And I've spent most of it indoors, reasons being work.  But hey, I get to look out a window while I'm being the 'busy pharmaceutical professional' that I am (that title was bestowed on me many years ago when I received a piece of mail from a vendor addrssing me with such an impressive sobriquet), so that's better than slaving away in a cubicle far removed from daylight.

Can't complain.

From that window I can see the front flower garden, which is a hot mess.  We tore out an old concrete walkway a few months ago, superseding it with a ramp that goes straight out to the driveway, and have done nothing with the arrangement of the garden to cover the bare spots.  HOWEVER, there are the daffodils.

These daffs are indestructible, returning year after year even though I was SURE that a few years ago I'd relocated them all or just heaved them because they weren't flowering anymore.  The daffs had other thoughts, and are currently a-flowering where they shouldn't be, little cheery street urchins about to steal your heart with their indefatigable get up and go.

So, they can stay.  I appreciate their beautiful toughness.

---

North Main Street in Wake Forest has become staggeringly beautiful.

Again, it is thanks to the daffodils.  This is what they looked like a couple of years ago, which is very similar to what they look like now.

About a half a mile of this!

A couple of days ago they were just promissory notes of Springtime, but that note's been paid in full.  Such beauty!

Now, if those ornamental trees above them burst into bloom at the same time, as sometimes happens, that'd be the icing on the cake of pollen season.  This is just a couple of blocks from the Tiny House, so I might just have to wander over to see if that's the case.

Ah, Spring.

Tiff out.

I saved a lot on soap last year

 

Becomes relevant, I promise.

It occurred to me a few days ago that I have been showering regularly as of late.  Like EVERY DAY type of regularly.

'And, so what?' you might ask.  I do not blame you for wondering, frankly..

Well, this time last year I wasn't.

This time last year I was 5 infusions into 6 rounds of chemotherapy, and just about every ounce of strength I had was plowed into healing after each session.  I continued to work, being that work distracted me from feeling like hammered crap most of the time, but cooking/cleaning/bathing were not things I did more than perhaps weekly.

That's right, I was maybe taking a shower a week.  It was just waaay too much effort.  Standing up and walking the 10 steps to the toilet was often too much effort; how was I to wedge in another few minutes of standing up and washing myself?  Unthinkable.

Yes, it really can be that bad, and it was.  Especially on the few days after getting the Neulasta injection, which kicks your bone marrow into overdrive making neutrophils to get the immune system up and running again, resulting in PAIN that is strength and will-to-live sucking.

But hey, I don't want to dwell on all of that, but do want to take a moment to be grateful that it is (fingers crossed!) in the past.

I did save a bunch of money on soap and shampoo though.

---

Topically aligned and coincidentally applied, we have discovered the joys of shampoo bars at the Tiny House.

It's soap, for your hair.  Hair soap! So old-fashioned it's rad!

I like this kind: Royalty Soaps shampoo bar.  With bonus video on how they're made!  One puck of this shampoo bar has lasted me for about 6 months, so that's about a $20 spend per year which I think isn't exorbitant and far less wasteful than buying plastic bottles of mostly water with which to scrub your melon.

Biff is partial to one of the two kinds that Indigo Wild sells. Not sure which flavor he's got in the shower at the moment, but I'm guessing it's not the lavender.

Obviously they're not the only shampoo bar sellers out there (The Hairy Farmpit Girls also sell it, so check their stuff out too); there are likely lots of options from which to choose your noggin-washer.  I encourage y'all to shop and skip the sulfates and plastic, then hit the bar!

---

We had a visit from the grandbaby and his Mom the past couple of days.  Purpose was so that we could give our van Carl to her because 1) we got a new car and don't need a van anymore, and 2) they could use a second vehicle.  

The visit was fabulous, the baby adorable, the dog a professional 'doter.'  Lovely time, except I fear we've not been as observant as we could be about certain things.  Like, we did not pick up on the fact that Carl had a desire to transition.  A mortifying omission, to be sure. 

Well, to address this issue S went out and purchased a steering wheel cover in glittery pink and seat covers in a very party-glitz pink Lily Pulitzer-type pattern (that's her up top with some of her designs), then added in with some kind of fruit-scented air freshener, and BOOM: Carl is Carla.

We're glad to have had a part in this new phase of life, for Carla and her new family.  Just wished we had noticed sooner.

(Carl got 'his' name from being a white van who, to Biff's mind, resembled the next-door-neighbor of the Aqua Teen Hunger Force.  That's how badly we got it wrong.)

Before and after.  Quite a change!

Tiff out.

Moving (to another room) and how it's all going

 We decided, it seems, that 2021 is the year we Do All The Big Things, such as

• Tear out every tree in the backyard to prepare for
• The garage we are planning to build while also
• Renovating and then putting an addition on the back/'master' bedroom for an expanded closet and second bathroom, which meant that
• We had to move out of our bedroom and into the front bedroom (which had been renovated a couple of years ago).

ALSO, it seems we are replacing our 2010 Grand Caravan.  Carl's been a good vehicle, but we no longer require seating for long-legged young men or a towing-capable vehicle, because 1) the young men now drive their own cars and aren't going to be back-seating it with us anymore unless something changes, and 2) The work van is way better at towing the trailers than Carl could ever be capable of.  So if anyone wants a slightly used but really great van that only needs a couple thousand smackers to get in perfect working order (he still drives fine, but is a little leaky), then I can cut you a deal.  Admittedly, the Stow-n-Go seating will be missed.

Back to the moving part now.

First and foremost, in our old room, we are able to cram an awful LOT of crap into a 15x15 space (with additional not-huge closet).  Clothing, shoes, office equipment, furniture? Yep, all of it. So MUCH stuff went to the ReStore or to the Rescue Mission Thrift store or to Goodwill (anything the other 2 wouldn't take).  Vanloads of stuff we probably won't miss or didn't even know why we had it in the first place.    It felt wonderful, to be honest.  So much stuff that I really hope someone else can use and that we didn't want/need anymore.

Seriously, when did I think I would ever wear a DRESS again?

Even with all the purging though, we still needed a place to put what remained as deemed necessary, because the front room has a 'guest-sized' closet and that just wasn't going to be enough for teeshirts and grots , etcetera, that we need to live life without having to dive into a storage tub in the shed.

So, we purchased an inexpensive dresser/chest of drawers set from the surplus furniture store and plugged them into the space along with our bed and a couple of side tables and my desk/office setup and a 2-drawer file cabinet and a bookshelf (WHEW!!) and whaddaya know?  It all fits somehow and doesn't feel cramped. The room too is 15x15  (all 4 rooms in our house are, except the bathroom and laundry, which are of course much smaller) so it's a pretty good size.  Even so, the armoire was sold, and the big metal cabinet that held random stuff like camping gear and who knows what all didn't make the move.  We also don't have our bed on what used to be the kitty-cornered wall, which opened up a ton of floor space.  

Our old room is in the 'reconstruction' phase now, which is good. However, I'm in no rush to move back until the addition is done, seeing what a nice cozy nest is available for us at the front of the house.

We are rich indeed.

Tiff out.

Bed used to go between those 2 sconces

Now loveseat will go here in the new reading nook. Wernstrom approves.

That brown line is where the ceiling height used to be.  Note  the original walls are beadboard.

This window is going to be the entrance to the addition - full doorway with transom above for light. There will be a window to the left of the doorway for light and egress. Fancy ceiling alert!

Things that I do not care for.

Gross.

Sometimes, I get to feeling way too chipper about life and stuff, so have to bring myself back down to reality by dwelling on stuff that I simply don't care for.  Not that I HATE these things, for hate is too strong a word (and, frankly, is one of those things I don't care for), these are just some things that if I never had to deal with them again it'd be fine by me.

- Mis-use of 'less than' when 'fewer than' is correct.

- The gunk that gets caught in the kitchen sink drain.

- Bunched-up socks (because of this I rarely wear socks anymore).

- Liquor in my coffee.  Irish coffee?  A little Bailey's?  Some peppermint schnapps in there?  Ptoooey!

- Waking up too early on weekends.

- Dry eyes.

- Food that grows in your mouth the more you chew it.

- Yappy dogs.

- Ingrates who do not return their shopping carts to the buggy corral.

- DRAMA.

This list is of course not exhaustive, but certainly does capture what rises to the top of my 'meh-o-meter' at the moment.  I could add 'inconsistent use of punctuation' on the list, or 'too salty food' or 'willful ignorance' to the list, but perhaps another day.

---

Note I mentioned drama in the list.  Not 'dramas,' which are very different and can be enjoyable especially if they are set sometime back in history or maybe the distant future.  No, I'm talking about DRAMA, the manufactured sort that seems to keep some people's clock ticking and without which they might just not have a reason to breathe shallowly and rapidly, ever again.  

You can just leave that shit at the door if you're going to walk into my house.  Got no time to spend on manufactured angst.  World's got enough to deal with without all that mess.

---

While I'd ask readers of this post to comment on things they don't care for, there aren't many readers left so won't obligate the few of you who do idle by here to contribute.  But if you want to, hey - you know what to do.

Tiff out.

I copy one of the greats, if pompadours are your thing.

So, this one's mostly more hair and nails.  You excited?  You ready?  Then let's dive in, but not too steeply, because this is kind of a shallow pool of topic and you don't want to mash your noggin on the bottom.

---

I put this photo on FB recently, with the statement that this is what my hair looks like right now, which is about 7.5 months after it started growing back:

No word of  a lie, folks.  This is my current hair reality.  Now, Mr Twitty, seen above, had sported some magnificent pompadours in his time, but this iteration is the most natural one I've seen on his head.  I guess that once you get famous, certain visual cues are no longer necessary?  Make sense to me.

Anyhow, what he's got in that pic is pretty much what I've got, right down to the color and texture.

It's good to know that even fancy rich fellers have trouble with their hair from time to time, just like regular folks.

---

In the nails department, I'm facing the fact that I'm going to have to cut them back a touch if I don't want to turn into some ninny-fingered prancy lady.  You know the type, what with the clicky nails on the computer keyboard, the weird sideways finger positioning when opening a poptop can, the odd splay-hand manner of dealing with produce bags or doors, that kind of thing.

These were them about a month ago.  I realize they are not cardi b-type talons, but to me, these are LONG.  They have grown since then (OBVIOUSLY, as I haven't trimmed or filed them in the interim):

I do like having the longer nails, but they are getting in the way.

And starting to get little splits in them, which need repair.

BUT, I keep letting them grow, and continue to repair the splits with bits of TP and base coat, then doing a full manicure to ensure the coast of polish will keep the nail from further splitting.

I kind of don't know who I am anymore or how to behave with these things.  I hope it's not too late to learn.

---

In other news, and ignoring the hellscape that was the attempted coup here in the USA a little while ago, we are moving out of our bedroom and into the other bedroom so as to tear apart the old bedroom to put a new addition on it that will include a fancy new closet and what will be bathroom #2.  Such excite!

Except holy shit these was a lot of stuff in our bedroom.  And closet, because that's getting a facelift too.  Like, YEARS of stuff, stuff we'd forgotten we had, stuff that might have once had meaning to us but we no longer know why, stuff that has disintegrated in the decade since it was shelved and forgotten, stuff that we really ought to have been using all this time (hello, French Horn) but have not.

It's a grueling and somewhat embarrassing process, this sifting and winnowing.  Not to mention dusty, dirty, sometimes moldy.  So MUCH is getting donated, so MUCH is getting chucked out.  On occasion something is unearthed that bears remarking upon and relocation to a spot for safekeeping, but those moments are not as frequent as the 'just get rid of it' moments.

A terrible job, but in the end we're going to be many pounds of stuff and dust lighter when we're done, and for that we give thanks.

Amen.

---

Tiff out.

Happy 2021 y'all!

 I'm still here.  Still a work-at-home corporate denizen pounding the keyboard for a day's pay.  WITH NO COMPLAINTS.  After the absolute shitshow that was 2020 for a lot of people, I really need to keep my mouth shut about getting to work at home full time and the bennies that come with company employment.

Like, healthcare, which meant that in 2020, through all the excitement of cancer therapy and a random appendectomy (plus other joys) we didn't go broke paying for healthcare.  I wish that was true for everyone.

My fingernails, which all fell off thanks to chemotherapy, have grown back into frigging DAGGERS that I think I'm going to have to buy a tiny hacksaw to trim.  They're ridiculous, and they're still growing.  They click when I type.  Not sure how I feel about that.  They do look pretty all manicured, so that's new.

Also, Christmas lights from some folks near us who really do it up near us.

It's 'dry January' for me, because why not?  If amazing things happen it might be a Thing to carry forward longer.  As if that would be a bad idea.

And, probably most importantly, VACCINE. Thank God.

Tiff out.

Just stuff, and oh I'm cancer-free now.

 Well, hey there.  It's been a minute, hasn't it?

Yes, yes it has.

There's not much really to report, the pandemic has taken care of going on exotic vacations or getting together with friends or going out to eat (again, now that lockdown is back upon us because certain IDIOTS can't STAY THE FUCK HOME so that OTHER PEOPLE DON'T GET SICK) or hugging people with whom we do not live or in fact even TOUCHING them or seeing the bottom half of their faces, which, admittedly, wouldn't make such great blog fodder but I think you get what I mean.

While still enjoyable, life just doesn't seem to have those 'big moments' right now, if in fact it really ever has in the last few years.

Well, I did replant the planters on the new front porch, and they look nice with the ornamental cabbage and pansies, so there's that.

My hair continues to grow.  This is 5.5 months after I first noticed there was a little peach fuzz happening up top:

It demands some arranging after showertime, but not much can be done with it as it's so dang springy.  I shall keep trying.

Also, the latest scans and tests indicate that I am CANCER-FREE!  That's pretty big news, right?  Like, ultra-great big news, yes?   No sign of any activity in the original area or the left boob or the abdomen (that the CT scan looked at). Bloodwork and labs are coming back fine, so yeah.  It looks like the months of agonizing chemo and radiation did what they were supposed to do.

Hooray!

==

I have just discovered something about a family member that has me absolutely SEETHING, but it's not my story to tell.

What is the word for 'angry beyond words'?  There has to be one, and that is what I am.  Sick of the bullshit that fomented the situation.

Tiff out.

The man on the porch

 

Maybe a hunnert years ago, IDK

There's a fellow out front of the Tiny House right now who looks very troubled.  He seems to be about to saw something off the new porch that he's spent the week adding to the house.

This man is Biff, of course.

He's putting on a new porch because, reasons.  Like:

• We had to replace the front door because the frame was rotten.  Or 'eaten,' more like.
• Then it was clear that more of the house was being eaten, so a feller came out to treat the areas where the FUC-ing termites were still noshing, but to do that he needed to drill 17 million holes in the FUC-ing concrete porch in order to douse the sill plate with bug-b-gone, therefore ruining the tile flooring and, of course, any hope of water-tightness of the porch and underlying aforementioned sill plate.
• Thus, the porch was ripped off of the house because holes and things.  Biff didn't really like it anyhow.
• One thing leads to another, and in the end it was discovered that more snacking had been done, which meant that the sill plate (I think that's the term) had to be completely replaced on the front of the house, many calculations made as to the proper and correct way to ensure the house didn't in fact fall in on itself while the replacing was being done, and many man-hours spent doing heavy man-things like hauling, and hammer wielding, and toting, and sweating, and eeeeech.
• Then foundation piers needed to be sunk and poured, drains needed to be placed and arranged to ensure the water flow will henceforth be OUT to the yard instead of IN to the foundation, and subsequently the deck framing needed to be built (that was today) and!
• Decking needed to be installed so that a ladder could be placed on top to ensure adequate access to the top of the porch roofline which is exposed to the elements and needs to be Tyvek'ed in so that the forecast rains of tomorrow don't soak the insulation and further fuc-  things up. 

Still not entirely certain what the saw was for, I'll admit.

---

BUT!! As much as all that is to take in, that's not even the guy on the porch of which I intended to speak, it just so happens that Biff is the current guy on the porch, and he's darned cute and a hardworking Summasumpn besides, so he needed a lil' spotlight.

Here ya go, sweetie: 

Bask, Biff, BAAAAAAASK!!

No, the other guy on the porch is one who showed up yesterday evening, about an hour before sunset. 

(cue sounds of clinking spurs and lonesome harmonica wails)

I was a-settin' in my recliner here in the living room of the Tiny House, from which I have a pretty good view of whomever approaches the front door.   Note: This was at a moment during which there WAS no front porch, but rather an impressive construction zone of red clay, concrete piers, and various stages of Something's Happening Here.  NOT a place in which you would expect to ascertain a certain man's head approaching the front door, undeterred by obstacles.

And yet, there he was.  Bespectacled, dark of hair and beard, kind of eye, unsure of what the heck he's gotten himself into, but determined to finish whatever task was at hand.  He approached the front door, appeared to place something against it, then began his retreat.

Out of curiosity, and a faint notion that he did not in fact look like a bomber, I went to the door and opened it to see a small package place on the doorsill.  Recognizing the bag, I shouted to him "Hey, you from the bookstore?" to his retreating back, to which he turned, waved, and answered in the affirmative before continuing his walk back down our street to some unseen conveyance.

Y'all, I think he might have walked all that way back to the store.

It was a lovely evening, after all.  Who could blame him?

And so, this is how we know that, even with the sprawl happening all around us, we do still live in a small town, in which bookstores deliver, sometimes on foot, and almost never with a bomb.

Independent bookstores matter.  Thank you, Page 158 books here in DTWF - we LOVE y'all.

Tiff out.

Hair sitch 29 Sep 2020, and domestic products are hard to find.

 This'll be a quickie, more for my memory than anything else.

I've been tracking hair growth since the time it was evident that hair was going to grow again on the ol' noggin' and all other places where hair is supposed to grow (read: ERRWHAR).  The first inklings came back in early June, when lil' bristles started to who up some 10 weeks or so after chemo had finished.

It's been a little over 6 months since chemo finished up, and almost 4 months since I noticed the hair was coming back.

For the curious among you, here's what it looks like today:

Ignore those holes in the wall - they are not from target practice but rather mark where some photos had been hanging before we had to tear the house apart because freaking termites.

Dig those sideburns, y'all.  Out. Of. Hand.

As you might be able to tell, it's coming in a little bit curly. *Ahem*

My hair was curly before it all fell out, but except my hair was much longer and so the curl couldn't have as evident.  It was mostly just really wavy, instead of curly.

So, as things go, this is kind of a fun look, except that the 'wings' on the side of my head are getting a little out of hand.

Also, this is the natural hair color of a 58-year-old lady.  It's so shiny! :)

In the cancer SAHGAH, I go in tomorrow for more lab work, but the scheduled port flush is postponed until November due to a shortage of port needle assemblies available.  I'm really hoping that the labs turn out good enough to schedule a port removal before November.  Fingers crossed all goes well!  Would love to have this holiday season free from Borg-itude.

Speaking of which, I've begun Christmas shopping.  It's harder to avoid products made in China than you might (but maybe not) think.  Just finding sheets NOT made there is quite the treasure hunt.  Not that anyone's getting sheets.  Family, if you're reading this, pretend you didn't see that last part, because you may in fact NOT be getting sheets for Christmas.  But only some of you.  Only three more months to wait to find out!

Tiff out.

4 p.m. and it's meetin' time.

Always with the yelling, I tell ya.

One of the things that happen after you, as a proud pharmaceutical company employee, have worked with a global team to submit a new drug application, is that you breathe deeply for 20 seconds.

That's it, that's all you get.

Then the 'new project' train starts rolling and you'd best be on it or you're going to get so FAR BEHIND that catching up will quickly become nearly impossible.

Which is why, for the past couple of weeks, it's been awfully, terribly quiet around my desk, with an emphasis on terrible.  After the rush and bubble of the past 18+ months, it's weird to not be chained to my computer working toward the goal line or some OTHER measure of success with some new project.

In other words, I've been breathing easy lately.  It's kind of nice, if a touch boring.

I'm all caught up on training.  I've organized email and deleted THOUSANDS of now-useless messages.  I've moved necessary files into document management systems.  I've jettisoned drafts and saved items that no longer are considered an official copy of anything.  I've even asked coworkers if they need help with anything, such is my desperation.

But not for much longer.

The 'new thing' train is all fueled up, the boilers are about to the right temperature, and the conductor is walking down the platform calling 'all aboard that's coming aboard!' in preparation for the next big journey.

I'm ready.

---

Too much or just enough for that next videoconference?

So yep, that's what the title of this entry is about.  4 p.m. meetings.  And 8 a.m. meetings.  And pop-up meetings.  We can't do 'walking meetings' right now, obviously, unless it's the kind where a person just stalks around their house on a mobile or wireless headset while in attendance.

Audio, sure, but never EVER with the video on.  Not for me.  No thanks.

I am one of those people that fidgets, BADLY, in most meetings.  I tic, and scratch, and get distracted, and pick my nose, and rub my eyes and am a general visual mess when I'm supposed to be well-poised and paying attention.

No.  None of that.

Plus which, I haven't yet figured out a good 'lewk' for video calls for me.  I'm sure it would involve wearing actual clothing and maybe makeup to put a little life into my sallow mug.  That's just too tall a bridge to cross!  At least I still don't have to comb my hair or worry about a style right now, so that's good, but the rest of it is just too much.  Nobody needs to see me that bad.

And yet, there are people who ALWAYS have their video on.  ALL WAYS.  I do not understand them.  I hope that you, dear reader, are not one of them.  If you are, please tell me why so I can learn from your mysterious ways.

Tiff out.

We were going to put in a new front door anyhow

The new door.  Siding goes back on next.

Yesterday I alluded to the fact that, once again, our house has been visited by a scourge of termites.  This may or may not be the proper terminology for a bunch of frigging homewreckers, but to me it's apt and I'm not going to go scrounging for the correct terminology.  This isn't science, no need to be so pedantic.

They had visited a couple of years ago, having snacked mightily on our living room floor.  We were going to be working in that room anyhow, refinishing what we thought were the original 100+-YO hardwoods, but had a concern about a certain springiness to the floor that seemed 'a little much.'

That's what happens when termites eat your floor.  It gets springy.  In a dangerous way, might I add.

So, we initiated a relationship with a pest control company to come on out and treat the house, then inspect yearly to ensure they're not on a reunion tour.  Worked well for us for several years.

The tech came out in June this year and declared the house free of any termite activity, but unfortunately he wasn't able to look behind the front door frame. *Ahem*

Sometime around the June timeframe we started to notice the door was getting really hard to close.  Seemed to be 'sticking' at the top, like it was not aligned correctly with the frame.  Maybe it was the heat?  Hmmm.  Adjustments were made, but they didn't last long.  Biff tried to reposition the hinges, but wasn't able to, because the door frame was the approximate consistency of DUST and weren't no screw gonna hold fast to nothin'.

So, OK, SOMETHING was going on.  We, obviously, were not thinking termites just yet, as we'd been assured there was no sign of them just a few months ago.

We got a new door to replace the old one, just for fun and because we wanted to rid ourselves of a few hundred (many few hundreds) of bucks on one we both really like (I was not a huge fan of the old door).  Biff put a couple of coast of Candy Apple red paint on it (love me a red front door) and got ready to hang it yesterday.

Once the old door came off, the problem was evident.  Termites.  Frigging termites.

Y'all, I nearly went out and bought a flamethrower.  

Instead, we called the pest company, secured a time for bug eradication for this morning ('no, I will NOT wait until next Tuesday for a tech to come out - there's NO FRONT DOOR ON MY HOUSE'), and Biff plywooded up the door opening like we were preparing for a hurricane.

Which, you know, we were (hello Sally [not Stella, like I said yesterday]), but boarding up the door would have been rather an overkill for what was largely a rain event.

Get a call this morning from the pest control folks, saying the tech that was supposed to come today called out sick (turns out he'd been contact traced to a COVID victim - yikes!) and the earliest they can come out now is...next Tuesday.

Well, no.  I put Biff on the horn to them and through his charm and no-nonsense conversational approach the company found a guy to come out pretty much right away.  The tech was a nice guy, did the work quickly, and left us with some of the nuclear-grade bug stuff in case the stupid effing termites happen to show up again.

Also, there will be another tech coming tomorrow to re-inspect the crawlspace and treat down there too.

So, on this temperate September Friday Biff has spent hours putting up the new door.  Seriously, it's like 6+ hours just to get the door in properly, and that's with 2 guys on the job!  Fussy work, that door installation.

The pot is slightly sweetened though, because he will actually get paid for the work he did putting in the door, as the pest control folks would normally pay for a team to come out and address the carpentry and access issues that resulted from the termite buffet.  So, Biff was truly 'working for himself' today, which is a nice bonus when it could have just been a lost day.

And that is how we got a new front door.

It didn't need to be that complicated.  Honestly, 2020, when will you let up?

Tiff out.

I declare I am a hedgehog

 

Me right now, pretty much.

 The saga of my hair continues, lucky for me.  It's getting to the "Eastern European coal miner" look, sorta bristly and gravity-defying.  More accurately though, I look more like a Steiff hedgehog, with about the same care given to overall grooming and style as the wee cutie above.

I can do nothing with this hair.  Combing it is futile, trying to make it DO something is impossible.  I suppose I could bust out some hair gel and slick it back?  Is that back in style yet?

Perhaps I could take a lesson from someone at work who was on a training call today.  Platinum blond nearly-Jedward quiff and shaved back and sides.  MAN, she looked great in that hairdo.  Of course she also is a drop-dead gorgeous person, so no risk of her being mis-gendered.  Wearing great earrings and lipgloss might help that understanding along too.

Maybe in another inch of growth it might start bending to my will, but as I'm not much on hairstyles, especially short ones, I will probably remain at a loss for many more months until I can once more just sweep it off my face with a headband and rock on.

---

In The Joys of Homeownership files:

The termites are back.

Effing stupid termites.

The house was inspected 3 months ago, with no sign of activity noted by the technician.  I think he might have missed something, like the FRONT DOOR FRAME being reduced to dust.   They are sending someone out tomorrow to re-inspect and take care of the issue.  We are under warrantee, happily, so I expect the amelioration fee to be minimal.

Currently we have a piece of plywood over the front door opening to keep the wild things out.  Wern is understandably concerned.

I, on the other hand, am pissed off.  I'd rather have a wall full of spiders than a board full of termites.

Thank my lucky stars to be married to someone who knows how to work on houses and has the tools to do so.  Having to hire someone to take a load off my mind would be yet another expensive straw's worth of aggravation at this point. 

---

And we're getting a hurricane's remains through the area tonight.  While it's not forecast to be as big an event as what pummeled the gulf coast yesterday, Stella is expected to dump a few inches of rain on the area, and bring some mighty winds to central NC.  Maybe even throw in a tornado for fun.

It IS the South, y'all.  There's not fun like tornado fun, amirite?

Tiff out.

Maybe it was a bad idea

(From www.roadkilltshirts.com)

A couple of months ago our lil' town got its first Indian restaurant.  It was LONG overdue, and enthusiastically celebrated.  A critical void was filled.

Now see, down RTP way, there are all kinds of Asian-Indian (like from India or India-adjacent regions) places from which to choose, Morrisville is practically overrun with them!  Not so much here in the 27587.  The closest place was several miles down Capital, not nearly close enough for a casual dinner run.

But no more!  No, now we have the Curry House, and life is great! Lovely Indian dishes close by for the eatin', it's time to wake up those taste buds, bud!  

We have been experimenting, mostly, with their menu.  They do some dishes (styles) that we've never heard of, which is fun.  Oh, they have the butter chicken and the saags and tandooris, but they have new-to-us things that are really opening up new taste horizons.

One thing I'd not seen on a menu before is chaat.  It's not a particular dish, but a style of preparation that is largely street-food based and thus is a kind of gmish of a base ingredient plus chickpeas and some crispy fried potatoes with some yogurt or chutney to top things off.  Yes, I had to look it up.  I also gave samosa chaat a try in our latest order, and WOW.  Spicy, fragrant, silky/crunchy, and FILLING.  I can't believe that what the Curry House hands out is meant to be only one serving; my order made 3 meals worth of vegetarian yumminess.

Which is where the 'bad idea' part of this post comes in.

Remember the part about chickpeas?  In both the samosa AND the chaat bowl, might I add.

Chickpeas give me horrendous gas.

For days.

Y'all, the situation is so dire that I have been avoiding MYSELF for the last few days.  It was obvious to me that there was just one thing to do for this dreadful situation.

That's right, I ate the last of it for for lunch today.  

Yes, I'm old enough to know better.  I still do it.  Yes, I'm smart enough to eat some Gax-X or something before consuming flatulence-inducing foods.  I still don't do it. 

All I do is tough it out, turn on a fan (or open those windows), and tell Biff not to come into the room I occupy quite yet, thanks.  

It's a  darned good thing I didn't have to have a colostomy all those years ago when part of my large intestine was taken out.  Me and the bag would have floated away by now, I'm sure.  Wait - How DO people with ostomies handle this sort of situation?  Is there some kind of flap you use to release the gas?  I'm genuinely curious now, and will probably spend the next 20 minutes researching this most pressing question.

So yes, this is in fact a post about how much I'm farting.  This is where we are now.  This is 2020.  Welcome to my Southern Asian-spiced current reality.

More updates as warranted.

Tiff out.

PS - FYI, there's more than one way to deal flatulence if you have an ostomy.  Filters, flaps, valves, burping, diet changes, etc.  No floating required.

Now what? AKA - Where do we go from here?

Clearly not me.  Yet.

 Hey y'all!

So now that it appears the first part of my journey with breast cancer is over, and I feel like I have some energy to spare, the question is begged: to where do we go from here?

First item for me is, as my oncology nurse profession continues to allude, physical fitness.

No kidding, eh?

Since last YEAR I've been mentally and physically sidelined by this cancer thing, sometimes so much that staying OUT of bed was an impossibility for more than 30 minutes at a time.  Sometimes bone pain would keep me up all night, the pounding heartbeat caused by chemo resonating in my ears, the malaise of treatment after treatment the kind of hurdle you just want to punch the hell out of if you only had the energy.

Well, guess what.  I have the energy now.  It's punchin' times.

So, in order to get less fat which will in turn lessen the chance of fat-sequestered estrogen coming back for an encore in some other tumor-show, and to ensure my cardiovascular system is as strong as it can be, and to help my bones stay as strong as they currently are (a nice surprise, that one, esp. after chemo), I need to get off my ass and move.

Starting tomorrow.  I feel like I did enough today, to be honest with you.  Sure, sure, walking around the house, cooking and baking and doing dishes and stuff isn't 'exercise,' but in comparison to what I've been able to do over the last few months, it's HUGE.

But there's more to do,  On purpose this time.  Now that I can do much more than I could even a couple of months ago, it's time to take the next step.

My goal is humble -  a half-mile a day for the first week, then 3/4 per day for another week, then a mile a day thereafter until I feel like I can take another tenth or so per day.  I might just see how long I can plank for the hell of it, and work up to a couple-minute stretch goal.

It's now or never.  I'll be 60 in another couple of years.  More time behind me than in front of me, and I don't want to spend that time behind a walker.  Unless that walker is Biff. ;)

Tiff out.

---

Pee Ess: 

Current BMI: 30.8.

BMI prior to cancer treatment: 32.7

I know, I know, BMI is a shit way to measure fatness, but it's understandable to most.  I don't have a body fat percentage to give you, which would be way better, so for now BMI must do. I I want to get down to a skosh less than 'overweight,' I need to lose 45 pounds.  That's still 30 pounds more than what I thought was 'fat' back in my 20's.  Welcome to my body dysmorphia.

Cancer 1 year later: retrospective on my experience.

 

Can't WAIT to get the all-clear to have this removed.

 It was around this time last year that I felt a lump in my right breast.  It was a different sort of lump than I normally feel in my fibrocystic/dense breasts, so I scheduled a mammogram posthaste (it was time for it anyhow).

The 'gram came back s 'suspicious,' so a diagnostic mammogram was performed very soon thereafter.  Suspicious status was confirmed.  Things started to turn serious.

Core biopsy confirmed cancer roundabout September.

Lumpectomy in October.

Port placement in November.

Chemo started in December, ended mid-March.

Radiation started in May, ended mid-June.

And here we  are, a year later, with the news yesterday from the 2020 version of the diagnostic mammogram of 'looks great, no sign of suspicious activity.'

It's been a year.  I have had, and continue to have, amazing support from family and friends, a village of prayer warriors keeping me front and center with God, and tremendous treatment by the good folks at Rex Hematology Oncology and Rex Radiation Oncology.

 Of course Biff was tremendously supportive and took on 110% of the housework and care and feeding of his wife (me!) while I was knocked out by treatments, so tired I needed at least  daily nap.  What a hero he is, honestly.

My kids were a great support as well, carting me to and fro when needed, dropping off notes of support, doing what was asked of them with no complaint.  They're good men.

At no point during all of this past year did I truly break down in hopelessness.  I believed the doctors and care staff when they said they were going for a cure, and I still do.  I figured that drowning in sorrow was not the way to move forward, and just had to accept that treatment and the associated discomfort was my lot in life for a year or so.  

I was able to stay engaged with work, though I did have to give up a status role in the major submission we worked on.  There's no way I had the hubris to think I could do a high-stress job while getting treatment.  It was the right thing to do, and in stepping back I was able to focus my energy on 1 big thing and see it through.  We finished it just a little while ago, and the whole submission was filed last week.  That's HUGE in my line of work.

What does the future hold?  More scans, more port flushes (at least for a little while longer), more monitoring, more of That Sort of Thing.  I have to take an aromatase inhibitor daily for at least 10 years (block that nasty estrogen), and otherwise work my way back to full health.  Energy returns bit by bit, day by day, to the point where I now feel like I could go for a walk or do more than just exist. I didn't know how truly awful I felt until I started to not feel like that anymore.

So, a year into this journey, and there's a lot to look back on.  Even more to look forward to.

Updates will be provided as the occasion demands.

For now, it's back to our regular program.

Tiff out.

Hairy situation, late August.

 For those of y'all playing along at home and who somehow have managed to maintain some interest in my stupid cancer journey, here's what my hair looks like about 20 weeks after the last chemo (I am on the left):

Looking rather Eastern European middle-aged man here in the hair department. Thanks again to Mrs. B for the photo.

---

With vacation over (which is what we were doing in the above photo), here's what's been going on lately:

NOT MUCH AT ALL.

It was an easy entry back to work, as I'd taken the corporate computer with me to the cabin just in case there was no phone signal (there wasn't) for folks to reach me, and because the internet was claimed to be good at the house in the middle on nowhere.  I spent about 15 minutes a day checking in, no more.  I could clear out the garbage instead of coming home to a wall of unread messages, which was nice.

This week has been easy so far, because the big work completed last week.  Now it's just getting ready for the next round of processing/document building/query responses, which will start up here pretty quickly.  

I ain't skeered.

---

That's about it for now - not much going on means not much to talk about.

I leave politics and the pandemic alone for the moment.  Don't have enough dander on hand for all that mess.

Tiff out.

Waterworld 2020

A misty Thursday morning on Nantahala Lake

Vacation recap, the third.

We'd had enough land-based exploration for a while, so decided to turn to the water for some entertainment.  

But first, we had to let the guests into the cabin.  Biff's daughter and her baby son showed up on Tuesday, with all the baby paraphernalia required of them and a few other things to boot.  Both daughter and baby are adorable people, but I have to give a few points to baby for just incredible soul-searching stares, even at 2.5 months old.  Kid can see the past, I'm sure of it (please don't let him tell anyone about mine!).

We had a lovely visit, with Biff once again traversing to the nearest town for some supplies (a near-daily occurrence) with daughter and grandson along for the ride.  After that were dinner (lasagna!) and games and chat and baby things and you know how that sort of thing goes.  Time flies, is what I'm saying.

Wednesday was boat day.  We'd rented a tritoon for a couple of days to explore the lake, which turned out to be about 1.5 days longer than needed to traverse it once-'round.  It's not a huge lake, but a very nice one nevertheless, especially if you enjoy stuff like scenery.  There's plenty of that in these parts.

Not scenic, just Wern and me and an icognito baby and DD's legs.  We boatin'!

After a lovely afternoon of snooping and putting around, we returned to the house for a bit of rest, some dinner, and preparations for a sunset cruise.  I didn't go on this one, as the tendinitis in my knee made getting to and from the boat once a day about all I thought I could muster without risking further injury.  I understand the ride was lovely - the pictures sure look like it was.

Sunset on the lake by Mrs. B

There was more gaming in the evening.  Nobody won.

Thursday morning we went for an early-morning boat ride (see lede pic).  It was misty, nearly black-and-white in some places, and in other places un-navigable due to instrument conditions.  Most excellent ride, and Mrs. B even got to pilot the boat for a while, which is a first for her.  Fearless, she is.  I admire that.

Sadly, Mrs. B and the grandbaby had to make an early exit, because baby was behaving unusually and as if in pain.  GI stuff.  Pooping stuff.  Thankfully, they don't live too far from here and so could get home to a  doc visit, wherein the issue was....cleared and all seems well.  It was disappointing to see them go, but glad they made it so he could, uh, go.

In the afternoon we took a bit of a jaunt to replace Wern's leash, as he'd declared himself sick of his old one and had chewed through it in the morning, neat as you please.  Biff found a place not TOO far down the road from here, which is how we discovered Murphy NC, as cute and interesting a little town as you'll find in the long valley.  Sure, it was an extra 15 miles of travel one way, but we got to gawk at stuff and bumble around the town, so not a waste of time at ALL.  Plus which, the new leash is 1) made in the USA and 2) guaranteed for life, even if chewed through.  I did not ask what it cost.  

We picked up a couple of burgers from a place call Burger Basket in Andrews, then back on the boat for a quick afternoon's travel on the lake before turning in the boat to return home to cook supper and take a dip in the hot tub.

Today, we had a nice fire in the fireplace (of course) with breakfast, a bit of a lounge around, then Biff took off with Wern to go get gas down the scary road (Wayah Road to Franklin) then to visit Wayah Bald without me, for which I am happy because me and mountain roads, REAL mountain roads, do not get along so great anymore.  I look forward to the photos.

Doing a little pre-packing now, with a plan to go take a walk along the Nantahala River a little later, knee issues allowing.  I'm content to sit on a riverside rock and let the guys explore if that's what needs to be done - the happily rushing water is a balm to the spirit and I'm sure the memory will be sweet.

As long as it doesn't storm.  Which it might might.  Little hurricane Laura still heads this way, and though I don't think she's till a hurricane, 50 MPH winds are nothing to fool with when you're surrounded by forest.

Now you're all caught up.

Tiff out.

Franklin and Andrews 2020

Corn, airport, mountains, clouds.  Andrews NC 24 Aug 2020.

Hey y'all!

It's the second full day of our vacation in the mountains of far western NC, and so far it's going well.

Except I can't walk, but more on that later perhaps.

Yesterday we travelled to Franklin NC, a trip that we were told would take about 25 minutes in an easterly direction on the Wayah road.  It's a commuter road, we were lead to believe.

I suppose that if you're FROM these parts, it is.  If you're a flatlander with a distinct fear of falling off the side of a mountain on your way to get groceries while navigating a road only 1/2 step less challenging than the Tail of the Dragon, then it's not, at all, a commuting road.

Start at about 15:30 in this video to get a sense of what I'm talking about.  The lovely lake you see in the first couple of minutes is Nantahala Lake, which we will be boating on come Wednesday.  It's quite the drop from the road to the lake, without a guardrail to be found.  I, as passenger, was not very amused.  Wern, on the other hand, seemed to find the constant back-and-forth swaying of the van around those hairpin turns quite soothing, and fell asleep.

We did make it to Franklin (in about an HOUR, not 25 minutes!), and had a nice couple/few hours there poking around, shooping for stuff at the WalMart (eeech, but needed to purchase some swimmies bcs we BOTH forgot ours), hitting up the grocery store, walking a little bit on the greenway.  Wern got to meet a few doggos on the walk, which was the POINT of the walk (in my mind), and I crapped out early because my left knee was getting in the way of perambulating.  Posterior popliteal tendonitis, most likely, which hurts like a bear unless you stay the hell off your legs in order to rest and heal.  So of COURSE I tried to take a walk.  Yeesh.

Today we went the other direction (westerly) toward Andrews NC.  Andrews has a grocery, a liquor store, an airport, and a fort-adjacent type of historical site.  It had restaurants at one time, but only the McDonalds and Subway seem to still be open.  Town's been hit hard, which is a shame, because it's kind of charming and on a major highway and reasonably easy to get to.  We took Junaluska Road to Andrews, and it was a lovely drive.  No death traps atall!  The fort installation at the Cherokee County rest area (right on 74/19) tells a factual and brutal story of the unfortunate history of the Trail of Tears, and just how shittily we treated the indigenous people of this area.  Absolutely horrible.  

Incidentally, the Wayah Road, on which our cabin is located, was part of the Trail of Tears, taking Cherokee from eastern portions of the SE native areas and shuttling them to Fort Delaney in Andrews before force-marching them through brutal conditions on to Oklahoma.  So many died.  I can't imagine being a Cherokee from this area and trying to understand how to 'work' Oklahoma.

It's been an experience, getting acquainted with the history of this part of my lovely state.  Even after the indigenous had been ousted and the white settlers moved in, a lot of history happened.  I've been getting wrist-deep in the history of the Nantahala area, and it's fascinating.  These hills have stories, believe you me.

Tomorrow we welcome  new guests.  Wonder if babies like pontoon boat rides?  We'll find out and report back.

Tiff out.

In which we head west and find mountains. 2020 version.

 

Night one delight.

We have made our escape to the mountains, wherein we intend to breathe deeply, see the sights, experience peace, and not kill ourselves on mountain roads.

Nearly didn't achieve that last one, just today.

Maybe that's hyperbole, maybe not, but let me just say here that if I'd been smart and gotten a prescription for some sweet sweet Ativan before this trip I might be much more sanguine (what a word!) about being the passenger in a car traversing hilly, twisty, narrow, shoulderless roads that from time to time featured only the TOPS of tall trees out the window.  These roads do not kid around.  When there's a sign that says the speed limit ahead is 15 MPH, BELIEVE IT.

Perhaps I protest too much, for here we are, still alive.  Pretty sure it's was my clutching at the armrests and hissing through clenched teeth that kept us on the road.  Poor Biff.

It takes about 6 hours to get to this far-western region of NC.  We made it in 7.  I blame the dog.

THIS DOG.

We also missed the driveway to the house about 50 times (or 2), which is very easy to do on roads that are unfamiliar and might be trying to do you in.  We at last drove to the landlord's house (right across the street, as it turns out) and got actual directions.  Hurrah - we have arrived!

Except...we then had to get back in the car and drive, as there is not phone service at the house (and the landlords had just driven off, so no help from them at this point), which is needed by the person who had the lockbox and wifi code on a PDF on his PHONE, which wouldn't download.  AHEM.  So, we rolled down to the nearby marina, where he finagled enough internet to get the document to open and we were headed to success at last.

Not long after getting packed in, the beauty of the top photo happened.  This is the view from the front of the house - we are on our own little hill, surround by others, and at night the peepers and critters sing their songs above the burble of a nearby stream while dogs who-knows-how-many-hollers-over bark the evening in.  The air gets cool, but the hot tub is warm, so we sat there in the growing dark in the mountains of western North Carolina, talking and sipping and uncoiling from a long day.

Today's been even better.  More on that later.

Tiff out.