This is described as a "supervillain musical internet miniseries event." By JOSS WHEDON. Starring Neil Patrick Harris and Nathan Fillion. Can you hear the "SQUEE!!!!" coming from my living room?
Jun 30, 2008
Jun 24, 2008
Another Tuesday
With a quiet woosh the doors opened and out I went into the walkway where dimmed lights bounced off the worn, polished wooodwork. Women lined the narrow hall -- sixteen or seventeen ladies, some in wheelchairs, some with walkers, some helping others to stand or lean against the walls. No one smiled. A few reached out to grasp hands briefly as we walked by.
The fourth tall oak door on the left opened, and there she was: Aunt Anna, also known in the greater world simply as "Sister," smaller than I had ever seen her, a tiny broken doll of a woman, curled into herself on the reclining chair. She was covered in a hand-knitted blanket, oxygen strapped across her face, moaning quietly, a staccato "Oh. Oh. Oh." as she suffered through the cancer that had invaded her bones and now ate her organs one by one.
Cousin Peggy, eyes rimmed red and a beautiful smile in place, leaned over closely. "Aunt Anna, Colleen and James are here." Aunt Anna's eyes opened from mostly-closed to half mast. I hurried closer and grasped her hand, 92-year old skin like soft over-worn leather against mine. She squeezed. "Colleen. Colleen, good, good."
Her words were the softest I had ever heard her speak. All my life she had been forceful, known her mind and never hesitated to speak it. She was a teacher, of the old school: full of kindness but no-nonsense, direct, crisp, to-the-point. Now her words were softned and slurred, as if every syllable was a struggle. She held my hand tighter, suprisingly strong for such a small, wasted body.
"Glad you're here. God bless you both, Collen and James. God bless you. May you live good, long lives. A good life, a long life. God bless you." It was a final benediction, the last in a long line of graces this woman had granted me.
"Thank you, Sister." I took a moment. This was it. What to say? "Aunt Anna, I love you. I love you very much."
She looked at my, turned her head with eyes wide open. "Thank you," she said, voice firm and clear.
I sat for minutes or hours or days, holding her hand in mine. Through the door the hallway ladies watched in silence, in sadness, keeping vigil over their own. Occasionally the moans would start again and I would rub whatever part of her I could touch without inflicting more pain. Sister Fran came over with an eyedropper filled with liquid morphine, tucking it gently into Aunt Anna's cheek so she could swallow, a mama bird giving vital sustenance to its charge. A single drop of the medicine lingered at the corner of her lip, vivid purple-red against her gray pallor. I wiped it away.
"Oh. Oh. Oh." Her moans increased as we waited anxiously for the meds to kick in. An ancient bright-eyed nun in a white shirt and pink cable-knit cardigan shuffled in with her walker, going to Anna's other side. She took Anna's hand and begin to rub it, massaging her arm in comfort. The pink Sister pressed her forehead against Anna's. A necklace of worn crosses dangled off of her neck. "Father, Jesus, Mother Mary, I am devoted to you," she intoned. "Father, Jesus, Mother Mary, protect me from pain." Line after line she prayed, tenderly rubbing Anna's brusied, marked arms with her own wrinkled, gnarled hands. Anna's cracked lips followed along with the prayer over and over again. She never missed a line. She made no sound. The moaning stopped.
Much later, after the nuns trickled away for the night, Aunt Anna finally slipped off to sleep, open-mouthed and barely-closed eyes, head lolling to one side. Her blunt-chopped white hair -- hair that, in my 33 years on earth, I had only ever seen out of her habit not even a handful of times -- was secured back in a child's yellow plastic headband, sticking up crazily in tufts and whisps from her face. Blankets were tucked gently around her shoulders, encasing and mummifing her as she shivered with cold in the 85-degree room. We walked slowly to the elevator, exhausted, wondering if tomorrow we would be back for more of the same or if tomorrow would begin the plans for Aunt Anna's final rest.
The elevator arrived and I stepped in, looked out at it all: the endlessly long hallway studded with tall oak doors, the family hospitality cart with its dixie cups and Saran-wrapped pitchers of cranberry and orange juice, the lone finch in its cage kept company by the little ancient nun in pink, feeding tidbits from a plate of salad scraps on her lap. She looked up and smiled. "Have a safe journey home, now."
The elevator dinged closed.
The fourth tall oak door on the left opened, and there she was: Aunt Anna, also known in the greater world simply as "Sister," smaller than I had ever seen her, a tiny broken doll of a woman, curled into herself on the reclining chair. She was covered in a hand-knitted blanket, oxygen strapped across her face, moaning quietly, a staccato "Oh. Oh. Oh." as she suffered through the cancer that had invaded her bones and now ate her organs one by one.
Cousin Peggy, eyes rimmed red and a beautiful smile in place, leaned over closely. "Aunt Anna, Colleen and James are here." Aunt Anna's eyes opened from mostly-closed to half mast. I hurried closer and grasped her hand, 92-year old skin like soft over-worn leather against mine. She squeezed. "Colleen. Colleen, good, good."
Her words were the softest I had ever heard her speak. All my life she had been forceful, known her mind and never hesitated to speak it. She was a teacher, of the old school: full of kindness but no-nonsense, direct, crisp, to-the-point. Now her words were softned and slurred, as if every syllable was a struggle. She held my hand tighter, suprisingly strong for such a small, wasted body.
"Glad you're here. God bless you both, Collen and James. God bless you. May you live good, long lives. A good life, a long life. God bless you." It was a final benediction, the last in a long line of graces this woman had granted me.
"Thank you, Sister." I took a moment. This was it. What to say? "Aunt Anna, I love you. I love you very much."
She looked at my, turned her head with eyes wide open. "Thank you," she said, voice firm and clear.
I sat for minutes or hours or days, holding her hand in mine. Through the door the hallway ladies watched in silence, in sadness, keeping vigil over their own. Occasionally the moans would start again and I would rub whatever part of her I could touch without inflicting more pain. Sister Fran came over with an eyedropper filled with liquid morphine, tucking it gently into Aunt Anna's cheek so she could swallow, a mama bird giving vital sustenance to its charge. A single drop of the medicine lingered at the corner of her lip, vivid purple-red against her gray pallor. I wiped it away.
"Oh. Oh. Oh." Her moans increased as we waited anxiously for the meds to kick in. An ancient bright-eyed nun in a white shirt and pink cable-knit cardigan shuffled in with her walker, going to Anna's other side. She took Anna's hand and begin to rub it, massaging her arm in comfort. The pink Sister pressed her forehead against Anna's. A necklace of worn crosses dangled off of her neck. "Father, Jesus, Mother Mary, I am devoted to you," she intoned. "Father, Jesus, Mother Mary, protect me from pain." Line after line she prayed, tenderly rubbing Anna's brusied, marked arms with her own wrinkled, gnarled hands. Anna's cracked lips followed along with the prayer over and over again. She never missed a line. She made no sound. The moaning stopped.
Much later, after the nuns trickled away for the night, Aunt Anna finally slipped off to sleep, open-mouthed and barely-closed eyes, head lolling to one side. Her blunt-chopped white hair -- hair that, in my 33 years on earth, I had only ever seen out of her habit not even a handful of times -- was secured back in a child's yellow plastic headband, sticking up crazily in tufts and whisps from her face. Blankets were tucked gently around her shoulders, encasing and mummifing her as she shivered with cold in the 85-degree room. We walked slowly to the elevator, exhausted, wondering if tomorrow we would be back for more of the same or if tomorrow would begin the plans for Aunt Anna's final rest.
The elevator arrived and I stepped in, looked out at it all: the endlessly long hallway studded with tall oak doors, the family hospitality cart with its dixie cups and Saran-wrapped pitchers of cranberry and orange juice, the lone finch in its cage kept company by the little ancient nun in pink, feeding tidbits from a plate of salad scraps on her lap. She looked up and smiled. "Have a safe journey home, now."
The elevator dinged closed.
Jun 23, 2008
Jun 19, 2008
Not With a Bang, but With a Whimper
So. I'm done with physical therapy.
That's it. That's my news. It happened all-of-a-sudden, really, so quickly that I still feel a little disconnected from it all. When I last met with Dr. G in May, he told me to continue PT for four weeks at 2ce a week, and then four weeks at 1ce a week and then I'd be done, unless my therapist and I felt more was needed. Marching orders in hand, I continued therapy.
Last Wednesday (visit #2 in my "1ce/week for four weeks" phase) my therapist Sara told me that, as of this week (visit #3 in my "1ce/week for four weeks" phase), she would no longer be working with this therapy group. She, then, would be finished one week before I would, and I would have to have my last visit with another therapist.
I was torn. It just didn't feel right to end my therapy with someone else, and seemed kind of pointless for me to come in for my last session and have to work with someone who doesn't know me or my needs at all. I spoke with Sara and together we decided that yesterday was, indeed, my last day of PT.
I'm still using a cane and have a substantial limp so folks have asked me why/how I can be done with PT. The answer is that it's now all about pain and healing. I can officially do all of the exercises that I do at therapy on my own, between the tools I have at home and those at my gym. I have a limp because there's still pain, and the body won't let itself be injured -- it automatically tries to compensate for the pain so until I (A) get stronger (exercise) and (B) get rid of the pain (extended healing), this is as far as I'm gonna get. The work's not over by ANY means -- I'll need to go through my routines every single day -- but there's no reason for me to spend time and money on therapy anymore.
When I left RSPTII yesterday for the final time, I was in a really strange place mentally and emotionally. I hugged my therapist, said goodbye to Sam the Receptionist, and then took a moment to look around. It was like a graduation, a breakup, a relief and a sadness all in one. I'm glad to be done, will miss the people I've gotten to know there, am scared of whatever it is that the future might hold ... but the future will come, sure as anything, so my only choice is to stand up to meet it.
That's it. That's my news. It happened all-of-a-sudden, really, so quickly that I still feel a little disconnected from it all. When I last met with Dr. G in May, he told me to continue PT for four weeks at 2ce a week, and then four weeks at 1ce a week and then I'd be done, unless my therapist and I felt more was needed. Marching orders in hand, I continued therapy.
Last Wednesday (visit #2 in my "1ce/week for four weeks" phase) my therapist Sara told me that, as of this week (visit #3 in my "1ce/week for four weeks" phase), she would no longer be working with this therapy group. She, then, would be finished one week before I would, and I would have to have my last visit with another therapist.
I was torn. It just didn't feel right to end my therapy with someone else, and seemed kind of pointless for me to come in for my last session and have to work with someone who doesn't know me or my needs at all. I spoke with Sara and together we decided that yesterday was, indeed, my last day of PT.
I'm still using a cane and have a substantial limp so folks have asked me why/how I can be done with PT. The answer is that it's now all about pain and healing. I can officially do all of the exercises that I do at therapy on my own, between the tools I have at home and those at my gym. I have a limp because there's still pain, and the body won't let itself be injured -- it automatically tries to compensate for the pain so until I (A) get stronger (exercise) and (B) get rid of the pain (extended healing), this is as far as I'm gonna get. The work's not over by ANY means -- I'll need to go through my routines every single day -- but there's no reason for me to spend time and money on therapy anymore.
When I left RSPTII yesterday for the final time, I was in a really strange place mentally and emotionally. I hugged my therapist, said goodbye to Sam the Receptionist, and then took a moment to look around. It was like a graduation, a breakup, a relief and a sadness all in one. I'm glad to be done, will miss the people I've gotten to know there, am scared of whatever it is that the future might hold ... but the future will come, sure as anything, so my only choice is to stand up to meet it.
Jun 14, 2008
And the Award Goes To ...
Rachel, Jules, Sofia and me with our new shinies
It was a busy week at the ranch, indeed. My team and I (well, at least those of us not currently on vacation -- a semi-skeleton crew, truly) went to the Rochester PRSA PRism awards on Thursday, as we had sent in a number of entries. I am pleased to report that, out of six submitted entires, we took five of the awards in the not-for-profit area: three Awards of Excellence, and two PRisms (the top award). The Web team received both an AoE AND a PRism -- a sweep of the entire Not-for-Profit: Website category. It was quite a nice night! The College's president, our vice-president and our director attended as well, which was lovely. I was sad that my cohort Fran wasn't able to join us, but seeing as how the REASON he was unable to join us was that he's out globetrotting in Italy and Egypt as part of his honeymoon, well ... I'll try and hold back my tears on his behalf.
Jun 8, 2008
Hazy, Lazy
The weekend was crazy-beautiful: hot, humid, hazy ... all the things the preceding eight months were not. It was sunny and breezy and just all-around (HOT) gorgeous, so the tall man and I decided to have a few amigos over for a casual evening.
SO, last night six or seven brave souls ventured over in the evening to hang on the back patio and generally chill. There was a touch of the badminton and, of course, nibbles. We had crudite, chips, shrimp cocktail, radishes with sweet-cream butter & sea salt, and krispie treats. The gin and tonic bar was open, and a cooler full of pop and water and Mike's Hard Lemonade sat at the ready.
As twillight fell, bug spray was applied and chairs were brought out to the yard as we popped popcorn and passed jujubes in preparation for summer's first "Drive In," which we projected on the back side of the house. This year's season opener: the one, the only, the classic Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.
SO, last night six or seven brave souls ventured over in the evening to hang on the back patio and generally chill. There was a touch of the badminton and, of course, nibbles. We had crudite, chips, shrimp cocktail, radishes with sweet-cream butter & sea salt, and krispie treats. The gin and tonic bar was open, and a cooler full of pop and water and Mike's Hard Lemonade sat at the ready.
As twillight fell, bug spray was applied and chairs were brought out to the yard as we popped popcorn and passed jujubes in preparation for summer's first "Drive In," which we projected on the back side of the house. This year's season opener: the one, the only, the classic Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.
All in all, it was a lovely evening. Sitting out in the yard, sprayed with (un)scented OFF bug spray. reclining on the futon, watching my friends by the flickering light of projector, I took a moment to yet-again be grateful for everything I have. All the good, all the bad, has led me to this moment and place, and I am so blessed: all the friends, all the laughter, the food, the life, the enjoyment. As I sat there and watched the heat lightning in the distance, listening to my friends make snarky comments about the film, I was yet again reminded to be appreciative for the thousands of amazing things that are in my life every day. I am so grateful for it all, and for the renewed ability to appreciate it all more fully in each instant. It was wonderful, and I could not help but smile.
And then, moment acknowledged, I turned back to the screen to watch a giant killer tomato eat little Billy. Poor, poor little Billy.
Jun 3, 2008
Stranger in a Strange Land
Wow, it's been a while, hasn't it? But hey! It's good to see you. How the heck have you been? How's the wife and kids? Come on in, have a drink. Cracker and cheese spread?
Some highlights:
My great aunt Anna, who is a Sister of Mercy, celebrated her 92nd birthday last month. We had a family pizza party and celebrated. It was really quite lovely.
And then ... hmm. Well, I've been crazed working, of course. My desk has been downright terrifying.
My fabulous teammate Fran then prepped for a most exciting event: his marriage to the wonderful Kelly. The Naz IA team threw Fran a wedding shower, and even made him a very special gift of custom-created bride-and-groom Nazareth Golden Flyers. In his wedding colors. Wearing cool shoes.
My fabulous teammate Fran then prepped for a most exciting event: his marriage to the wonderful Kelly. The Naz IA team threw Fran a wedding shower, and even made him a very special gift of custom-created bride-and-groom Nazareth Golden Flyers. In his wedding colors. Wearing cool shoes.
Of course, the shower was followed by the wedding, a truly gorgeous event. Fran and Kelly were both radient, and the team was honored to be invited to attend such an important and wonderful happening. We partied. A lot.
And I'm still walking, walking, walking. Still have the cane, but that's ok -- it's only a matter of time. Sadly my blood levels are pretty screwy; that therapeutic level for my meds? Not so much. The blood thinners aren't so much thinning my blood at this time, which is worrisome. I imagine my blood is more chunky, sludging through my veins slowly like ...
But that's ok. I'll survive, and still enjoy life ... and all that Rochester has to offer.
Last night, I spent the evening at local restaurant 2Vine, a favorite haunt of mine, hanging with my team and enjoying life. We sat on the garden patio and sipped drinks (Cosmo, with a wedge) and enjoyed the night breeze. It was good. Life is good.
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