Now 50 is young, eh?

One of the few gratifying bits of fallout from the untimely demise of Michael Jackson is that many say he died far too young. And as he is just a tad older than yours truly, that makes me feel better about things.

Yes, I know: "Way down deep you're very superficial, Ann Podolske" (yes, I appropriated that line from "Julia"--it's a keeper, isn't it?)

As for my feelings about Michael Jackson? Such a waste. A very talented man, certainly, but an unbridled mess as well. Too much money and not enough therapy was his tragedy. While his family likely set the dysfunctional stage for this poor soul, someone somewhere along the line should have said, "Listen, Michael. You don't need your own theme park, you don't need a hyperbolic (was that it?) chamber, and you sure as hell don't need a chimp as a best friend forever. You need therapy, honey--lots and lots of therapy. Don't spend another dime on anything else until you've been on the couch for a decade--and send those little boys home!"

But no, no one had this talk with him. Or maybe they did, and he chose to buy tons of crap and plastic surgery and keep his inner little boy stoked instead of working on himself. Maybe that was the best he could do.

How sad is that?

As for the other cultural icon who left the planet this week, I must admit I was not a Farrah Fawcett (SP?) fan. I liked the Kate Jackson angel best, as was required by lesbian law (and the show was on even before I knew I was a lesbian--how clueless could a gal be?). Of course, I saw her poster numerous times (I can almost see it hanging up in the Blakes' basement rec room, circa 1976), and thought she was cute, but that's about it. She was a big thing, and then she wasn't. At least she doesn't have the cloud of suspicion hanging over her that Michael Jackson has, and that counts for something, doesn't it?

Well, that's enough muttering for one day--maybe for one week, eh? Happy trails to you all, A

The end of an era.....

I'm plunk in the middle of my last week as a 40-something, and I think "disbelief" sums things up nicely. How in the hell did I get to be (almost) 50? I mean, I did everything I could to make sure this wouldn't happen in my teens and 20s (smoked, drank to excess, drove while drinking to excess, etc.).

Apparently am supposed to be here, if one believes such things.


Or perhaps Whomever Is in Charge got distracted at key points of my journey, and didn't hit the "EJECT" button when the opportunity--or let's be real, here--opportunities arose. True, I did get hit by a car in my mid-40s (stone-cold sober, as a matter of fact), but that just hurt--and it was damn embarrassing. How does one get herself hit by a car stone-cold sober, when one didn't get hit by a car while staggering around on streets and in traffic, umpteen sheets to the wind in countries where the traffic goes the "wrong" way?

Life is perplexingly unfair, this I know. My current circumstance perhaps most perplexing of all. If I had to describe myself, I'd say I am a caregiver who finds time to work and occasionally have some fun, but mostly I do my gal Linda's bidding. Not terribly successfully, alas. This has been going on for a while now, and while I know that all things come to an end, that does not really offer any comfort. I don't want "all things" to end, even if it means I have to schlep, juice, clean, call, coordinate, drive and what-have-you for my gal until I'm well into my 50s and beyond, exhausting as that premise may be.

A friend on Facebook tells me that her 50s were better than her 40s. This, I hope, is a masterpiece of understatement for yours truly, but only time will tell. And Time, she's a veritable Sphinx right now.

Am looking forward to my birthday, at least. I am having an official Day Off on my day, and will sleep in for the first time in months (February, I think). This constitutes a wonderful, wonderful thing.

Perhaps the key to having one's 50s be better than one's 40s is reduced expectations, eh? Just a thought....

Remiss, I've been remiss.....

Sorry, but this care giving business is a time hog of enormous proportions. Thanks to a blood transfusion, Linda is stronger than she's been in a while, but still I spend a lot of time making juices, meals, appointments and just being here to take notes during her sessions with doctors, nurses, physical therapists and so on.

Barely have time to see my therapist, and that's just wrong!

People occasionally ask when my next comedy show is, and right now, it's never. That's not due to any sacrifice on my part; I haven't been asked, and I sure as [fill-in-the-blank] haven't had time to pursue any new gigs. The Comedy, she can wait.

Patiently, one hopes.

Watched a few episodes of the "Big Gay Comedy Show!" (I think that's the name) last night, and laughed quite a bit. Some of the skits were hilarious, but some were just mean, and I just don't understand the role of mean in comedy. I think mockery needs to be reserved for oneself and one's demographic--making fun of anyone else, especially someone older, fatter, less attractive, and so forth, isn't comedy. Bullying, maybe, supreme snarkiness, but not comedy.

But since mockery of others figured large in about half of the skits, I'm guessing mocking = comedy for at least half of the planet. Maybe more.

But Julie Goldman, who I had the pleasure of performing with almost two years ago (I think) in Boston, was fabulous in every skit. Born to do sketch comedy, that one.

Now, I think it's nap time. Weekends have their perks!

The Patch-a-thon, phase VI

Yesterday, I tried out a new dentist, for my dear ol' reliable dentist is en route to retirement, and has foisted me off on the sweet young "partners" he's brought on board for that purpose.

Not sure that's working for me.

Anyway, I also wanted a dentist who wasn't into mercury fillings, for I've been hearing about how bad they are for one for a while now, but will spare you the details. (This from a gal who watched mercury skitter across her 6th-grade classroom floor with unfettered glee, thanks to a clumsy classmate and a thermometer, but I digress.)

So, I went to a "biological" dentist up in Greenfield. Entered a nice waiting room that was blaring The River (heard Kelsey Flynn as I walked into the office, which I took as a good sign). Picture of the dentist and his dog on the wall (another good sign). There were many delays seeing said dentist (not so good sign), but the staff said this was very unusual, but they had a lot of emergencies. In fact, they said that it felt like a full moon day, for they get a lot more emergency patients on full moon days than any other. (I thought ERs just had that issue, but aparently not.)

But I got to watch a lot of birds and a number of enterprising squirrels at a feeder while I waited, so I was okay. They even gave me a birdwatcher's guide to while away the time. Nice.

Then the dentist came along, and he had a soul patch. That is not something one expects in a dentist, but there it was. Odd. He also referred to Linda as my "friend," even though I referred to her as my partner and my spouse. Slightly irritating. (Not so good sign.)

But he thinks I may have a cavity under a filling and he can fix that, and he had some interesting ideas re Linda's treatment, so I'll be back.

The jury's still out, but let's give them a chance, shall we? And I always like a nice drive up to Greenfield. Almost lived there, but that's a story for another day. Now I must go juice....

If one must fall off the wagon.....

No, I didn't fall off that wagon, but I did fall off the highly restricted food plan I've been on thanks to Linda's latest treatment. It is a vegetarian diet with little variety--and no berries! (Very, very hard to walk by strawberries, which have begun showing up in the store.)

Anyway, the only bread is a salt-free rye bread, which has a sourdough base. It's nutritious. It's no-nonsense. It's something I imagine a Russian army or two would have marched 1,000 miles on. It's just not tasty.

So today, after taking care of three errands in one fell swoop (mailing our taxes, depositing our checks and making copies for Linda), I thought I could use a treat. Thought about the Cup and Top in downtown Florence (where I ran all errands in record time), but the line was ridiculous. So I hopped in the car and drove up to Bread Euphoria, where I not only scored a delicious cinnamon bun, I was hugged by a baker (friend Sarah, to be more specific) and met the partner of another gal named Sarah who I have known casually for about as long as I have lived up here.

Delightful!

Didn't tell Linda about the treat, for I don't think it's fair. Sarah (the baker) said my secret is safe with her, so I'm counting on your discretion (she hasn't read this blog in eons).

Anyway, the only other news is that our pipes sprang another leak. (The first being while we were in Mexico. Lovely, that.) Our regular plumber didn't have an emergency number, so I ended up calling Mr. Rooter.

That worked, actually! (Sure it cost a lot more than our regular plumber, but now I don't have to listen to the drip, drip, drip in the bucket. Worth a lot, that.)

How was last night's show?

It wasn't. Let's just say I am paying the price for staying up past my bedtime--and I didn't even perform. Why? Because I asked not to. Wonder why I would do such an anti-"The Show Must Go On" kind of thing? I direct you to my MySpace page for the details (link to your right).

But the night had its compensations. I got the full 15-minute tour of Jennifer and Scott's home before the show, along with running commentary as to the dubious parentage of the previous owners. Also held hands with Scott and Jennifer for a while, which was odd yet sweet. Never just sat holding hands with friends before for no apparent reason (my hands were held a' plenty when Linda was in surgery, believe me). Just seemed the thing to do.

And yes, this is likely as close to being a "Cougar" as I'll ever be. As if. Wonder if there's a lesbian equivalent? Nothing remotely amusing is coming to me. I'll work on it....

Anyway, today we had a whole-house water filtration system installed, as well as a reverse-osmosis spigot put into the kitchen. All of this wonderful water will be good for our Linda, and for me, actually (no more chlorine drying out my already Saharan skin, for one thing).

Now I must return to my tax prep. Yes, this is getting ridiculous. Am hoping to put an end to it this weekend. Here's hoping!

And here's hoping you're having a much more exciting weekend than I. Though on days such as these, when I'm just dragging my tired carcass around, I'm rather grateful for the absolute lack of excitement on today's menu.

Tomorrow? That'll be another story.

Catching up

Had a great show Thursday night at the Log Cabin. It was a fundraiser for a home for aged horses (what's not to like?) put together by a women's business owners organization. Yes, indeed, their were lesbians galore in career separates ((c) by Jennifer Myszkowski), as well as some dear friends (most from church), also of the lavender persuasion. Those women (and a smattering of men) were there to laugh, bless their hearts, and laugh they did. What fun!

Today, I had the flashback-inducing experience of buying fabric. I haven't set foot in a fabric store since I bought material in the early 1970s for bib overalls--our home ec project that year. I think I bought a red, white and blue striped cotton-poly mix. My goddess, those pants were hideous, but it was the '70s, ya know? Hideous was "in."

Yes, indeed, I was in home ec--they didn't let girls take shop back in those benighted times, and honestly, I probably would have been a train wreck at that, too. (I jammed all the sewing machines in our classroom, to give you an idea of my sewing prowess.)

Anyway, I told the clerk about how long it's been since I've bought fabric, and she found that hilarious. She was very helpful and smiling the whole time she helped me find the material I needed (100% white cotton flannel) and so forth. Her coworker found my predicament funny, too. So nice to bring joy along on what could have been a tedious errand, no?

Why am I buying 100% white cotton flannel? It is a key player in the clay packs that Linda needs for pain management. She has been having pain in her abdomen, and slapping on one of these clay-laden packs makes her feel better. That's as good a reason as any, no?

Now I must stop procrastinating and get my taxes together. Problem is, I first need to update my checking account with the last six months (yes, of 2008) of bank statements.

Yes, I knew I was going to pay for letting that slide, and here it is, time to pay! Hope you're having more fun than I (wouldn't be difficult).