Love those laughing liberals!

Before I get to the joy that was the Laughing Liberally show last night, let me thank my friends Hilary and Amy for being with Linda and me during the ride to Somerville. Because during the drive we were stalked for a creepily long time by a lone man in a big blue family van (it was an odd make, like an Oldsmobile or something). He stayed in the blindspot to the left rear of my car for a while, then sped up and pulled in the lane in front of me, then gestured--thumbs down, then something a little more on the obscene side--then sped up, then he took the same exit as us and "waited" for us.

But I wasn't going to speed up to be harassed by a guy that looked like "Red" on "That '70s Show" and whose politics apparently did not include the First Amendment right to put whatever the hell one wants on one's bumper. No ma'am, I'm not toopid.

Instead, I'm grateful I had Linda and Hilary and Amy in the car, urging me to hang back and let the looney go on ahead. And when he did finally turn off the highway, we agreed to all give him the peace sign.

I was busy driving, so I didn't see if everyone (I mean my lovely New Yorker Linda) did that, but I'm hopeful.

Am still wondering what on my bumper so offended the man: "Bush's Legacy: Leave no child a dime," "I'm for the separation of church and hate," "Noho," "Peace Corps," and last but not least, a rainbow sticker in the shape of a German Shepherd.

Such an inflammatory mix--I should be grateful I don't deal with crazed men in vans every day of my life, eh?

Or maybe it was just the vision of four women having fun in a car, dancing to the bad disco that was on the XM at the moment? Maybe he was an American Taliban, trying to squash fun wherever he roams? Who can tell?

Happily, that little brush with insanity did not spell doom for the rest of the evening: What a show! It went well, very well--it was SOLD OUT, for starters. Goody for Laughing Liberally and Jimmy Tingle!

The one fly in the ointment? The abortion joke (which sounds like an oxymoron anyway, this I am finally beginning to accept). That joke had its last airing last night, and while I thought there was hope for it, I was wrong. Dead air wrong.

If the liberals don't like it, it must go. Bye, bye abortion joke!

Anyway, the rest of my material worked wonders. Though fairly new, the "no cigar" joke continues to earn its place on my "must do" list, and while I flubbed the Adam & Steve joke a little, it still worked. Erectile dysfunction is a no-lose topic (for a lesbian, anyway), and who can't help but enjoy a little homophobe-centered humor? The folks in Somerville were happy to hear it all, Saints be praised.

While we're on the topic of the show, it was great to work for Jimmy Tingle again--what a wonderful guy and host. I was a little nervous when I found out I was the first comic up, but that was before I heard Jimmy opening the show and getting the crowd going--he had them roaring, so I knew the audience had it in them, and they kept it going for me and all the rest of the gang.

And who was the rest of the gang? Myq Kaplan, Scott Blakeman, Lee Camp, and Julie Goldman. With Baratunde Thurston there just to see the show. (Nice bit o' business, that.)

It's probably no surprise that I was particularly happy to work with the phenomenal Julie Goldman, whose enormous reputation is deserved and then some. Am also glad that I met her and talked to her before I saw her perform--I would have probably been more than a little starstruck had that happened. Okay, I would have been a lot starstruck. Awe would have rendered me mute, or only capable of saying something inane and/or stupid--which, of course, I still might have done, only she can say.

All I can say is this: If you haven't seen Julie perform, find a way to do so. During her set, she was swinging between scary/angry intensity and absolute goofiness, she had the people wild with laughter. And as I am a wuss extraordinnaire, I would not have had the nerve to talk to someone who was so obviously on top of her game. Little ol' me? (Yes, I'm a 47 year-old woman, but I still feel a child when it comes to The Comedy.)

Bottom line: What a great group of comics--it was a thrill to be able to perform with them, and to be part of the Laughing Liberally enterprise. Long may it rave!

And what a great way to spend a painful (aren't they all?) birthday. I may be 47, but I can still carry on for a fabulous cause. Woo!

Ah, the calm is descending

Was feeling a little squirrelly about tomorrow's show, but have practiced a slightly shortened version the past day that seems to be ending well within my limit. As I tend to forget at least one section of my set when nervous, which I expect to be tomorrow night, I am confident I will not be overstaying my welcome at The House of Tingle.

Now, what will actually happen remains to be seen--but unlike some comics in The Comedy, I am not one to go on and on.

Please goddess, don't let me start doing that tomorrow night.

On other fronts, my manager and coworkers presented me with a birthday cake today. It was an industrial-strength chocolate cake the size of a small building, and it was fabulous. Had one slice before I was going to eat lunch, and that was the end of lunch--one slice kept me going all afternoon. THAT's a cake!

Good grief!

The Laughing Liberally show is in two days, and I have been driving myself a little crazy trying to decide which bits must be included in my 7-10 minute set.

The usual intro?
Check.

The growing up drunk and hetero bit?
Check.

The Peace Corps/maybe Mr. Right's ------ bit?
Check.

The more of a threat to the institute of marriage bit?
Check.

The glad I was a drunk straight girl back when birth control was just a prescription bit?
Check.

But then, I get all confused.

Adam & Steve? Commitment commemorative collection? Give me equality or give me a G--damned deduction? Close but no cigar?

I'd need 15 minutes to do them all, so I have to choose. And my choices have changed each day this week.

Right now, right this minute, I'm opting for ditching Adam & Steve, but keeping the tax deduction and close, but no cigar item.

But I love Adam & Steve so. It just takes too darn long. And the commitment commemorative collection? That takes a while, too. ALAS!

At least I am certain of my close: Homophobia as a force for good....

As for the middle bits, I'm going to have to keep fussing, and pray for clarity when my time comes.

What else is a comic to do? AIEEEEE!

Giving notice

Told my former full-time and now part-time publisher that we're through as of next month. I have to say, after our chat, I felt like a million bucks.

That's a little ironic, for the result of this early-than-planned departure will not entail financial security of the million-dollar variety--quite the opposite.

But, the extra job on top of a full-time job and The Comedy was too much for me and my gal. We all have only a limited number of hours in a day, and the older I get, the more I realize I need to spend my hours wisely. And with all that they wanted for what they paid, the publisher is just not worth my while.

The Comedy will be my secondary focus, and while the pay is laughable indeed, it's rewarding in a way the publisher could never be.

Hooray for COMEDY!

Making up for lost posts...

My mother-in-law equivalent stayed with us from Monday to Saturday, and I must say, all went remarkably well. Linda took the week off to squire her mother about town, and they found ways to entertain themselves every day. In fact, they had a grand time of it--so grand, they knocked themselves out. By mid-week, naps were added to each day's itinerary.

Thursday night after work I came home to a quiet house--at 6:00! Even the dogs were napping, for pity's sake.

My favorite vision was to return home after work to find them playing dominoes. Dominoes! Here's what I learned: What do you do with a 79-year-old woman when you've run out of ideas? Play dominoes. Fun for the entire family!

Anyway, all didn't go completely smooth, as you can imagine. The trip to Long Island was a little fraught, as we got lost in Bridgeport, CT trying to find the ferry to Port Jefferson, L.I. Bridgeport roads are in a state of permanent construction, in my experience, and this construction seems to require that most helpful signs are removed. Any helpful signage that remains gets placed as far from a driver's range of vision as to be virtually useless.

The best example of the Bridgeport approach to signage? That was on the return trip home. We had followed two signs for "95 North" once we got off the ferry, only to see no other guidance as to where to turn. You know why? Because the last sign for the turn to "95 North" was placed on the ramp leading to said highway--one could only see it once one had driven onto the ramp. George Orwell would be so proud...

But hey--though we had a scuffle or two, we survived. And Linda's mother made it to her destination safe and sound, leaving only the scent of mothballs behind (you have no idea). Happy trails to you!

After we bid Linda's mother a fond farewell, we had many hours to kill until our ferry reservation. Linda had the wonderful idea that we take a nice side trip to Cherry Grove on Fire Island (where the lesbians are, though gay boys are certainly there in number, too). The day was hazy, but it was marvelous to hear and see the ocean, and watch all those lovely gay boys and girls frolic in the sand. Made us a little wistful--we have each spent many summer days there during our NYC days (separately and together) and we realized there's no place like it for the likes of us. Sigh.

We may have to return, even if our beach bunny days are far behind us. We shall see....

Lastly, I have an idea for a new bit floating around in my noggin', based on my attempt to find compassion in my heart for the homophobic among us. It's based on my own experience as a drunk lass, which is a source for much of my material, don't you know.

What I 'm working on: The poor homophobe who, realizing he's going to be late for his terrible job at the big box store (which he took after the factory in town moved operations to India) first wakes up and says, "Damn homos!"

He then hops on his bike, which he's riding because his truck is broken down. His son usually fixes it for him, but he's been re-deployed to Iraq for the third time, and isn't around. The bike gets a flat tire, and the poor homophobe says, "Damn homos!"

He finally gets to work, and is called in to an employee meeting, where they announce that because of rising health care costs, employees are going to pay hundreds more for their insurance. The homophobe's response? You got it: "Damn homos!"

What could this possibly remind me of? When I was living in Chicago. I moved there right after graduation, and my drinking took off big-time there. A coworker got me started on hard liquor after she noticed I was drinking beer--"No more college drinks for you, young lady--you're in the city now!"

Anyway, I came home one night from work, tired to the core. As was often the case, I had gone into work hungover, and had made a solemn promise to myself that I was going to go to bed early that night, to try to repair and restore my poor carcass from the excesses of the night before.

Problem was, I came home and discovered an almost-full bottle of vodka in my kitchen.

Well, if you know anything about alcoholics, you can guess what happened. Or maybe not.

Suddenly, it was morning, and I woke up with an empty bottle of vodka on my nightstand and a strange man in my bed.

My first thought? "Damn vodka!" Nope. "Damn Chicago!"

I moved to New York City not terribly long after that.

So that's my story. Is it funny? Tragic? Tragi-comic? Time will tell.

Because nothing says service...

Like a complete brush-off. And a $6.00 processing fee.

Dear Ms. Podolske:
Thank you for contacting us. We do not provide duplicate receipts. If you used your CVS Extra Care card when you made your purchases, you may request your Flexible Spending Account Report. This report is currently not available on line. Please contact our Customer Care Department at 1-800-746-7287 for this information.

You may also request your patient prescription history from the pharmacy in which you have made your purchases. They keep information for up to one year. If you are searching beyond one year please contact our Privacy Office at 1-800-287-2414. A $6.00 processing fee will be incurred for this service.

Sincerely,
[Fabricated handle #3,214]
Customer Relations Representative

Laughing Liberally Boston: It's a date. And time.

Just so you know, I found out today that I will be performing in the early show of Laughing Liberally: Boston on Saturday, June 24 @ 7:30 p.m. To find details on the show and the whereabouts of Jimmy Tingle's Off Broadway, go here.

The beauty part, except for it being a liberal show (almost as good as a gay/lesbian recovery show, as far as audience support for yours truly), is that the 24th is my birthday.

I was going to go to Jacob's Pillow and see "Ballet Russes" again, but as birthday events go, a liberal show at Jimmy Tingle's--you can't beat it with a stick.

Nor should you.

On other fronts, am I the only person put off by those new TD Waterhouse commercials that say that "independence" is the prevailing trait of a successful investor?

Oh really? I thought it was "inside information." THAT's the American way--ain't it?

Yes, it's time to go to bed. My mother-in-law equivalent visits for a week, starting tomorrow.

What else can I say?

My biggest deal...by/so far

This is being circulated by the Massachusetts Democratic Party.

In the immortal words of my comedy buddy Jennifer, "Holy crap."

What we have here....

First, the good news. My name is on the Laughing Liberally website again--they have me down for the Boston show. Don't have the details as to exactly when I will be performing later this month, but this definitely qualifies as progress!

Now, the bad news: As if you didn't know, communication is a dying art. That's been the theme of the past few days around here, anyway.

Yesterday, we received a proposal for a reno on our back porch. It appeared to have been drafted by someone else besides the nice men we spoke to--in fact, we're wondering if the nice men we spoke to had any input into the proposal at all.

The one theme of our vision for the back porch we repeated over and over again: We don't want to have big, heavy windows that we have to remove each spring, we want windows that open out or sliders we can open and close with ease. (We're planning to be in the house until we're candidates for the Lesbian Ladies' Home, see, and are already a little challenged in the upper body region.)

But the proposal? It consisted of a multitude of doors that had windows in them--big, heavy windows, from the looks of things--that had to be removed if one wanted ventilation instead.

Shortly after that disappointing bit o' business, I opened the envelope that was supposed to contain the missing nails from the pulls we recently bought for our new, fabulous built-ins. Silly Ann! There were no nails in the pouch from the manufacturer, no nails at all--instead, perhaps appropriately, there were screws. Multitudes of screws--useless, no-need-for-'em screws.

Last but not least, today, I went to CVS to get a copy of a receipt. That's not entirely accurate. Actually, I needed a legible copy of an existing receipt. I keep my receipts for prescriptions, for I have one of those marvelous labor- and money-saving devices called FSA (simply put, it's an account for medical expenses). Problem is, the company that is supposed to pay for my medical expenses occasionally questions a charge, even when it's for the same amount as other charges that it allows to sail right through.

Anyway, I had the receipt, but one would need an atomic microscope to read it--though it's been less than three months since I secured this puppy, it had already faded to the point of uselessness. And yes, a copy would be an exercise in futility (tried that, too).

So was going to CVS for a legible receipt. They don't do that, especially--get this--for receipts that old.

Less than three months is old?

And after imparting that insanity, the pharmacy clerk instructed me to go to the front of the store to talk to the manager.

You guessed it: The manager wasn't in, and wasn't going to be in until tomorrow.

Yeah, I'm thinking about taking my four monthly prescriptions elsewhere....

And yes, I have my crankypants on, sorry. How are you doing?

A good, solid show--and a new bit!

Had a good Saturday night at the Comedy Studio, I'm happy to report. Wasn't the best of all time, but it sure beat the heck out of those many weeknights when the audience seemed overpopulated by members of the We Ain't Gonna Laugh, You Can't Make Us club.

The audience took a little while to warm up to me, but I won them over with the new "no cigar" joke--the hand gesture sealed the deal, according to my comedy buddy Jennifer. Have been thinking of things to hang onto this comedy hook, and I think I may have a new bit o' business on those poor, misguided homophobes in my comedy toolkit soon.

Just in time for the Laughing Liberally Boston show--if, indeed, that comes to pass. I hope it does, of course, but am taking a decided we shall see attitude.....

Now, I must get my application together for the Boston Comedy & Movie Festival. May be an exercise in futility (it's a definite boys' club--and a straight, white boys club at that, for the most part), but I feel that as a regular in the Boston area I have the right to try.

Yeah, I'm gullible that way. Oh well, there are worst ways to blow $35--believe me, I know....

Ten Years?!

Ten years.

As of May 29, we've lived in this area for 10 years.

That is a little hard to fathom, I must say.

It's been a good 10 years overall, really and truly--but does this area feel like "home"?

Not yet.

(I lived in NYC 10 years, so have a point of reference. I actually felt at home there, I did. Until I didn't, that is.)

But this is where the liberals live, so stay we must. For all its faults and foibles, this is one of the safest places for people like me to live, so stay I will. Maybe I'll just get the hang of it later rather than sooner, like every other aspect of my life....

Another thought on the "Faggot!" business

If I am ever presented with a homophobe dumb enough to call me "Faggot!," I hope I have the presence of mind to remember this retort: "Close, but no cigar"--I would say this while gesturing to my nether regions.

Get it?

Well, fine. See if I share anything fledgling comic material with you again.

On other fronts, we spent a couple of days at our cottage, which it looks like we won't be selling for a while. The economy that W (as in "What were you thinking?!") has wrought has everyone all afraid to commit--to real estate, that is. Especially real estate that one has to drive a ways to get to, unless one lives up around here already.

Plus, the fact that said cottage is in an area that one realtor charitably described as a "mixed bag" doesn't help. So, we just have a few yokels mixed in with the Volvo wagons and Lexus SUVs--I rather enjoy the old school "seat belts are a Commie plot" townie contingent. They remind me of the folks I grew up with, even if that has a wicked downside (I know how nasty they can get when drunk, so I give them wide berth).

They were there first, true--and we "out-of-towners" are bringing change of an often unwelcome (some might say controlling to the nth degree) variety. But then, I don't drive out there to listen to and smell ATVs roaring through the community while I'm out on our little deck, either. And I'm not much for overflowing dumpsters as a decorative accent.

But these are minor quibbles. So, we're stuck with the cottage for a while. There are worse things, this I know...

Yup, there's more than a little animus between the year-round and the summer populations in the Berkshires. Just as there's more than a little animus between Smith students and the townies (of which I am one) in Northampton.

I am grateful for the culture and the money the school brings to town, certainly. Probably wouldn't be living here without it. However, I will not miss the crowds, the cars, and the death-defying pedestrian antics that accrue to this population in the least. And that includes the alumni. Last week, an alumna of a certain age stopped her car on Elm Street--in the middle of the road, not the side--to get out and talk to a woman who I'm guessing was a classmate back in the day. She acted as though she was on a private lane, perhaps her own driveway--not a public thoroughfare.

She did eventually get back into her car, but not before she invited said woman a ride to the quad--a whopping, oh, two blocks away.

Lazy and privileged--that's almost as good a combination as the homophobia and imprecise speech noted earlier.

Lest I forget, it is Memorial Day, and my sister spent part of the weekend planting flowers (or, more likely, plopping in some plastic ones) on the grandparents' graves in my home town (the location of the former 1559 Pierce Avenue). She probably stopped by to visit mom and dad (who are in a mausoleum, so flowers are verboten), too. Sigh.

Only dad was a veteran, but they're all missed. And not just today.

Am glad the weekend is nigh...

This has been a WEEK, I tell you. Met the second job's deadline (whew!) and was offered a spot in the Laughing Liberally show in Boston next month (details to come). And I fought off a cold (which might have just been a serious sinus reaction to ALL THE DAMN GRASS).

I'm allergic, okay? So while I welcome spring, there are consequences. This time of year, my nasal passages feel as though they're lined with steel wool, and I always know where my next tissue is coming from. Anything less wouldn't be prudent.

On the good news side, I also wrote a very satisfying letter to my elected officials, for apparently of all the burning issues threatening our dear country right now, keeping carpet munchers and fudge packers from marrying each other is #1 on the MUST STOP THEM IMMEDIATELY list for many people. A minority of people, if the polls are right, but what a persuasive bunch of puddin'heads. They've got Congress working on an amendment to the Constitution as we speak, even though you would think they'd have their hands full with immigration "reform," skyrocketing oil and health care costs, the war in Iraq, the threat of war with Iran, and protecting the rights of small-potatoes congressmen from having their offices searched by the FBI (a case of honor among thieves if I ever saw one).

Sigh.

While on the topic of puddin'heads, there was a hate crime in Northampton recently in which vandals scratched "FAG" into the hood of a lesbian couple's car.

Now really--are these people TRYING to look extra STUPID? Bigotry is dumb to begin with, but scratching "FAG" in the hood of a lesbian couple's car is rather like calling an Irishman a "WOP," a Jew a "MICK" and an Italian a "KIKE," if you get my drift. (More of an avalanche--sorry, I was on a roll.)

Such words are insults and hateful, true, but addressed TO THE WRONG MINORITY GROUP? They're just CONFUSING. Or perhaps MORONIC.

So, homophobes, please do me a favor: If you're going to engage in hate speech, try to be a little less D-U-M-B about it, okay? I'll make it easy for you: Girls = dykes; boys = fags. Got it?

Bigotry and imprecise speech--what a knicker-twisting combo!

Oh, and those of you who aren't of the homophobic persuasion (and you are legion, bless you) will love this. The neighbors of the lesbian and her partner who endured the idiotic hate crime? A bunch of them put rainbow flags up on their porches, as a sign of solidarity.

Goddess, I love this town....

Free Spirits? Seemed a bit shackled...

Almost forgot to mention I saw a documentary last night called "Free Spirits." It was the story of a commune in 70s and 80s in the Greenfield area, led by a charismatic narcissist with spiritual tendencies who devolved into a paranoid and grandiose drunk and cokehead.

Loved the shot of him exiting his Rolls Royce across from Wilson's department store, entourage in tow. Now that was worth the price of admission!

Too bad the guy never got to tell his story in a church basement--it would have been entertaining as hell.

Heard in retrospect from people who were around him back in the day as well as from the man himself (who denied having any problem with drugs....yeah, right, buddy), it was sad. He died of cancer in his early 50s, a wreck of a man with little but illusion left.

What a shame.

"Let's do the time warp again!"

That song is in my head, as I contemplate how am I going to meet my next work-in-addition-to-work deadline. It has been a week, yet write I must. Early and often...

Just got word that the publication I'm writing for is doing terribly, so perhaps I will not be laboring for long.

(I've been having this fantasy for a while, now, haven't I? For pity's sake!)

Now, I must collect my thoughts. And not my thoughts about how I would love to make a good enough living to have ONE job....

And not my thoughts about how I am old enough to have a sister who is retiring. Next month!

In a word: Yikes!

Erin Judge presents...

Well, Saturday night was my high water mark for the weekend, if you'll excuse the expression (we're in the midst of monsoon season, so such expressions are much in the news). Last night's show at The Studio was all comics and two audience. Two audience members who were friends of Jennifer Myszkowski--well a friend and the friend's mother, to be precise.

So, it was one of those nights. Not terrible, but decidedly so-so.

A highlight? Emcee Erin Judge had a young comic with long blonde hair pretend to be me (in my drunk straight girl days) after my set. She stood next to Erin glassy-eyed with a scorpion bowl (a very large, potent drink that is typically served with two straws. Hah!).

That was the unnerving part--I have long thought that the old Ann Podolske would just love a scorpion bowl. Or two. With one straw, naturally.

Thank goddess she's not around any more!

So, they're making fun of me at The Studio. That's some kind of pathetic progress, eh?

(No need to answer that.)

A long drive that paid off....

The Comedy in this part of the country entails driving like you wouldn't believe--or maybe you would, as I've already noted that I drove 4,000 miles last year in pursuit of this elusive art form.

And some days, you drive for hours only to have the sort of show that makes you wonder why you couldn't enjoy knitting or scrapbook design, something anonymous and quietly satisfying.

But other days, you drive for hours and have the sort of show that makes you wonder why you don't do Comedy every day of your life. I had such a show last night, and I'm savoring it while I can.

For tonight, I'm off to The Studio in Cambridge, where one can be a hero one night, a zero the next. Last time I was there, I was decidedly on the zero side of the spectrum, and I'm hoping last night's luck will hold tonight.

But I know The Comedy is a fickle creature, so am just hoping I enjoy the drive. I know I will enjoy not driving--Jennifer is, bless her Comedy Buddy heart. I drove to the show alone last night, and if it wasn't for my new XM radio, I would have lost my mind.

Here's hoping.....

Laughing Liberally Lab: Lessons Learned

Well, I don't know if there were any lessons learned last night in NYC, but one gets ones alliteration on, it's hard to stop.

The Lab is, in essence, an open mic with a liberal twist. And as such, the crowd was 90% young comics, 10% middle-aged (and older) friends of Ann Podolske.

It wasn't bad, really--my set went pretty well (but for forgetting a section on gay marriage), but it wasn't an EVENT, you know what I mean?

What did I expect? I dunno--more non-comedians than my close friends from the old days, perhaps?

Not that I wasn't eternally grateful for them--it was wonderful to see them, and they were all very happy to see me. (I'm often surprised by this, being--how shall I put this?--a woman with a past. Someday, perhaps by the 2010s, I'll get over this.)

And you know--if I hadn't made the trip, I would have wondered, "What would have happened if I had gone to the Laughing Liberally Lab?"

As it is, I don't know the answer for what will happen because I did, except this: I saw friends, I made them laugh, and I got to wander around NYC for a while.

Not bad, not bad at all. Now, I must go walk the dogs (who I missed terribly).

Comedy, comedy, and more comedy!!!

Am gearing up to return to the workaday world tomorrow, which is almost a pleasant prospect. Don't worry, this is not a budding workaholic talking--I am feeling tremendously rested, for one thing; for another, the coming week features shows galore. I will be performing Wednesday night at the Laughing Liberally Lab in NYC, Saturday at La Trattoria in Canton, CT and Sunday at The Comedy Studio in Cambridge, MA--my goddess, this is a week for The Comedy!

After this week, however, the pickin's become slim--Saharan, practically. I appear to be in a comedy lull, and am unsure how to get myself in circulation. Must follow up on a lead, as well as hope something comes of my Wednesday gig--a return engagement, at the very least.

We shall see....

Speaking of seeing, my Linda took some wonderful photos of our vacation, and I hope to get them up soon. Although considering what the week holds, soon may be a relative term....

Back from the land of my foremothers and fathers

We arrived safely home from our vacation to Wisconsin--well, semi-vacation, if one is to be exact about it. We were there to see family and friends, true, but we also were there to see what was going on with my Aunt B--she's been losing weight and having trouble breathing for months now, and the doctors were finally going to come up with a diagnosis this week.

As I already mentioned, the three most likely explanations for her condition included the Big C, which is cancer for those of you who have been spared that particular euphemism. So, while we were there to visit, we were also there to worry with them.

Does that constitute a holiday? Perhaps...as it turned out.

The diagnosis? As my Uncle R said the moment they arrived from the doctor, "It isn't cancer." Happy day!

Of course, what she does have isn't a walk in the park, either. It's called unusual interstitial pneumonia, and from what little I can find on the Internet (and make any sense of--it appears to only be discussed in dense medical journals that aren't meant to be deciphered by the likes of me), it can be a wily beast to treat.

But it beats lung cancer, this I know.

Now, I must go to PACE to practice my "Liberal" set for next week that I was supposed to write on holiday....which I didn't....but who cares? My Aunt B has a treatable disease! WOO!