Cherry on top, reporting for duty

I'm just back from a night at the hospital, thanks to chest pains that started yesterday morning.

Seems I have a blood clot on top of everything else, and now will be taking blood thinners for the foreseeable.

Just like my papa!

Ain't tradition grand?

Seriously, between having cancer and being flat on my back for a week, I was a prime candidate for such nonsense.

The good news is I will be heading back to Boston to have my third treatment tomorrow.

Onward and upward, or something.

There's no place like home....

Have been back since late yesterday afternoon, and my, it is wonderful to be in my little ranch in Lesbianville. Woke up in the middle of last night disoriented to be in such a quiet, dark room, and then my dear Bombshell began snoring, and all was well.

Haven't had a chance to post, I'm happy to report, for I have been swept up in the attention of a wonderful array of women with short hair cuts and sensible shoes. Seriously, I have been blessed with a generous array of friends and church family who are watching over me something fierce.

It's a relief, for I had some "helpful" people suggest to me after Linda died that I should be careful, for caregivers often get ill once their work is done. Don't know what I was really supposed to do with that intel--not run out and try to get sick, as I had, uh, planned?--but such caveats left me wondering, "Well, if I do get sick, now that Linda's gone, who is going to take care of me?"

I needn't have worried. There's no end of dear hearts and gentle people waiting to help.

All things considered, I am one lucky gal.

In fact, offers of help are coming even farther afield. My cousin Mary offered to come out of retirement in the Carolinas (or is it Georgia?--how embarrassing, I don't even know) to tend to yours truly, which was sweet. She's a rip, and it would be a hoot to see her, but I do feel I'm covered but good with my local family.

What Mary also did, however, was offer what is without a doubt my favorite assessment of my situation. So, out of 100s of entries, the winner of the "How Would You Describe the Latest Development in Ann Podolske's Life?" contest is:

"You have had an extremely crummy year and this illness must seem like whipped cream on a shit sundae."

Hilarious! And it has the added kick for me of being a saying that was a favorite in my North Woods Wisconsin hometown many years ago. (The dairy reference being key.)

Just please, God, don't let there be any cherry on top.

Happy Valentine's Day from me and my blond shadow, A

Update from a small room in a big building

Well, I learned something today that was, well, daunting. If you are of a delicate nature, you may not want to read the next line or two. My bone marrow biopsy showed 90% cancer cells.

90%?! And I thought I had the flu?!!

Yes, we should all be grateful I am a comic and communicator, not a member of the medical profession.

But, the dear doctors are all convinced there are ways of turning this terrible trend around, and giving my bone marrow the room it needs to make all the very important things my carcass needs to keep on keepin' on. They can't cure this, however, but these medicines can send the bad guys scampering off to an undisclosed location (I do find it easy to imagine they're sharing space with Dick Cheney, I do).

So, with this news, I found myself asking a particularly wonderful doctor what this all means. I said I realize one can't say anything for certain, but I'm guessing I'm in a place where it wouldn't be wise to plan on blowing my retirement accounts in the next two years.

He smiled and agreed, bless him, but also said something to the effect that I shouldn't deny myself, either.

Sounds like marching orders to me: Have fun, Padlocked!! (Spelling courtesy of Microsoft.)

So, that's the plan. I am supposedly heading home tomorrow after my second chemo (please don't ask when; things happen on their own schedule here, and I'll only believe I'm leaving when I feel the cool Boston air on my neck as I step out of the building).

So, here's hoping my next missive comes from my dear home, with my dear Bombshell snoring contentedly at my feet. Thank you so much for the marvelous messages and support--hope to be having fun with you very, very soon.

Love from the Land o' Open Johnnies, Ann

Just when you thought things couldn't get any more interesting.....

Well, the stomach flu that I couldn't completely shake is multiple myeloma, people.



Really?! Really.



I've been told not to look at the web for information, and hope you'll do the same. For most of it offers far more dire predictions for the likes of me than likely reflect reality.



What one doctor said gives me the most hope. He said that while Linda may have had about 18 months, there is a very good chance I'll have 18 years--maybe more.



So, that's not so terrible, is it?

I didn't think so, either.

Oh, and if today's treatment doesn't work, there are many more FDA-approved treatments in the ready, and more in the research pipeline.

One last bit of optimistic business. The premier research and treatment facility for multiple myeloma? I'm sitting in it.

So, here's to success, and to me being a going concern for a great while longer.

All good from the land of open johnnies, Ann

Feeling a bit less oogly

Still, I stayed home today, as I know the best way to jinx recovery from something is to try to do too much the moment you feel better.

Good thing, for the plumbing guys found a replacement for the cracked pan and were able to come by right away and install it.

It looks as though the small lake around the furnace is receding, which is the best thing that has happened all week.

That and my feeling a little more humanoid, of course.

Who would think this combination of events would count as great news?

Understanding is a [fill-in-the-blank]

Well, at least the sort of understanding I've gained this week. I now have first-hand knowledge of what it is like to feel nausea for a number of days. Linda endured waves of nausea for weeks, perhaps months, and I know a little better how just awful her life must have been for a very long time. It is knowledge I would rather not have, mind you, for what is there to be done? I am a wuss, this I know, but to contemplate such expanses of time feeling this lousy or worse? Makes me very, very sad for my Sweetie.

Otherwise, what is there to report? Not much, I'm sorry to say. The furnace is still leaking, though the dear company was prompt with its billing for the "repair." They will be back with some other options, per the nice lady at the shop. In my experience, most tradespeople have a nice lady answering the phone on behalf of the guys in the shop. I think they do that in part because (sexism alert) women listen better, and to defuse angry customers who were gearing up to give one of the repair guys an earful. I know my father was not above having me answer the phone when he thought a mad customer was calling--who is going to yell at an 8-year-old girl? Actually, you'd be surprised.

Or would you?

Anyway, I digress. Seems what news I have is not exactly pleasant, so perhaps I should just go to bed. Again. (I've had to nap more than once today.)

Hope you are all well, and all of your major household systems are behaving themselves. These are not small things, apparently.

Another HAC attack?

Well, two guys from the place that installed our furnace in 2003 (October, to be precise) came by on Tuesday. They spent a very long time trying to figure out what was wrong, and came to the conclusion that a tray--maybe drip pan is more accurate--that is supposed to collect the water created by the unit has cracks in it. Why? Because "somebody who worked on it" likely cracked it--"It's real easy to do"--and the vibration of the furnace probably made it worse.

Since only people from their company have worked on our furnace, I found the "somebody" irritatingly evasive. They then proceeded to declare the furnace "cheap," which, if memory serves, is not how the man from this same company referred to it when he sold this supposedly high efficiency furnace to us back in the earlier part of the decade. Not for a bargain price, certainly. I recall our getting three bids, and theirs was right in the middle.

Harrumph number 2.

Last but not least, they said that they are going to try to find a new drip pan for me, but aren't sure one will still be available. It was such a cheap furnace, after all. To patch it, they put about a gallon (or so it smelled) of glue on it to fill in the gaps. Sheesh!

I was close to a full boil about an hour after these guys left, for after thinking about it a little while, I figured out that what they told me was, in essence: (1) the furnace they sold me seven years ago is junk, (2) they aren't interested in taking any hint of responsibility for that or the cracks "somebody" put in it, and (3) if they can't find a pan, well....

Since when is seven years the life span of a furnace?!

If, heaven forbid, a pan cannot be found (or fabricated--thanks for the hot tip, Jennifer), I will be spending a chunk of Linda's insurance money on a new furnace.

Bummer.

Of course, I won't buy it at the place that sold me the piece o' crap in '03. Oh no.

So, if anyone has any strong opinions on the best forced hot air furnaces available in our humble corner of the Commonwealth, do tell. (More tips on hot water heaters are welcome, too.)

On other fronts, I just finished watching "Whip It," the Drew Barrymore film glorifying women's roller derby. I found it a delightful Girl Power romp with some good dialogue, punk derivative eye candy (Juliette Lewis was particularly fierce) and Marcia Gay Harden (who I love in just about anything).

Also decided to order "Linda's" book through CaringBridge. It will include all journal entries, comments and pictures. Was a little shocked at the cost ($175), but figured it was worth it. This format will be a lot easier to peruse than a web site, certainly. And I will keep this book for the rest of my life.

Here's hoping that's a good long time.

Otherwise, it's just cold. Damn cold. Shwea lifting her paw ever-so-pathetically after a few minutes outside cold. Had plans to go out and about later this afternoon, but thought about it and decided this was a day to hunker. And to be grateful that I and my snoring mass o' fur have a roof over our heads and a working (for now) furnace. Here's hoping some day all people can say the same, eh?

Things are looking slightly upish

Am very surprised to report that the snow removal person who I gladly parted ways with called up after he picked up his payment to smooth things over. He wanted to talk about taking another go at my driveway and walk, and I was completely stymied as to the right response. I'm all for second (third, fourth and beyond) chances, but there was something so off-putting about his work and his reaction to my view of it, I haven't been able to get up the gumption to call him back.

Gumption has been a rare and wonderful thing these days where my own best interests are concerned, so I'm guessing I just don't have it in me to try, try again on behalf of someone else.

Perhaps the right thing to do is to not call him back. I feel that he just isn't a fit for my humble home. As I wrote on the note that accompanied his payment, "Enclosed is your first and last payment, which is probably all for the best for both our sakes."

I think that about sums it up. Besides, I have the another snow remover, one who comes highly recommended by a woman at church, coming by to check out the house. So, here's hoping.

On other fronts, the toilet that resisted repair is now behaving itself, and my favorite home inspector of all time, "Uncle Gordon," came by and gave me a helpful report on the house. Gordon saved Linda and me from any number of bum houses, and is a certified character to boot. When he came by on Saturday, he proudly referred to himself as a Cranky Yankee.

But he's a Cranky Yankee with a soft center, which means he's my favorite type of person (crusty on the outside with a creampuff center). I had him over to provide me with a proper "to do" list for the house, which, for obvious reasons, had been left to its own devices for the past couple of years, and could use some work.

There was good news. I should be able to keep the old siding going for as long as I live here, as long as I give it a proper scrape and patch and paint in the spring and on a regular basis thereafter. Also, the roof may not need to be replaced after all, though I may want to do it if there's only one layer of shingles (if there are two, it's best to drag it out as long as possible, as that's when the job gets expensive).

There was some not-so-good news. I need to get some topsoil and regrade portions of the outside of the house, so the water heads away from the foundation, not toward it. Also, my hot water heater is getting to the age when it could fail spectacularly, and I would be well advised to get a new one sooner rather than later.

And there was some sorta good, sorta not-so-great news. I have had water in the basement near my furnace that was a mystery to me. While Gordon thought at first it was the hot water heater, that wasn't what my handyman thought after doing his own investigation. The handyman thought I had water coming up from under the house, and would need to take some extraordinary (read: expensive) steps to get that to stop.

Gordon, bless him, decided to snoop around inside the furnace, which is a high-efficiency forced hot air type, that due to how it works, creates water. This water is supposed to go down a tube and into a pump that sends it on its merry way, but that apparently hasn't been happening. Instead, water has been dripping down inside of the furnace, and going to the floor, where it has been collecting and occasionally making a mess.

So, my furnace isn't working, but I don't need to have the yard dug up to waterproof the whole house. Happy day!

Never accept never--whether you're a person of color or queer as a $3 bill

Thank you, Dr. King (letter from a Birmingham jail excerpt in honor of today's holiday):

"We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct action campaign that was 'well timed' in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years now I have heard the word 'Wait!' It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This 'Wait' has almost always meant 'Never.' We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that 'justice too long delayed is justice denied.'"

Rant Alert: Hooray for the half-assed!

Thought I had found just about the perfect person to clear the snow from my driveway and walk. He used a snow throw instead of a truck with a plow, so I didn't have to worry about Linda's carefully-tended yard getting chewed up. He was older-sounding (I never met the man), so assumed he was less likely to flake out (if you'll pardon the expression in this context). And since he did this for a lot of people on a neighboring street (at least that's what he said), I figured he did okay work.

Well, today was his first chance to strut his stuff, and alas, he didn't strut--he stumbled. In fact, he did the sort of half-assed job I'd expect out of a distracted teenager, and that may be an insult to distracted teenagers everywhere. (Sorry, kids.)

Worse, he was offended when I told him what I thought of his work when he called to arrange payment. Somehow, the onus was on me to let him know sooner that he didn't do a proper job.

That sort of thinking makes me crazy. I've come across it before. There are an unfortunate number of people who seem to do as little work as they think they can get away with (he told me he was in a hurry, after all), then leave it to the customer to call them on it if they're not happy. No call, no problem--they bank on people being too busy and/or timid to follow up--and the result is full pay for a job sloppily done.

Hooray for the half-assed!

It certainly didn't help that he huffed ("Well, if only you had called me, I would have come back") and he puffed ("I'd say the job was 99.9% done") and he blew me off, as though I had the problem ("If this is how you're going to be, I'm taking you off my list").

Sigh. Alas, I feel like such a relic when I run up against a member of the Half-Assed Club (HAC). I don't think I'm particularly difficult, but I do have this thing called a work ethic. I would have been embarrassed to have presented the job he did as "done."

Bottom line: If a person has to shovel for 20-30 minutes after you leave, you didn't 99.9% finish, for pity's sake.

Sorry, I just had to get that off my chest, such as it is.

The good news is I have one less HAC to contend with, but now I don't have someone to remove snow. This is not a big deal now, but it will be when I go on vacation for two weeks, and can't do it so the house/pet sitter can tend Shwea.

So, friends, if you or anybody you know could use some extra money (I was going to pay the HAC member $35 per visit), have them get in touch with me.

Here's to being HAC-free for the foreseeable, A

Oil can

Spent the evening just thinking about looking at bathing suits at Lands' End. But I couldn't actually look. Not yet.

Need to be rested, and maybe I also need to have exercised in some way/shape/form before I do it.

Not that I need a little exercise. I need a lot of exercise.

I have, in the parlance, "let myself go." Or, as I've begun saying, "I have expanded my horizons to an alarming degree." Right now, my horizons are on par with those of the Central Plains--a vast expanse with no end in sight, for those geography-challenged among you.

Of course, it's no surprise that this has happened. As you know, I've been through a rough patch lately. And "lately" is since April of 2008, when my gal was diagnosed.

Like far too many people, when the going gets rough, my people get eating.

Not that I overate the whole time, mind you. For most of this time, I ate and exercised I as usually have, mostly. And for part of this patch, I followed a strict food regimen with Linda that consisted of vegetables (mostly carrots and potatoes), flax oil and nonfat yogurt. While that diet kept the weight off, it also turned me an alarming shade of orange.

Looking back, I don't think I really put the feedbag on until a few months before Linda died. And I've kept it on until now.

Not really a good idea, this I know. One downside is that I've become increasingly creaky. I've learned that my carcass needs to move around on a regular basis or I start feeling like the Tin Man when we first meet him in "The Wizard of Oz." After a two-hour meeting at work this morning, a coworker asked me if I was limping, and I had to admit I probably was. After I walk a while I smooth out, but if I've been sitting for a while, it's not pretty.

You should see me first thing in the morning! Come to think of it, you shouldn't.

And no, walking the Bombshell doesn't cut it. She doesn't walk, really. She meanders. And a good meander may be wonderful for contemplation, but it's not exercise.

So, I am going to try to get moving again. Maybe, just maybe, my creakiness will abide. Maybe I'll also be able to look for a swimsuit. We'll see....

See that big juicer down there? It's SOLD!

My dear friend and coworker Jennifer just sold that enormous, expensive and absolutely insanely industrial stainless steel juicer on my behalf. Hooray!!

Jennifer sold it to a nice couple who were interested in Gerson Therapy, even though she also told them the fate of the original owner of said juicer (someone with quite a vested interest in the success of Gerson Therapy, to put it mildly).

To each his/her own, eh?

What a relief! Happy day!

2010 is looking pretty darn good already, wouldn't you say?

Ready as I'll ever be for 2010

Spent the long weekend on retreat with a great bunch of gay, lesbian, trans, straight and undecided sweet peas. Glorious!

As I think I've mentioned before, this was the retreat I met Linda on, so there were a good number of people there who have known Linda longer than I.

There were tears, of course. We also laughed ourselves silly--and not just during the no-talent show, but that was one of the most hilarious things I have seen in a very long time. It felt like a dream, a dream featuring most terrible drag acts ever, performed by dear men who had no business doing drag but who could not care less--they just wanted to have fun, and did they ever. My face hurt from the laughter, and that hasn't happened to me in ages.

And I was able to share about Linda and some of what this past year or so has been like. It was difficult to do, but so freeing--and it was appreciated by people who knew her and by many who didn't. One dear man told me he had wondered who Linda was when he saw how upset people were when they heard about her passing during the last retreat (held just after she died). Due to what I shared during the weekend, he felt as though he knew her a little, and thanked me for it. Felt so very good to hear that.

And the hugs--the glorious, numerous, heart-felt hugs. Best medicine for a broken heart, ever.

So I feel about as ready as one in my shoes can hope to be for 2010--this ought to be good.

In case you were wondering...

This is what the Mother of All Juicers looks like--here's hoping someone finds her devastatingly attractive, eh? (She is a shiny creation, no?)

It's the most heartbreaking time of the year....

Am finding it hard to believe that Christmas is over. Christmas Eve was a beautiful service at church with hugs galore; Christmas morning was spent taking my sweet time getting ready, walking the Bombshell, then visiting Chloe & Isaiah's moms for a bit. The rest of Christmas was spent with my dear friend Jennifer and her beau Scott; we went to the movies ("It's Complicated," a nice piece of fluff, as long as one doesn't contemplate it too long) and then had dinner (Jennifer knows her way around the kitchen, let me tell you!). Sweetness all around.

Speaking of sweetness, during my visit to the under-three set, Chloe said something very dear about my taking good care of Linda to make her better; brought tears to my eyes for a number of reasons. The most tear-inspiring being Chloe's take on things and the fact that my care wasn't enough to save our gal. I know, I know--a number of the best oncologists on the Eastern Seaboard (if not in the entire U.S.) couldn't save our gal either, so there's plenty of ineffectiveness to go around.

Nearly four months out, I am missing Linda more. Found myself in her closet yesterday, gathering an armful of her shirts for an inanimate group hug. Was reassuring, somehow.

Was wondering if I was ready to send her clothes packing yet. I don't think so.

Well, I was going to attempt to load some photos from the camera this afternoon (pictures of the demon juicer, most urgently), so close I must. Before I do, allow me to pass on something a dear colleague at Big Company wrote to me last week. I don't remember it verbatim, but she wrote that after about 20 tries at coming up with the right holiday wish for me, she landed on this: "May your holidays not suck as much as they could."

Works for me. Wishing all that--and more--for you.

Maybe The Comedy will help?

Have signed up for an open mic this Thursday in Palmer. Yes, that's about an hour away from here, but it's not as though there are gadzillions of open mics from which to choose in Northampton, yes?

And I shouldn't complain about that state of affairs unless I'm willing to do something about it, like start up an open mic myself (which is really about as likely as my becoming the Queen of Romania).

The details re Thursday's fun (dare we hope?):

The Route 20 Funnies
Thursday December 17, 2009 @ 8pm
Hosted by Ian Shea and Forris Day Jr.
At Crossroads Sports Bar on Rt 20 in Palmer, MA
crossroadsrt20.com

Otherwise, I have more plans for Christmas (in addition to dinner and movies): Hooray! Still, today at work we had a meeting with a speaker who felt compelled to tell many stories featuring widows. Of course, I work at a business that caters to the widow proposition, so I get it. But I could have lived without hearing so many references to the "w" word, you know?

On other fronts, at tonight's bereavement group we began a "show and tell" series, where members of the group tell the story of their loved one who has recently died. Heartbreaking, but sweet. My turn isn't for two weeks, which is just fine with me. Linda's obituary appeared in today's mail, courtesy of the latest issue of The Lesbian Connection. It was surprisingly jarring to see it, even though I submitted it for publication.

More proof that Linda is no longer here. The desire to shout, "Craptastic!" persists.

Grief Months Three and Four: Things get worse. Hooray!

Had a good weekend, which is no small thing when one has a slight fog bank developing between one's ears.

Friday night was games night at B and D's, and it was good to spend some time with them in a non-funeral or medical environment. Progress! Well, for the most part. For a minute I felt it was a big mistake to be there (have been feeling more down this past week, and didn't know if I could rally to the occasion), but I managed to, again for the most part.

Saturday I took an old friend/coworker from NYC to lunch. She loves all things Dalai Lama, so of course I took her to the Lhasa Cafe. Delicious! Spiritual! What's not to like?!

Saturday night was dinner at H's with said NYC friend as well, and it was good to hang with the old gang. Though I must say, I don't miss the job. At all. The people one works with, however, are always the thing that make a job worth doing, and this job was no exception.

Today was church, of course, and I found myself agreeing to a volunteer gig that starts in March (am hoping I'll feel more like myself by then...or a reasonable facsimile). It was suggested to me years ago to never say no to a service opportunity (though I did say no to something right after Linda passed--I think there are limits to any suggestion, don't you?).

This afternoon I had plans to tackle paperwork, but tackled other things instead. Watched a few episodes of the "Vicar of Dibley" (I think that's how you spell it), a mild British comedy that I love, then put up some new and different pictures in the bedroom and living room, as well as the guest room (which is really Linda's room still). Then, as it was snowing out, I found the need for a nap, and Shwea and I had a short but sweet snooze.

This evening I tackled a recipe that required the use of a food processor. Linda and I resisted the purchase of a food processor for some reason, but why I cannot say. Since I don't remember why, I decided to buy a food processor so I could make this recipe. And other things, I imagine. Eventually.

My maiden voyage with the processor was to make a pesto sauce with almonds and cheese and other lovely things. Miracle of miracles, it actually turned out to be very tasty.

It certainly felt better to eat this than something I ordered by phone or picked up at a restaurant, I'll tell you that. Problem is it took a silly amount of time to make, but at least I have enough of it for a good long while.

Last but not least, I finally took pictures of the enormous juicer that has been taking up about a third of my counter space, and then--this qualifies as yet another miracle--I packed it up in its box and got it ready to go.

So, I may not have tackled paperwork, but I tackled a good number of other things. Happy day! Well, for the most part. I'll take it....

Oh, crap--I forgot to make plans!

It's just beginning to dawn on me that all the plans that Linda and I had are out the window.

I need to make new plans. Not today, thank Whomever, but one o' these days.

Just had a good, relaxing weekend with my brother and sister-in-law in the Delmarva region of the world, aka Lower, Slower Delaware. Wondered if I might want to live down there someday, maybe when I retire. Linda and I always said we wished we lived closer to those crazy kids; maybe that should be part of my new plan.

But then, maybe not. It might be foolish to leave a state that actually considers me a full citizen. (That sigh of relief you hear is coming from my brother.)

Otherwise, I find that I am having more trouble remembering things. This, apparently, is normal for grieving people around three or four months after their dearly beloved slips off the mortal coil, according to a member of my bereavement group.

I'm more forgetful, but it's normal. Hope I remember that next time I forget something.... (Won't pursue that train of thought any further; getting dizzy just contemplating it.)

Better not make plans, either.

I'll probably just forget them, eh?

Back-to-back "firsts"

Went to Cambridge and the Comedy Studio with Jennifer and Scott last night, not to perform, but to watch Jennifer and a host of other comics work their magic (always a treat) and to dip my toe back into the comedy scene I so adore. Asked the dear impresario of the establishment, Rick, if I may be able to get back into the lineup there, and his response was affirmative, followed by a very sweet, "I am so happy to see you smile!"

Ah, comics as sweet peas--it is a recurring, if baffling, theme in this existence. Go figure.

The show was sold out, and but for an extraordinarily drunk group of guys (celebrating one of their number's 40th birthday--there but for the grace o' you-know-who go I), it was a delight. Anyway, as we drove out of Cambridge and were passing through some very familiar terrain, I had the feeling that we should be heading somewhere else. Alas, the events of the past year or so have turned Cambridge from the home of my favorite standup space to a place where Linda and I stayed and/or drove through on our way to MassGeneral.

It occurred to me that this was the first time I had been in Cambridge since Linda passed, and of course it made sense that even though Linda was not with me, I would feel as though I was there for what had become the "usual" reason.

One of my goals for the year 2010 is to return Cambridge to its preferred status as a place I go for comedy and extraordinary Indian food--nothing else, please God.

Found myself having another "first" this afternoon as I wandered through the Open Studio at the Arts and Industry Building in Florence. As I soaked in the incredible variety of art and crafts and things that defy category one finds there, I found myself repeatedly wanting to talk to Linda about what I'd seen. Artists who had changed their work dramatically from years past; new, quirky pieces that might have a place in our home; and if sister-in-law Donna would like a certain item of jewelry. I missed her curiosity and her opinions (which she had in abundance, to put it mildly). I found it very strange to buy something for the living room without her approval, but decided that if it's not still hanging when I get home tomorrow, I'll have my answer.

Odds are she's well past caring what's hanging in our living room, of course, but one never knows.

Well, I have some tidying up to do before the work week starts in earnest. Tomorrow I am going to try out the gym at work. Am wondering why I thought this was a good idea, but am hoping it will make sense tomorrow. We shall see, eh? Love from me and the heavily breathing, not yet snoring, goddess Shwea

Relief is all around us!

Had a very good benefit Thursday night, thanks in large part to the gift that is Jennifer Myszkowski, who opened (for pity's sake!) the show with a moment's notice. (We had two comics bail at the last minute.)

What a trooper! What a friend!!

I felt my set went well, which was a relief. Best of all, I managed to get through it and the Linda bits without getting the least bit weepy. Had a small lump in my throat here and there, but nothing that got in the way of The Comedy.

Plus, we made a good chunk o' change for the Cancer Connection, which, of course, was the point.

And as far as I know, I still have my job (the head of my department at Big Company was in the audience, which added a level of danger in my mind--here's hoping it was all in my mind, eh? 8-). While I mention my years of substance abuse, I also mention that this "phase" ended about 20 years ago, so I should be fine.....right?

Right?!

Whatever, thanks to all who supported this most incredible cause!

Yesterday I met with another CPA, who I actually understood. She offered some advice that I acted upon as soon as I returned home, which I took as a very good sign. (Ann Podolske is not usually a Woman of Action where finances are concerned.)

That's another big pile of relief, for I know I need someone to navigate Linda's returns for 2009 (and that someone certainly isn't yours truly!).

Last night, I had the pleasure of going out to dinner at India House with Sky and Karen and other peeps, followed by THE lesbian event in town, a movie. It was called "Hannah Free," and featured Sharon Gless in what I think is her only official lesbian role (I say "official," for many of us thought she had tremendous potential in "Cagney & Lacey"). The film was okay, and alas there were some sad bits that inspired me to dab at my eyes (what's a girl to do?), but the best part was seeing the Academy of Music packed to the gills with women wearing sensible shoes (with, I should note, a smattering of menfolk).

This morning I had brunch with my friend Hilary at Elmer's in Ashfield--what a delightful spot! Also enjoyed a tour of Hilary's new home, which suits her just beautifully. She generously sent me home with a mirror/coat rack that will work perfectly in my living room, but doesn't fit in her home. What a peach!

Well, my next trick is to have a nap, as this rainy, gray day is tailor-made for such important business. Hope all is well with you and yours--happy day and love from me and the Buzzsaw Bombshell!