The power of the blog

When I walked into the cafeteria at work today, my friend and co-worker, Peter asked me how my colonoscopy went. I looked at him quizzically. "How did  you know?" I asked. 
"You frickin' posted a blog about it on Facebook!" "Is nothing sacred, nothing off limits to you? Is your life truly an open book?" Peter is like that with me - very direct.

And, he had a point.

Later, as I spoke to my co-worker, Carol, she  asked me about Dr. Bartolone. OK, I may have mentioned his name to her. Then she wanted to know just how available he was ."How did you know he was available?"  I asked. "I read your blog this morning" she replied.

Oh.

I forget that I'm not just sending this blog out into the air. I guess there are consequences.
But, I'm not unhappy about this. Facebook especially has been so much fun. I've reconnected with old friends and can keep up with their news. Just today, an old friend tracked me down and wrote to me (very eloquently, by the way) of some distant memories (thanks, John). An incredibly sweet and generous woman in Greece, whom I had the pleasure of meeting a few years ago, now converses with me on a regular basis. That's a friendship that probably would've just faded  prior to Facebook, but with the Internet, we can continue to connect.  And a couple of weeks ago, an old high school friend and I reconnected and...  she's coming to visit me in May!

People are so afraid of the cyber world - especially when it comes to publishing personal information. I get that. Especially when it comes to identity theft. And, I guess I'm taking a chance. But, so far I've had nothing but enjoyment from this medium.

I've even connected with some of Bill's pals because he re-posts my blog on his Facebook site. That's really cool, too. It makes me happy that I'm giving them a glimpse of a Bill that they probably don't know...even though they may have known him since childhood.

And, the unintended consequence is that by publishing things about Bill and what he means to me, has made me love him even more. That's powerful stuff.

This is the end of the story

I promise not to talk about Colonoscopies any more.

Except, just this once.

It's over. I got the "all clear" sign from Dr. Bartolone (note to unmarried's: he's cute and, according to Bill, available).  Apparently, the 3 of us had a lovely conversation after I woke up from the anesthetic. I have no recollection. Clearly, I enjoyed the combination of drugs that they used to put me under....unlike my friend, Howard G., who is proud to tell you that he had the procedure sans anesthetic - he's much tougher than I.

I spent from 2 a.m- 7 a.m. this morning drinking the potion and watching bad TV.  Apparently, the majority of TV after 3 a.m. consists of paid advertising. Who knew? One ad that got constant rotation, on multiple channels, was some kind of bra that  you ordered in small, medium or large that changes your life. Also, I'm really curious about Cindy Crawford's beauty cream from France. It's made from melons with a super-anti-oxidant and a very happy French doctor invented it. "She's 43! And she looks great!" Since when is 43 the age when you fall apart? All I can say about the melon cream is bulls*%$. Maybe it's the anesthetic still talking, but I don't think so.

Anyway, if you are over 50 and haven't scheduled a colonoscopy, I urge you to do it. If you're lucky enough to find a center like the one in Amherst -  my time at the Endoscopy Center was pleasant  - yes, I said pleasant. EVERYONE that worked there was extremely helpful and sweet with just the right amount of chattiness. And, they even covered me with a warm blanket! Ahhhhh.

 
But, the best??? The best was when I woke up in the recovery area and looked over to my left to see Bill sitting there patiently. OK, he was working on some papers, but he was there waiting for me. I know, I know - of course it's expected of a husband of over 20 years. But, still. It's a good feeling. Second only to getting to the all clear sign.

Tonight's Gonna Be A Good Night

When I started this blog, I was determined to write something everyday. One of the reasons I decided to write the blog was because I feared I was becoming lazy. Then, I missed a day in January and I created a new rule: I will allow myself one day off a month. That was reasonable... right?

Then April hit - and I went on holiday and got a bit cavalier with the days off. As of today,  I should have at least 25 posts for the month of April (if I'd taken my one day off a month). However, I only have 19. Eek! The sloth has begun.

During the month of April, a couple of my friends from Canada told me they were going into blog withdrawal because they weren't getting their daily 'fix' (right Sue? right Yvonne?) 

My problem is that I write at night, after work, when I'm spent. It's a fine line between being (a) relaxed enough to write and (b) too relaxed to write.

Tonight, I came home early because I had to prepare for my colonoscopy tomorrow.  So, I figured I'd have more time to get the blog written. However, the drinking of the fluids has begun and it's time consuming. I had to get a start on it by 4:00 and I wasn't certain how soon the concoction would kick in. It's now after 7:00 p.m. and I'm still waiting and drinking.

But, I promise that before the hockey game and in between drinking the potion I will fix my friends withdrawal.

I must say, the instructions from the Colonoscopy center are very clear and very helpful. I like that. And the Administrator used the yellow highlighter liberally. (Note to office workers : It is Administrative Assistant's Day tomorrow - don't arrive empty handed).   I've been carrying the instructions around in  my purse for the last 3 weeks so I wouldn't forget to pick up the prescription and the Gatorade. What I DID forget was that on the day before the procedure, I wasn't to EAT ANYTHING. Just liquids - and nothing red. I went to work empty handed - no delicious care packages by Bill -  just a bottle of water and a can of ginger ale.

Oops. They warned against carbonated beverages.

So, I ran out to the nearby Walgreen's to purchase some juices and look for Popsicles.  No Popsicles other than strawberry. They are RED.

I then left Walgreen's and hoofed it over to the Elmwood Deli. Now, the Elmwood Deli occupies a part of the block that I used to frequent at lunch. A lot. The Sandwich Nazi made the best sandwiches for years at X-cel. I loved going there for his crazy hand-written signs and off beat sense of humor. His eggplant sandwiches were to die for! And, coincidentally we hired his daughter to work at my place of business just as he made the decision to pull out of Elmwood. Weird, eh?

Wednesdays were eggplant day - and I rarely missed lining up for that.

OK, now I'm hungry!

Anyway, the Elmwood Deli didn't have any Popsicles either, so I bought a 1/2 gallon of Lemon ice. Which I shared with the half Italian/half Irish maintenance guy at work who is also a published author.  He has a fine palate. We didn't finish the whole thing - we put it away in the freezer - to be eaten another day.

If you can read the instructions I've posted - you will see that I am going to be ingesting 32 ounces of this gag-liquid at 2 a.m. That'll take a couple of hours. What a pleasant night I have to look forward to.

What was really hilarious was that as I was driving home, I got bored with 88.7 (NPR) and 99.1 (JazzFM) and turned to CHUMFM. They were playing the Black Eyed Peas "I gotta feeling" (Tonight's gonna be a good night). I listened to the whole thing as I imagined myself making a small bed for myself in the bath tub tonight.

DRINK IT UP.

Easter Hockey

Going to the hockey game at 3:00 in the afternoon on Easter Sunday was bizarre in a number of ways.

First, as we walked to the game, we passed Pilot Field  (currently known as Coca-Cola Field and formerly known as  Dunn Tire Park, North AmeriCare Park and the Downtown Ballpark.) There was a freaking baseball gamed going on. Baseball and hockey should not be played simultaneously, at least not in a town as small as Buffalo. That was poor planning.


Second, people were shouting obscenities, drinking beer and being obnoxious on Easter Sunday. People walking to the game, hunkered down outside the arena, and inside the arena all behaved as if it were a battleground...on one of the holiest days in the Christian Calendar.  For those who attended the game, Easter was put away and packed up by 3:00 p.m. I thought the little kids who were at the game were especially crazed. Hopped up on Easter candy, then plunked down in front of a playoff game with popcorn, pizza and Pepsi. I hope for the sake of their teachers that they're not going to school tomorrow.

Third, and perhaps most unreal, it was still light out as we left the game at around 7:00 p.m.  Hockey games are generally played at night and in the winter. It's supposed to be dark and cold. I had a light coat and didn't even need it. However, coming out into the light, after the heartbreaking overtime loss, lifted my spirits.  We parked about 6 blocks from the game and it felt so good to walk to the car. It almost felt like we are cheating or something.

From what I could tell from the crowd, the majority thought we could win this home game. You could feel the anticipation in the air as we waited for the puck to drop. I have to say that even though we lost, it was a great game to watch:  we got to see 9 goals, a bunch of broken sticks, tempers flaring, testosterone rushes, fights that weren't too stupid, and some sweet plays. And the arena was HUMMING. It was packed. And, there were 6,000 people OUTSIDE the arena - in the light and balmy air.

Buffalo lives on hope - and we still have hope in this series. Don't. Give. Up. Especially since we have Ryan Miller. My fellow blogger has Lindy Ruff's strategy completely figured out "You guys skate around and try to score. Ryan, you're going to have to be on fire and stop everything."

Not a particularly pious way to spend one of the holiest Christian days. But, in a city that wins games with a hope and a prayer, it didn't feel that strange after all.

GO SABRES! 

Hockey Night in Canada

Sally was right. I played squash a bit too long last night. I was so excited to be playing hard again, that I think I played one or two games too many. Sally, who has come back from injuries before, warned me about my zeal. "One more game...I'm fine" I said. Well, I wasn't fine. The lower half of my leg throbbed most of the day today. Argh!

So, tonight after dinner I turned on the Sabres game and elevated my leg. It still hurt. After the first period (3-0 Sabres!) I thought I was safe to have a bath and soak. That always makes me feel better. So, I turned on the wee TV in the bathroom, drew a deep, hot bath and immersed myself. Flyers scored twice in the second period. But, my leg felt marvelous.

If Bill were home, I would have stayed out of the bathroom and watched with him on a decent sized TV. But, tonight he chose to hear guitar god, Jeff Beck play at the University of Buffalo. Some people make those kinds of decision during the playoffs. But, I keep forgetting that he's not Canadian.

During the commercials, I let my mind wander back to the first NHL game I ever attended.  My dad took me when I was about 8 years old. We went into Toronto to see the Leafs play - it was a really big deal. And, it was just the two of us. Back then, the Leafs played at Maple Leaf Gardens on Carlton. My mother dressed me and did my hair. I was so dressed up that my dress matched my coat. Dad told me we would have dinner first, near the Gardens, and then walk to the game. I was so excited. A Saturday night with my Dad, dinner  in Toronto and I was in an official "outfit". Back then, people did dress up for the game. My dad was wearing a jacket and tie.

I was envisioning a fancy dinner in the city. Apparently, my dad had other ideas. I have no clue where we ate, but it was touted as being Italian and the "waiter" took the order through a sliding window! It wasn't a drive- through, more like an old speakeasy. Not exactly a four star restaurant - but it didn't matter. I was on a date with my dad.

I can't remember who the Leafs were playing or even if they won, but I do remember two traumatic events that occurred that night:

1. Our seats were in the front row of a section. There was a railing that separated us from the section below.  The guy sitting beside my dad had a habit of leaning forward onto the railing during the particularly exiting plays- thereby obliterating my view. I wasn't very tall. I didn't say anything, but my dad was livid. He pulled the guy back and used some choice phrases using words like "ignoramus" and  "selfish asshole" and ending with "For CRISSAKES if you lean forward one more time..." Anyway, the guy didn't move the rest of the game - as I slowly died of embarrassment.

2. In the section to our left, a spectator got hit by the puck IN THE EYE!  The blood actually spurted and the unwary hockey neophyte was taken out on a stretcher. I had a good view of THAT, unfortunately.  My dad used this as an opportunity to teach an important hockey lesson : NEVER take your eye off the puck. 

Anyway, watching tonight's hockey game from the tub was very enjoyable. I had a clear view, my leg felt good, my brain conjured up a wonderful memory of my dad and the Sabres looked like they had some hope on the road.  I did have to wear my glasses (it's a wee TV, like I said) because, when watching the game - I never take my eye off the puck.

Googleheimer

Now that Bill and I eat dinner alone together, we have become a bit more lax with what I would consider proper dinner behavior. For instance, if we are talking about something and we begin to argue about the veracity of a  statement that the other has made, one of us will step away from the table and google the issue. Our computer is literally one step away from the kitchen table. When the kids are home, we don't allow this. We ban texts, phone calls and use of the computer during dinner. Dinner time has, and always will be, a sacred time when the four of us encircle the table.

However, put 2 type As in a dining room with no parental authority and, you get the "I told you so" mentality. So, the googling of statements has become de rigeur.

Prior to children and prior to the readily availability of the computer, we kept a dictionary, a thesaurus, the National Geographic Atlas (thanks Annie and Mr. and Mrs. Roberts), the New York Public Library desk reference, Maltin's movie guide as well as the Film Encyclopedia by Katz within reach. It seemed natural to me since our dinner conversations were like Gatling gun sprays: Short statements, diverse subjects and most of them missing the mark. We allowed each other to have a mediator, and those books were the final say-so.

Bill has always insisted on 'family dinner' even if the family is just the two of us. Conversation is always keen and animated.  And none of us ever gives on a point. Googling has changed the dynamic - for the good. We finally have a definitive arbiter and we can settle a matter immediately.

Today, my friend Candy (hi Candy! Hi Tommy!) sent me an urban dictionary definition for the term  "googleheimer":  The condition where you think of something you want to Google, but by the time you get to your computer, you have forgotten what it was. Very prevalent in the 420 community.

I've got Googleheimer's so bad that between the garage and the office, I forgot what I was going to look up.

This example sentence above, is a subject that is has been on my mind a lot. I forget what I'm looking for ALL THE TIME. That's why Bill and I allow each other to look up something IMMEDIATELY, before we forget what we are arguing about. Today, for instance, a co-worker and I were talking about something, were interrupted by someone else and when that other person left the conversation, neither of us could remember what we had been talking about. Yes, yes! We are both over 50 ... but COME ON! The lapse of time was less than 5 minutes. Googleheimer at work.

Eventually, I believe we will all have small computer's attached to our hands/arms/ ears/eyes/ other appendage. And, we won't have to worry about this malady. But, until then, I'll continue to excuse myself from the dinner table to prove my point.

Poop

My doppelganger wrote a book called "Bossypants".  I heard Terry Gross, on NPR, interview Tina Fey last week. I know Terry has Buffalo ties and she's loved by all - but she always sounds smug and a little too clever and her tone just PISSES ME OFF. Plus, she says "ummm" all the time.  Anyway, I suffered through Terry talking so I could listen to Tina Fey. I love Tina Fey. I think if we knew each other we would be friends. I got that same feeling when I heard Ann Patchett, my favorite writer, address an audience at Canisius College...she and I should be best friends, too.


Anyway, Terry asked Tina to start off the interview by reading an excerpt from her book called "A Mother's prayer for it's daughter". But, of course, Terry interrupted her before she finished.


I wouldn't know that Terry didn't let her finish unless my friend, Kathleen hadn't  posted the entire prayer on Facebook tonight.  The ending! She interrupted before the ending. Terry Gross is such a pain. Anyway, the ending conjured up images from the time when I was a young mother. Or, at least when my children were young:

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.  Amen.


That whole exploding poop up the back seemed to happen at the most inopportune times: dining at restaurants with white table cloths, at 4 a.m. when you are sharing the bed with your baby at your best friend's house, in the car-seat so that the seat had to be trashed, 35,000 feet above the earth. Washing it off the neck is easy -  maneuvering the baby between 2 young girls on a flight to Florida and into the closet of a airline toilet is difficult to say the least. Baby wipes, even if you have a full pack, just don't do the trick.

I remember Bill calling me during a dinner I was having with some girlfriends from out of town. He frantically told me that baby Will had exploding poop up the back. Bill was looking for advice (truthfully, he was looking for me to come home and take care of it). I could handle poop - I don't know why I never threw up, but I just dealt with it. The whole gag reflex thing never happened when I changed Will or Emma.  My advice for Bill was pretty simple and, luckily they were both at home: Strip (both the baby and yourself), turn on the shower, get in with baby held away from you. Then shove the baby's bum and back into the spray. Follow by some soap and rinse again. If it were summer, I may have told him to use the hose in the garden.

Maybe Terry Gross left off the last piece of the prayer because of the poop reference. Maybe Terry Gross found it gross. HA!  But, everybody poops and some of us have to clean it up. And, depending on whose poop it is, some of us just don't mind.