To Ohio on the 8th

My company has not found my next consulting job yet but they are working on one at Sutter in Sacramento where I was last Spring, and liked it a lot.

I thought I should give myself time to recover and rest before flying off again, and catch up on things here. My yard looks like no one lives here, but the inside of the house is very nice now, and so quiet and restful after LA.

So I booked my flight home for next week, Tuesday the eighth. I will be coming into Cleveland this time, renting a car, and staying at Chris's at first. Then I will make the rounds. I didn't book the return trip yet so I plan to visit for a while.

I know being home is going to kill me all over again, with Mom not being there. The others are probably getting more used to that, but for me it will be freshly painful.

When Benji voiced his concerns while I was packing in LA, I tried to comfort him by saying it was
going to be alright, that we would go to Ohio and visit Grandpa and Bandit. That's what my brain was thinking, but what came out of my mouth was "Grandma and Grandpa". The old neural pathways kicked in, and then I just bawled and bawled, doing nothing to reassure Benji. Then he had to worry about me in addition to supervising the packing. No wonder he has been a tired pup.

This week I plan to unpack, sew, catch up on things around the house, visit friends, and study for my technical certifications.

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Benji to the vet again

Benji has been a little off, but not all-out sick like he was the last time we visited the vet. He had another episode of phlegmy breath, vomiting, reverse sneezing and acting punk. So I thought I should face it and get him checked for Valley Fever. Last time, the vet said that would be in order if his symptoms continued. We will have results by Wednesday. She said some of these are allergy or indigestion symptoms, as well, and she gave me detailed instructions for using Pepcid and Benadryl to help his symptoms. The soreness and unwillingness to move like he gets, off and on, is classic Valley Fever. She says it is very treatable, but the effects in each dog vary a lot.

It's expected to be in the nineties today and all week. It has already been over 100, breaking records for April. But I have not needed air conditioning or the evaporative cooler. Fans do just fine in our cool adobe brick house, at these temperatures.

I have begun unpacking but am mostly resting and doing my health appointments. I am still off kilter and Angelica my acupuncturist is helping to get me on track.

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Invitation to connect on LinkedIn

From Rebecca Miller Senior Health IT Consultant at Symphony Corporation Tucson, Arizona Area I'd like to add you to my professional network on LinkedIn. - Rebecca Confirm that you know Rebecca You are receiving Invitation to Connect emails. Unsubscribe © 2012, LinkedIn Corporation. 2029 Stierlin Ct. Mountain View, CA 94043, USA

Benji's Daily Thing

He hangs over the walkway every day while we wait for the elevator. He is a little social butterfly of the building and has to know what's going on, who is coming and going. My friend says it's like "Melrose place with dogs" here.


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Beautiful Weekend

Benji and I had three long walks, two in Beverly Hills (who lives there and what do they do and where does all that money come from?!), and one on the beach at Malibu.

Beverly Hills along Santa Monica Boulevard -



Otherwise I rested, had a brutal massage, and did my taxes. Had to extend because I don't have all the information in LA.

Photos from the beach -


The tide was high and where we had walked before the surf was rolling up over the rocks - no beach at all. But we found a small area of sand and Benji got really jazzed this time and zipped around, dug holes excitedly and randomly, and tossed seaweed around.

You can see how close the surf was. He did finally get surprised and drenched up to his belly!








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Beautiful Day in LA

View from the fourth floor where I work on Wilshire Boulevard looking towards Century City.


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Chicken Lady! 404!

This is one of the few places where that makes sense and everyone goes running. That's the name of the favorite lunch caterer near my workplace at Cedars Sinai.

When someone says, "Chicken Lady" our selective hearing we have adapted to cubicle-land picks it up. She makes peach cobbler just like Mom made. Yum! A great treat on a rainy stormy Friday afternoon.


All is well here. I'm counting down the days to completion of this assignment and trying to finish disease and infection reporting before I go. Lyme, strep, tetanus, yadda yadda...

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Great Photo of Mother

My cousin Pam sent me a photo she found of Mother and Grandma Swain in her Grandma Mimi's slides, apparently at a wedding shower for Aunt Peggy and Uncle Larry, probably in the spring of 1959 the year before I was born.  The little girl in the photo is Cheryl Swain.

Doesn't it look like a slice from the TV show Mad Men?

Isn't Mother lovely?

Happy Easter!

My Easter was very nice. My new friend here in California, Ellen, invited me to have Easter with her family: husband, son and a bunch of water polo guys he plays with in college.  Very nice guys.  And she went all out with Easter centerpieces made of little boxes of grass (really, catnip), and kumquats stuck on sticks like Easter eggs.  Very cute, and a delicious meal: standing rib roast, mashed potatoes and gravy, roasted vegetables, cardamon rolls, Yorkshire pudding (which I'd never had before, or even knew what it was), wine, key lime pie, apple tarts. 

She sent me home with a nice plateful, and a bone for Benji.

Guest Ranter, My Brother David, on the Music Industry, Drugs, and Alcohol

My Rant Against the Music Industry
by David Miller

Have you ever wondered why there is a multi-billion dollar industry in this country built around addiction to drugs and alcohol?  

I didn't until I took three or four trips driving across this beautiful land of ours to visit and ultimately say good-bye to our mother.  It didn’t really sink in until I took the trip with my alcoholic teenage daughter.  When I drive I listen to music and when I drive 10-15 hours a day on a road trip I listen to a LOT of music, and typically multiple genres of music.  When I took the trip alone I found myself changing stations quite often as I went from one metropolitan area to the next and got tired of country and moved to pop or hard rock or classic rock or sometimes even rap or dance stations.  

When I took the trip with Mikayla so close to her latest bout with alcohol I found myself more than a little uncomfortable when different bands or artists would glorify the use of alcohol or marijuana, and I would try to quickly change the station.  By about the third hour my arm was about to start cramping up and my shoulder began to ache.  If you think I’m exaggerating try it sometime.  Here’s a little sequence of songs or genres I tried to avoid and the lyrics or phrases that I was trying to escape.  If you decide to try it I bet you can’t go more than 30 minutes without a song that will tell you why you need to, or should feel justified, in losing yourself or soothing yourself in some kind of drug or alcohol.

Kayla likes pop/dance/teeny bopper music (imagine that) so we started on that type of station.  This is all music that I have listened to with half an ear with Becca [age 4] in the car hundreds of times and never really thought about it.  But when you’re sitting in a car with someone you really don’t like very much at the time and aren’t spending a lot of time trying to discuss the meaning of life or politics you tend to pay a little more attention to the lyrics.  

We were no more than 10-15 minutes into the trip and Kesha had brushed her teeth with a bottle of Jack and gone out with her gang of friends for a night of debauchery that lasted until the sun came up. Katy Perry was worried that most of what she did the night before was illegal but she really couldn’t remember due to all the empty bottles strewn around her yard and in her pool and she really hoped none of the pictures hit the internet or she was really “screwed”, and I found that Nicki Menaj really likes shots of Patron.  

I tried switching to a hard rock station and found that these artists really like the harder drugs like cocaine, heroin, and of course you gotta have some Jack, Jim or Johnny to chase it with.   The rappers like their gin and juice and Patron tequila and usually chase that with a very expensive bottle of champagne and a blunt or bowl is always a good idea.  

Think country’s any better?  Think again.  Kenny Chesney has an entire song about how it’s totally acceptable to use moonshine or tequila to escape from reality, Toby Keith has his red solo cup that he likes to party with and everybody knows how much he likes to get high with Willie because he wrote a song about it.  The Zack Brown Band likes to drink beer with their toes in the sand and roll a big fat one and play, George Strait says to hell with the red wine and bring on some moonshine, and Alan Jackson and Jimmy Buffet say “it’s five o’clock somewhere so make it a hurricane before I go insane”.  And let’s not forget newcomer Jerrod Niemann wants to know what’s wrong with “Another Drinkin’ Song”.

Now don’t get me wrong!  I’m not hypocrite enough to say that I’m never going to drink again because of the damage all these songs have done to my daughter.  Ultimately our decisions are just that: OUR decisions.  I really like a lot of these and the many other artists that write about how socially acceptable it is to go out and get shit-faced, or high as a kite, or both, whenever you have a bad day at work, get dumped by your significant other, feel a little down or really want to have a good time.  

But is it really any wonder that a lot of our kids are very curious about what’s so fun about these many different ways to feel better, and completely fearless in regard to the possible consequences?  I think not, but there is one thing that has changed I can assure you.  I will always be a little more conscientious about what I’m listening to when Becca’s in the car, and she and I will have a lot of conversations about consequences at a much younger age than Mikayla and I ever did.  I can only hope that it will help her make better decisions as she starts to feel the pressure to fit in and be cool.  

Because the big thing that all the rock stars forget to tell you in the song is if you don’t have millions of dollars for attorneys and fines you may very well find your ass in a whole lot of trouble when you do the things they so love to glorify and celebrate.

Overheard Today at Target

Several mothers and daughters were looking at the tanning lotions, the kinds that color your skin to look tan.  They were talking about the pressure to look tan, and how one of the young teens there was very fair.  One of the daughters said, "Do you know what they called a girl at school because she had really pale legs and you could see her veins?  They called her a leper!"

Nice.  Nice world we live in, when young girls are taught from a young age that they're not OK the way they are, that they need to alter...well, just about everything about themselves in order to be suitable to appear in public.  I know it has always been this way to some extent, but it just seems so much worse now, with the media putting unrealistic (Photoshopped) images in front of us all of the time.  People start to think that they're supposed to have dazzling-white smiles, perfect skin, and perfect figures - according to some odd standard the gay men in Hollywood who are generating all of this media and designing women's clothes have dreamed up.  Have you noticed that the "perfect figure" for a woman looks more and more like a young boy's body than a young girl's body?  Do you suppose there's some odd psychology at work there?

Oh, and while I'm on a rant, I saw a woman carrying a bag from Abercrombie & Fitch with a photograph something like this one, only even more risque, if you can imagine it.  The guy's pants were all but off, showing absolutely everything short of his parts that it could.  She was with her two small children.  I just had to wonder.  No one sees a problem with this?

Almost every store I went into had a loud soundtrack, enough to drive me right back out again.  I think the kids are in control of the volume these days and they're all half deaf from listening to their iPods at high volume.  It's insane.

I feel old.

Sleepy Benji

He's taking a peek out the plane window during boarding. Sleepy because he went to daycare today and wore himself out playing.



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More Glowing Optimism from Brother Dave

His response to my last post:

I’ve been thinking along similar lines. When I first started in this business you could plan on a certain amount of annual increase and had a good idea of what other positions made and I had a grand plan of where I was and where I was going complete with planned annual dollar amounts at age 30, 40 and 50. That has really leveled out and expectations have really dropped over the last 4-5 years. Annual increases are no longer a given, bonuses can and are restructured whenever convenient or necessary for the employer and upper management positions are eliminated more often than any others so opportunities to move up are fewer and less appealing due to the risk that comes along with them. I’ve gone from thinking I’d have a nice retirement package at 54-55 and ride off into the sunset to enjoy life like dad did only with more money to thinking I’ll probably be working until I can’t anymore.
It really does make you wonder where we’re going as a society and what this world will be like when we leave it to the next generation. I have to say I am not at all optimistic and unfortunately neither are my two oldest kids.

David Miller
Branch Manager


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Gone With The Financial Cyclone

I was commiserating with sister Chris today about how tired I am and how I can't seem to get anything more accomplished once I put in my work day.  I'm just getting older and it's becoming too much to ask to do the second shift after I get home from the first shift.  There's so much to do all the time: taxes, real estate or rental issues, researching pet insurance, researching the new lawsuit for mortgage loan restructuring and trying to figure out what it means to my two mortgages, if anything, keeping myself in appropriate clothes, attending to Benji's needs, ordering medications, health spending account claims, etc.

I wondered, "What ever happened to the good ol' days when one could come home and the work was over, you could just relax in your house that was nearly paid off, find everything you need in the right places because you put it there and lived there for decades."  In my world, I'm forever needing something that I left at the other house.  Last trip I left my medications behind and had to have them shipped.

Then, I said to Chris, "I guess those days are gone like the wind, gone with the financial cyclone that has passed through this country."  It really feels that way, like we will work and work and work and hope to have a home, keep a home, keep from losing a home, or being stuck with something that on paper is worth way less than you owe on it...and then end up a ward of the state anyway, the thing you've been trying to prevent all along, struggling against and trying to do the right thing so you don't have to rely on the state.

But we're all going to end up in some state-run institution anyway because there will be no other options - no retirement income, no social security income, no way to keep the home you owe too much on, no way to sell the home you owe too much on.  It's very disheartening when you think about it.  While the Greatest Generation went through a terrible depression and worried about feeding the family day to day, we're going through a mental depression, worrying about what will become of us in a few years.  It's a different thing, completely, but still brutal.  How will our approaching-retirement generation face this?  Will we have a choice in how we face it, or will we just be swept along by the Financial Cyclone, with no choices, no real way to steer our own boats?  How does one step out of the Cyclone winds and get a grip?

I don't know.  I just asked a whole bunch of questions and I don't have answers.

I read the Mortgage Relief Act information and it looks like the date parameters they put on it will exclude me from any help on the Arizona place.  I should probably hire an attorney to help me sort it out, but they want so much money, up front, and the Act says that it will take three years to get any pay-out.  So how does that help us? An attorney over three years of filings and hassle would eat up any gain I might get.

Mom had a good old country phrase for that: damned if you do, damned if you don't.

But - I saw this little sign in a catalog this evening and have to share it.  It sort of boils things down to brass tacks and makes it all clear.

How to Handle Stress Like a Dog:
If you can't eat it or play with it,
then pee on it and walk away.

Poem of the Day, For My Dad: The Tuft of Flowers, by Robert Frost

I found this poem in college in a class of Miss Vincent's, and heard it again this week, in my voice, when I turned on my iPod Shuffle for Benji's work-day entertainment while I'm gone.  I have my Librivox recordings on the iPod and this is what came up randomly.  I had forgotten all about having recorded it a few years ago.

It brought me back to that year in college when I sent this poem to my Dad.  He's not a poetry kind of guy, but there was a story behind it. 

I'd come home one day during my high school years to find Dad outside all sweaty, and he asked me to come outside to the pasture. 

I asked, "What? Why?" with teenage attitude, I'm sure. 

He said, "Just walk down there and see what you see." 

So I walked, wonderingly, and found that he had hand-mowed the mid-summer waist-high grass with a scythe. 

"What?  You mowed?" I asked.

"Yep, walk a little further," he answered.

So, I did, and I found, to my great surprise, that he had mown everything flat except for a tuft of daisies, my favorites, then.  I liked them for their purity, their lack of show or pretense, for their simplicity.  They were like me, I liked to think, then, a little country girl.

That's why later, when we read this poem in class I had to copy it and send it to him.  Mom said when he got that letter from college, he nearly cried.

The Tuft of Flowers

I WENT to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the leveled scene.
I looked for him behind an isle of trees; 
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been,—alone,

‘As all must be,’ I said within my heart,
‘Whether they work together or apart.’
But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a ’wildered butterfly,
Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night
Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.
And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
I left my place to know them by their name,
Finding them butterfly weed when I came.
The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,
That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
And feel a spirit kindred to my own; 
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

‘Men work together,’ I told him from the heart,
‘Whether they work together or apart.’
 

Song of the Day: Coat of Many Colors

I pulled out a CD of Eva Cassidy's I'd not listened to in a while, and here was the first track, "Coat of Many Colors" by Dolly Parton.  I remember that song helping to straighten out some bad-attitude days back when I was a kid.  Mother made a lot of our clothes and some were great successes that I loved until they wore out, and others I didn't like at all, or thought they didn't fit right, or worried that the kids at school would be able to tell it was home-made.  So I identify with this song, and remember with regret the times I gave my Mom a hard time about wearing something she had made me.  What a gift that is, when you really think about it - to have someone spend their time and energy on making a garment for you. 

I remember in fifth grade she made a pink plaid culotte jumper for picture day, but didn't have time to finish the buttons before I needed it, so we straight-pinned me into it.  The problem was it had to come down when I used the bathroom, so I had to know how to pin it back.  No problem, I knew how to use straight-pins, and they were easier than getting a safety pin angled just the right way so it wouldn't show.  I  loved that outfit and wore that jumper with pins on the shoulders for quite a while, and I still remember the feel of those pins pricking me on my soft skin.

Another favorite was a wrap-around jacket she made for me when I went to college, corduroy on one side, and burgundy plaid wool on the other side, reversible.  It was a really cool design and I got a lot of compliments on it.  Herb used to point it out to people and tell how my Mom made it for me.  I hope I'll find that sewing pattern in her stash someday.

Another was a wrap-around skirt that she made of a beige and floral fabric and I actually found a store-bought blouse to match.  I wore that to Grandma and Grandpa Swain's wedding anniversary, and a lot around campus at Hiram.  Hope I find that sewing pattern, too.

Another memory is not so pleasant.  I gave a sweater away that she had knit for me.  It was too big and never fit me.  A girlfriend on my floor of the dorm loved it, though, and asked to borrow it once.  After I saw how much better it looked on her than me I told her she could keep it.  Later, when Mom asked what became of it and I told her, she was appalled, rightly, to think I'd given it away.

Another good memory is my prom dress.  She made it from a Laura Ashley pattern, white with white lace inset above the tiered ruffle on the skirt, with pale blue satin ribbon above the ruffle, on the bodice and continuing on as the strap.  It fit to a T and was beautiful.  I still have that dress, although I will probably never fit into it again.  It would be fun to see a grand-daughter try it on someday and laugh.  This was one of the examples where Mom was as naive as I was.  It was double-lined, so could be worn bra-less, and laced up the front with the satin ribbon from the navel up.  Sounds risque now, and might have been, a little, but it was laced tight and the ribbon covered me pretty well. 

Still...I'm surprised at what she made me that I wore then.  She made me midriff tops that tied in front at the bottom of the sternum with no other closure up the front than that low tie - and I wore those all summer until I was 17, probably!  They fit very well, too, and didn't sag or let anything show that shouldn' have.  All I cared was that they were cool and comfortable.  More recently, I asked her once why she let me dress like that at that age and she said, "Honey, I was as naive as you were.  I didn't know any better than you, then, how men might think when they see something like that."   She was sheltered by my Dad, had married very young, and when I was 17 she was still only 37, but running our household like the expert she was.

So here, for your thinking pleasure, is the song that brought back so many memories.

Coat of Many Colors, by Dolly Parton

Back through the years

I go wonderin' once again
Back to the seasons of my youth
I recall a box of rags that someone gave us
And how my momma put the rags to use
There were rags of many colors
Every piece was small
And I didn't have a coat
And it was way down in the fall
Momma sewed the rags together
Sewin' every piece with love
She made my coat of many colors
That I was so proud of
As she sewed, she told a story
From the bible, she had read
About a coat of many colors
Joseph wore and then she said
Perhaps this coat will bring you
Good luck and happiness
And I just couldn't wait to wear it
And Momma blessed it with a kiss

Chorus:

My coat of many colors
That my Momma made for me
Made only from rags
But I wore it so proudly
Although we had no money
I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My Momma made for me

So with patches on my britches
Holes in both my shoes
In my coat of many colors
I hurried off to school
Just to find the others laughing
And making fun of me
In my coat of many colors
My Momma made for me

And Oh I couldn't understand it
For I felt I was rich
And I told them of the love
My Momma sewed in every stitch
And I told em all the story
Momma told me while she sewed
And how my coat of many colors
Was worth more than all their clothes
But they didn't understand it
And I tried to make them see
That one is only poor
Only if they choose to be
Now I know we had no money
But I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My Momma made for me
Made just for me