Monday Musings: November 21, 2010

Mr. Maven is getting better, although he might not agree with that assessment. The rash is almost completely gone, and there might - might - be a couple of little tiny places that will erupt into the textbook blisters. This is really a non-standard case of Shingles. Hard to tell. But the pain is still there big time. The percoset is only good, though, if you take it before you need it. Hmmm. We had to cancel Thanksgiving Day plans with friends who have small and vulnerable children, and of course having my 93-year-old Mom over is out of the question.

This will be a Thanksgiving for the books. It too shall pass.

We talked to Natacha this afternoon, and I asked her what she has planned for Thursday. “Study for exams” was the answer… followed by a soft sad sigh that sounded like loneliness. Admittedly, she does have a real academic load (the statistics class is proving to not be her strong suit) and not a lot of friends down there yet, so if some of her friends here in the West would like to send a holiday email, her address is: khyrina@yahoo.fr

We’re thinking of you, kiddo.

Our kids over in the Bay Area - Ronda and Michael - are still struggling to figure out what goes where in the new house, between trying to hold down two very demanding professional jobs. I hope never to move again but I know that’s silly. After a certain ‘age’, picking up and moving is just unthinkable.

Considering it all, a quiet dinner here in Reno isn’t looking so terrible. It’s abundantly clear that the Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving gatherings of yesteryear are becoming increasingly rare, or at least problematic in this our modern world.

I got another phone call this evening from a local woman I’ve been talking to - a retired R.N. - who is battling Stage IV breast cancer. This is another frustrating case of somebody who may have gotten inadequate treatment early on and is now struggling to get answers from a hopelessly discombobulated medical ‘system’ in a backwater. Her tumor markers - which may or may not be significant - are highly elevated, and the raw fear in her voice was palpable. There but for the grace of a second opinion elsewhere go I.

On my way home from SkyPeaks - where I put my Mom’s meds together for the week on Sundays - I stopped off to pick up a couple bags of coffee at Starbucks on South Virginia. As I was pulling into the lot, I saw ‘Richard’ loitering outside with all his worldly belongings on his back in a black plastic trash bag. If you spend much time in south Reno, and are at all observant, you may have noticed him. He’s an older - as in 70’s - homeless guy that hangs out at Whole Foods and Starbucks.

I walked over to him - it was really cold and blustery, threatening more snow - and told him that if he lost the cigarette in his mouth, I’d front a hot coffee inside Starbucks. He declined, so I went on in. Just as I was completing my purchases, he came in and dumped his stuff in a corner - sans cigarette. The barrista’s know him well, and are really sweet to him. I asked him again if I could buy him a drink. No. The barrista smiled at me, and said that even if I left money to pay, he’d leave it on the counter. He may be homeless, but he’s got dignity.

Last night, oh about 4:30 Sunday morning actually, I woke to hear the dog - our ancient Jack Russell, Asta - rustling about in her penned off area of the bedroom. I could only stand it so long, and then got up to put her out the door to the backyard. It was snowing like crazy and blowing. I stood, peering through the mini-blinds for a few minutes. “Come on, Asta. Do something. Anything” Then I wandered out to the kitchen and watched her out the window by the kitchen table for what seemed like 10 minutes at least. You have to catch her as she comes through the dog door in they laundry room and put her back in her bedroom pen, since she’s got such bad dementia that she never knows where she is or why she’s there. She actually gets hopelessly lost in a corner.

The sight of her out there in the snowy backyard, old and hobbling around in circles, filled me with such sadness that I sat down at the kitchen table and cried. I finally had to go fetch her and take her back in to the bedroom. She was wet and cold. Shivering. Clueless. I grabbed a fuzzy ‘throw’ from a chair and laid down on the floor with her, covering us both up and holding her close. She doesn’t allow me to do that much anymore, but this time she did. I honestly believe she was instinctively telling me that whatever I decided to do would be alright with her now.

We lay like that for nearly an hour.

This sucks. I’d told Mr. Maven that when the snow really started that her ‘going’ in the backyard would become a problem. The pee pads on the floor in the bedroom can only do so much. But he’s sick, and I still feel like a need some kind of a written permission slip to do the right thing. It’s not like I haven’t had to do that before, but the circumstances were different - obvious fatal and painful ailments. When this sort of thing happens to our human family members, we talk about ‘passing’ being a release and a blessing, and usually remark that - after all - we do the fair and right thing with our animals.

Yeah, right. When we can summon up the intestinal fortitude.

If you’ve started to choke up a bit by now, I apologize. That’s not my intention. We’ve had loads of great Thanksgivings around here, and I’m sure we will again. But if your’s isn’t exactly what you were hoping for, you’re not alone. Try not to let the idealized Madison Avenue picture of the holiday co-opt your expectations. That isn’t reality.

If turkey loaf, canned cranberry jelly and Mrs. Cubbins stuffing is what’s on your table this year, it could be worse. I don’t know what ‘Richard’ will be eating at the homeless shelter - if he makes it there. Natacha has a year to go in school, and then she’ll be able to do things differently. Right now, she’s doing what she feels is important.

I don’t know if my Mom will still be around next Thanksgiving, she probably will. And I hope that Asta won’t be. That will mean I was able to do the right thing by her.

Holidays are signposts along the road of life, transitions from one fleeting eye blink of reality to the next. They’re just one way we mark the times and progress of our lives. They’re not permanent. This year’s holiday doesn’t predict next years, any more than we could read this year’s events from the last.

Some days I envy my cat, Ladybird. She’s doesn’t care. Today, yesterday and tomorrow. All the same to her, depending on whether or not she gets her hairball treat and has a warm place to curl up.

Mr. Maven and I have family - although they’re not all right here this year - great friends, a warm place to curl up and our own kind of hairball treat - dinner and a bottle of wine. You make the holiday what you need it to be - your own. Let next year take care of itself.

Have a pleasant Thanksgiving, and here’s looking forward to Festivus for the Rest of Us.

-maven