Buying It

Costco Stories

Shopping at Costco with The Moms and a friendly lady stops us, points at our MEGA FULL cart and says "You're spending all of your inheritance!" We all giggle and then I say, "More like MY inheritance!" And we giggle some more.

These are moments I live for. Strive for. Random, silly, human breakthroughs that pierce the veil we use to protect us daily. Sometimes all it takes is a comment, a question, a smile.

Mom with her kiddo in the basket of their cart, eating the sample they just picked up, is next to me and I joke with her "Whaaaaaaat? They have kids on sale today?" She laughs, "Oh yeah, soooooo cheap. Wait, I mean free!"

The Moms and I take breaks when we shop at Costco; my leg, her knee. We sit on the couches or the recliners on display, and not only do we get back some of our energy, we enjoy top notch people watching. Our favorite is peeking into the World of Carts.

You can tell this couple is Keto, this couple is most definitely not. The single guy with only many and various meats probably has a BBQ planned and most likely will not be inviting the young lady in the yoga pants with only protein drinks and a watermelon. So many people and so many carts full of stories.

All this. In one Costco. In one city. In one afternoon.

Blaze On

So, last night after leaving my "Living With Chronic Pain" workshop and all the healthy healing talk about fruits and vegetables, I decided to stop at Maverik for a bag of chips. On my way out of the store, I walked past a twenty-something adorable young lady wearing a bright lime green corduroy half-blazer. Being me, I didn't hesitate to tell her about it.

Me - (being unpolite and pointing right at her) That is the cutest blazer!
Young Lady - OMG! I KNOW RIGHT! It's my Mom's from the '80s.
Young Lady - face

Me - face

Me - That is so cool that you can wear your Mom's old clothes. How fun is that?
YL - It is really fun. I mean, I can't wear her jeans (she snickers) I have no idea where she got this, probably somewhere in SLC, but ISN"T THIS FUN?

YL - face

Me - face

Young Lady then said the best thing. "You probably don't even remember the 80's though."

Me - Haha, um I'm 48.

YL - face

Me - face

Swiper, No Swiping

I have put off this blog for months. Here I've been, ruminating about it, talking about it in therapy, even suggesting it as part of "homework" to boost the urgency, so maybe the expectation/curiosity of someone else would light the fire I can't seem to light on my own. What is so difficult to admit/express/share on here when I have talked about having my legs in stirrups and speculums and so much more? The answer is dating; why it terrifies me, why I shield myself from the pain of it and why I don't feel worthy of romantic love.

Most everyone has their own grab bag of insecurities to use as talismans from pain. We hold these up (not attractive enough, finances, age, too fat, too thin, imposter syndrome, job security, status) as proof to either not try for a desired goal or as the long long division data that justifies why it will just never happen for you. For myself, I tack on my health to this pile of human mental detritus. My health has turned into not only a bludgeon with which to beat myself but a dome of twisted security. I need to find a way to crack the dome.

I hear it more often than I advertise, "Why are you single?" or "Why don't you date?" The hefty nitty-gritty answer to that would take up many and sundry blog posts, but to attempt a summation; dating is selling yourself and I feel I have a product that comes with too much damage. I can hear the objections already from the people that love me. "You have so much to offer" and "Do you know what a catch you are?" This is about honesty so I will admit this is where the bludgeon comes out and I start the internal tallying of my "Why Would Anyone Volunteer For This Job" list. It is a thing. I do it well. It has served to protect me for nearly twenty years. I don't anticipate it ever going away, fully. What I am trying to see in my future is my striving to lessen its power. That cracking the dome notion I mentioned earlier? I was thinking maybe starting with a dating app.

Now, this is where I get completely frozen with fear. I know nothing about them (the last time I attempted an online date was when I had AOL and it was a disaster) and when I mentioned dating apps to some neighbor friends I got "Don't do it, all they wanna do is f@#k" which wasn't reassuring, in the least. This is the interactive portion of this blog. I await your stories; horror, love, comedy, drama. I want to know if you love or hate dating apps or if indifference rules the day (as it has for me.)

The only promise I am making to myself as of now is that once I collect all the goods from your recommendations/warnings I will at the very least install an app. That is a big-time step for me. This blog is a step for me. I am also thinking of this as possible material for future blogs and other content because my mind goes directly to the learning experience of it all, of course. Then, after I have an actual app installed, there's the next step. Who knows, by this time next year I might know what all this swipe right, swipe left business is.

Quite A Yarn

Blogging about my dreams lately has been a kind of cheat, a shortcut to get me back in the mindset of writing. At all. More like priming the pump of my mind that is scrambled and fuzzy with fear of expressing myself. Also, I think my dreams are fun, interesting, and often more than not, hilarious. So, if my subconscious doesn't interest you, don't bother with this blog today. And, probably others in the future. 🙃😏

My most recent doozy of a dream was about a television pilot called "Cully." It starred a ragtag group of knitters that secretly banded together to stop a worldwide conspiracy, whose main goal was to CULL the entire human race.

The poster for the show had the cast standing armed with their knitting needles, yarn hanging from the ends. They all had fierce faces and CULLY was scrawled atop in red, that dripped.

I'm starting to wonder if my subconscious needs an agent.

Circle Gets The Square

Todd called me early this morning. His kidneys were hurting him terribly. He has been passing a lot of stones and when he hurts he seeks distraction, like I do. First thing I tell him is that I was having a dream where the whole world was playing a game of Tic-Tac-Toe and eveyone was putting up giant X's all over the planet. The Earth was going to win but when the phone rang I never found out what planet we were playing against or who won.

He laughed so hard and then said "I really have no idea what to say to that."

Guess I did my job successfully.

Heidi Hollister Esq.

My Mom was over for the Oscars, and the commercials where Walmart is styling "people behind the scenes" kept playing. I made snarky comments about PA's and coffee and gruntwork and blah blah blah. Red carpet. What are you wearing? Walfart. Then my Mom asks "What's a PA?"

I know in her head she was thinking Physician's Assistant, that would be her go to, so the confusion was natural. Also, she is so sweetly clueless sometimes and never afraid to ask. This fact fills me up with giddy joy. It makes for some great dinner conversations. So when she asked, I snorted a little, then tried to explain they are assistants to directors, actors, and so on. She nodded like she understood, so I left it there.

Last night I was rewatching "Game Of Thrones" before the last season is back in April. I am in season 4 where Pod and Brienne set off together. My parents and Todd are rewatching it too and we compare notes. Then, it hits me.

Today I gave my Mom HER difinitive defintion of a PA.

Me - Hey, remember when you didn't know what a PA was? Well, that's Podrick. A squire.
Mom - Oooooooooh. A squire.
Pause
Mom - I love Podrick. So that's a PA huh? Cool. Got it.

Then we spend the next 10 minutes talking about the origin of the word Esquire.

These are the blocks of memory that build my fortress of life.

Defined by Boutell (d.1877)[edit]

Charles Boutell (1812–1877)^[16] defined the term as

Esquire – A rank next below that of Knight. Besides those Esquires who are personal attendants of Knights of Orders of Knighthood, this title is held by all attendants on the person of the Sovereign, and all persons holding the Sovereign's commission being of military rank not below Captain; also, by general concession, by Barristers at Law, Masters of Arts and Bachelors of Law and Physic.

Kitchen Nightmares?

Okay, latest dream update: I was walking in the hallway of this apartment building, and I was carrying this homemade holder for my plastic bags from the grocery store. This is a real thing, my Mom made it for me, she has one as well. It is made of two kitchen towels sown together lengthwise with elastic at the bottom so you are able to stuff it full of your plastic bags. In the dream, I was carrying mine around but it had split from being so stuffed, and for some unknown reason I never examined what was inside to make it bulge. 

So, here I am walking the hallways of an apartment building that is the apartment building to EVERYONE IN THE WORLD, and they are gathering in the hallways after getting off of work, or school, or doctor's appointments, or take your pick. People stare because I am on a floor that isn't mine and also I am keeping company with my plastic bag organizer that is carrying a mystery. 

I keep walking, and carrying my bag, the floors change and get fancier as I get higher in the apartment building. Next Brian Cranston (who is my estranged father) appears with his new family and wants to talk. He has a new young wife with two beautiful daughters and I tell him to go away. He is persistent, but I have an overstuffed homemade plastic bag holder to keep carrying so I tell him to get lost again.

The floors keep getting fancier and with that the light gets dimmer. Next my ex Neil shows up and tries to seduce me. I laugh at him and notice that the tear in my bag is getting bigger. Then I see at the end of the hall is a smaller door, kind of like the Willy Wonka door. A woman with two children sees me and stares at me, irritated that she has to deal with me. "If you have something broken give me your list and I will see to it." she says. I tell her that isn't why I am there. She shrugs her shoulders and leaves. I climb inside and see the biggest kitchen in the world.

I am half crawling and creeping in the ramparts of this magnificent place. I find my way down and see a cook in the center of the kitchen cutting up a tomato. His pants have fallen down so far his buttcrack is showing. He doesn't care and I am enraged. I tell him to pull up his pants. He ignores me. I race over and grab the knife, shove it in his face and order him to pull up his pants. I am disgusted that he is in charge of feeding everyone and he doesn't care that his ass is showing. 

He waddles off and I know he has called the "police" so I start tasting bits of the rich and lovely food before they come. There are other workers and they just watch me. My phone rings and it is my Mom. She asks where I am and when I tell her that our call might get interrupted when the authorities come and get me she says sweetly and unworried "Oh, okay."

Then I wake up.

Bottom Of My Heart

Update on The Unidentified Valvular Object: there is none. I had a TEE yesterday ( transesophageal echocardiography) and there was no sign of what my former Cardiologist claimed to have seen on my other echo. I started crying right there on the table, mostly out of frustration that this whole thing had to happen in the first place. 

My nurse Miriel was most likely the sweetest nurse ever. She hugged me and kissed me on the cheek after she walked my Mom and I out of the hospital.

I have a new team behind me. People I trust. What a great feeling.

After, my Mom and I went to Red Robin for a celebratory lunch where bottomless fries are much easier to swallow than a gastroscope. 

Delivered

Dream report: I was looking down at a menu that had circuits at the top of each item. There was a map of Ogden and "Elsewhere" running concurrently underneath the entire menu. It was pulsing and highlighting locations and food it knew that your body craved. Ordering from this menu meant that your food came from an alternate dimension. Food just appeared and then the waitstaff assembled it and delivered the finished dish to you. The bulk of the dream was a conversation about how we as humans don't concentrate enough of our efforts to the sheer marvel and wonder of food: the molecules, the time and majesty. The goal was that this "Restaurant" was going to be the center of a new religion. Three services of worship each day. There was also a subplot of two of the waitstaff having an affair. Also an original song about soup which I of course cannot remember now.

 Yes, I made these. My one true talent in this life is making soup.

Waitlist

I haven't written here in quite a while. Blocked, intimidated, busy, shy: there are many words to describe the motivations that kept me away. There are also many things happening behind the scenes, physically and emotionally. My physical health seems to be a never ending series of unfortunate events. I have made them the priority in my life, to battle. Somehow convinced that if I keep fighting (emotionally as well) that somehow I will magically win. I am nearly 48 years old and it seems I need to learn that I am never going to "win." It is the need to not feel so small and out of control when all of this is happening where you have never ever had control. As my therapist keeps kindly reminding me, acceptance isn't giving up, so I am learning to accept that I need to feel better about never feeling better. Flip the focus so I use what I can control, my mind, and find the best ways to live my best life my way.

The past few months have been very busy with ER visits, multiple tests at the U and then just last week I had an echo with a stress test at McKay Dee. After the echo and during the stress test my cardiologist waltzes in and informs me they found a Fibroelastoma in my Aortic Valve. He ordered blood cultures. Then he leaves. Waltzed out. No follow up. No plan. No size. Nothing. The next day when I went for my cultures, they were ordered incorrectly. A nurse from the office called two days later and had no idea about anything other than my stress test showed no ischemia which is GREAT!

We have an appointment at the U on February 5 with a new doc. I've had my test results sent to him and I'm done with my old one. This whole thing makes me sad and bewildered. I feel so many balls were dropped and I am too exhausted to pick them up and throw them at his head.

My new personal goal now is to write more. Stop talking myself out of it everytime "No one wants to hear that" "boring" "it's already been written." Sure, I may feel like crap when I write but I can't keep waiting to feel better. I've waited long enough.