Miracle Drug?

I went ahead and filled the script for the anti-depressant, fervently hoping that it would indeed mitigate the increasing, interminable, unbearable hot flashes. I took the first pill on Thursday, another last night, and am astonished to note I have had only 2 very mild, 30-second heats in the last 48 hours. Can it really work that fast and effectively?

I am on the lookout for side effects that the doctor said could be significant in the first two weeks of use. I had a killer headache yesterday, (probably due to the fact that I forgot to eat), but it went away quickly. Other than that, there's just a weird sense of not having hot flashes several times per hour. I guess I had gotten so used to being wildly and constantly uncomfortable, that feeling "normal" is strange.

How wonderful it is to sleep under covers again! It's great to be able to wear a sweater! (I'm assuming that my euphoria today is due to the ability to regulate my own body temperature again, and not just because of the real purpose of the "happy pill"). I'll continue to monitor, but this is AMAZING!

Florida Recap

Here are a few pix, just to prove that we actually took the archetypal Winter Florida Vacation:



This hopeful seagull wants Bill's picnic lunch:


Bill's not giving anything away:

And then he decides to brave the not-warm-at-all ocean:

(without waiting for the requisite hour-after-eating rule).

Do I Have to do ALL the Thinking Here?

Whew. Despite my anticipation that yesterday might be a tad stressful, I had no idea just how nutso the doctor follies were about to get. It started out well, with my blood pressure finally in the range of low-normal, after a year of all-over-the-place readings, and ho-hum normal blood work. Not anemic. Electrolytes balanced. Blood gases normal.

The night sweats and hot flashes continue to ramp up and make my life miserable in 20-30 three-minute chunks per day, despite the temporary relief given by the spruce lignan supplements a few months back. It's not working anymore. I still have major pain in my back, where the incision begins on the right side under my arm--without the weekly chiropractor adjustments that kept the pain at bay in Washington, I have some level of physical pain everyday. Dr. DaSilva says I need to see Dr. Huddleston about that (the plastic surgeon), as he suspects nerve entrapment by the implant. He still says I seem depressed. (Perhaps I am, especially on days when I have to deliver myself into the maw of medical-land). He says my cancer is in total remission, excellent news.

Wait. What about the results of my chest x-ray, taken just before I left for the west coast, I ask? Normal and clear, right? After much flipping and searching through the chart, he finds the results of the test he ordered the last time he saw me in late September. Oh, looky-there. There's a spot on my lung.

There's a SPOT on my LUNG? And someone presumably read the results of this test and, somehow, didn't have a thought that maybe I should KNOW about this? Once again, I can't trust anyone to PAY ATTENTION. The medicos are all so efficient, ordering tests and filing paperwork to cover their bases, showing that they checked all the boxes and did all the requisite follow-up, but no one ever LOOKS at the results once the procedure is followed. [Rage. Fright].

Yes, he says, we should probably do a CAT scan, even though it's probably nothing. Probably.

I spend the rest of the day in a haze of under-current panic, thrumming along in the back of my head, while I go make appointments for Dr. Huddleston for next week and Dr. Anderson for March, pick up some scar gel, shop for yarn, eat a gargantuan hamburger at Five Guys while listening to the radio, pick up my tamoxifen Rx, all the while feeling very sorry for my sorry self.

Then on the drive home, the voice-memory of Jimmy Stewart speaks to me: "Now-wait-just-a-gosh-darned-minute." I had a chest x-ray in October of 2007, a pre-op check, just before the mastectomy. Dr. DaSilva has all those records from UVA. Wouldn't it be prudent to check and see if there was a spot on my lung in that x-ray and, I don't know, maybe COMPARE the two x-rays to see if this is an old spot or a new spot, at least before we go running off for about another $3,000 in CAT scan madness?

When I finally got home in the late afternoon, I called the nurse and explained about the previous x-ray. She couldn't find it in my chart. I gave her the phone numbers for UVA. An hour later, Betty called back. "Yes," she said, "the spot was there in 2007, and the 2008 x-ray shows that it is now significantly smaller than it was the year before." Ta-da! I asked her to show the two x-ray reports to the doctor and ask if the CAT scan is really necessary, given the new information we now have, (thanks to me).

The moral of the story is: Every test, every time--get the results! Because, no one cares as much about your health as you. Because, you can't be sure that just because you deliver yourself into the arms of the medical profession for their tests and procedures, that someone is actually reading the results and connecting the information into a coherent picture of what's going on with you. I don't know why I have to keep learning this lesson, over and over again, but there it is.

It is any wonder that I might be depressed? It's depressing! After more than a year of this madness and medical run-around, the story is still the same. I'm in limbo. Waiting for the reprieve to end. Waiting for bad news to resurface.

I now have a prescription in hand for a low-dose anti-depressant, which is used off-label for the insufferable, increasing hot flashes, (with the presumed added benefit of making me a more chipper and pleasant patient). I don't know if I will fill it. I balk. Or part of me does.

Now that the wedding is over, and life (as we know it) returns to its day-to-day routine, I am noticing that I'm walking around with a tremendous sense of...nothingness. There are no highs or lows in my life. I'm just floating along, waiting for something to happen. Waiting to return to some semblance of being alive (or waiting for something to go wrong again). Ennui in the extreme. It reminds me of the year following my dad's death, when I felt that all of my emotions had just flat-lined. I didn't feel anything...I was just breathing one breath after another, going through the motions of living. Nothing impacted my disconnected-ness.

I feel that same numbness now. Even my temporary panic yesterday was muted and foggy, like it was happening to someone else. Is happiness in the form of a pill the answer? The nurse just called to tell me that the doctor still wants me to do the CAT scan. Is this for my benefit, or his?

The cancer is gone. So now, what do I do with the rest of my life?

Doctor Day

Today is my first "annual" oncology checkup with Dr. DaSilva. I note that there is always a huge underlying sense of fear and foreboding, carefully wrapped up in a perky exterior of good-sport confidence, on Doctor Day. On these days, I remember that I'm a cancer patient, now and forever.

I used to think of myself as a healthy person. I still do, whenever I manage to forget for a little while that my breasts decided to go all nuclear on me, despite my doing all the "right" things like diet and exercise and self-exams and mammograms. Those pseudo "preventive measures" seem so much like a pathetic exercise in self-delusion now.

It does no good to dwell, of course. Reality bites, and there is nothing I can do to change what was, what is, and what will come in the future.

I get really down on Doctor Day, can you tell? But I go, mentally placing one foot in front of the other, plodding along to greet my fate, whatever it will be. Waiting for the professional pronouncement of sentence or reprieve, at least for another four months. Stuffing the fear down and not allowing it voice or existence, lest it take over my thoughts and my life, even for a day.

An internet friend said last year, "Welcome to the 'Sucks to Have an Oncologist' Club!" My sentiments exactly.

Crazy Flying

As if there weren't enough things to whine about, I REALLY hate airline travel. Just so you know, my dislike of airplanes has evolved over the years from a simple terror of being unnaturally above the earth to the more innocuous loathing of the bureaucratic ordeal involved in getting on a plane. On yesterday's journey, I had the opportunity to revisit both.

First, the security checkpoint at Fort Lauderdale at 5 am was the biggest mess I've ever seen. Hundreds, literally hundreds of travelers were funnelled into two lines, which were then screened by one TSA employee, checking everyone's boarding pass and photo ID. From there, 8 lines of baggage checkers and 4 walk-through gates were in a complete, dead stop. There were bins and shoes and laptops and jackets and quart ziplock bags with gels and liquids all over the place. TSA guards were yelling at everyone in that annoying school-principal voice, admonishing us that until we followed the rules, no one was going anywhere, and it was just too bad if you missed your plane. Puffed with authority, bloated with self-importance, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, walking away even if questioned politely, the TSA earned a big, fat "F" in people skills. Roped into columns that were not moving at all, the crowd's mood was surly--and the TSA responded by acting like brown-shirts in a police state.

I was directed by the Commandant into a line of people needing "extra screening," despite the fact that the markings on my boarding pass clearly showed that I should be in Line 4. But no one in charge would even look at my pass or listen to my courteous assertion that I didn't belong in the line that I was in. Thirty minutes later (tick-tick-tick, clock is ticking), I was finally escorted to a chair to remove my ziplock and shoes, and once I walked through the metal detector, 10 minutes later, the guard in charge of that station said "Hey, this one's not supposed to be in this line." Thank you so very much. Told you. [Under-breath deleted expletive].

So why do y'all have to be so unpleasant, and why do we have to be all submissive and meek, lest we irk the authorities and make it even worse for ourselves? It is a classic power-trip, where the people in charge hold the threat of force over ordinary folks, and revel in that power for its own sake. They wield that power, because they can. Not good.

I now had 7 minutes before take-off to find my gate (changed, of course, thanks again). Breathless, I made it onto the jetway, as they shut the door behind me. Whew. I figured that finally, the worst was over. Wrong.

On final approach to Atlanta, I was watching the seat-back screen showing our descent, and when we got to about 1200 feet, the pilot suddenly gunned the throttle and threw the plane into a steep banking climb, whooshing out of there like pants on fire. With a father and brother who are pilots, I knew this was NOT NORMAL in the extreme. Sure enough, 10 minutes later, the pilot came on speaker to inform us that we were "going around again," because there was "traffic in the way!" So you see, I was justified in my visceral fright about flight.

On the second approach, the pilot apparently decided that come hell or high water, he was going to drive that puppy into the ground. We caromed down onto the tarmac, bouncing from one wheel to the other, rolling with wings see-sawing from side to side. It took FIVE big slams before he actually got both sets of wheels on the deck simultaneously. Yes, I was wrung out like a dishrag by the time we were finally taxiing to the gate.

Then, we stood in the aisles for an eon or two. People behind me were pushing forward, yelling "excuse me, excuse me, we have to catch our connection!" and I quietly informed the woman behind me that "we ALL have connections we have to catch, Ma'am, and pushing past me is not going to get you there any faster--just relax."

Our go-around had cost me my 30 minutes of layover time, so once again, I was running through an airport, searching for my gate two concourses over. I caught the underground train, staggered up the stairs and zipped through the door, with two whole minutes to spare. "Holy cow," I thought. "Why is this so danged hard?"

I think you have to put yourself in some sort of Zen-like state in order to fly these days. Because I do it so infrequently, every part of airline travel annoys me. Behaving like submissive cattle, being run through a security chute. Acquiescing to the pseudo-power of inefficient morons, in order to get to my goal--a seat on an actual plane. Placing my life in the hands of a pilot I'll never see. Praying, as we bounce wildly down a runway. Being shoved around in the aisle, because some other passenger thinks her agenda trumps mine. Running, always running, with the adrenaline rush of needing to get somewhere in time to get on still another plane.

People who travel frequently by plane shrug their shoulders at all of these annoyances. But I still think, it shouldn't be this difficult. I remember when flying was fun (and cheap)! I could catch a midnight flight to San Francisco for the weekend for $26 round-trip, just by showing up at 11:45. I remember when you could give your friend your ticket, if you couldn't make a flight. Or sell it, no problem. Those days are over, and all I'm left with is a set of "back in the good-old days" old-fart memories; which I revisit, everytime I have to fly with the now-days rules.

Yes, driving takes way too much time and it seems like I'm always buying tires. But at least I don't have to put up with Nazi-like robots, fighter-pilot shenanigans, and rude fellow travelers. I'll take the highway, anyday, over another plane trip.

Getting Comfortable with Being a Tourist

I'm starting to settle in to this vacation-relaxation mode. From the crankiness of my post yesterday, I have concluded that I was just suffering from post-airline-travel-annoyance syndrome.

Yesterday, I conquered the intricacies of bus travel, found the knit shop I was looking for, and soaked up a little sun around the pool in the afternoon. I finished a baby blanket and a hat, started a book, and found some equilibrium.

The knit shop was a revelation--I am just not at a skill level to justify this leap into specialty yarn yet, at least in terms of actually purchasing a hunk of hand-spun, hand-dyed amazingness at $98 a skein. No, really! I am not kidding. There was a real bargain of 12 skeins of to-die-for rainbow-related, coordinating textures for only $180, but who are we talking about? Would I spend $180 on any article of clothing, already made? No way. So, it was fun to "ooooh" and "ahhhh," but I'll have to see if this new hobby stands the test of time before shelling out the big bucks on such luxurious materials.

Today, I have checked out a bicycle and plan to pedal up to "Antique Row" in Dania Beach. That is, if the old adage that one never forgets how to ride one of the things is actually true...

Florida

I don't do well in tropical climes. I am probably the only person on earth who thinks Hawaii is not paradise, or even a preferred destination. I have been to Florida several times, and have always been struck with how unpleasant the air "feels" down here. The air is thick. I've visited in March (hot and humid), July (REALLY hot and humid), September (the same), and now January. Somehow, I thought it would be different in January.

It is cold here right now, they tell me. Fifty degrees is a little nippy I'll grant you, kind of like an early spring day in Tennessee. But there's still that vaguely uncomfortable feeling of breathing oxygen that is too laden with water. And the wind. While other people perceive a pleasant tropical breeziness, I just find the constant blowing-blowing-blowing, highly annoying.

Our digs are clean and pleasant, and the training facility is very impressive. The grounds are full of lush, tropical plants--I fully expect them to leap from their contained boundaries in a rush to eat the humans at any moment. I have not yet seen the beach, several miles to the east.

Today, I had planned on bicycling up to the library, to buy bus passes for our planned weekend activities. But a quick check on the computer shows that the local branch won't open until noon.

Instead, I will go to the gym this morning, do an hour of "huff-and-puff," then take a shower and get on a bus to Hallandale, where there is a beach and a knitting shop I want to check out.

It's probably for the best. Now I'm not sure I was up to a bicycling trip, listening to my lungs gurgle, trying to filter out the moisture from the ambient air as I madly pedalled northward. Exercising in a controlled environment is probably better anyway, away from that never-ending gale blowing onshore.

The Fridge Has Landed

The long-awaited new fridge arrived on Saturday. I have been a little busy, transferring the contents of the old, cleaning up and getting rid of the inevitable "science projects," the ones in the back that escaped notice until EVERYTHING was taken out and inspected.

I seem to have an inordinate number of "condiments." Three different kinds of salsa, 12 different mustards, 4 barbeque sauces, 4 kinds of mayo, 6 jars of jam and 4 bottles of syrups, 5 types of mysterious Oriental enhancers like wasabi, hoisin, onagi, teriyaki, etc. 7 salad dressings. 4 jars of pickles. Tubes of Italian tomato paste and German mustard. Eye drops that expired 10/05. Yes, it was definitely time for a clean out.

There is room for everything and room to spare. Happiness.

Today, Bill flies to Ft. Lauderdale to start his classes tomorrow. I will follow tomorrow afternoon, after I take Echo over to be boarded at the vet's in the morning. She will not like being "put in jail," but this is the best solution we could come up with, as the school does not allow pets. Perhaps I could pass her off as a "service animal," if only she were trained better. Sigh.

It is snowing lightly today, a perfect incentive for a trip to Florida.

Knitting Class Reunion Day

Today, I get to return to knitting class/group, in its new venue, the Rogersville Library. I have missed my yarn-buddies, and can't wait to catch up on everyone's doings while I was away. I feel a little under-prepared though, as I only have a half-finished baby blanket that I started for the express purpose of keeping my nerves at bay, while Bill took the wheel on our trip home.

It seems that all of a sudden, my friends from New York are expecting grand-babies this spring. Anita's daughter Amy is due next month, while Linda's daughter Amy, and daughter-in-law, also named Amy, are both expecting within days of each other in May. If your name is Amy, I suggest you do a pregnancy test immediately!

Here in Tennessee, MaryAnn is also an expectant grandmother. Her daughter Ashley, who lives in Virginia, is also having a baby girl soon, but I'm having a brain-freeze as to exactly when. I'll hopefully find out today when that knitting project is due, even if it means subjecting myself to mild derision for having a middle-aged, forgetful brain.

When I'm in doubt as to what kind of project to start, I'll knit a baby blanket--it's sure to find a home quickly. And I love making the matching tiny hats, as I did for my doctor. They are fast, and incredibly cute.

Am I ready to be a granny? Not quite. I'm still recovering from just being mother-of-the-bride, thank you so very much. I do have that "Awwww!" visceral response when I see a new baby or an especially cute toddler, but then I mentally slap myself and get a grip. I can wait patiently for those future blessings. Really.

*****

Thanks to all readers who provided Tire Counseling yesterday. I'm all set. One of mine was deemed to be a "Manufacturer's Defect," so I got a full refund on that one, plus $43 and change back on each of the other 3. Bill is very impressed, never having had any luck getting anything back on a tire warranty. I have four new tires, rated at 80,000 miles. I'm hoping to get 40K out of them, and then it'll be time to buy new tires again. Oh, joy.

Cold Thoughts on Car Tires

So...tell me again why I only seem to be able to get 30,000 miles out of 60,000 mile tires?

We tried to get the tires rotated in Roseville, CA at the local Walmart, only to be told that the tread was so worn as to be "illegal." They refused to touch the things, so we drove on, marveling at how difficult everything seems to be in my native state these days. While the rest of the universe accepts 3/32" of tread as a standard, 5/32" is what passes for legal tread wear in California.

By the time we got to Oklahoma, the vibration was getting more noticeable. And by the time we hit Arkansas, it was downright annoying. We tried stopping in a Walmart in Nashville to fix the problem, but Bill stood at the counter for 20 minutes without his presence being acknowledged, and we decided to just go home on our now almost-bald rubber.

Yesterday, I spent some time with the "Tire Lady," Joanne, at our Rogersville Walmart, both of us shaking our heads over my under-performing Michelins. Bill and I bought four new tires in September, 2007, right after we returned home from the west coast, and just before I was diagnosed. I guess all those trips (11, I think?) to Charlottesville, our summer trip to New York, and my cross-country trek for the wedding took their toll. All I can do is replace them, but at least I get a 49% refund of my original purchase price. In the meantime, prices have gone up by about 25% per tire, so now the discount doesn't sound so great.

But I have to make a tire purchasing decision, AGAIN. This is as bad as buying shoes for myself. Do I go for the hard-riding, but higher mileage-rated Bridgestones? Do I buy another 60,000 mile set, knowing that I'll only get a half-life out of the darn things? Do I go for tires that are made in Indonesia, or the ones made in India? I am so confused.

To add to the fun, it is freezing out there today. My thermometer says it's 5 degrees on the porch. I think I'll go back to bed and ponder getting new shoes for the car later. Much later.

Home At Last

It sure was good to get back to the ol' homestead yesterday afternoon! We managed to pick up some milk and get the mail from the post office before they closed. Of course, there was no room in the car for the mail bucket or the milk, so it rode on my lap for the last part of the trip.

What rain they must have had in the last two months! The pond is FULL of water, up to the top of the overflow drain. When I left in November, I could see the bottom of the drain, at least 5 feet tall, with no water near it. And the floating dock is now actually floating again!

We couldn't get the car up the driveway because it was covered in wet leaves, surely the slipperiest substance known to man. After extricating myself from under the gargantuan mail bucket, Echo and I walked up to open up the house, and Bill stayed behind to remove the leaves. While he did that, I turned on all the water systems (tanks, UV and softener) and pumps, opened the valve on the propane tank, fired up the gas water heater, and turned on the furnace to heat up the house. I then bled all the faucets (spurt, sputter, splash), and started to get to know my house again. Bill heroically emptied the car of its over-stuffed burdens. Our life in the car is now all over my living room floor.

Echo found her way immediately to the futon and has been there ever since. That is one tired traveling dog.

I cooked a quick dinner and then we collapsed on the couch to sort two months worth of mail. A belated thanks for all the Christmas cards and letters. It sure is nice to hear from friends and family!

I got a letter from a friend, thanking me for the hat and blanket I sent [see here] for her upcoming baby. Surprise! The little girl arrived a month early, on December 22! As I was reading the note out loud to Bill, I suddenly had a catch in my throat, and started to cry when I read this: "She's beautiful, and you were right! Something happened when I met her. Suddenly everything else doesn't matter; it's like she came out with "The Meaning of Life" stamped on her cute little hind end."

After having spent the last two months in full press mode getting my own "Meaning of Life" married off, I know exactly what she means. Plus, I love being told I'm right about anything.

It's good to be home.

*******
I have put up new pix under the appropriate posts of the past, to "catch up" from the last few weeks when I couldn't upload photos.

Good times in Oklahoma...

Today, Bill and I will start our final push home for TN. We have spent the last two nights with friends Elvin and Debbie in Edmond, OK, playing games, watching movies, talking and laughing, eating and drinking, and enjoying their lovely home and warm company.

Bill and Elvin have been best friends since they met in elementary school in Illinois. It has been fun for Debbie and me to watch them reconnect, recollect old stories and tell each other new tales. Bill hasn't seen Elvin for 15 years or so, and as he and Debbie married only last year, Bill had never met her until now (I was here in the summer of '07, on my way to California). We all like each other very much.

Echo has had some cat-chasing and dog-sniffing adventures too. Debbie raises shelties, and there is a new litter of 4-week old pups in the garage, along with the grown dogs in the kennel out back. Echo seems confused by the puppies--they smell like dogs, but they make her very nervous, and she keeps a respectful distance.

Bill got to hold "Chilly Willy," the littlest one, who almost froze the night he was born:

Today we will pack up and finish driving through the state of Oklahoma, and then get Arkansas out of the way too. We hope to be somewhere in western Tennessee tonight, and be home on the other side of the state by Monday night. It is forecast to start snowing on Tuesday there, so it's back to the "white stuff" again when we finally arrive.

I have no way to upload photos from here (too big of a learning curve, I'm sorry to say), so I'll do all that when we get home. [done] First, we'll have to get all the house systems back online--the water, gas, heat, phone, TV satellite and internet satellite, so it may be a few days before I post again.

Then, it's off to Florida the following week, so Bill can take the maritime courses he's signed up for--we're going to sneak in a few days of vacation together there, in between his classes. So the busy-ness and travel will continue, at least until the end of January. Not a bad way to spend the first part of the new year.

"Home Again" in San Pedro

The house my mother lives in is the house I grew up in. It is the house where Bill and I lived when we were first married; where daughter Juli was labored and almost born; where we have always come to to be with family, in happiness and in crisis.

It not only feels like "coming home," it is exactly like a salmon coming back to its birthing stream, after years of wandering the big ocean. I know the way without even thinking about it, and it is so familiar as to be part of my unconscious.

We will only be here a day, to help mom with a few things and have a short visit. Then it's back on the highway, headed east, for our "other" home, the one where we actually live and still are getting used to.

Another Big Driving Day

Bill still hasn't decided whether or not he wants to stop in Vallejo this morning, so planning our route is still up in the air. But our destination is the far side of Los Angeles, which means a lot of driving in heavy freeway traffic for about 180 miles. And that's after we do the 200 miles of Northern and Central California.

So I guess we had better pick a direction and get a-goin'...

Long day to Sacramento

Yesterday was a little bit of hard driving, getting through all the mountain passes (at break-neck speed, with big trucks breathing down our bumper), but finally emerging victorious into the big Central Valley of California.

Mt. Shasta and the other mountain above (Mt. Brady?) are obviously volcanic cones.

Look at a topo map, and you can see that the Central Valley was all once a gigantic inland sea--view it from the ground, and it seems so vast as to be incomprehensible, to have once been filled with ocean from the Coastal Ranges to the Sierra Nevadas.

I know all this stuff, because I grew up and went to school in California (and I paid attention, too!)

Today, we are taking care of a few details--the cruise control on the Focus quit working (we're hoping it's a blown fuse), we need to get the tires rotated, and we need to return the chains we bought in Oregon and didn't use. Big hooray for that! Tonight, we will take Ray & Elaine out to dinner, and then get on the road to Los Angeles, where we will spend a couple of days with Mom.

Happy Trails to us all.

Snowshoeing in Oregon

Bill, Joann and I went snowshoeing today up in the Cascades, east of Eugene, up on the Williamette Pass. What fun! The scenery was fantastic, the air was fresh and invigorating, and the thrill of learning a new skill (without too much fuss or learning curve), couldn't be beat.

And to think I lived in Corinth, NY all those years (the "Snowshoe Capital of the World") and never did this. D'oh!

Tomorrow, we will brave the mountain passes (we bought chains today) and go to Ray & Elaine's place, near Sacramento. It will be a long day, but we've been promised homemade New Year's Tamales. I can't think of a better incentive for getting to our destination.

Time to go home, the long way around

It snowed again in Olympia last night. I have already had my annual ration of inconvenient snowfall this winter, thank you so very much, and I am ready to leave this vale of annoyance and get on down the road.

I'm at the point where I think I can fit everything including the dog and ourselves into the car, but I haven't actually tried it yet. Our Spanish CD program hasn't arrived, so it will just have to be sent to us further along on our journey. I guess Bill and I will have to converse in English until then.

Blogging will be sporadic for the next week or so, but I will keep updating whenever computers become available. 

I'm in ROADTRIP MOOD this morning, which is to say, giddy as a squirrel leaping through the treetops. How I do love that highway up ahead...

The view from the Seattle Space Needle

On Monday, Bill and I had a little time to be tourists in Seattle, despite all the post-wedding letdown. For those who have never been there, it is a wonder!

Looking southwest across Elliot Bay to West Seattle:

Marina and grain-loading docks, looking west:

Looking northeast at Downtown Seattle (I can see my car from here!)

The sun was actually shining, and though the wind disconcertingly rocked the tower, (the guide told us that it sways 1 inch for every 10 mph of wind, and it was 40-50 mph outside), once our conscious minds knew that, we adjusted, much like being on a rocking ship.

Built in 1962 for the World's Fair, the Space Needle is the signature skyline feature of Seattle. 

Up at 2, thinking about going home at last...

Bill spent yesterday with Alex, up in Seattle. They had themselves some good, ol' fashioned male bonding time, complete with visits to the guitar store, the motorcycle dealership, the surplus ammo store, the military museum at Ft. Lewis, and got the oil changed in preparation for our departure. Alex joined us for dinner in Olympia, and then Bill took him back home again.

I went to the chiropractor, Fedex, the alterations lady (to pick up a skirt I forgot about), bought ice for the ice chests, filled up Kellie's car at the gas station, and picked her up from work. I emptied water from ice chests, packed boxes to be sent to TN, made split-pea soup and re-organized all the wedding leftovers. We had roast pork (what else?) for dinner and apple pie for dessert.

Today, we will try to get ourselves organized and packed up in between football games. We're headed first to Eugene, OR to see my college roommate and her husband for a day or two. Then on to Roseville, CA to see Ray & Elaine for the weekend, then to Mom's in Los Angeles.

With the wedding accomplished and the new year upon us, we're suddenly anxious to get home. Bill has been gone since August 4, and I've been away from my mountain since early November. The lure of warm weather and having our own space is strong. Echo the traveling dog, will be happy to get on the road again too, I'm sure.

It's been so much fun, but it's time to go home. Happy New Year to us all.