Trees and Paper

Tomorrow the tree guys are coming to our house. Bright and early they'll arrive, chainsaws at the ready to cut down someone's idea of beauty. Decades ago the original owner planted a Monterey Cypress that is brown and scraggly now; a Chinese Elm that writhes and wrangles with the Pitisporum for a spot of sun; five myaporum trees grown taller than the neighbor's 2-story house but truly a gnarled and unsightly privacy screen; the said Pitisporum that is too close to the house's roof and foundation for comfort; two Monterey Pines that have created a mockery of our driveway and must be punished for their errant root systems... there are more but do you need to hear it? The sun is going to shine in parts of our backyard long neglected by warmth and light.  The front and side yards will become more and less than they were.

Very, very soon we'll start the decade-delayed retaining wall/fence project. Of course there won't be any money left to actually landscape the backyard but I'm going to spend many hours enjoying the fact that we could landscape it. We really could do it! Hardscape in, nasty space-swallowing trees out means more room for lovely trees, plantings, patio, maybe a little writer's cottage tucked out back. See? I've already started the dreaming.

The paper in the heading comes from the absurd amount of material stacked up and waiting to be filed somewhere. Somewhere I can retrieve it again, that is. I tell myself I need a big chunk of time to work on it and it really is true. Have you ever started a filing project only to be interrupted? Maybe a dozen times? It's agony, and really impossible to carry the thought process from one pile to the next. Tomorrow, though, I've got a few hours when I can sort, destack, file and clear while the tree guys are doing the same thing outside. The symmetry is my motivation. This will be spring cleaning with pure energy!

We're Losing Teachers and Music and the Library...

Can you imagine your children coming home with the news that more than half a dozen teachers are receiving pink slips due to the state's financial crisis? Or that they won't have access to their incredible library next year, or that there won't be a band or chorus for the fourth and fifth grades? Class sizes will increase, putting a greater burden on the teachers who remain to do more with less. The kids will certainly be required to do more with much less. Will they ever make up for the losses? Will the schools ever crawl out of these holes?

Like most schools, ours benefits from a community fundraising organization. It's called SchoolForce. Now more than ever we're hoping SchoolForce can make up for the $3 million budgetary gaps and save the teachers, the class size, the library and the band. There's more to save, of course. It is just too overwhelming to list all the losses we face.

If you've stumbled on this site out of friendship, chance or desire to unload an inheritance and save a school district, head on over to SchoolForce. There's a Read-a-Thon going on now (my guys are doing their part by reading day and night) and you can donate in Gracie and Danny's names at Central Elementary. Or just donate. NO pressure, though. It's not as if the future of our galaxy hangs in the balance.

Haven on Earth

Years and years ago, before marriage and children, animals were my primary focus. I formed a dog and cat rescue called "Haven on Earth" and endeavored to rehome as many homeless animals as possible on a struggling editor's salary. The animals did not need an invitation, either; they seemed to sense their welcome and found me. Cat projects included trapping, neutering and placing the Gap Cats from the Gap office development in San Bruno (formerly an open field behind a shopping center and apartment complex); trapping, neutering, taming and rehoming colonies at Candlestick Point, a population in danger of becoming training bait for hunting dogs; and various neighborhood colonies in San Francisco, South San Francisco, Belmont and Millbrae. The dogs were usually spitz breeds from a collaboration with Keeshond Rescue in Menlo Park, now defunct with the passing of the rescue owner. Finnish Spitz, American Eskimo, Keeshonden and varieties of those breeds became my flatmates and, later, housemates.

How many animals passed through my heart? A hundred, easily. Some went to great homes, others were gently helped to heaven when no amount of medical care would keep them on earth. Then there were those animals, mostly cats, who could not be placed anywhere. Those cats remained with me, and when I married, became part of my dowry for a willing husband. Our "high" was 33 and now, in our specially selected home with a "cat haven" adapted garage/workshop,  we have nine cats in their retirement years. Yes, nine cats ranging in age from 13 to 15 years. They are all adoptable but hard to place because of their age, shyness, or simply lack of visibility. Seriously, how many people are willing to adopt a 15-year-old cat from a flyer?

We  are making a final push to find these felines a forever home because they deserve it. And because we can't muster the time, energy or financial resources to care for them as they should be.  Deferred maintenance on our home is requiring a serious look at where the money is going every month and after all this time we have to put our family first.

They are lovies, characters, and beauties. I will be featuring them on this blog in coming days. Please take a look at our babes and if you have the space in your life, consider adopting one. Or two. You may be blessed to become their final haven on earth.

Waiting for Joe

Waiting, waiting. A day full of dog barking, kids ignoring requests for household help, endless parade of mindless chores. Now I'm waiting, waiting for Joe to come home so I can bolt this coop. Maybe a movie will change my mood. The friend I called for a last minute invitation to the movies answered laughing, saying she was in the middle of email to me inviting herself over for coffee tomorrow.

The dog never barks unless we're home and in separate rooms. Weirdo. I love being in separate rooms. He can't stand it. He's not ready for prime time, though, and can't be trusted with the run of the house. So Roscoe is Waiting, Waiting too. Now he's waiting for Danny to open his door and come back to the kitchen, for Gracie to come down the hall and join us. Me, I'm waiting to be released from my kitchen prison. This laptop is good company. It is a challenge to type, interrupt myself to calm the dog, return with leashed canine in hand and type more. See? Boring as all get out, too.

As you can tell by the photo of Roscoe waiting on the table, our training sessions are going remarkably well. (I told him to "wait" while I went for my iPhone and he didn't move a toenail.) Perfect pooch.

Down the Rabbit Hole

One of the drugs used during chemo required another drug to minimize its effects. Dexamethasone was worse than the bone pain it reduced and I usually refused it. A few times I couldn't bear the pain, though, and the awful depression and insomnia were high prices to pay.

This past week brought the beginning of dental work I had hoped to avoid: a bridge. Just the sound of it makes my hair seem grayer. After cutting into two relatively healthy teeth to create the anchors for the bridge, temporaries were placed and I was sent home to wait for the lab to build my lovely bridge. Every hour saw an increase in the throbbing until I caved in and returned to the dentist a mere seven days later. No, nothing wrong a little prednisone wouldn't fix. Prednisone, kissing cousin to dexamethasone. Better believe the pain was intense or I wouldn't have agreed to it. And it wasn't dinner time before I was slipping down the rabbit hole, into that pitch of melancholy from ChemoLand Days. This morning even the sound of thirty birds singing in the lemon tree cannot stop me from baseless tears. The pain is emotional, from that solitary place I inhabited four years ago and suggests that maybe I haven't finished grieving. Lost health? Innocence? Days without a chance thought of cancer?

I'm refusing to surrender to a drug-induced nap. I'm sure that's the right course of action. Keep on keeping on, you know.

Mysterious Gifts Revealed

Those birthday gifts? They were huge votes of confidence wrapped in paper love. You see, some of my future plans involve the ability to sew. I do not possess this ability. I do however, possess creativity and perseverance. And there is a refurbished Brother sewing machine winging its way here to me as we write, and read, these words! The kids and Joe found some great sewing books and accessories for me. They believe I can do it. So do I.

Already lined up is a fab sewing instructor who, BTW, teaches kids to sew as well. Danny and Gracie both have wanted to learn for several years. Before long Joe will be begging for lessons and we'll be the family that sews...

My valentine was a silver and amethyst hedgehog necklace. Tres, tres cute.

This morning I'm sipping coffee and watching the many birds feeding outside the living room window. That's another gift. It's true that if you feed them, they will come. They'll come and bring their songs and beauty. Hardly a fair exchange for a few sunflower seeds.

Now,  last on today's post is a request for prayers. Bessie, great lovely Bessie, is ill. Bessie is my dear friend Marian's Newfoundland, and since Marian died last June Bes has lived with Marian's parents. Suddenly Bessie's kidneys are failing and it isn't clear if she is going to stay with us. Her family wonders if she thinks her job is done. I think that Marian would want Bessie to stay on earth with her parents a little longer and ask for your good thoughts for this darling dog.

Happy Birthday to Me

Yay, this is 49. After cancer my view of birthdays has decidedly changed. Keep 'em coming!

The family is being somewhat mysterious about the nature of my gifts this year. Apparently there is a theme. I believe Joe is driving around with Whatever They Are in the back of his Mazda. My guess? Something to do with "my business," a creative endeavor so new I haven't even completed an official business plan.

The Business, as I like to call it, is burbling along anyway. The laundry room possesses a nook and is conveniently located off the kitchen, my former home-base of operations — voila, an office! I've partnered with an amazing woman in Ohio for some of the creative production aspects (there's a tale there) and am going to work with someone closer to home to generate a prototype. Gosh, I love such mystery! If I could bottle my enthusiasm at this moment I could make a small fortune, certainly enough to bankroll The Business!

On a birthday, though, it is more appropriate to take a moment and look at the goals of years past. The big ones have always been to raise a strong, happy family and live a life according to that ancient precept, The Golden Rule. With our children I intended to teach them to love reading and, seeing books on every surface of our home, I know that has happened. The other measure of success is their own understanding of The Golden Rule. Yeah, they are bringing it into their lives, too, even without my presence. At 49, I feel very successful to have passed on those two life-guiding principles to them. Books open the  mind to the world and all its possibilities, and the humanity of caring for others as one cares for oneself (which mandates a healthy self-love) will take them wherever they want to go.

Happy Birthday, Happy Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday to ME!

Miss You!

There are friends from college, friends from grade school, friends I haven't met yet who read me. Okay, read Hedgie's Chronicles. I know you are out there because I see the hits on the 'counter. This is a one-sided conversation we're having and if you aren't bored with that, I am! Come out and chat with me! Send me some private email at princesshedgietoyou@gmail.com and I'll write back. Really, I will. Tell me what's happening with you, why you visit, if there's anything you'd like to share or discuss.

C'mon. I miss you!