I'm not gonna lie . . .

. . . I got a blue scarf for my birthday, and it makes me so happy that I might wear it all the time.

. . . Two funerals in two weeks is the kind of thing that makes you think that it would be nice to have someone at home to put you in a big bear hug every night for a few hours.

. . . That bear hug person would also be helpful getting me out of the bed and dressed in the mornings. Really, what's the point of being up before 8:00 anyway? It's just more time awake without that bear hug.

. . . There's nothing like your focus suddenly being somewhere other than work for a week or so to remind you that there's a whole world outside of work. People I like live there. Free time exists there. It's magical.

. . . I saw Juno over the weekend, and all of you were right. It was pretty much like watching myself on a giant screen (except not the pregnant part). Plus I finally got that Oscar nomination that I've always dreamed of. 'Bout time. I work hard for that every year, yet every year I get completely snubbed.

I just needed to get those things off my chest.

C.T.

Blurg

That's pretty much it in a nutshell.

Last week, the battery died in my car. That was fun.

Then I had a birthday (making me another year older) on the same day as the viewing before my Grandma's funeral, which was the day after my birthday. Which, incidentally, was just two weeks since the other funeral so far this year.

I haven't been to work in a week. I was supposed to have two days off for fun and relaxation last week, but that turned into five days off, none of which were fun or relaxing. And I don't want to go to work tomorrow.

I feel neither relaxed nor ready to have to think about work. I'm tired and cranky and that's never good for work. I just really want to sleep for about a week. That might help.

Also, my birthday is the anniversary of Roe v. Wade, every year. And, Heath Ledger died on my birthday this year.

So, to all of this I say . . . blurg.

C.T.

Lumpy cream of wheat

One of my favorite things about my Grandma was that the cream of wheat she made was lumpy.

Every time my sister and I would go stay with Grandma, or any time I was there, really, we would request cream of wheat. We thought the lumps were a special treat just for us.

Fancy, if you will.

My mom eventually let us know that cream of wheat wasn't actually supposed to be lumpy. Apparently my Grandma's cream of wheat was lumpy because she was in a hurry to make it or something.

See, it comes out lumpy when you dump it all in there at one time instead of slowly adding the wheated part to the boiling milk.

Whatever.

Accidental, hurried, or secretly fancy just for us. I prefer my cream of wheat with a whole lot of lumps in it.

I'm eating it that way right now.

C.T.

Cold hands, warm heart

Say hi to Miriam for me.
Love you,
The Quiet One

I learned a few things this weekend in the nursing home.

While visiting my Grandma this weekend, I learned a few things about nursing home life. I feel like they are important things to pass on to my readers.

• Nursing homes are probably one of the few populated places where you can fart and no one is going to think it's the skinny, young white girl. In fact, fart all you want. There are at least 10 people sitting around you that smell much worse than your Sonic-burger-and-tater-tot fart. Besides, they didn't hear you fart anyway.
  

• I can manage to turn just about anything into a creative writing project, including the notebook that was the log of my Grandma's treatment: when she was last turned, when she got her meds, when and what she ate, when and what Teri ate, when Grandma said something and what she said, when Teri said something and if anyone cared or could even hear her, what Teri did between Grandma's 46th and 47th nap, my thoughts on if pink is a good color on Grandma, is that roach that just crawled across the floor a pet and should I name it . . . . I hope my aunts don't get mad at me when they find those pages in the "very serious" log book.
  

• The front door is controlled by a code on a keypad. This keeps the residents in and the riff-raff out. However, as soon as you go towards the door to open it, they come after you. Very . . . slowly, I might add. But they do try to make an escape. They won't ever make it. Don't worry.

• Say you've been wandering the halls all day, everywhere, even places you aren't supposed to wander. This nursing home is a place that when it gets to be late at night, if you want to just take off your pants, tuck them under your arm, and wander the halls pantsless, go right ahead. Well, you can do that if you're too old to know the difference. They seemed to frown upon it when I tried it.

• Also, if you feel like you need legal advice, feel free to ask the kindly gentleman stranger standing in the hall. If he happens to be my dad, that's fine. He'll send you down the hall looking for someone else who may or may not actually be there. Seeing as my dad is not actually a lawyer and all.

• However, if your "legal" trouble involves another rogue resident coming into your room and you suspect she stole your teeth, maybe you don't really need a lawyer. Maybe you just need to lock your teeth up when you wheel down the hall for Bingo.
  

• I learned that it is not, in fact, ok to smoke in the clean laundry room. I did not find that out on my own. One of the very helpful orderlies demonstrated that for us.
  

• Diaper changes are only for the old folks. Again, this seemed to be frowned upon when I asked for help with mine. But in my defense, it was a long walk across the hall to the bathroom, and it was mysteriously locked most of the time. Can't they help a girl out?

After reading that, it's a wonder they left me in charge of my Grandma, unsupervised...

C.T.

When you try your best, but you don't succeed . . .

I don't really have a brilliant way to start this post, except to say that I don't understand life and death.

I'd venture to say that there aren't many in this world who do.

Earlier this week, I went to a funeral of a friend who decided that he'd had enough with life. So, he quit. He left friends and family behind to be sad and mad and to wonder why there wasn't a better answer to his question about life or death.

I find myself not understanding this at all. I find myself thinking about it a lot. I find myself angry about it. I do not like when I cannot figure things out.

Today I drove a few hours to be with my Grandma who is now considered terminal with hospice care. We have someone watch her round the clock, and I had the shift to sit with her this evening. Again, I find myself not understanding life and death.

I understand hers more than the one earlier this week. It is time, and there is a peace about it. I sat watching her sleep tonight, alert at every sound or face that she makes, wanting her to be comfortable and doing what I can to help with that.

She is old. She has earned it. We are not fighting to keep her. She is not fighting to stay. But the difference here is that she is definitely afraid of going. He was afraid of staying.

The start of my 2008 will include mourning the loss of someone who quit, as well as someone who ended.

I guess I'll have the rest of the year to try and figure it out.

C.T.

It's no longer a secret.

This is probably me.


You could call me Juno.


This could be me with my boyfriend.


But really, I wish this guy was my boyfriend.


This is pretty much how I look every Friday . . . ponytail and a hoodie . . . and a look of exasperation.


The camera adds, like, 10 pounds. I'm not really sure how many cameras are on me in this next shot.


And . . .


C.T.

P.S. Jason Bateman is hot.

Gladiators are back, y'all

For those of you who do not remember the glory of the original American Gladiators, you now have the opportunity to experience it, thanks to NBC.

The show is back. And it's got Hulk Hogan, y'all.

Besides that, what's not to love about idiot regular joes getting the snot beat out of them by giant muscle people with cool names?

Thusly, my new New Year's goal is to get on American Gladiators. Not as a regular joe.

As a gladiator.

Who would not fear The Tyrant??? I mean, seriously. I've already got the cool name.

Nevermind my goal to get back into my skinny jeans. I am instead going to bulk up, buy some stretchy short-pants, and go eat people in The Eliminator.

C.T.

Dear Electric Blanket,

It's like you wrap your soft, blankey arms around me to hug me to sleep each night.

And then sometimes I get too hot, so I toss you aside.

But . . . I always come back. Because I get cold five seconds later. And then I need another warm hug.

It's a vicious cycle . . . of warmth, and sleep, then hot, then cold, then warm and sleepy again.

C.T.