I Am This Woman

(32 of 50)

Four days before my 50th birthday, I am getting a mammogram. It is my second. Yes, I know that I should have started at 45 and gotten yearly ones. But I am a slow adopter, and I confess to having a modicum of anxiety about the whole “breast sandwich” thing.

But then I had my first one. And IT WAS NO BIG DEAL. I think that we need to stop catastrophizing these routine procedures, which in many cases, SAVE LIVES. (More later on the colonoscopy.)

I am going to a new clinic today, but last time this was the drill: wait in waiting room (aptly named) for a bit, ignore all the people who are getting more dire diagnostic exams/tests, read Reader’s Digest from 1999 (an article about Y2K). When name is murmured barely above the din by laconic technician in candy pink scrubs, sound like an old fart and say, “WHAT? Did you call me?”

Get instructions for the fifteenth time about undressing from the waist up. “TAKE OFF EVERYTHING. Did you wear deodorant?” Um, no because 75 people in your office told me not to. One woman made a special phone call to impart this wisdom. Regardless of the fact that I don’t *wear* any products with aluminum in them, and have a very simple system of bra-and-shirt, I suppose they get really tired of having to specify to people that they need to remove their nipple piercings.

The clinic I went to has a special little waiting area for the topless-but-gowned ones. The magazines are only a month old. I read People and probably discovered that some former TV star had died and I hadn’t heard about it.

When you get called into The Room, the Express-Lane Effect starts. By this principle – that whenever I get into an Express Lane, it backs up because the machine is down, or there is a price check required – I will get the technician with the coldest hands.

And the most fun is the little tape pasties they put on you (cool! they come in floral now!). “No, I need to place them.” The tech scrutinizes your boobs, selecting just the exact center of your nipple for reference.

Then the breast sandwich is done, with two plates (which are cold, no surprise there) that come down to “gently” mash your breast tissue as flat as possible so the x-ray gives as accurate a picture as possible. Yes, it hurts but it lasts for about 20 seconds. The tech says, “Hold your breath!” to which I gasp, “No problem!”

Repeat that three more times. There are two views taken – one vertical, one horizontal, two boobs. So, 80 seconds of unpleasantness, some cool, high-tech pasties and the off-chance to detect breast cancer early while it’s treatable.

Not bad.

(29 of 50)

Call me “Four Eyes.” Actually, I have bifocals, so that would be “Six Eyes.”

One part of aging is the inevitable need for glasses. This started for me in my mid-30s when I was in graduate school and reading a lot. But I didn’t believe it. I look back and see the truth now. However, at the time, I thought it was just overuse (which it probably ALSO was). Lots of reading in grad school and not all of it can be done at optimum ergonomics.

Finally, around 42, I succumbed to getting some “cheaters” as they are called, and it rocked my world. (more…)

Memorial Day Weekend, originally uploaded by tigerwillow.

(26 of 50)
Some days, you have to work. Some days, you need to play with Sculpey. And sometimes you just have to ride the rollercoaster.

(25 of 50)

June is my favorite month of all. Not just because my birthday is in the middle of the month, but because it’s usually the beginning of summer holiday, it’s warm and sunny (or stormy) but never cold. Rarely is it cold. (I know it’s cold int he mountains and elsewhere in June, even snowy at elevation, but that’s not where I live.) I do NOT like cold, esp. not in June.

June tastes like fresh peach ice cream. Like key lime pie. Like hot dogs with relish and mustard.

June smells like green lawns, sweat and sunscreen. June sounds like the South, bugs buzzing, birds and squirrels chittering.

June has soft, short nights with quiet clouds blowing around the sky while the moon peeks down.

For me, June is all too short but oh so sweet.

(24 of 50)

It’s been a week on the new system for sp*m removal, and it seems to be working. I have missed several days of blogging, but then again, one strives for quality not quantity, right?

Although, I am reminded of something a very good friend says (and maybe he’s quoting someone?): “There’s a certain quality to quantity.”

New developments:

• I rode a rollercoaster! Look for actual photo evidence soon!

• Graceful Crow Media has acquired a digital audio recorder with a very easy interface for transferring files into the computer. Expect plenty of nonsense audio soon.
• Yardwork is nearly complete. I will take one more set of interim photos, then the plants go in tomorrow. After that, I hope to have some nice pix with loads of “curb appeal.”
• I had pancakes/syrup for breakfast - a break from my usual high-protein yoghurt, fish or chicken, or chaste bowl of cereal. And I think the pancake coma is about to do me in, complete with catnap and really horrible dream about a friend who rejected me years ago. In the dream, she returned and silently gave me back some knitting I’d done for her. Knife to the heart. Made the pain of losing her friendship fresh again.
• Stupid dreams.
• I’ve received EIGHT (8) CARDS already! SQUEEEEEEEE!

(20 of 50)

I am not sure what is going on, but I’m getting some really huge bunches of spa*m, and some of it is suspicious. I need time to investigate.

It really irks me to have my content stolen and put on a spammer’s website as a “blog entry.” Just because I mention a keyword randomly that someone else is homing in on, that does not mean that my entry is worth linking to another blog, which is really just a robotic compendium of stolen content veiled as “ooh, check out this blog entry” with a pingback.

I had some content stolen from an defunct and archived website. I have no recourse because the owners of the website have closed up shop and disappeared for all intents and purposes. Or they may have sold the content…. against our agreement. I still hold the copyright to the content, which are some personal stories that I’d rather own and get credit for? but the links are all 10 years old and broken, so I’m getting nothing out of the “mention” and the content is polluted because it’s on a spammer site.

So I need to rethink my whole rationale for doing what I’m doing. Maybe it’s a Word Press issue, maybe it’s not. I don’t know. I will have a solution or workaround in a few days, hours.

Thanks for reading. (I’m ticked off about this too because I had a semi-big announcement - a drawing for prizes!)

The comment management really stinks in this new version. I shall be spending time tomorrow troubleshooting this shizzle, instead of doing my job or baking cookies or creating art or writing. I have deleted legitimate comments in the masses of sp*am that I’m also getting. But I swear to Goddess… I am APPROVING the legit ones first, then deleting the spam in mass delete… AND ALL of the new comments are deleted.

Again my apologies to the hardy few who bother to comment here.

(18 of 50)

I am a knitter. I learned from my mother when I was probably about six or seven. I am backdating that to the house I remember knitting in. I can see the bedroom where she had her sewing stuff. There was a little Singer sewing machine for kids there too, and I made little Barbie clothes and horse blankets on the machine that sounded like a mini-tank clanking away.

I did not have a Barbie. I had a Midge. She was Barbie’s darker, more athletic friend. I liked her better. I don’t know if it was an accident or that is what was on sale at the BX, but I had Midge and liked her just fine. And she needed clothes too. So about the same time I remember knitting, I also learned to sew.

Back to knitting: I learned to cast-on but it was so difficult that I knitted one thing and didn’t knit again. That first thing? a doll scarf for Midge. I cast on with some itchy fingering yarn on some red #10 Boye needles. I still have those needles.

There was a summer when Aunt Ella came to us for a few weeks, and that’s when I learned to crochet. We made rag rugs together, and she showed me how to rip and sew the rags together, then how to make the rug. I have several of these rugs which she made and one that she started and I will finish. Eventually.

Early learning in handwork - especially with fibers and textiles - is beneficial for brain development. It really doesn’t take a Rhodes Scholar to figure this out… teaching children anything has the potential to make a lasting impression. But there definitely is something to stimulating fine motor control and intellectual development.

And perhaps this explains the grey-haired old granny stereotype for knitting. Grandma knew best that one of the best ways to keep the kids busy and out of Mom’s hair was to teach them knitting, crochet, tatting. And she was the one available to do this, so that is a possible origin of the stereotype. Children see old people and their grandparents as impossibly old, and since she was the one available for these influential moments of knitting and handwork instruction, the image stuck in the child’s mind. And I guess it doesn’t help that knitting needles are good for putting up your hair into a bun.

We’ve lost a generation or two of knitting Grandmas who were available to mind the kids and teach knitting. Grandma went back to work and expanded her horizons, and didn’t have as much time to knit much less watch the kids. Luckily, knitting and needlework are enjoying a rennaissance, and knitters are as likely to have purple hair, dreads or a shaved head (yes, I’m looking at you Franklin!).

Maybe in 20 years, the stereotype will have shifted to include eye patches, dreads, earrings… and grey hair.

Lap Dog, originally uploaded by tigerwillow.

(17 of 50)
My 40 lb. lap dog, Miss Lucy. She is not allowed on the couch unless in a lap, so it works out for her. Tonight, I held her and scratched her chest until she fell asleep. Then she started snoring and did so for about 15 minutes. She missed most of House.

(12 of 50)

The day started out dark and stormy. Seriously! it did! after it rained, there was a lightness and softness to the air, and of course there was the sun as well. The day was spent in a floaty haze of finishing my creative project and preparing to go on a business trip to present it.

Fast forward, and the trip may not happen because of an unforeseen circumstance that might be a blessing in disguise.

So, the laundry is done, the project is done with time to spare for FedEx to send it instead of me, and new insights into my creative process have been revealed. Do I really need the performance, the presentation, the audience feedback to validate my creativity? We’ll see. I liked doing the presentation. I like the presentation itself and hope my bosses do too, but not having to be there (as it stands at the 11th hour) is also not a bad feeling!

Perhaps I should be more worried? Maybe I’m still riding high on the creative waves…