Back Home

Yesterday we brought Dad home! He seemed relieved to be out of the hospital. When they asked him if he’d like to eat something before leaving, he politely turned down the offer, to which the nurse replied, “Yeah, you’ve probably had enough of our cooking”- a truth he did not dispute. Despite being attached to what I call his “ball and chain”, all the tubes and bags which hook up to his bladder every evening, he said he felt detached from the drugs but happy to be home.
At the hospital, he’d been woken up every two hours to be poked, prodded, or injected, making it impossible to get any restful sleep. He woke up this morning after nine hours of uninterrupted sleep, and felt much improved. He was able to eat a normal breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast and coffee. The most impressive feat of the day was going grocery shopping. After a week of only walking from one end of the hall to the other, traipsing back and forth through Fred Myer on a Sunday afternoon was quite exhausting. I know he is frustrated and surprised by how little stamina he has, but I think it’s pretty amazing to be shopping for sweat pants only a week after having organs removed; heck, I’d just be lounging in sweat pants period!

Neo

We joked before dad went into surgery that his new nickname would be "Neo" like the character in the Matrix, more accurately, for the new "neo bladder". Upon entering the hospital room on Friday, I felt like perhaps we had stumbled into a scene of the Matrix; dad had so many tubes and gadgets hooked up and, in conjunction with the pain meds, I wouldn't have been surprised if he was partially in cyber space fighting Machines.
Despite the pain and exhaustion, his sense of humor remained in tact. He was pretty tired though, so we came and went in small doses.
Saturday I got caught in St. Patty's Day parade traffic on my way to the hospital. I was surprised when I got there to see dad sitting in the well padded chair. Some of the tubes had been removed and he was much more alert (although the tube in his nose was still source of much aggravation). He immediately had me take out his lap top and post a blog. I was there for about 40 minutes, and he remained sitting for the entire time which is excellent because, apparently, the more one gets up and moves after surgery, the quicker the recovery and less pain (seems a bit counter intuitive to me but it seems to be working for him).
I had just enough time to jet home and make it the fire station's annual crab feed! We did a good job stuffing our selves as usual, although I felt sorry for Kehlen who was volunteering and could only watch us and empty our shell buckets (not too sorry though because she got to take the extra crab home).
I was surprised to see snow this morning; finally, remembering that it is supposed to be spring, the weather has now turned to slushy rain. Dad called and, despite the nasal pitch from the tube, he sounded well rested and much better. He has been moved from the ICU to a room on the 17th floor, with a view of Lake Union! Sorry, I'm still not positive which room number it is. He said he had a bit of a rough night as the pain meds ceased for a period, but is doing well today. He even went for a walk up and down the hall twice! I believe the combination of every one's thoughts and prayers with his desire to get the heck out of there a.s.a.p., he's on his way to a speedy recovery!

Success!

Talked to mom briefly and it sounds like dad's bladder removal/reconstruction operation was a success! No signs of hidden cancer (although they'll have to wait for the micro something-or-other scope results to be sure) and now he's in ICU recuperating. Tomorrow he's supposed to be moved to a room on the 17th floor, so at least he'll have a view! Thanks for everyone's concern and please pass on the good news. I'll be posting any new information on my blog

Thanks!
Lauril

Gallery

Now that I’m back home and not some place exotic and fascinating, I just don’t feel that my life is worth writing about. I have, however, been wanting to show my pictures somewhere and I thought, “I do have a space and I don’t have to worry about matting and framing.” It’s been snowing unusual quantities here in Olympia, WA, inspiring some seasonal photos. Please enjoy my artzy pics and Happy Holidays!

The Good News Or The Bad News?

Hey everybody, after a disastrous journey here and a crazy start, things are finally settling down. So I'm driving to CA with the cat, what's the worst that can happen? I lose the cat.

Everything was fine and dandy, Treff was driving me batty with his incessant complaining 'why are the trees moving? Why is my seat shaking? Why is it so hot, you try wearing a fur coat. My litter box is too small...' but all in all we were making good time. We decided to stop for the night in a little two horse town called Lakeshead just north of Shasta Lake. We found a motel that allowed cats and spent the evening watching the Olympics. The next morning, Robin's dad offered to take Treffly for a walk on his leash. Despite Robin's warning that walking a cat is very different and one mustn't pull on the leash, there was a moment of panic and Treffly somehow got away. Unfortunately, there was nothing surrounding the little town but woods. We spent all morning scrounging through the brush searching, all the while visions of Treffly's leash caught up on something and choking him crept into my mind. By mid day it was hot and we had to take a break. We went to the local deli for lunch where the owner offered to copy some flyers; thus the afternoon was spent knocking on doors and passing out 'LOST CAT' notices. By evening I'd completely lost hope. I felt bad for blaming Robin's dad, but I couldn't help it, I thought he understood cats better. We all geared up for another sweep. Robin's dad sat vigilantly watching the trap he'd made, while I headed out into the brush again. As I began to scan the blackberry brambles for a flash of blue leash, I noticed a feral grey cat darting under some blocks of concrete, and thought to myself, 'now that's a good hiding place' but upon further inspection, saw no sign of his orange plumpness. Yet I kept scanning the area and then all of a sudden I saw it, that flash of blue leash, TREFFLY!!! There he was, huddled beneath the slabs of concrete, looking a bit bewildered but otherwise in good shape. After re hydrating him and a can of tuna, we opted not to stay there another night and hauled it out of Lakeshead. And after hours of searching, straining to hear him meow, I couldn't have been happier to hear Treffly’s disdainful remarks all the way to San Fran.

San Francisco is exactly as it's rumored to be, hilly and foggy. I managed to maneuver the truck successfully and was completely exhausted by the time I parked in front of 547 40th Ave. Before even getting Treffly out of the car, I went in to investigate my new dwelling. I was a bit disappointed, it really was in a basement and a bit dreary. I went back out to the truck to get Treff, and what did I find? A 50$ parking ticket! I had been inside probably no more that 10 minutes tops! There's only a two hour break in the entire week when it's prohibited to park where I did due to street sweeping and yet, of course, I’d managed to parked there just during that period, and in a moment of weakness I completely lost it.

The next day was filled with IKEA and unpacking. Robin had put me in touch with a friend who manages a catering company and I got word that there was an opening to work for something called 'Outside Lands' the following three days. I really had no idea what it was, but it was work and it was in Golden Gate Park which is about 5 blocks away so I more than happy to accept. As it turns out, Outside Lands was a HUGE concert, and I was working in the beer tent not far from the main stage! While serving beer and making an ass of myself trying to do simple math (we had no real cash registers), I got to hear (if not actually see) Radiohead, Ben Harper, Jack Johnson, Rodrigo y Gabriela, Tom Petty and Manu Chao to name the big ones. Despite reeking of beer, trying to catch under aged punks and working 12 hour days on my feet with hardly any breaks, it was awesome!

Needless to say, today was spent catching up on sleep and building my IKEA furniture. Things are coming together and the place is looking much less dreary, and of course I'm just tickled to wake up every morning with Treffly purring in my ear.

I hope everyone is doing well and I miss you all! I still don't have a phone, but incase you want to send me a snail mail, my address is:



547 40th Ave.

San Francisco, CA 94121

Oh, these are just the before pics, I'll put up some 'afters' in a bit.

Reunited

After returning from France, I was home for about 12 days before heading to San Francisco. During that time I was excited to see friends and family, check out the old haunts, eat Asian food and partake in various activities, one of which was horseback riding with my friend Emily on the beach at Ocean Shores. This had been one of our favorite things to do back in the old 4-H days, and although I no longer had my horse, Emily assured me we’d find something ride-able.
The day before our ride, Emily took me out to their friend’s place to “check out what horses and tack they had available”. As we were coming up the drive way Emily suddenly turned to me and said, “I have a surprise; the horse you’ll be riding is Raj!” (my old horse). I couldn’t believe it; I’d sold him over 7 years ago and I’d completely lost track of him, and there he was out in the pasture! I’d like to think he remembered me although he certainly didn’t start whinnying nor jumping for joy, but when I rode him, aside from being a bit arthritic, he seemed to remember it all.
The beach was fantastic, we cantered along the sand, played in the waves (the horses were thoroughly confused that the water was salty and that there was no grass), and jumped over drift wood. It was great to be back in the saddle, although I was really sore, and it was such a wonderful surprise to be reunited with my old buddy Raj. Thanks Griswolds!

Belves

Well, I was pleasantly surprised to receive multiple inquiries as to when I might be posting another blog. I was sure my parents were the only ones actually reading this (and I even had my doubts regarding that) so thanks everyone for the support!
As predicted in the last blog, my departure from Spain was more sweet than bitter. I left on a chaotic but wonderful note (would Spain be any other way though?). My parents came and I took them to as many of my favorite places and introduced them to as many of my favorite people as I could without overwhelming them. I finally found a home for my car although I had to practically give it away to a dealership; I also learned that I had paid almost triple the value when I bought it, madre mia! Talk about learning the 'cowboy' way. Although I may have lost more than I'd like to admit in euros (damn the exchange rate!), I felt I was extremely fortunate in the friends I made and I don't think it's hit me yet that I don't know how long it will be until I see them again.
It's such a long trip to Europe that we had to see as many people as we could while here, so we hopped on over to Germany. We got to visit with my friend Denise and her family which was fabulous. That strange thing happened which occurs with really good friends, it had been years since we'd last seen each other, but once together, it was like no time had passed, like we were back in high school giggling about boys, musing about the world, and putting off studying biology. It was hot and muggy in Germany and I was used to the slow easy pace of the Spanish way, but good German wine and beer helped fend off the heat and and punctual, efficient German rhythm.
After Germany, we made our way to France; however, there was a transition in the middle involving RUNNING through the Paris underground schlepping five suitcases and squishing toes, dogs and probably small children along the way. I'm still not sure how we made it except that we'd met an angel along the way who had graciously offered to help us (we must have looked like we needed it). He assisted my dad in purchasing the metro tickets, forced the automatic gates open so we could run though with all the luggage, lead us through the maze of stares, twists and turns, hauled our suitcases, and lead us to our train with only a minute to shout out out thanks. So Elion or whatever your name was, God bless you, you should be receiving some major travel Karma!!!
Although quite the adrenalin rush, I wouldn't recommend the experience and we were quite relieved to arrive to Belves, located in the Perigord region, where my grandmother's cousin has an incredible house. This small French village is just like you imagine it. Today happens to be marked day and the hum of neighbors conversing, of venders promising, of silverware clinking at the cafes, float up to where I'm sitting, like balloons being released, carried on the breeze by Frank Sinatra blaring from the tourism office. There's the strawberry woman who compulsively arranges her flats, and the goat cheese stand which makes your mouth water just walking by it. Belves is a medieval village with it's covered market square, surrounded by the "coutellerie" knife shop, the pharmacy, hair salons, cafes, butchers and creperies. It's the perfect setting for a play, and despite its quaint feel, there is quite a bit of drama. The honey lady's husband ran off with the butcher's wife, a bitter sister suing over house hold pets in hopes of gaining recognition from her dead brother, the all day pigeon shoot that resulted in the massacre of almost 400 flying rats. Then there are the tourists and the expatriots, hoping that they can play some minor role. And everyone I've met seems to be in the process of renovating their scrap of history: a five hundred year old house with a medieval toilet, a thirteenth century watch tower, an old forge destroyed during the revolution, a barn... everything here and everyone has a story, it's not hard to stay entertained.
I'm a bit disappointed sometimes though that I'm not speaking as much French as I though I would. Those who do not speak English as a second language, are English or Australian or American. There's a sort of picknick market here on Wednesday nights where, if it weren't for the foie gras, the confit du canard, crem brulee, and bad accordian music, I'd think I was in England. I have sought out a few people to pester with my clumsy French though. There's a Parisian couple who have a wonderful dog named Zebulon and insist I come swim in their pool, "well if you insist!" Then there's a couple, oddly enough from my university town, who are, of course, restoring a home here. Anne is French, so we have a deal that I come learn masonry and help grout the rock walls, and she'll speak to me in French. I'm not sure who got the better end of the deal, but I'm learning all sorts of new skills! I've also found a french teacher who is wonderful and gives me lessons twice a week, and to supplement that, there is Madam Carcenac, the 83 year old retired school teacher with whom I have a conversation hour every day free of charge, simply because she enjoys it! So I am improving which is encouraging.
In short, my days here are spent ambling through the countryside taking pictures, keeping up on the town gossip, cleaning for my hostess, enjoying her fabulous cooking and copying down as many recipes as I can, slapping mud on walls, and making vocabulary lists which I've put up all over my bathroom. I'm also doing a fairly good job at getting anxious to see everyone back home, move to San Francisco, get a job, apply for grad school... alas, time only goes as fast as the church bells dispense it here, and in a medieval village, that's not too fast.
Enjoy the photos! Sorry one of them is sideways