Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in egulletejulia's LiveJournal:

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Wednesday, July 12th, 2006
2:10 am	Quiet I've been quiet for awhile. I continue to be challenged by the medical profession and the strains of chemotherapy. I've paid for health insurance and disability insurance for YEARS, never really needing either, always a consciencous user of health-care. I didn't run to the doctor for every sniffle, nor did I insist on perscription drugs for every imagined illness. They want to cut me off. I may have had my last chemo treatment.... won't know until my MRI next week. I've spent my life's savings to live in Portland while undergoing treatment. I've tried to keep some finances held back so I can negotiate a place in a residential hospice when the time comes. I'm too well to be kept on disability, too well to be in a hospice, and too sick to work. Who would hire me? I have little hair, still seem to need 16 hours of sleep a day, and my brain and memory seem to be failing. Being sick sucks. Being sick alone sucks even worse. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 20th, 2006
4:28 am	Seeking Drugs I am a 45-year-old in search of drugs. It's been 23 years since I've smoked pot, and yet, here I was, looking for dope. If you've read this thread, you know I am battling cancer and chemotherapy. Friends suggested I try marijuana to minimize the nausea of chemo. There is even a cookbook to help us "geeks" - how to cook it, eat it, portion it. I was given the name of a "friend" who might be able to help. I have been out of the "world" for so long, I suppose I was not discreet. Back in my day, pot was de-criminalized - we'd smoke joints in a public park, the worst that would happen was a $25 dollar ticket. My "friend of a friend" was much more cautious. She worried about "Big Brother". She rightly suggested I consult my oncologist to get a medical marijuana registration that would protect me and my "supplier". My doctor, once interrogated, turned out not so keen on the whole "marijuana for medicine" thing. He had good reasons: He was not convinced by it's worth, he couldn't manage the volume/strength, he had no control on quality. If he wrote me a 'script for Tyelnol 3's, he knew EXACTLY how much codeine I was getting. With pot, he had no way of knowing. It's funny.... this guy will write me a 'script for morphine, oxycontin, whatever, but won't write me a 'script for an herb! A homeless guy told me where to go to find (dope on the street) but I'm too old and too scared to do that. (smile) So I'll keep puking every week per schedule. It would have been nice to try an alternative, but I'm too old, too square, too stupid to try! (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, June 19th, 2006
1:31 pm	My first female NO! It's not what you sickos are thinking! (grin) My current obsession is doing what I can in the Portland area to feed the homeless. Read about if you want at http://forums.egullet.org/index.php?showtopic=88453 Today, I met my first woman on the street (All others have been men.). She had been evicted for having too many people in her apartment, and lost her minimum wage job because she couldn't be reached in case of a scheduling change. I was on my way into Safeway, mostly to buy a Sunday paper, so after talking for a few moments, I asked if there was anything she needed. I was expecting many things, but was surprised by her response... "I'd like a Mountain Dew". Wasn't asking for money, didn't want something expensive, just wanted a Mountain Dew. Twenty dollars later (I'm such a sucker!) I handed Heather a grocery sack that had, among other things, some Mountain Dew. I'd added beef jerky, and then in thinking what being a woman on the streets must mean, some feminine hygiene products, some cleansing cloths, some hand sanitizer, some sweets, a pair of socks. If I was "taken" - it's okay. I'm learning than giving is it's own reward, and with so little time left, it's worth every penny. (Comment on this)
1:31 pm	The wonder of Friends I "met" Kathy online through eGullet.org... a community of "food-junkies" that spends countless hours sharing meals, recipes, questions. Kathy's "online" name is Tejon, and she just recently moved to the Portland area. She's young, the "stay at home" mom to two rambuncious boys, and a loving wife to "Dan". We are probably more different than alike. I was the single, forty-something, career gal, self-absorbed, needing no one. She, while well-educated, valued family above career. Neither one of us was "right". But somehow, through the internet, and a love of food and it's consequences, we "met". I tried to sneak a "Welcome" basket to her family... she and her family surprised me by being at home when I least expected! So much for surprise! It was an honor to meet the family - Dan, Arden, Ryan. They are going to love Oregon. Kathy gave me the ultimate gift... one I can't even begin to reciprocate. You can see the hat at http://vastamount.blogspot.com/, and it is wonderful, but the true gift she gave me was a little friendship, some respect and some one to listen. Thank you, Kathy. You'll never know. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, June 9th, 2006
7:28 am	Being Invisible.. I realized that in railing about manners, I had also stumbled on another Americanism.... how we treat the sick. I have severe hair loss... resulting in my wearing of a head cap that screams "CANCER". I tried scarves and wigs, but I hated them, and found myself tweaking them at every opportunity... thus adding to the "CANCER" theme. So I wear a head cap... OK in winter time in Portland, but a lot more conspicuous in the summer. I get three reactions: 1: Avoidance. Usually the young, fit, hip twenty-somethings. Seems like they have the mistaken knowledge that cancer is either contagious or something to be feared. 2: Philanthropism. Well-meaning, sweet individuals who aren't equipped to deal with a sick person without gushing, over-extending, over-smiling. I love them for their intentions, but grow weary of the whole business. 3: Acceptance. People who can treat me with the respect that should be offered every human-being. People who are kind enough to recognize my physical limitations and who can subtly accommodate them without embarrassment to me... someone who will offer an arm so I can make it up a simple step without drawing attention to my need for the assistance, someone who will offer me a seat in a restaurant that will allow me to sit and rise without undue notice. Bless you "Number Threes". You have no idea how importantly you feature in the movie of a cancer victim. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
7:02 am	Manners When did manners go away? (I sound like that 60-Minutes, irritating reporter who whines about everything! - Andy Rooney, I think...) BUT REALLY! Now I realize my parents were "over the top" when it came to manners. We had stringent dining room table rules that I found silly as a pre-teen, but came to admire in my professional years since I knew what I was doing at dinner. We practiced manners that many people probably don't even know - You never pass only the salt without the pepper - you accept a plate with your right hand (crossed over your left), always serve yourself from the bowl, then passed the plate with your left hand (over your right)! When someone asked for a dish, you NEVER served yourself on it’s way to the requester… you had to wait, then ask for it yourself.. You placed plates only from the left side of your guest, and only removed soiled dishes from his right side. (This is widely disputed, but it’s what we were taught!) When you were through eating, your utensils were placed, fork tines down, handles together, in a position that was "three o'clock" on your plate. (Some manners sites say “eleven o’clock”, but I think this is the same thing…) Now I don't expect those kind of manners in every situation, but when did common courtesy go out of fashion? I can forgive small children - I figure they just haven't been taught, but what is up with their parents? I'm sick enough these days to not spend a bunch of time out in public... But I do go to the grocery store, bank and liquor store on a regular basis. I am just shocked by the sort of manners I encounter from men and women my age. I'm just talking polite! When I traveled in Europe, I always made sure I knew the words for "Please", "Thank You" and "Excuse Me" in what-ever language I was visiting. Not a big deal - so you learned those three phrases in German, Dutch, Italian, Swedish, French, Finnish, and Greek. Twenty one phrases to memorize... no big deal, right? These days, I continue to use those phrases in English, and people are either stunned or so blatantly impolite that I am without explanation. I say “excuse me” when I pass in front of a shopper looking at a wall of product… they ignore me. I say “Thank you” to the deli clerk who just partitioned a ¼ pound of sliced turkey breast for me … they ignore me. I stood today at a “Customer Service” kiosk” at a Barnes and Noble, and the lone worker pretended to be so engrossed on a bunch of papers on a clipboard that he couldn’t be bothered to serve me until a supervisor instructed him to do so. (Note: I spent $100, and would have spent more if adequately waited on… More about public rebuke in a second (Comment on this)
Tuesday, May 30th, 2006
2:53 am	Chemo food plans... Wow, has it been a long time since my last post... I can only claim illness and lazy-ness as my excuse... By the way, I have a "Julia", unpublished chemo plan. I have a number of friends, who have never had chemo,(I love them, I do!) but who feel qualified to advise me on chemo survival methodologys.... One says... "Flat diet Dr. Pepper"; another swears by Gatorade; a third says "there's nothing like diet 7-Up!" Here's the Julia plan: Chug and Chuck. Simple, cheap, easy to remember. Chug and Chuck. Tall glass, three cubes of ice, filled with tap water. Chug it, throw it up, done! Much better than feeling sick to your stomach with nothing to throw up, much better than throwing up last night's dinner - it's light and clear and non-flavored. No lemon, no lime - they will only make the trip back up uncomfortable. Chemo is a weird thing, you not only consider food and drink for it's qualities on the way down, but for their qualities on the way back. Go figure! Chug and Chuck... cost effective, doesn't require additional analysis, is safe effective and readily available, regardless of the environment. Chug and Chuck - if you are battling cancer, I highly recommend it. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, May 10th, 2006
4:14 am	Memories... I’m having a memory moment… I once had two cats… two of the most wonderful cats in. the world. The first was a gift from a co-worker. He was building a new house and swore that he was a “cat-hater”. He told me one day at work that this kitten had shown up at his construction site, and he was afraid for its safety. I knew it was true, he lived in the woods, and bobcats, raccoons and cars were all risks. I am a cat lover, and agreed to come out and pick up the kitten, if only to get him to a safe shelter. Cat-hater, my ass! I showed up at his half-constructed house and there was this darling kitten, following my co-worker around to every room, and the remains of the “hotel” he had fashioned out of a cardboard box and some extra insulation. He was feeding it deer pellets (not exactly a kitty favorite) but he obviously was caring for the little guy. When I picked him up, he rolled over and over in my arms – purring loudly all the time. What a sweetie. My coworker was somewhat sad to see him go (although he’d never admit it) but I left with the kitten. It didn’t take me long to decide to keep him. The play “Cats” was big at the time, and there was this song called “Mister Mistofelees”.. (Spelling at question…) So I called this new addition Mister Meow… I thought it would be a hoot to go looking for him, and calling MEOW, MEOW. What would the neighbors think!!! As it turned out, I just called him “Mister” – it turned out to be the perfect name, as he was the consummate gentleman. I decided that I didn’t want Mister to be an “only child” so I ventured to the local animal shelter. It was so awful… I was shown to a caged room, packed with cats, smelling of urine and cat poop, cats so thick that you could barely walk. And there was this cat, who was so attentive; he just wrapped himself around my legs, weaving himself around my ankles, until I was afraid to take a step. He followed me every step, and just wouldn’t let go. I didn’t adopt him, he adopted me! He had a black nose, made more exaggerated by a black fur spot encircling his nose – and he had a black spot on his belly, one on each leg, and one his tail… his name? Why, Spot, of course! I got him in the car, and before we even left the parking lot, he started “coughing” – that horrible croupy sound of a truly sick animal… before I even took him home, I took him to the vet, He was diagnosed as having an upper respiratory infection, and was put on major antibiotics. I’d only “owned” him for an hour, and he’d already cost me a hundred bucks! Well, the “boys” as they became to be known, became a fixture in my life. Spot hated to be picked up, but he wasn’t shy about lying all over me. His favorite spot was along my legs, when they were perched on an ottoman… he’d take over the crease between my legs… his head towards my feet, stretched out full-length, legs and arms all akimbo”. He always followed me everywhere, although as he got older, he got grumpier. If I had to get up – to use the bathroom, to get a sweater from the bedroom, to get a snack from the kitchen…. He would complain with a nasty “Maow” as if I was I was intentionally disturbing him. He was polite enough to let me go, and he dutifully followed me to whatever room I went to… the older he got the less thrilled he was about this “duty”… but he still did it. Mister, on the other hand, stayed small (10 pounds to Spot’s 20) and loved being held. His favorite spot was on my chest – just below my neck – he’d curl up there, and when I had to get up, he’d just allow himself to be placed wherever I chose to put him. When I sat back down, he’d quickly climb back up and settle himself back on my chest. Spot died of urinary track blockage (common among neutered males) and Mister was given to a loving family when I could no longer have pets. They both brought so much joy to my life… I love them still. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, May 9th, 2006
10:36 am	My day as Santa Clause... When my parents moved to Huntington Harbor, the first thing my dad did was buy a sailboat. I was off at college, but my brother, two years my senior, was still living at home. We were so different, my brother and I… I did well in school, my brother was the athlete. He played baseball (catcher), football (center), and basketball. He and my dad had a truly close relationship. Dad coached little-league, sponsored football, went to every game. In every family, each child is a replica of one parent. My brother was my mother… a true soul, a gentle being, a bit ditsy, a religious believer. I was my father – an aggressive, competitive, angry and driven individual. Of course, my father loved my brother – he’d married mom, after all! My mom and I were great friends – she’d fallen in love with dad, after all! My father quickly joined the competitive sailing circuit – and raced two or three times a week. My brother quickly put his athletic skills to use and became Dad’s “foredeck” guy – the one who traversed the slippery deck at the front of the boat to change sails, help raise the spinnaker, risk life and limb to win the race. I, on the other hand, was a chicken on the few times I visited “home”. My brother eventually moved away to be with his soon-to-be wife. Dad found a new group of young kids to crew for him on his boat for races. I came home from school for Christmas. It was a beautiful winter southern California day, and mom suggested that dad and I take the boat out for a cruise… I think she was trying to put dad and I together in a closer relationship. I was wearing a red sweat-suit, but didn’t have a jacket. Mom gave me a sort of “gag gift” they had gotten – a jacket, colored green and red (per the standard boating commons) with “port” written down one arm and “starboard” down the other. Mom made some excuse why she couldn’t join us… so Dad and took off on our own. We motored through the harbor, enjoying the holiday lights, and then finally raised the mainsail… Dad let me man the tiller… It was a wonderous afternoon… I was enjoying an activity that only my brother had previously enjoyed. We weren’t racing, but cruising, and I was as happy as a clown. We got back to the dock, did the tasks that were required in putting the boat “to bed” – washing down the decks, rolling the sails, coiling the lines, making sure the bumpers were in place. There I was, Dad and me, working side by side. When we walked up the gangplank, and into the condo, mom asked how our day had been…. Before I could even open my mouth, my father answered… “The neighborhood thought I had Santa on my boat… you know, she was wearing green and red, and her belly shook like a bowl-full of jelly.” I was so crushed. I thought we had had this close father-daughter moment, and all it was to him was an embarrassment. Yes, I was (and am) fat, but I really thought that for once, we had transcended the physical, and met each other without the stigma of outside appearances, and had faced the world together… Oh, how I miss what might have been. I’m so sorry that I disappointed him so much. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, May 5th, 2006
9:39 am	Happy Cinco de Mayo! Sad to say, my exertion on the last two days has resulted in me moving and feeling like an 80-year-old! Nothing I hope a little Tylenol won't fix... BUT, it is Cinco de Mayo, and I've got most of the ingredients for Pork Chili Verde for cooking in in my new dutch oven... a quick trip to the store for the few things I somehow forgot, and the dish will be on... per the recipe, it will take 4+ hours of slow cooking - just the ticket to spread out prep with eating! Hope your day is happy! (Comment on this)
Thursday, May 4th, 2006
12:47 pm	Great Day, Bad Moment Yesterday was a rare day... I had reported for my weekly "poisoning" on Tuesday to be told that my "labs were off" and I wouldn't be getting chemo this week. Rather than dwell on the lab values and their ultimate meaning, I just adored the fact that I would have the first chemo-free week in 8 weeks... And I felt GREAT! The weather was awesome, the day was my own and the possibilities were (somewhat) endless! Fatigue is probably one of the worst side-effects for me... and even though I dodged this week's chemo, I was still feeling those effects. At any rate, I had recently acquired a new, heavy, beautiful dutch oven. I was going to use it on Wednesday, big-time. I finally made the trek to a killer butcher on the east side of Portland for beef short ribs, a trip to a liquor store in the Hollywood district for cabernet and some other forbidden treats, and while I was feeling a bit "puny", I wanted so bad to cook (and mercifully eat!) some dishes out of that dutch oven, that I decided to try one more stop - the grocery store. At the grocery store, the world got a little surreal. I wandered the aisles, looking for things I had bought before, but somehow couldn't seem to find now. Why is the couscous (a tiny semolina pasta) with the rice and not with the pasta? How can a store sell number two pencils, but no pencil sharpener? Why were all the olive bins in the self serve olive bar devoid of anything but plain black olives when I needed green? I did finally find most items on my list, and proceeded to the check out area. It was crowded. I walked past the "10 items or less" aisle and then found the shortest line. I was somewhat amused that the customer in front of me had only two packs of gum, but he politely put the "separater bar" down, indicating that I could begin piling my items on the conveyor belt. So I did. Then I noticed a couple behind me. The man was exaggeratingly pointing to my items, as if he were counting. My first thought was "Why does this jerk care about how many items I am buying?" followed closely to a look above my aisle to discover that I was in a "20 items or less aisle" ???? WTF? Shit. I apologized first to the checkout lady, who had already started ringing up my order.... then I turned to the couple and again profusely apologized. The man did the "you are such an idiot" look ... you know, lips pursed to form a thin horizontal line, head cocked slightly to the right, a couple of small nods and eyes rolled back. I felt as bad as if he had given me the finger and told me "to go f*ck myself". The checkout clerk was gracious and kind. As I quickly loaded each bag into my cart, and paid as fast as I could, she was nice and professional. I apologized again (to her "don't worry about it"), declined help to my car, and fled. I started crying before I could get out of the store. I cried all the way to my car. I cried while I was unpacking my cart. I cried (even harder) on the drive home. Where, I thought, was the Julia who could eat those assholes for lunch? If it had been me in the queue behind the offending shopper, I would have sincerely declined the apology and maybe even offered to assist the shopper to her car. The hard-core Julia would have responded to that jerk with a quick cut-down and felt good about it. But I cried. At home, I wondered why this butt-head had so completely ruined my "feel good" day. Sure the crying was a self indulgent pity party, but as it kept on, I was forced to think about what else my strong emotional response meant... And then I got it... I was afraid this was yet another sign that I couldn't do the "normal" things... I'd already given up going up or down stairs, walking for more than a block without support, going outside without a cap, scarf or wig... In the end, I forgave ass-hole guy, and realized if he knew my story he would most likely (hopefully) feel bad. I realized that while I may get less functional in a "hurry up" world, I still deserve to be here and muddle through the best I can. I realized that letting some jerk rob me of whatever happiness I have left is allowing me to steal from myself. Ain't progress wonderful? (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, April 29th, 2006
8:10 am	Chemo is Strange... My chemo on the the 18th was nothing unusual... except it didn't follow the normal "schedule". Usually, I get the chemo on Tuesday, am okay until that evening, then spend two days sicker than a dog. Third day post-chemo is usually better, and I can usually indulge myself in my main hobby, cooking. Last week, I just couldn't shake the ill-effects. I was so fatigued that I slept 16 hours a day on average. I couldn't keep water down until it was almost time for the next treatment. I'd try to sit up for a TV program, and couldn't make it for the 30 minute program... When the doctors recommended chemotherapy, we all knew that it was not "curative" - an oncologist term - but it was "life enhancing" - i.e. it would lengthen the meaningful remainder of my life. They swore it would be low-dose, non hair loosing, non nauseous, minimal impact. All of that was bullshit in my case. Not loose my hair? Okay, I still have some, but it's so thin and ugly that I have cut it to a 1/2 inch length, and still need to wear scarves, hats and/or wigs to venture outside. Non nauseous? I was willing to spend 2-3 days a week unable to keep even water down, but last week, that continued until the next scheduled "treatment". Compazine didn't help, Gatorade didn't help, chamomile tea didn't help. I've watched dear friends battle the same foe. Most of them either recovered or decided the fight was over. I used to get so mad when they "gave up". Oh, if I only knew then what I know now. I haven't given up. I did, however, ask the dosage of the most poisonous chemo components be reduced. Today is Saturday, and I feel pretty good, so the reduction did give me a few days a week to be functional. Turns out, a fact they didn't tell me, that the chemo that I'm on has a "cumulative" effect - the longer you're on it, the sicker it makes you. Don't you think that might have been an important point to tell me post-decision? I'm learning so much about the medical profession... So anyway, it's 4 days post treatment and I feel pretty good. I can work for an hour at a time, can enjoy my fascination with www.egullet.org and will even make it out to the green market and grocery store today. Life, such as it is, is good! (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, April 23rd, 2006
11:51 am	Apology I've been told my post on Reggie of "The Next TV Network Star" was too harsh and not polite. While I don't believe that it was "mean spirited" or inaccurate, I do apoligize if I offended anyone. Life has it's way of asserting itself when you least expect it. Sorry if I offended you or stepped over the line in your estimation.... that was not my intention. (Comment on this)
10:49 am	It's snowing! I love Portland in the spring-time. I loved the flowering trees, but never so much as today. My morning walk was an exercise in enchantment. The trees were busy shedding their finery; white and pink blossoms floating down everywhere.. It’s just shy of 70 degrees, but every breeze makes it seem like winter – it rains flower petals. The smell of this town is like nothing else – it’s not “sweet” or “Easter-like” it’s earthy, green, soil-like, and rich. It’s deep, detailed, exquisite and raw. It is spring. My windows are fully opened, my air is now fresh and heavenly, my natural outlook is now positive and I am at peace. Cheers to all! (Comment on this)
3:46 am	Next Network Star I'm so disgusted by the "Next Food TV Star" ... its down to two gentlemen - Reggie and Guy. Reggie was okay until his "pilot", then he completely lost it. I can't find a place to rave about him, so I guess this is it. Reggie, when did you get the idea that women enjoy being called "girls"? I worked my butt off in college and then graduate school to earn my credentials. I worked my butt off to become an executive (CIO and VP, earning a comfortable six figure salary) and I worked my butt off to overcome the stigma of being a female in a male-oriented world. You so casually refer to "Girls, girls, girls." I'm disgusted. Not only are there an enormous amount of single MALE parents, but there are many married men who are performing the primary childcare functions. How would you enjoy being called a "boy"? Aside from your racial background, I can hardly believe that would be a welcome title. You may think that you are being "cute", but you are anything but. I hope you find yourself flaming to your demise. You do not deserve a TV show or any public venue. You are a pig, and an embarassment to the human race. Good luck, BOY, maybe you'll mature after a few more years. (Comment on this)
Friday, April 21st, 2006
3:54 am	Weird Thing It's a weird thing... Tuesday is chemo day. I spend several hours getting an IV full of toxic chemicals pumped into my body, then get a quick check-up and am released to go out into the world. I usually feel ok for a couple of hours, and use this time to eat anything that I won't be able to for the next few days. I've become a master at evaluating foods based on their properties on the way back up.. gross, I know, but necessary. Poached eggs on dry toast feels comforting, but eggs on "the backside" are totally bad. Any dairy, of course, is to be avoided... they curdle in your stomach before they have a chance to re-appear. Veggies aren't bad (who would have thought cancer would finally get me to eat my veggies!!!), and rice and potatoes don't seem to bother me much - either up or down. I'm now on what I hope is the downside slope of the chemo roller coaster, and am enjoying my umpteenth cup of herbal tea with the hope of solid foods in the next few hours. So life will be good for a couple of days before the ride begins again. I have few memories that I need to commit to typing that I will be addressing in the next few days.... more soon. (Comment on this)
Sunday, April 16th, 2006
12:18 pm	Rainy day musings I love the Pacific Northwest. It has rained on and off all day. It smells like earth – like soil – like cement. I could breathe this in forever. It’s gray and sunny and stormy – all within moments. The bushes and trees are budding out, and yet seem to not “get it”. They are like beautiful adolescents that have no idea that they are gorgeous. Truly charming. I remember how much I hated umbrellas as a child. They were so “not cool”. One day my mother dropped me off across from junior high, and insisted I take the dreaded umbrella with me. It was raining the cold, unusual rain of Southern California. Refusing to use the umbrella, I crossed the street, directly in front of my mother’s car, rain soaking my hair and clothes. But I didn’t use that dreaded umbrella. Boy was I cool. I wish I could tell her that I get it – that I understand what a colossal jerk I was, that I love my umbrella today. There is nothing like walking in the rain, umbrella resting casually on my shoulder, smelling the scents of spring and being so at peace with the world. Life (as they say), is so wasted on the young. (Comment on this)
1:07 am	So I promised a positive post. It will be a challenge, but one I welcome . I was 17, a" baby” and on my way to Europe for a year. Dad and Mom took me out to breakfast before my plane left from LAX. I didn’t know the language, didn’t know the culture, didn’t know my fellow students, didn’t know shit. Got it? And off I went. It was the best year of my life. I learned about reality, love, space, courage, loneliness, homesickness and life as a minority. I learned about chocolate, lamb, pasta, quail, cream, cheese and offal. I should admit that during my “farewell” breakfast meal I found it necessary to throw up not only once but twice. They were great waffles, but nerves will overcome! Dad was the chosen chauffeur, mostly because Mom would have been embarrassingly teary. (Like I wasn’t!) I left LAX with fears, excitement, dreams and hope. I left with the understanding that my parents loved me, that I had friends in the US, that I had a home in California no matter what. I spent a year in college in Germany, traveled like crazy, had Christmas in Geneva, New Years in Rome, Easter in Greece and the summer in British Kingdom. Can it get better than that? (Comment on this)
Saturday, April 15th, 2006
4:37 pm	Fat I am fat. Not pleasantly plump,big boned or chunky. I am fat. I don’t remember how old I was when my father told me the truth… “No one will hire a fat person”. I suppose he was right. All my advances in my career were only because employers got a chance to experience my skills before offering me a job. It worked out, though – I ended my working career as a Chief Information Officer and Vice President of a health care corporation with a salary in the low six-figures. I still was fat. My parents were the stereotypical Southern California inhabitants. The outside was everything – the outside of your home, the outside of your car, the outside of your boat, the outside of your body. My mom used to dress to go to the grocery store. Heaven forbid you were caught in Ralph’s in a sweat suit or non-designer jeans. I was still fat. I may now be thin, – cancer has it’s percs. I won’t be any more employable, or desireous, but I may be thin, finally. I suppose every cloud has a silver lining. PLEASE love your children just as they are. PLEASE respect every employee for the contribution they offer. PLEASE love yourself regardless of what the magazines say you should be – or should try to be. PLEASE. (Comment on this)
8:00 am	More Memories... Believe it or not, he played the harmonica. He was also 10 years my senior and the cutest man you’ve ever seen. I wish I knew where he is now... he remains in my memory as one of the “ones that got away”. He called me “buxom”. I’m not sure I would have chosen that title for myself, but when I heard from my room-mate that he had recognized my curves in that way, I was sunk. But, oh, could he could play. I became a confirmed “groupie”. I think part of me just wanted to be close to him, and the other part wanted to be sure no other groupie would tempt his libido. He blew the harp, he sang as well as any commercial artist, and he made love to me. What a guy. (Comment on this)