That Vertigo Thing

Yeah, kayso, I'm dealing with some vertigo right now. Like scrolling the screen literally makes me feel as if I'm going to fall off the sofa. It's an old song, but one that still plays on, even though the record is severely scratched.

I think what set it off today was being in a warm environment (my studio) and going out into a cold environment (outside). The temp difference I guess confuses the inner ear and then away we go. It's kind of like having a caloric conversion test. The one the ENT gives you where they swirl hot or cold water into your ear and it makes you feel as though you're going to fall off the table. It's my very favorite one. Kind of makes you leery of hot and cold running water.

Had a relatively productive day in the studio. I actually started glazing a kiln load of pots and such. I had to vacuum out the kiln since I had an exploding piece of greenware last load. The shards went all the way to the top rows of coils, which is not a cool thing at all. Kind of shortens the life of your very expensive coils. I had to hang over the side of the kiln, looking like Winnie the Pooh stuck in the honey tree. I kid you not. And to facilitate all that, I had to take the shop vac apart and clean it because it was apparently pissed about having not had that done. Dust everywhere. But it's done.

We also had more visitors today than we've had all week, which is good and sad at the same time. I wish we had more traffic. I'm thinking the publicist needs to get on the ball.

And that is the end of my very uninteresting thing. You know. Blah blah blah fishcakes.

I bid you adieu.

Dead Ice by Laurell Hamilton

Okay, first of all I applaud Hamilton's effort to actually have a story line this time around. Tried is the operative word here. There actually IS a story in there somewhere. And it might have been a good one, had she stuck to it. 
Unfortunately, she spends a LOT of pages describing her various relationships with her various lovers. We get it. She screws a lot of people and it's okay because blah blah blah. Free love. Whatever. Quit trying to justify all the sexual partners and just get on with the story. Because there actually IS one here. It's just that it occupies fewer than three chapters of the book.

Quit trying to pad with book with extraneous crap and get on with the story. I'd rather have a 200 page book with actual action in it than 400 pages of relationship descriptions with various men/women.

Sadly, for me this attempt is too little too late. Anita Blake was an interesting character at one time. Truly. She was human, flawed, grumpy, and sexy. In fewer than 3 books she quit slaying vampires and zombies and started having sex with them. All. I think the notion was that she was supposed to be Buffy Summers, all grown up. Wannabe. Hamilton tries for erotica and only ends up with...squishy. Just gross body fluids everywhere.

This is the last of the Anita Blake series for me. There is simply too much crap to put up with for too little payout. Sorry Anita. We knew ye when...

That new book reviewing thing I'm trying...

I know, I know. I talk a lot and deliver a little. But I do try. Sometimes.

So here is my obsession du jour:  I'm going to review the books I read and post the reviews here. And if I ever figure out how to do it, I'll link this to Goodreads. If.

My reading material is, by and large, fantasy related. The Enthrall series I reviewed this same day is my first foray into doing reviews. Let's just see how that flies.

I signed up for Book Bub a couple of weeks ago. It's been a boon, and more importantly, a FREE boon! I've picked up some free books by authors I would never have considered trying before, because, let's face it, it was free. I'm all about some free. The upshot of all this, besides the free thing, is that I'm broadening my horizons. I've also realized I need to read more "thinky" books. I've gotten very lazy in my reading, preferring to escape into fantasy worlds rather than deal with anything, well, real. I'm going to make an effort to take care of that. Promise.

In the meantime, I'm going to offer a couple of reviews of books I've read recently. Or maybe not so recently, but still worth a mention. And maybe this will sort of force me to get back into my blogging again. I didn't realize I hadn't touched this thing for almost two years. Not since Dad died. I've been in a weird headspace because of all that, as one might imagine. Now I've got a very precious stepmom who will not be around for very much longer, so I've got to revisit that whole little hell again.  See? Why the fantasy world?

Anyway. There it is. Have fun. Feel free to disagree. I welcome it.

Enthrall Series by Vanessa Fewings

The Enthrall series consists of 5 books in all, and although the last two- Cameron's Control and Cameron's Contract- are technically part of a separate series, you can't read one without the other. So to speak.

The journey begins with wide-eyed Mia (from whose point of view we are seeing the story) going to work for a secret, high-end BDSM club. Okay, let me put this out there in the universe. Is there some secret mandate that says ALL heroines MUST BE VIRGINS? wtf? What's wrong with a woman of experience? Huh? Huh?

Okay, mini-rant over. Anyway, Mia goes to work for Enthrall. The reasons are myriad that influence Mia's journey into the BDSM world, reasons I'm not going to tell you because that's part of the fun. But things are not always what they seem at first look.  Mia falls for Richard, the club's dom. Sexual situations ensue. So much fun, and actual heart-rending emotional connections are made with the characters.

Enthrall Her (which oddly was difficult for me to acquire because of a  link issue with B&N, but I digress) brings Mia further into the world of Enthrall and Chrysalis. Characters from Enthrall are here and doing their joyfully hedonistic best to make LA an interesting kind of town. They succeed. Cameron is called upon to...erm..assist Mia become a better sub to Richard. Part of this process is dealing with her incredibly crappy childhood, or lack thereof. The section is heartbreaking and triumphant at the same time. Enthrall Her doesn't end here, however. It's just a brilliant lead-in to...

Enthrall Him. Cameron gets as good as he's given. A frantic escape from a menacing businessman bring Mia and Cameron closer together as they flee to Europe. As anyone knows, urgent situations create urgent relationships. Mia and Richard's relationship is scrutinized under the microscope of Cameron's burgeoning feelings for his friend's sub. An uneasy situation at best. Honestly, I cried a little. At erotica. Because let's face it, this is an action/adventure/romance with some BDSM thrown in. And that's just dandy with me.

Cameron's Control and Cameron's Contract (written from Cameron's POV) continue the fun and the suspense ratchets up. Tension is rife in the Cameron/Mia/Richard dynamic, and one never quite knows what's going to happen. The psychological tension Fewings creates is believable and thrilling.

Like I stated in my first post, I'm not going to iterate the entire series' plots, etc. I say all the above to say things like this: Fewings has accomplished what Laurell Hamilton has only dreamed of doing. Creating a series that combines action/adventure/suspense/eroticism in a way that leaves the reader desperately wanting more. Her characters are fresh, original, intelligent, and believable. Which is frankly difficult to do with one of these "billionaire meets virgin" genre books. I mean seriously, booksellers, smashwords, whoeverthehell who publishes are rife with these books. I've read, or started reading, a few of them. And then stopped. Either the characters left me utterly cold, or the attempts to be sexy or sexual just fell so flat as to be a huge turn-off. I again reference Laurell Hamilton.

I am now a huge fan of Vanessa Fewings. Have I mentioned the role BookBub has played here? I received Enthrall for free from BookBub and was hooked on the series. The Bub does a great service to authors and readers alike. Had I not received the freebie, I would never have read the rest of this exciting series, and I wouldn't have a brand-new favorite author. So, if you've not signed up for BookBub, I highly encourage it. And did I mention? The free stuff? Free!

Fighting in the Valley

Dad: They were fighting there, in the valley, to a man. Fighting and dying.
Me: What was the name of the valley, Dad?
Dad: (In an eerie sort of voice- one that I will never forget) That's the thing. No one knows, to a man. They just fight and die, and none of them knows why.

I've no clue why this last bit of conversation keeps rolling through my consciousness. Over and over, and the tone of his voice when he talked about the valley. It pulls at my heart. I've never heard him talk like that- almost as if it were someone else's voice. Maybe it was. I don't know. But it's burned into me with a sweetness born of his longing to tell me how much he loved me. For a need to wipe away over 50 years of pain and contention.

Yes, there are times when the pain peeks through. When I remember words as whips, anger and the need to control and cause pain. But mostly now, I remember that valley, and the reverence with which he spoke of it. I realize that the two of us, by virtue of our physical infirmities, were soldiers fighting in that nameless valley. One of us fell, and one remains standing. And still, we don't know the name of the valley.

Taking a Breath- May 31

It's very strange how life goes on when you think it really needs to stop and take a deep breath.

And Then It's Done- May 30

Laid dad to his final rest today.
The world is a strange place with neither mom nor dad alive anymore. Very strange indeed.

Quietude

"Listen to yourself, and in that quietude you might hear the voice of God"
Maya Angelou

And then He Moves On- May 27

Dad died this afternoon. It was his wish- his deepest wish- to not have to live through the hell of being trapped in a body that no longer functioned. I'm glad his pain is gone. I'm glad the horror of being in a body that had failed him is gone. I am glad, so glad, he is at peace.

Love you Dad. I'm glad we had our night. It meant everything. Absolutely everything.

Hangin' with Dad- May 17

At the home watching dad play with his underpants. We were struggling for control of his water mug, and I wouldn't let him take the lid off. He looked at me and said "You have all the markings of a bitch". I laughed hard and said- you say that like it's a bad thing. Heh.

Hangin' with Dad- May 16

Hangin' with Dad today. He fed himself mashed potatoes! That's pretty huge. And he has a sense of humor about stuff today. He tells me to quit being bossy, I tell him if he did what he was supposed to do I wouldn't have to be bossy. Then he tries to sell me to the nurses. He's not having any luck with that. He also stood up for the first time in days. He's very present mentally. Keeps telling me little factiods he's learned over the years. Was concerned about the water pressure in the toilet. Heh.

April 27 rehab miracle

Well, there are miracles, and then there are miracles. We took dad to a rehab facility Friday evening. Before he went, we had to constantly struggle to keep him in touch with reality, to keep his clothes on, to keep him alive.We were all convinced this was it. The doctors said there was simply nothing left to do but keep him comfortable- which wasn't happening. I can't begin to explain the stress we all went through, staying with him there in the hospital. Exhaustion trying to keep him in bed and dressed, dealing with the hallucinations, trying to keep his CPAP on until you begin to get hallucinations yourself, working out schedules to sit with him. He was unable to move his legs, and was beginning to get bedsores.

Saturday? Dude is sitting up IN A CHAIR! He told my sister- "the doctors keep trying to put me in a grave, and I keep digging my way out."
Truer words were never spoken.

Keeping reality in the picture, he's still in renal failure. His heart is still pumping nearly 0%, and a few other organs are dying. He's still not long for this world. But at least he will go on his own terms, and not in a mindless haze. Thank you Lord.

Metaphoric Closure

Illness has a way of stripping away all the excess fat from your mind. Even if you find yourself trapped there- inside your mind, that is- and have difficulty relaying that information.

I've found this to be true with Dad. Since he's no longer being drugged to "keep him from being agitated", he's much more communicative. My sisters and I have been able to discern that he is cognizant most of the time. He's aware of what's happened to him. Sometimes he's able to relay information very clearly. Mere moments later, he's talking about gunpowder and making bullets and such. He's also full of little factoids- as he always has been- and often they are correct. Sometimes they get jumbled in that area of his mind that makes communication difficult, and at times impossible.

We talked a lot yesterday afternoon and night. A lot. Most of the time we spoke pretty clearly, but as often as not, we spoke in metaphors. See, I get that. A couple of years ago, I had a similar brain dysfunction due to a combination of circumstances which have yet to be explained to me. I was trapped inside my mind. I knew what I wanted to say, but the words were beyond me. I had to try to relay information in metaphors. That awful period in my life prepared me for this. As hard as it has been seeing him in the hospital and rehab and a rehab/nursing home, for the first time in our lives we are able to communicate with each other. The language of metaphors has turned out to be the language we needed all along to communicate.

We spoke of illness in terms of battle. Of all the men in the valley getting killed, trapped there. I asked him what the name of the valley was. He said that was the thing- the valley had no name, and not a man there knew what he was fighting for or where. Then he told me I had a campaign to prepare for, and that I was well prepared. I was a "valiant soldier", and I would win. None of that was gibberish to me. He was referring to my MS, and various other physical problems. He was telling me to stay strong, and that I had been strong. And that he was proud of me. It was a long talk, but a good one. He was very very pleased that I understood him. He rubbed his hand up and down my arm, stroking it in much the same way I have been doing to sooth him when he was agitated. When his mind hit on the right words, he told me what a good talk we had had. I had teared up during much of the talk- especially when he called me a valiant soldier.

All this time I never felt as if I had his respect. He's never been able to deal with someone else's illnesses. It makes him extremely uncomfortable. But the problems I've had with Multiple Sclerosis prepared me to understand the ones he's had with diabetes and his heart condition. I've dealt with near blindness, being unable to walk, being unable to communicate. I understand how difficult it is to have to ask for a ride from others over and over. To have the people who so generously offered to haul you around gradually fade into the woodwork. To have your independence ripped from you. To have your psyche at once stripped bare and yet buried beneath medicine and tests and the fears of family and friends who think you're not really there- that you somehow don't understand what is going on. You get talked about in the third person when you are sitting right there.

We talked about less heavy things too. About how the well water at our home tasted so good in the summer when it bubbled up out of the hose. It was probably unsanitary as heck, but who cared? It was ice cold and good. Natural, with no chlorine smell.

We talked about many things. Grave things. Silly things. Things that have too long gone unsaid. He said he didn't want this to ruin our lives. That he knew we loved him and we didn't have to be there all the time. In the heart of him he truly wants us there, and sort of loves the attention even under these awful circumstances, but he wants us to have lives too. That he said very clearly.

I kinda love this language of metaphors. It drops away senseless verbiage and gets down to the root of the idea. This could be the last such talk we ever have, or the first in a long line of talks- in his condition we simply don't know.

For now though, we have our special way of communicating , and that sorta works for me.

Love you daddy. Keep fighting in that unknown valley. You can win.

Lost in the Aether

I had originally posted this long and perhaps fractured ramble on FB, but as it so often does, FB becomes snarky and evil, and vomits it back into the aether. Erego, I shall go back to either my trusty notepad (the physical one with paper and stuff), or Word (provided I am electronically permitted to use it. Last I heard, my permissions were a little iffy...) which is moody and at times a bit of a shit.

But there it is. I've also been encouraged to simply scan my longhand notes as they would lend an air of artistic fair. Mkay, you asked for it. Be forewarned- I constantly change the shape of my letters (for example- [well, that doesn't translate with a keyboard], so you'll just have to hang on and figure that out. It also changes by mood and by writing utensil. And also by how close I am to the bottom of the page. Fortunately the size seldom changes, so there are no worries of it becoming microscopic (as my southpaw daughter's does.) Additionally, I dislike erasing and instead do the old editing/nursing standby and simply scratch through it one time, thereby negating the error but not completely eradicating it.

Well then...here we go. Again. Once more- into the breach dear friends!

'Kayso, I was considering doing a blog again but couldn't remember where any of my blogs were, so I figured at some point I would get to it. Then I had to sign into Google to post a comment to my daughter's blog, and there was mine! It's a miracle! I can't believe this thing has been here since 2005. Caity barely had breasts. I might have just moved into my studio at Old Alabama Town. I was 3 years into the Tysabri study. I was 44 years old. Clinton was president and may or may not have had sex with that woman. And he was sleeping on the couch either way.

At any rate, here I still am, and it's 2012, my child graduated from LAMP a year ago, my husband has eked a bit closer to a retirement he will refuse to take even though he needs it, and that aforementioned pain from many years ago is still present in various part of my body. But we shall speak of it no more! Ptui! (Any Buffy fan will get that line. For all the luzers who never watched Buffy- I pity you.)

Since it's been about a year since I posted that hideous picture of Andrew (it was probably taken in 2005- coincidence? I think not...), and since I'm ever so much older and life is changing at an alarming and challenging pace, maybe I'll get back to doing this. Who knows. Who cares.

Laterz!

Eli

He was angry and balled up in a knot when he came into class. I'm not a teacher, but I've seen this anger before. I don't know where the anger comes from- maybe because his mother is white and his father is black. He shouldn't be too angry at them though, because they gave him his angelic looks. At any rate, he was pissed at the world. I decided that he would be my special project, of course. So after I handed out assignments, I made a special point to compliment him, using his name each time. At first I got grunts and mostly ignored, but eventually, he met my eyes. Then he smiled at one of my lame jokes. By the end, he was just as excited as the rest of the students at being there. I got to talk to his grandmother. I told her how talented he was, and how much he belonged in Baldwin, the middle school for the arts here. She was so excited. She wanted to know if I had any pull with them. Of course I don't, but if I did Eli would be on my short list of kids. He has talent. Big talent. I've seen a few of them come through this class, but he has the most potential of all of them. He's smart, he's able to control his hands. He's just not able to control his temper. But if he had art- Oh if he had art all the time, he would be a different kid. I can see it. Goodbye Eli. I hope I see you again.

Short hairs

So I got my hair cut last night. A lot. It's in a sort of pixie style, very short. I think it's sort of cute, but Tom and Caity loathe it. THey say it's too short. What they don't understand is that I don't want to mess with longer hair. I want to wash it and be done with it. They don't understand not being able to lift your arms up from MS fatigue. Well, who does except for other MSers?

I will get a picture made and post it if it's not utterly heinous. It might just be as bad as they say it is.

I forgot...

I forgot to post anything here in a while. Sorry. TOo much to do.

The perfect (raw) turkey

It was perfect. Yes it was. It was gorgeously browned, skin crisp, meat moist and flavorful. Just perfect. Except for the raw part. So we cut off the perfect breast meat and threw the rest of the carcass back in the oven to cook. The dressing is cooking at the same time, thus assuring that nothing will be finished on time. Oh well. At least it LOOKED good.

Luddites and other fearful creatures

My daughter's teacher is a Luddite. Of course, I had to explain the meaning of the word "luddite'' to HER, because, well, she is a 15 year old girl and not privy to all words in the dictionary. Unlike myself, who has been privy but has forgotten all of them now. Except for "luddite", of course. I told her to call her teacher a luddite and see how he took it, but she's afraid of him killing her (something about a pistola), so she is going to tell her friend Jacki who will then call him Luddite and ostensibly be killed by the pistola. Good times.