Think of a song with the word plane in it

When it comes to travel tips, the best thing you can do is get TSA Pre. Just do it.

Once you speak to the often gruff/rarely friendly security person, who gives at best a cursory glance at your ID and ticket, take a moment to assess where to go next.

Do you see a family of five with small children, strollers, etc? Avoid.

Do you see single travelers with laptop bags? Follow them, they know wtf they’re doing and you’ll breeze right through the x-ray/scanning area.
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Back when I was in college, my Da & Mom took me to the Renaissance Faire. I can’t remember where, maybe Clarkston?

It was there that I visited the first of several (always disappointing) psychics.

However, this one said “You will travel a lot. I see you traveling A LOT later in life.”

At that point I’d been to three places: Up North (Michigan), Cedar Point (Ohio) and somewhere with a lovely beach (Canada).

So the idea of me traveling anywhere, let alone A LOT was bewildering.

Yet here I am. On a plane. Right now. Ordering a cocktail.
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I’m absolutely convinced that sadists design the lighting in hotel rooms. It takes an advanced degree in electrical engineering to figure out where the light switch is on most hotel lamps.

The last hotel I was in - the Grand Hyatt in New York - had the fancy touch screen lighting system. I had to hit it three times to get the light on in the bathroom.

Here’s my tip: Go to Target, buy a $3 plug-in night light and forget about finding the switches during those middle of the night potty excursions. Keep it in your bag with whatever other essential travel items you use.

The first time I did this, I thought I was super smart and gaming the hotel light system.

Then I left the goddamn nightlight behind.

Now I use a memory trick - marrying my blow dryer and tooth brush - with my nightlight and I never forget.
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Yes. I bring a blow dryer.

“Hotels have blow dryers. Why would you do this?”

Because when you’re traveling with your mother-in-law to a christening in Connecticut and you oversleep, the last thing you need is a broken hotel blow dryer.

You DO NOT want to be that daughter-in-law, arriving 20 minutes late to the church, for a ceremony you traveled nearly 1000 miles to see.

Bring a blow dryer.
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Planes are without question some of the filthiest places on the planet.

So bring hand wipes. Buy them in bulk if you travel a lot.

And scrub down everything in the immediate vicinity of your seat. Arm rests. Tray table (including that little tab that holds it up in place). And don’t forget the seat belt.
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If you’re like me, your short term memory can be an unreliable little bitch at times

Especially during travel - a lot is going on. You’re dealing with crowds. And if you don’t travel much, it’s all unfamiliar territory.

So here are a couple things to make your trip easier:

• Use a mnemonic to remember your seat number and letter. I use dirty words. 3 asses to Dallas. 7 bitches to New York. 12 dicks to Maui. That way I’m not fumbling with my ticket AND my luggage when boarding. 
• Pick a place to keep your phone and keep it there always. Jacket pocket. Outer pocket on your backpack. Wherever but always the same spot. So when it’s not there, you know it’s gone for sure. 
• Maybe not the outer pocket of your backpack. I’ve heard too many stories of people being robbed getting on/off planes. So inside pocket on your purse or backpack.

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The mnemonic doesn’t need to be dirty words. It could be 12 danishes to Maui. Any pastry will do. 13 eclairs to Minneapolis. 7 bagels to Boston.
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I could devote a whole post to cab drivers. Maybe I will. But I love them. Most of them.

I’ve met people from all over the world, including Eritrea which sounds like a medical term for something in your nether regions. It’s actually a country in Africa. With beautiful beaches.
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I am listening to: “We will be landing soon...”
I am reading: A copy of a book that hasn’t been published yet, given to me as a professional courtesy so long as I don’t share it. It’s meant to be intriguing but you’re probably just annoyed.
And I am: On vacation.

Not Wasted

It took 10 minutes to find this blog. Slightly longer to find the login ID + password.

Why am I here? 

Because my awesome friend Mrs. You Know Who (remember Mr. & Mrs. You Know Who?) mentioned it the other night. It was a Saturday night and we'd been playing Head's Up. 

Category: Adult Supervision
Word: Wasted
Me: "I get this way. Occasionally."
Jim: "Bitchy? It's bitchy isn't it?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later, Mrs. YKW said:

"I was looking at my old bookmarks the other day and found your blog. You haven't published anything since 2014. Why did you stop?"

I was momentarily speechless. I'd forgotten about the blog. Or maybe just intentionally stopped thinking about it.

Writing was a hobby. Writing was my way of figuring things out. 

After Mom died, I gave up trying to figure things out because so much didn't make sense anymore. 

I might be coming back. Maybe. 

Thank you, Mrs. YKW for reminding me that I used to love this. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The Bears game
I am reading: Into the Woods - A Five Act Journey Into Story by John Yorke
And I am: Not wasted

I don't know what day it is

since Mom was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, but I woke up at 3 a.m. crying in my sleep. I was having a nightmare, Mom was dying. Then I woke up and realized it wasn't a nightmare after all.

I am not dealing with this very well and can feel myself slipping back into depression. Slowly.

If I can't handle the death of our dog, how the hell am I going to manage this?
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I am listening to:  Nothing
I am reading: Nothing
And I am:  Not good

Day Six

She's having a tough time today. It's normal, I'm sure.

You can be at peace with it one day and you can be really sad and remorseful the next.

It's all so cliched, but it's surreal - there are moments when it feels like a really bad dream. The only reason I know it's not, is because even in my dreams I am crying now. It's a veritable nightmare, awake and asleep.

My therapist - who is a comfort and a blessing - was very helpful today. I mentioned wanting my parents to come here to Illinois for a visit, since they haven't been out for their annual trip. They usually stay three or four weeks. It's wonderful.

"I didn't know that last summer could be their last time here."

"Will having your parents visit one more time change anything? It won't change the excellent memories you've already made. We can't live our lives as a hedge against future tragedy."

A dark thought today: Maybe Mom will decide against the radiation treatment. It is inconceivable, but it's her choice.
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I don't want this. I don't want this. I don't want this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mom says "Hedy, what would I do without you?"

And I think "What will I do without YOU?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Hitch 22
I am listening to: Quiet house sounds
And I am: Not doing very well myself actually

Day Five

"Well, it's only in the brain stem, how bad can that be?" Mom thought.

It's the stem - something you remove from a piece of fruit - she thought.

Sure. You throw it away and would never think of eating it once the fruit is ripe, but it's pretty fucking vital to the fruit becoming ripe.
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Yesterday she called singing this song by John Denver. I managed to sing along for the first part but broke down too soon.

Apparently she sang it to Da and Eric as well.
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Today is our wedding anniversary. Sixteen years. Jim wants normal but I can't do normal. And it's a struggle celebrating anything.

Will she be here for our anniversary next year? Will she be here for Christmas? What will that be like?

How can we make the time she has left enjoyable? She wants fun and laughing and singing and good memories.

What about a trip? What about just having them come to Illinois for a bit?
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Everyone says they're praying for her. Surely it helps, knowing they're praying for her, but does it really help?

Is it more helpful, than say, making sure all her appointments are lined up and asking all the right questions and thinking about her comfort and planning ahead? Because with all that, I don't have time to pray (not that I ever would.)

It  might even make her feel better, knowing that her daughter is praying for her. But it would be a lie. I will not be a hypocrite and start praying because I desperately need something. That's the main issue with praying - it's mostly about your needs. And ultimately, who is it comforting? The person doing the praying or the person who needs the praying?

Let the other folks concern themselves with heaven. I'll focus on what's happening down here.
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I am listening to: Train sounds

I am reading: Hitch-22 - A Memoir by Christopher Hitchens

And I am: Attempting normal

Day Four

"I will be with you every step of the way."

More comforting words have never been spoken. From my good friend Suze. 

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I am listening to: Doggies pawing around the house

I am reading: Nothing

And I am: Smiling

The Third Day of the Rest of Your Life

"With this type of tumor, you have about three months without treatment and three to six months with treatment."

Da says: What? Did you say 36 months?

"No, three to six months."

You don't hear much after that. So you call the doctor the next morning, just to be sure, since he's talking about your Mom.

You said three months without treatment and three to six months with treatment. Is that right?

"Yes. Three to six months is average. It's rare to see patients last more than a year with this."

Okay. Got it. Thank you.
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The fact is, I knew the night before. I knew because when you Google "Lung cancer metastatic brain stem" the answer is right there.

Three to six months.

I tell Eric. We've gotta get together on this, we've gotta figure this out because it's bad, REALLY BAD.

And he says you can't believe everything on the Internet and I say I know, you can't. And I hope hope hope he's right.

Because I'd rather be realistic and wrong, than unrealistic and wrong.
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So it isn't like last time, with the lung. Zap zap zap with the radiation and it's gone.

It isn't like last time at all because her eyesight is failing and she's using a walker and a neurosurgeon carved back eight inches of her scalp to install a shunt to drain the spinal fluid that would normally flow where the tumor is.

And there's the home care nurse. And the physical therapist. And the social worker.

Words like palliative care and hospice.

And a goddamn chair in the shower.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Doctors don't say three to six months if they don't mean it.

So during your stronger moments, when you're not crying, you start telling relatives and friends and neighbors. This was the worst:

"Not her. NOT HER."
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Then, when you realize all this crying is for yourself and how much you'll miss her and how the hell will you live without her and you're NOT crying for the unspeakable hell your Mom can expect over the next three to six months as the tumor takes away her ability to walk, swallow and breathe, well...well something shifts.

She says she wants to laugh and have fun and make some good memories. We will do that. I will make sure we do that.

I just don't know how yet.
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I am listening to: Nothing
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Figuring it out