“Trouble with this world is that everybody’s out to get everybody else. I mean, why can’t people be more like me? I love everybody. Hello, flower!” — Bugs Bunny in “Spaced Out Bunny”

isn’t that great news? yeah.

did i mention, that in addition to bronchitis, the worst allergies I’ve ever had in my life, a growing sense of “can we please be done with this now please, already?” about my novel (man am i sick of looking for typos, continuity blah blah and misc. plot debris)…

where was I going with this? yes. I had some tumor/growth/alien life force removed from my leg.

that’s why you stop by, right? for the gnarly health news? this wasn’t even gnarly, as these things go. This very beautiful girl doctor and her sweet and also beautiful assistant shoved me backwards on the table, shot up my leg with local anesthetic, and then I don’t even want to know what they did next. But it’s a week later and it’s still sore. Not bad sore — it’s healing up and all, but damn. You just never know what they’re going to do to you, once you step into that strange vortex known as The Doctor’s.

This is me at the doctor’s office. (Thank you, Tom Petty, for the visuals.)

it was just something I didn’t want to deal with and I finally did, yay me. Then I cried because it hurt and the doctor said, If it is malignant, we would need to… and then we’d… and general anesthetic and you’re strong and healthy and would do just fine with that, yes?

my response to that was: “No.” (See? See? Proof on my own blog.)

seriously, Internets. Unlike the rest of my deranged, high-strung extended family, I have extremely low blood pressure. I mean, it’s 90/60 on a good day. When I get sick/stressed/have just had surgery/am losing blood/haven’t had enough milkshakes or sweet potato pie/you name it, it dips to like, 70/47. Then the buzzers and bells start going off, whoop-whoop-aoooooooga! and they all get really excited and things get lively and I think, I am so glad I’m lying down for all this.

Then Steve says, “Even when it’s normal, it’s like, 90/60. She’s a freak, she’s fine.” And then they all simmer down. I can say the same thing, but they don’t listen to Almost-Dead Girl. But they will listen to Steve. Whatever.

Also my lungs have a hard time remembering to breathe. They just… don’t cooperate sometimes.

So I would prefer to never go under general anesthetic for the rest of my life. Also? Veins are collapsing due to Having Too Much Blood Taken for Thyroid Issues and Whatever Else the Vampires Wanted It For.

Hmm.

GOOD NEWS. I called for the test results and the very nice man gave me my favorite letter and my favorite number: B9. Benign!!! Get it? Which is just great, because you know what my favorite movie was when I was a young girl? Sunshine. You know what my favorite book was? (Next to “Wifey,” “Princess Daisy” and any other good smutty trash I could find)… that’s right. Norma Klein’s “Sunshine.” What happens in that book? That’s right. A beautiful teenage mom finds out she has Leg Cancer and her only options are 1) have it cut off or 2) have it cut off or 3) take meds and puke her guts out and then die, anyway.

When you are a teenage girl, this is the sort of book you want to re-read 200 times. So I did. Oh, and “Go Ask Alice.” Yes. So I think this has sort of been a lifelong fear, perhaps. That I will get leg cancer and have to choose between puking/then dying or having my leg amputated. I would choose… neither. I just wouldn’t go to the doctor, that’s how I would solve that one. But I did go to the doc, and all is well. And I’m done with antibiotics for bronchitis and seem to be on the mend. Good! Right on!

Beautiful, happy Friday to you.

— wm

ps in unrelated news, I just filed my first book review for my girls at BlogHer. It’s on “Getting to Happy,” Terry McMillan’s sequel to “Waiting to Exhale.” The review will run sometime this month — I’ll link when it does. (Link!) Will you go check out their site, pretty please? Good stuff on there, and lots of interesting women writing about things that won’t make you wince like I do. Ta-ta for now!

Yeah. That’s right.

I stayed up late watching stupid-ass TV two nights in a row. First it was the Judds and their insane reality show. Then it was the end of season five (final season, and to that I say, Fucking amen) of Big Love. Really, they should call that show Sick Love. But I am nuts for the three actresses who play the wives — Jeanne Tripplehorn, Ginnifer Goodwin and Chloe Sevigny. Also I liked how they spun out the (also sick love) storyline of Bill’s parents, played so skillfully and scarily (???) by Grace Zabriskie and Bruce Dern.

Zabriskie I have adored and followed like a little puppy dog ever since “Drugstore Cowboy.” (She played Matt Dillon’s mom. Gus Van Sant did it up when he cast that movie, man.)

“Lord, it’s my dope fiend thief of a son and his crazy little nymphomaniac wife.” (then she hides her purse.) If you haven’t seen that one, check it out.

I cannot give that kind of ringing endorsement to Sick Love and the Judds, though. I say, run for the hills instead of watching those shows.

My point (and I do have one, as Ellen DeGeneres would say) is that even though I slept in, after staying up way too late, and even though I have been eating and drinking all right… I have been fighting off this frickin’ virus for two weeks now. And yesterday I woke up with low blood pressure, low blood sugar, wheezing from asthma and bronchitis, total crash, and ended up in urgent care. (Steve drove, don’t worry.) Bronchitis, allergies, and blah blah blah blah antibiotics and more sleep and etc. The kids were worried and gave me lots of attention and brought me sorbet and there you have it.

Me, resting. I’m dying at some point, but it’s not going to be today. Whew.

However. Now I’m awake at 6 a.m., on our day off (Memorial Day here in the States, or Decoration Day, as my Granny used to call it) so I can go have some delicious breakfast, take an antibiotic and not crash again. Then I will nap and avoid all responsibility. We visited the graves on Saturday. They’re all resting peacefully, fyi, my grandparents, two uncles, my one uncle’s mom, my two aunties and my dear Dad. I left them notes. Wacky Girl was a sweetie, as always, and respectful. Wacky Boy paid his respects in his own way, namely, he raced around the graves, then told me, Try not to step on them! Then he threw rocks in some big mud puddles and eventually couldn’t resist the urge to jump in. So he did.

My dad, grandpa and uncles would have been thrilled, especially since where he was playing was where the baseball diamond used to be. (Now it’s all cemetery.) I hope they noticed, y’know? All of them would have said, She looks just like Nancy when she was little! about my daughter, because that’s what everyone says. Makes me beam every time. At my grandma’s funeral, my uncle’s friend drove down from Seattle — I hadn’t seen him since Grandma’s 80th birthday party. When my daughter walked by, he just said, Little Nancy, under his breath and smiled at her. She didn’t notice, of course, but it made me happy.

Next time I go I’ll take food and flowers and do the whole Day of the Dead thing. The kids are getting older now, they think it’s a little weird, but they’re OK with me doing whatever I need to do, for my little rituals. But I thought I’d spare them this time, since the weather was nice on Saturday and there were a ton of people decorating the graves, leaving flowers, trimming back the grass, all that.

Not everyone understands my need to leave cookies, fruit and notes at the graves of my dead relatives. But I do, so that’s that.

Also? This was amazing and a little Six Feet Under weird. I had twin aunts — they were just adorable. They cheated at cards and were yin/yang funny and no-bullshit about everything. (“Now you’re just reminiscing, Nancy” as one of them used to tell me.) Well, someone in the family needed to look at the world through rose-colored glasses, and it sure wasn’t them or my Grandma, God love ’em. Prairie girls from northern North Dakota who would walk over to Canada when they wanted to play with their friends. Seriously, how cool is that? Six years old or whatever, you’re just going to walk to another country to go play :)

I went over to see them one time — they were both wearing sweatsuits and white headbands — very Olivia Newton-John, “Let’s Get Physical.” They said, in unison as always, “You like these?” (about the headbands.) “The little lady who does our hair gave us these!” omg, too cute and funny.

My point (again) — we were at my Dad’s grave, saying goodbye and getting ready to leave, and I saw two big crows fighting and flipping out (just like my aunties used to do) and sure enough, they sent them.

It was right on their grave.

the end.

— wm

Finn: “Why are you keeping these girls prisoners? Jerk!”

The King: “You don’t understand. I collect princesses because I want to marry one.”

Jake the Dog: “Well, why’d you capture six of them if you just want to marry one?”

King: “I’m collecting them all first, to make sure I make the right choice. You’re both too young to understand, but marriage is a serious thing and lasts forever. You can’t just rush into it, y’know?”

Finn: “Ice King, don’t do this. Just let the girls go. They. Don’t. Want. To. Be. Here.”

funniest show on television, just sayin’.

Marge: “Homie, you always mean to say the nicest things.”

— The Simpsons

* that Watson IBM thing on Jeopardy was stupid. I am such a die-hard Jeopardy fan, and you know I belong to the Ken and Brad fan club. So it sorta headached me, is what I’m saying. Gimme a real game, not an avatar.

* Steve is at work; Wacky Boy and i are home with colds (sore throats, coughs, fatigue, and perhaps just a general sense of ennui)

* They bring Brenda back to GH, I’m over the moon cuz she’s always been one of my favorite characters, and what? they’re going to kill her off now, instead of having her marry Sonny? Cussin’ writers. Do it right, writers, i mean it.

* I have tendonitis from my library work (and facebook, and too much mousing, and from typing too fast. i’m like, crazy-fast typist). It goes up my right arm, stopping for a special pocket of pain in the elbow (i think it’s cussin’ bursitis or something, too? I smacked my funny bone — NOT FUNNY — a month ago and it is still swollen and tender), then travels all the way up my shoulder, down into where my shoulder bone’s attached to my/back bone, then up the right side of my neck, up and over my ear, into my jaw (thank you, TMJ, you suck, too) and into my head.

What does this all mean? I hurt all the cussin’ time. and it hurts to type. and you know i love to type (see: work stuff — required by law; e-mails; FB; my book; various writing projects and yes, blog). it pains me to type. it pains me to say that. it pains me to mouse mouse blip all day, too, at work. (checking in/checking out.) it pains me to carry around large boxes/armfuls of books, dishes, laundry, and i can’t grip sometimes with my right hand. it also hurts to just write longhand (see: journal, pen, propped up with pillows, ow).

i write, therefore i am i write, therefore i am i write, therefore i am i write, therefore i am i write, therefore i am

honestly, I can’t blame this on middle age. I’ve been dealing with some of this crap (thyroid, girl problems) since i was a kid. and yes, i know i need to go in for physical therapy, but i am scared. I just worked up the nerve last week finally to go in and get my bloodwork done (again) for thyroid. I LOVE my (now-former) doctor, she was amazing. she also had this great practice with four or five other doctors. I saw most of them, in the few years I’ve been going to her, and they’re all as great as she is.

However. They’re in north Portland, and we now live on West Side. Fancy West Side. And I haven’t been willing to start with someone new. I love my doctor so much. She has two kids my kids’ age, and she’s from the neighborhood, and she can handle anything (see: thyroid, see: wacky heart, see: follow-up on surgery, see: bronchial pneumonia, see: flu shots; see: general bitchiness). This doctor would never randomly cut into me on a Monday morning, is what I’m saying.

I found a new doctor. They’re nice. They took my blood and only bruised me up a little. My one “good” vein collapsed years ago. My “second-best” vein is nearing collapse. To cheer me up, the phlebotomist told me awhile back, We can just take it from behind your knee if that one collapses.

Because that’s just what sounds good — a needle coming in at ya from behind the knee.

So when i am being a big baby and refusing PT? Too. Many. Issues.

xoxoxoxo

me

* 1 1/2 cup shredded coconut, unsweetened
* 3 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
* 2 cups chopped pecans
* 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
* 3/4 cup maple syrup
* 1/2 cup dark brown sugar (packed)
* 1/2 cup olive oil
* 1 cup bing cherries, raisins, cranberries, etc.

Directions

1. Heat oven to 300-325 degrees.

2. Whisk ingredients together (except cherries).

3. Bake for 45-60 minutes total, until golden brown. (Stir every 20 minutes.)

4. Add cherries in last five minutes.

5. Cool completely and store in airtight container.

(My daughter says anyone who says nom-nom-nom ever again is going to get punched in the neck. So all I can say here is… mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…) (edited later to say, it turned out so good. I added dried cranberries and cut-up apricots. i’m never buying granola at the store again.)

Big announcement: We are having an Un-Superbowl Party over here. It starts right now. First, we’re watching “Romeo + Juliet,” not the Zeffirelli version. Then the Puppy Bowl (Animal Planet). A little All-Star hockey, a little college hockey, perhaps? Some snacks, some more snacks. And “GLEE!” The end.

Great show. Julianna Margulies, Archie Panjabi (who plays Kalinda), Big (Chris Noth), Josh Charles, Alan Cumming, Scott Porter (Jason Street from “Friday Night Lights”) and… some of the actors from “The Wire,” too, man, i am happy with this show. Watching from the beginning of season one, and tivo’ing season two and watching that, too.

it’s raining so hard right now in my neighborhood that everything’s flooding. i had to ford a couple of rivers to get home, and my clothes were soaked by the time we walked through the front door. I don’t mind the rain in Oregon, mostly, but when it’s dark at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and everyone’s driving twice as fast as they should, and you have the windshield wipers on swish-swish-swish superfast, well. It gets a little intense. Then when the winds start, and the trees start coming down, or when the ground is so soaked they just get uprooted… it’s creepy. A big tree by my work split in half and is gone now, nothing left but logs in the front yard.

OK, let’s lighten it up.

Here’s a poem for you. (Substitute “winter” for “spring.”)

Spring Rain
Marchette Chute

My hair is wet, my feet are wet,
I couldn’t be much wetter.
I fell into a river once
But this is even better.”

How about some cooky recipes? Chewy Chocolate Cookies? Peppermint Candy Canes? Sugar Cookies? Stone Jar Molasses Cookies? Rainbow Walnut Slice and Apricot Pastries? MMMMMMMMMMM. (Still not baking. This is the first holiday season ever when i haven’t baked.) I always think of my late friend, the dear, dear Terry Olson, whenever I post recipes. Fewer recipes/more politics was his motto.

did i mention that i like library work so much? it’s good. here’s a funny YouTube video, you’ll like it, i promise:

harry potter harry potter harry potter

also? general hospital, on a tear. chewing up the scenery. And Adrienne Barbeau, and Brenda crying out for Dante, “…and that reminded me of when you were in the hospital, delirious, calling out his name…” (Adrienne Barbeau, as Suzanne, on GH.)