We almost got what we came for.

I have always had to work on Black Friday. I work for a company that runs 24/7. We get Christmas and Thanksgiving off. And unless you have scheduled the time off, then you'll be working. This year our company announced that we'd all be getting Friday off; it was a pleasant surprise. Plus it meant that I would be getting 6 days off to spend with my family.

I didn't really give it too much thought when I told my wife I'd go out with her on Friday. I just told her that I would. I didn't realize that I was going to get one hour of sleep before we had to wake up at three in the morning and then go out into forty degree temperatures and wait for two hours for the first store to open. The first hour crept by very slowly and I told my wife that I would never do this again. Ever.
My wife laughed at me and looked at the line ahead of us. "At least we're not standing out there in the rain."

As we stood shivering in the cold under the cover of the buildings awning, ten yards in front of us rain fell in a steady drizzle. For 30 yards the line was exposed to the wind and rain where there was no awning. One minute after my wife made that observation, the front door of the store opened up and the whole line moved forward so that people could sqeeze into the entry way and get out of the rain. Just enough for us to step out into the rain. I know the second hour was just as long as the first, but it seemed a lot longer.

At 5 a.m. the doors opened just as promised. Riding herd, the local police did a great job on would-be line cutters. Screaming threats like, "Get back to the end of the line or I will take you to jail!" It was the only thing that brought a smile to my face this morning. That and the fact that we got everything here we came for. As we made our way through the store we needed to follow only one trail, and we picked up everything on our list as we passed by it. We ended up at a register in the camera department and were able to purchase our items without having to stand in line at the front of the store. As we walked out of the store I looked at the clock: it was 5:22 a.m. We were on our way to the second store. A Target.

The next two stores were right by each other. We only waited 8 minutes this time to get in and this time it wasn't raining. Unfortunately, the line we stood in wasn't moving. As everyone started getting antsy somebody noticed the doors on the opposite end of the building were opened. Everybody waited for the doors on our end to open but nothing was happening. Soon the crowd started running towards the other doors and eventually somebody came out of the store with their purchase and told us all that they weren't opening up the doors on our side of the building until later.

"Read the sign," they said.

Right on the front door in big letters it said, 'Proceed to other doors.' As I looked at the sign I thought it was odd that all the people who were gathered here all morning long didn't think anything of this. We were so far away ourselves we couldn't see it.

'Huh?' I thought to myself as we headed towards the other end of the building. And when I turned around one last time they were still standing there.

We almost got what we came for. Only one item remained left on our list. And we may have even got that if somebody had read the sign. It was exactly 7:00 a.m.

If you have never done Black Friday then all I can say is: Watch yourself, it can be a little frightening. I don't think I'll be doing it again.

Tis the season...

Today I woke up and I turned on the news. It was the same old stuff, with some horrible things happening in India and a "plausible but unsubstantiated' threat to the NYC subway system. Economic woes continue to happen and are arguably called the new recession or depression, but nobody can agree on one name or another. They do all agree that it's here to stay for a long long time.

I also saw a news story about people who will get to eat this holiday and those who won't. Which brings me to my point. If you haven't already given to a worthy charitable organization that will help the needy, then please do. It's not too late. And Christmas is still around the corner. Organizations like Sub-for-Santa and the Salvation Army are really important. Because of our recent economic crisis millions of families this year are going to have a hard time this holiday season. You may think that some loose change, or a dollar here or a dollar there won't add up, but if everyone who can afford it at least tries, than maybe you will be helping a stranger or family with a hot meal and a warm place to stay this season.

I hope everyone has a wonderful Holiday!

More than ever, I am truly thankful for friends and family.

Seven X's and a Y

I live with three females.

Dare I go on?

I think I can. I think I've earned the right. Besides...they can all yell at me later after they've read this.

All except for my wife. I think she has a fair understanding of how I feel. I think she knows as well as I do what goes on around here. And if I'm rocking the boat, then she'll just push my ass out anyway.

My girls fight a lot. Almost every day. That's 365 days a year, give or take a week. But that's not what's bothering me. That's not what this is about. The truth of the matter is I've grown used to their pre-adolescent behavior. I will probably even miss it. I will probably miss it very much. I think what's bothering me is what's coming. My girls are growing up.

My girls are angels. At night I hear their voices bouncing off the walls as they move from room to room. Small shadows race up and down the staircase, sometimes catching two steps at a time. Gales of laughter following them. Their laughter is like music. It sounds like wind chimes and stringed instruments mixed together. The oldest has a laugh that is contagious and it will melt your heart, while the youngest has an inner strength all of her own. It is a force of will and determination. Together they bring about a crescendo of noise. Generally it happens after they've gone upstairs to bed. And as I take up a position to clear my lungs and holler up at them, my wife will look at me and quietly remind me, "We have thin walls you know? They're just playing."

And so with head bowed and sometimes a feeling of defeat, I'll say, "I know."

Living with three females is a talent. It requires walking around with my head down or my eyes closed, because apparently none of them knows how to close a bathroom door. Ever. I suppose this will all change. Eventually they will want their privacy. They will require it. And for some reason I can already see my own bathroom disappearing. Maybe not completely, but things will change. New stuff will start to appear. Shampoo. Lotion. The filmy glossy stuff the girls like to put on. Makeup. I've seen it happen before. When no one's looking I remove it and slip it back into 'the girls-only bathroom'.

I suppose I should be thankful. It's been nice while it lasted.

I am thankful that my wife has been generous enough to let me have our master bathroom. I am thankful that the girls have been kind enough to leave my stuff alone. Sometimes -- when I let my hair grow out -- a comb or brush will go missing, but that is a small price to pay to have long hair.

Sometimes I grow weary in the dead of the night. A big storm is coming. Venus and Mars will move and a hormonal battle of estrogen and testosterone will wage war within these walls and nothing can prevent it. It is inevitable. I will miss my girls when that happens -- the little people they once were. I have no illusions of what will come. Moods will change. Tempers will fly. Tears will fall. It will be me. It will be my wife. It will be my girls -- my teenage girls.

Not now, not tomorrow, but fairly soon.

HE REALLY IS A SWEET CAT

36,557

That is my new number.
A few months ago that number was over 41,000. It has been as high as 44. Over the past year I have spent a great deal of time cleaning and polishing and re-working those numbers. And that figure is always changing. It will continue to change until the day I'm done. My goal -- is to finish a manuscript I've been working on with 90 to 100,000 words. Until last year I have done very little writing. Certainly nothing of this magnitude. And certainly not a book.
I got the idea last year while we were in Washington, D.C. When I called my wife to tell her about it, she blatantly said, "So write it already and quit talking about it!"

I remember it very clearly. I was standing on a corner not two blocks away from Fords Theater waiting for the light to change. She was in Bethesda covering a conference that was going on. The girls and I had just left the International Spy Museum and my mind was racing. Her remark was like a sting. There was that hint of insinuation that said you'll never do it. I remember thinking to myself, 'I'll show you.'

And so I began...

Two weeks later, back in Utah. I had just gotten off of work. My wife swung by to pick me up, and the girls were in the back seat of the Mazda laughing.
Lois looked at me and said, "The girls are excited, they're writing a book."

"Oh really!" I said. "I'm writing a story as well."

And as I listened to my daughters tell me their story, the look on my wife's face said, 'Do Tell'.


*********


March 12, 2008. It was exactly 11 months after I had walked out of that museum in Washington, D.C. The story I was working on had gained a lot of ground. I had written over one hundred pages but now I was done. I did not know it then, and it would be months later before I understood. On March 11, 2008 I was admitted to the hospital. On March 12, I was told my life was about to change. On March 13, I stopped writing.
Even though I went through the motions and I continued to write, the heart of it was gone. Everything was gone.


*********


My friend Bob asked me the other day how my book was coming. Was I just waiting for somebody else to finish it. "What if they screw it all up and you don't like their ending? Then what are you going to do?" he asked.

My co-workers offer their encouragement. They are convinced that I have a wonderful story. They tell me somebody else is going to write this story if I don't hurry up and finish it.

My wife has always been my biggest supporter. She has stood behind me for months and has never pushed me to go on. She has never once complained about the pile of dishes in the sink or the mountain of laundry that I let steadily grow while I was writing. When I got stuck she would sit me down and we would run it back and forth. The Who What Where When and Why of everything has been as much her as it is me. The words are mine. But she is my silent collaborator.


**********


November 15, 2008

My Silence Is Over.

buying in pairs

I don't know how it works in other families, but in our home a certain amount of things we buy for our children are bought in pairs. (And if it's something that I like, than we have to buy three of them). The reason for this should be obvious. Kids just don't play well and the jealousy thing will sometimes go on for a long time.


My wife and I have dealt with a chaotic household now for many years. Let's say for about 8 or 9 years. So...ever since they were old enough to walk and talk. Wait a minute. They were fighting before that. So let us say about 9 or 10 years.


Now it never really occurred to me that it was actually happening until one day when Lois and I were at the store buying a present for one daughter and we both turned to each other and said, "We better get two of them." Kind of like their skateboards we bought this Summer.


I remember making a mental note right then and there that that was probably not the best decision a parent could make. But at the time it was the most sound and reasonable one that made sense: Avoid all conflict by any means necessary, thus ensuring a pleasant household environment.


Looking back I think we've actually done a pretty good job between the holidays and birthdays. We've learned to draw our lines so as not to enable one child's expectations, while managing to keep peace in the family at the same time. It doesn't always work out the way we plan, but for the most part it does.


One thing that we're still learning is: Don't double up on musical instruments. It's just asking for trouble.


Four years ago we crossed the border into Mexico. We decided that while we were on vacation in San Diego we would take light rail to Tijuana for some sight-seeing. I think that's when it happened. That's when we started buying in pairs. We'd always done it --clothes and dolls and stuff, but nothing like this. It was a set of lime green and purple ukuleles. Later it would be guitars. This year it's violins. We said NO to the two drum sets; they would have to take turns on the one they had. We also have two keyboards, and though the big one is mine they still ask to use it. They have a dual microphone karaoke sing-a-long set and a play station Sing Star.


What my wife and I neglected to buy was two ear muff sets to put on when the girls get in the mood to start an all girl band or do some karaoke(ing). But we're still learning. And now we have the cell phone thing to deal with. I wonder what's coming next...cars?


Oh hell...it's cars!

untitled

My dad was Scottish Irish and my mom was full blooded German. I am an American Indian. We were all of us very different people.
Now my mom couldn't have children, and my dad wanted children, and I came from a family that probably wasn't ready for children. I'm not sure what the story is there, all I know is that I was given up for adoption at a very early age along with my sister. I guess they didn't want to split up the set.
I was two years old when I was adopted and my sister was four. At home, there was another little Indian. We all became a family. We were three little Indians.
Now I always think of the movie 'Tobacco Road' when I think of this story, even though I have no memory of it happening.
It was told in a deep resonating voice by my mom with a thick German accent, accompanied by the sound of laughter.

My mom: "When we brought you children home, all we wanted to do was feed you. You were all so skinny. We would ask you what you wanted and all you said was beans and rice. And for while there that's all you'd eat."

That memory was hers, but soon it became mine and I will keep it forever.

The other memory I have -- the one I remember -- it is more unpleasant. It reminds me of the kind of person I am from time to time. And please understand that I am not writing this out of self pity, but more to make a point. It is more about the color of the heart.
It involves a child on the playground being pelted by rocks and a Voice from the past asking me, "Why are you black?"

"I'm not black." I said.

"You're Dark," said the Voice, "You're a Mexican."

Later I would ask my mom what a Mexican was. Because I really had no idea. And my naivete would allow me to live this life for quite some time before I fully understood. Once I was hit in the back of the head and tackled from behind. It was an emptied lunch sack filled with sand that exploded everywhere. On the ground I was given Indian burns. It was the first time I think I learned how to hate. It was fueled by anger.
I never did understand why it happened. Years later when I thought about it, I realized that it couldn't have had anything to do with race as I had once suspected. They had to be bullies, because... 6-year olds couldn't possibly understand such a concept. For something like that to happen you'd have to be taught. One would think.
Many years later, I'm 16 years old and I'm living in Boise. As I'm walking down the street in Garden City on Fairview Avenue, a water balloon comes flying out of a car window and drenches me. The Voices yell out of the rolled-down windows screaming, "Go back to Mexico, you flippin' Mexican."

"I'm not a flippin' Mexican!" I scream. And in an inaudible voice I say to myself: I'm white. (Fueled with anger)
But. I. Am. Not. White. Either.
... I was just raised by white people.
I'm an Indian and I just became a racist.

I wonder how many people recognize the person they've become in hindsight? Moments after it happens?

I think now more than ever before -- history has a chance to turn on its heels.
The color of skin might just change the color of heart.
My mom and dad and I -- we always had different skin. And we always had our difference of opinion, but it was never over the color of our skin.

...cartooning around

My wife and I just went and saw Eagle Eye. Halfway through the movie she leaned over and said, "And that's why people need to learn how to read."

this is happening...

When you are told that you have a terminal illness I suppose there are a lot of thing's that go through your head. Most people might ask the question: "Am I going to die?"

I cannot for the life of me remember what my reaction was. But I think I thought of something along these lines: "What's going to happen now?"

Since then I have probably had over a hundred other reactions. One of them goes something like this: "I don't want to die." (This one is heartfelt and is usually followed by a lot of tears). I get that one about once a week. But the world moves on and I go with it. I have also taken some time to look at the course of my life and paused for reflection upon my past, present and future. And not necessarily in that order. Currently I've been contemplating my future. Some of the things that come to mind are:

How much will my anti-rejection drugs cost me?

When this is over will I still be able to pay my mortgage?

How will I manage to live in a multi-level house after transplant?

And when the doctors tell me that I am going to get real sick before I can get better. I am wondering to myself just how sick are we talking about?

"Oh," They say, "You're going to be getting real sick."

And after a few hours on the internet I was able to learn a lot about getting sick. For instance the time in question for getting real sick almost always involves taking time off from work because you can no longer perform your duties and it usually means you will end up in the hospital on your death bed because that is perhaps the best place to be while waiting for a transplant.

So I haven't lost sight of my future. I know that I have one. It is the things that are inherent to that future that I wonder about.

Will I be able to run and jump and scream when this is over?

Yes. In fact it is encouraged that you run and jump and scream. Exercise is one of the best medicines in the world for healthy living. I only wish now that I had already been doing this running and jumping thing all along so that when I do it later I won't have to scream.

Right now I am extremely exhausted and that is one of the symptoms from my liver disease that I lug around all day long. When it is 3 or 4 in the morning it will make me cry. My hormones are also changing and as a result I will probably wind up growing a set of man breast (I'm thinking size P for pathetic), but now I can actually sympathise with my wife when she says that her breasts hurt because right now mine are just killing me. Plus, from this moment forward I will probably never laugh at another man who has man breast. Maybe.

When I get my liver will my life return to normal?

Yes. For the most part. And in some cases things may even look better. The exhaustion will eventually dissipate and I will be eating better because the doctors will insist upon eating meals right out of Healthy Living Magazine so that we can ensure a healthy diet. Will my man breast return to normal? Probably not, but hey...if I go up just one size for a new chance on life than so what. I'm not going shopping for a size P just yet.

When I started writing this blog it was more for myself. I wanted to keep a journal of what I was going through as my illness progressed. I wanted something I could share with my friends and my family. It would be my little black box should the plane go down.

In doing this I discovered that I had other things I had to say but, I couldn't write about one thing without it somehow spilling over into the other. So I started a journal called the Paradox Syndrome. I thought I'd be saying things like, "Today, I threw up," or, "I'm spinning again." But I did not foresee my own personal revelations coming about and I did not realize that I had other things I wanted to say.

All of this is complicated. I know that I am sick and I know that just because I've been told that I'm terminal, it doesn't mean my life is over. This is a paradox. People live through illness. They survive cancer. And they survive organ failure.

So why I am posting this here in this blog rather than in my journal?

I think from time to time it's good to be reminded about the things that make us human.

This week I am celebrating my second month on a two year Waiting List. I have a long ways to go before I can get a transplant, but it is one more month that is now behind me.

My contemplation of the future is no fluke; there is good reason behind it. As I start to feel new evidence of this illness, I keep turning the words 'real sick' over and over in my head and I am beginning to wonder how many months I have in me.

Not exactly sugar plums

I don't sleep. For over a year I have stayed up until ridiculous hours in the morning. My body just doesn't want to shut down. When my wife and I found out that my liver was shutting down one of the first things the doctors asked us was, "Do you tend to stay up late at night and take cat naps during the day to catch up on your sleep?"
Lois and I responded by looking at each other and laughing. "Uh, yes." I said.
It turns out that this is a hallmark symptom for people who are going through liver failure. I don't know why. Neither do the doctors, evidently.
Lately, my sleeping habits have become a real problem. Sleep deprivation is making me an emotional wreck, almost to the point that I'm starting to look like a bad cartoon character.
I finally made an appointment with my family doctor and in the meantime Lois picked me up some over-the-counter sleeping pills. I did that for a couple of days until my doctor appointment. I told him my story and he prescribed a medicine that Lois and I have heard stories about. He assured us that, despite what we had heard, he felt perfectly comfortable in prescribing them to me and said that he in fact used them himself.
So...I took half a pill the first night and a full pill on the second. And both nights I did sleep. With just a slight lingering effect of grogginess the next morning after taking the full pill. But that was probably my fault because I took it later than I should have.
Well, just the other day I was thinking to myself, 'I never dream any more.' I used to have some pretty vivid dreams. Sometimes the colors and textures could be so intense that I would wake up wishing that there was a way to record that one.
So last night I went to bed and I didn't take a sleeper because it was way too late and I had forgotten about them.
I went to bed feeling miserable because my stomach was upset and it was on fire. And the sleep wasn't really sleep. It felt like I was waking up every ten minutes or so. On top of that, when my aunt came to visit a couple of weeks ago, I moved the guinea pig out of my daughter's room and into our room and I have yet to move it back. The guy is my favorite rodent in the house so I suspect that has something to do with it.
At some point I went to sleep. Maybe it was because I had watched part of Halloween H20 or Ghost Ship or any number of other horror flicks that came on last night. Or even the Davinci Code. I can't be certain. Suffice it to say, I probably had what most people would call a full-blown nightmare.
...There was a man who I suspect had narcolepsy. He was the night watchman in a museum over a very unique painting. The painting in this dream was unbelievable. As far as I know, no such painting exists. Not this one anyway. As I looked up on the wall to view this extraordinary piece of art, the first thing I noticed was that I couldn't see it at all. The only thing I could see was the surrounding edges of this masterpiece and even they were obscure. All I saw was a brilliant bright light and how I imagined those edges would look like. It was a painting of 'The Last Supper.'
Fast forward...the museum was closing. The narcoleptic night watchman was telling everyone about the amazing experience he had just had keeping a vigilant watch over this masterpiece, even though he kept falling asleep. And as I watched them wheel the painting out of the exhibit room to lock it up in a giant safe, I remember thinking how precarious it was that the only watchman there was to guard this thing had already left.
The scenery changed and I was in some sort of shop. I didn't work there -- that is to say it wasn't my ordinary job -- but I was helping out as an instructor and my shift had just ended. As I got on a computer to log out, I realized that I was on a internet network and I couldn't logout because the server was down. I soon noticed that everyone who was working there had slowly disappeared and gone home. All except for three men who appeared to be waiting for me to leave. I also noticed that one man in particular was doing his best to get rid of me. Feeling responsible to the shop owner, I thought it was only fair that I try to logout. I soon realized that the man had a key to the shop and he was waiting for me to leave and I was the only thing standing in his way. He suddenly became very mean and belligerent and started threatening me.
"I will bury you alive," he yelled, "Just like all the men before you."
It occurred to me that this man was an actor I'd seen in the movies and he kind of reminded me of Danny Trejo. I still didn't know that I was dreaming. And not wanting to show any sign that I was scared and my heart was skipping beats and I was near to wetting myself, I pulled out my cell phone as if I'd just received a phone call and slowly walked away. But when I started my fake conversation on my phone I could hear my oldest daughter on the other end of the line and I could barely make out what she was saying. I was asking them where they were and they both were trying to tell me at the same time.
I heard one of them saying that they had gotten a ride and they were in Sugarhouse, while the other was trying to tell me that the girls they were with were smoking.
"What?" I was saying. And thinking: How could they get into someone's car and drive 15 miles across town without telling us? I was literally terrified.
So I was trying to figure out a rescue plan because I had no idea where my wife was and I had no way of getting them. And then I looked around and realized that I was outside walking down a street as a little boy approached me and asked if the girls could play. And then he started chirping! And I suddenly realized that this was the same little boy from a post I read the other day called Boo!
Realizing that I was dreaming I jerked myself awake just as my cat stretched out on the bed and dug his hind feet into my rib cage and the guinea pig started squeaking and making his clicking noises.
Man did I freak out!