Night of the Long Knives, revisited.

Again.

It started last week, before the public announcement. One of our building supers was "offered" early retirement, and he took it. One day it was "Hi" and the next it was "Bye!"

Yesterday I got word that the lady with whom I had a disagreement (and since reconciled) was let go. No way would I wish it on anyone, especially not her. She and her coworkers were lucky enough to get work with Gannett after their publishing house went under. After only a year or so, it has to be hard for her.

Today the list got significantly longer, including a few people I knew well. I am told this current batch is being "let go," so I don't think they were offered a buyout. We were never promised a buyout this go-around, anyway.

As I remember, those who were on vacation, or out sick, when the white list went into effect, were removed when they returned. Same thing happened when I went on partial layoff years ago. I could still go back and learn my fate.

One can only hope they will allow me some sort of retirement, if they do.

But, by now I feel that whatever happens, happens.

We have bigger fish to fry.

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Little Pond

Delicious! Recipe for disaster.

After a quick visit with Violet and her new parents, I stopped by a Chinese takeout to grab a "house special" chow mein. Bought a whole quart, even though I am the only person in the entire family (both sides, likely) who eats the stuff.

Little things began tapping at the back of my head. "Chinese Buffet" on the sign, instead of "Family Depot," however that really translates from the original language. Well, it had literally been more than a year since I last ordered from there.

Very spare place, with only three workers. Used to be busier, with many people. Oh, and no "Buffet" or any sign of it. Well, okay, it's a holiday weekend, after all.

Finally, the most damning clue of all: it was delicious! Usually I would consider it a huge slug of veggies and some little pieces of meat and shrimp. Good for me, but not great tasting. I generally fix it with duck sauce.

This stuff was wonderful: flavorful and welcome; it didn't even need soy sauce. I ate two enormous servings and saved the rest for the next day.

The final clue came last night in my sleep. Weird, off-the-wall dreams, that somewhere, somehow, always feature a bathroom.

I woke up crampy and cranky, and flew into the real bathroom. Twice within twenty minutes.

When things settled down, I took the HuggaMutt for a walk in the Newtown Creek area. Had to duck into some heavy shrubbery to ease my bladder, where I got a nasty surprise.

Time to head home, change my clothes, and do a special load of laundry.

If you live in the Elmira/Southport area, and are sensitive to MSG, here's a tip: Avoid the Chinese Buffet in Southport Plaza.

Avoid it like the Plague.

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Little Pond

You probably know

Yesterday, Violet Meadow Johns became the youngest person ever to cause me to have a wetting accident, and the only one to ever cause three.

Three accidents, to be exact.

She arrived at 2:09pm, in a bit of a rush, after her mother suddenly dialated and effaced, fully and all at once.

We were just arriving to console our daughter for having to go through another day of pitocin and slow, annoying, contractions. She'd already begun to deliver.

There was a quick, lovely visit with a teeny, squalling newborn, and we were rushed out to give the mother and baby time to bond and practice nursing.

It was the beginning of many rushes to find facilities. I never made it to the ladies room for any of them, but I did go through lots of protection, and glad of it. And, with a building full of nurses and various supplies, who cares?

Don't know when things will settle down enough in the nerve department, but then again, I don't much care. Busy with other stuff, we are.

She's perfect, she's beautiful, she's a miracle, and well worth all the trouble.

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Little Pond

The best therapy

I'd have to say my little HuggaMutt is my best therapy.  I can really feel the difference, now that I cannot visit the River so often.

Truthfully, I rarely go to the Chemung without my little buddy.  She's good for my nerves when she's just being a dog.  Her latest thing, now that the water is warm enough, it to wade or swim out to inspect anything within range.  Usually it will be a log, a stick or some detritus, but often, I cannot understand what she thinks she sees:

GoRiverDogging

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Little Pond

And finally...

One door closes, but another opens.

The loss of feeling in my outer pelvis left me bereft, until I realized that I was more in tune with what was directly inside that area.

I hope you know what I mean.

There is a strange jumbling of feeling caused by MS. I believe this is called dysaesthesia. Boy, did that ever happen to me. It is the cause of "accidents" at time and the bane of my working life. A twinge, then a loss of control, all further troubled or even triggered by any physical or emotional shock or upset.

But, it's a little gift from heaven during intimacy. If we plan ahead, and protect against incontinence by a quick visit to the little girls' room beforehand, well, we can ring the bell nearly every time.

Not a bad little development in a middle-aged MSer's life, eh?

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Little Pond

More about the naughty bits.

I started this whole "naughty bits" thing because I couldn't find a way into mentioning something delicate but important.

During the "first" attack of MS that hit me in, I think, 1995, I lost a lot of feeling in my body before we could staunch it with Solumedrol.

The numbness had moved all the way up my legs and arms. My very core was beginning to numb out. In fact, I knew the Solumedrol was working when I got my monthly period and began to have cramps. The doctor let me out of the hospital a few days later.

That attack left me with very little feeling in my pubic region. That is to say that what were once excruciatingly painful menses became just crampy, despite the monthly clogging of my pelvic varicose veins. That's right, varicose veins. And also cysts. AND endometriosis.

Much of which I have passed on to my unlucky daughters.

Of course, perimenopause, and finally, the real deal, menopause, have alleviated all that. I'm not finished in that department, either.

It was strange that there were actually benefits to the damage done by Multiple Sclerosis.

There's more, though. Later.

I have to go to work now.

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Little Pond

More on shaving!

I honestly think that shaving is the best way to go. Even still.

In my Junior Year Abroad, I learned that the Spanish (at that time 1973-4) considered shaving disgusting for a woman. Interestingly enough, in medieval times, their Moroccan overlords would shave a harem girl from the neck down, just before she was presented to please her master for the night. That must have been quite a shock for the virgins.

Otherwise, I remember a time we were having a waxing party in the dorm. This involved copious wine, snacks, and waxing one another. Someday I may write a sexual fantasy about it, to pass it on appropriately to the men!

One of the girls got silly, and couldn't bring herself to continue the chore. She had drawn blood, which sometimes happens when a person must wax the same spot twice, and left my muy amiga Rosa with one (ONE!) hairy armpit, just before she was to go to a pool party with her fiance.

Rosa was furious, and enlisted the rest of us to take turns and pull the hairs with a tweezer. One tough broad, and the sweetest soul on the face of the planet, was Rosa. (I've often equated her with the Blessed Mother, who also must have been, to quote Fr. Andrew Greeley, "tough as nails.")

There was no convincing her to shave. All the girls thought that was disgusting. We never shaved in Spain.

One final note: I gave up waxing after I found that I still got shaving bumps. The hairs came back too weak to break the surface, and lay directly underneath, until they burst out.

Disgusting.

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Little Pond