Several neighbors have advanced the season for decorating their yards. This year, I'm seeing a lot more Halloween decor -- orange pumpkin lights, cardboard cutouts of arching black cats, a big blow-up arch that says "Trick-or-treaters beware", another blowup and internally lit vampire, little country-esque signs that say "Trick or treat," and so on.
Kitty-corner from me, there's a young Indian couple. They've never shown the slightest interest in American holidays. This year, I noticed lights in their yard and thought ho-hum, more Halloween stuff. But on closer inspection, I see that there's a net of white lights covering their front door, their bushes are covered with colored lights, few if any of which are orange, and there are several red-and-white striped candy-cane lights planted firmly in the yard.
Yes, these two get the Mockingbird Lane prize for starting the Christmas season early. Of course, it'll be interesting to see how late they extend the season -- will those lights still be up at the end of January?
Update from 11/2: A friend reminds me that it's Diwali, the Indian festival of lights. Still, the huge candy cane lights threw me off.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Saturday, October 29, 2005
isn't the rule "no white after labor day"?
It's been a grey, cloudy day, and I just got home from running some errands. The wood stove is getting started, the cat is staring hopefully into the stove's window. We just looked outside and...
It's snowing!!! Some years, snow happens before Halloween. It never sticks around, even if it accumulates a bit. It's probably time to go have some tea and get warmed up, myself.
It's snowing!!! Some years, snow happens before Halloween. It never sticks around, even if it accumulates a bit. It's probably time to go have some tea and get warmed up, myself.
Friday, October 28, 2005
Side effects
I was talking to a friend today about how loved ones' deaths have affected me. There have been some quirky things, which is what got me thinking about the subject.
When Mark died, I stopped wanting to see movies. I lost my tolerance for gratuitous violence (except, oddly, in John Waters' Suburban Mom, which was just silly). I also got annoyed at the typical plot formula in which the woman is punished -- either she loses the job and gets the man, or she gets the job but has to suffer the loss of the man. And those are the movies you're supposed to feel good about afterwards. Yuck. For a while, I could just watch documentaries and mockumentaries (thank you, Christopher Guest). Pretty much, though, I've given up on movies and only go at the extreme urging of a friend. Oddly, I can watch all sorts of live theater. Go figure.
I also stopped wanting to make phone calls. I'm getting better, ten years later, and I can call Robert easily. But it's hard to call friends (I'm putting off making a phone call right now), and it's especially hard to call workers whom I think I'll need to call multiple times. I just hate it. I'd much rather use email.
I can be very shy and withdrawn around people. But I can also be shockingly direct. Sometimes I feel like life and time are so short that I might as well get right to the point and make small talk afterwards, the exact opposite of how most people operate.
Mark was an architect and loved design. I feel unusally moved by beauty and elegance, both man-made and in nature. There are a few spots on my regular driving routes where, regardless of weather or light, I feel deeply moved. The same is true in Provincetown and at the beach there, a special place that Mark and I enjoyed together. When Robert and I walked into the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (aka SF/Moma), I nearly cried and said "I feel like I'm experiencing this for two." (Robert, bless him, understood.)
There is much I have learned, too, though I'm not always able to put it to good or obvious use. I've learned about loving and being loved. I've learned about making mistakes, acknowledging them, and moving on quickly. I've learned about how strong most humans' life force is -- the yearning to keep living beyond what we think we can tolerate. I've learned about good humor, generosity, kindness, and graciousness, not all from the dying or surviving, but those people have reinforced the lessons (ok, I'm a slow learner).
A friend wrote recently to say that she didn't know how to "repay" me for mere kindness. For me, all she has to do is keep passing the gift on to anyone, not necessarily me, when she is ready, when she has energy. That gift is so small and so very big at the same time. OK, time to pick up the phone.
When Mark died, I stopped wanting to see movies. I lost my tolerance for gratuitous violence (except, oddly, in John Waters' Suburban Mom, which was just silly). I also got annoyed at the typical plot formula in which the woman is punished -- either she loses the job and gets the man, or she gets the job but has to suffer the loss of the man. And those are the movies you're supposed to feel good about afterwards. Yuck. For a while, I could just watch documentaries and mockumentaries (thank you, Christopher Guest). Pretty much, though, I've given up on movies and only go at the extreme urging of a friend. Oddly, I can watch all sorts of live theater. Go figure.
I also stopped wanting to make phone calls. I'm getting better, ten years later, and I can call Robert easily. But it's hard to call friends (I'm putting off making a phone call right now), and it's especially hard to call workers whom I think I'll need to call multiple times. I just hate it. I'd much rather use email.
I can be very shy and withdrawn around people. But I can also be shockingly direct. Sometimes I feel like life and time are so short that I might as well get right to the point and make small talk afterwards, the exact opposite of how most people operate.
Mark was an architect and loved design. I feel unusally moved by beauty and elegance, both man-made and in nature. There are a few spots on my regular driving routes where, regardless of weather or light, I feel deeply moved. The same is true in Provincetown and at the beach there, a special place that Mark and I enjoyed together. When Robert and I walked into the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (aka SF/Moma), I nearly cried and said "I feel like I'm experiencing this for two." (Robert, bless him, understood.)
There is much I have learned, too, though I'm not always able to put it to good or obvious use. I've learned about loving and being loved. I've learned about making mistakes, acknowledging them, and moving on quickly. I've learned about how strong most humans' life force is -- the yearning to keep living beyond what we think we can tolerate. I've learned about good humor, generosity, kindness, and graciousness, not all from the dying or surviving, but those people have reinforced the lessons (ok, I'm a slow learner).
A friend wrote recently to say that she didn't know how to "repay" me for mere kindness. For me, all she has to do is keep passing the gift on to anyone, not necessarily me, when she is ready, when she has energy. That gift is so small and so very big at the same time. OK, time to pick up the phone.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
goodbye to ed
Last night, Robert and I attended visiting hours at the funeral home. I had a lovely, heart-warming chat with Ed's widow, Jane. She is the epitome of graciousness. I greeted Ed's brother, their parents, and Jane's parents, then spoke with Jane's aunt for a while and then we went home.
Today was the service. I arrived early for the funeral-before-the-funeral, a quiet gathering time where you can sit in a room with the casket, talk quietly to others gathered there, then say a few prayers before the casket is brought to the church.
Then the service -- an hour and a half long, but lovely, inclusive, and loving. The minister was masterful at weaving together the readings and conveying how much he cared for Ed. Ed's brother, Art, who has been keeping people informed about Ed through a blog, spoke. It was a gorgeous speech. There was a professional singer with a lovely voice who led us in much music, surprisingly joyous. I'm so grateful that Jane has the community of that church and the comfort of the minister to help guide her through this hard time.
And I went to the cemetery. There were some prayers, and it was all over. Except that we didn't leave for a long time. The casket was under a tent and Jane and Sarah were there. The rest of us were outside the tent looking in. Sarah started to wail, wanting her daddy. Jane patiently explained what was happening -- I could swear I heard Sarah say she wanted to be in the big hole under the casket. After a long while, Jane's sister brought over a bouquet of flowers and asked if Sarah wanted to put them on the casket for her father. Sarah laid the flowers down, and then took the ribbon from the bouquet to keep. And eventually Sarah drifted off to get hugs from beloved relatives and to go play.
We stayed a while longer. As I was driving off, I saw that finally, everyone had left the tent area except for Jane, who was able to have a few last moments alone with Ed.
I feel bruised and battered. Such a sad sad day.
Lastly, the cat is here in her usual position, purring and occasionally laying her head on my arm. She is 99-44/100% love; the rest is black fur.
Today was the service. I arrived early for the funeral-before-the-funeral, a quiet gathering time where you can sit in a room with the casket, talk quietly to others gathered there, then say a few prayers before the casket is brought to the church.
Then the service -- an hour and a half long, but lovely, inclusive, and loving. The minister was masterful at weaving together the readings and conveying how much he cared for Ed. Ed's brother, Art, who has been keeping people informed about Ed through a blog, spoke. It was a gorgeous speech. There was a professional singer with a lovely voice who led us in much music, surprisingly joyous. I'm so grateful that Jane has the community of that church and the comfort of the minister to help guide her through this hard time.
And I went to the cemetery. There were some prayers, and it was all over. Except that we didn't leave for a long time. The casket was under a tent and Jane and Sarah were there. The rest of us were outside the tent looking in. Sarah started to wail, wanting her daddy. Jane patiently explained what was happening -- I could swear I heard Sarah say she wanted to be in the big hole under the casket. After a long while, Jane's sister brought over a bouquet of flowers and asked if Sarah wanted to put them on the casket for her father. Sarah laid the flowers down, and then took the ribbon from the bouquet to keep. And eventually Sarah drifted off to get hugs from beloved relatives and to go play.
We stayed a while longer. As I was driving off, I saw that finally, everyone had left the tent area except for Jane, who was able to have a few last moments alone with Ed.
I feel bruised and battered. Such a sad sad day.
Lastly, the cat is here in her usual position, purring and occasionally laying her head on my arm. She is 99-44/100% love; the rest is black fur.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
so glad to be home
We went to NY yesterday and returned today. The memorial dinner was a huge success. My great uncle's neighbor, Jenny, held court, telling jokes, showing off how she navigates the curbs when she goes out, reassuring us that her new neighbors are kind and attentive, telling us that her nephews constantly fret about her and threaten to put her in an assisted living center, but she's not going (she's only 94), and doling out hot stock tips. We had some good memories about my great uncle and heard great stories.
But my family. My god. It's best not to look for validation from my mother, cause it just ain't coming. Last time I talked to her on the phone, well, that's not really what happened. She talked to me, I said uh-huh uh-huh, and when she ran out of things to say, she needed to go. Didn't even get to cut me off after asking how I was because she never asked. Last night, she made weird little unfunny and irrelevant interjections into conversations, cornered Robert and me after he returned to the apartment and talked to us, then finally, at 11:30, asked if we wanted to see the layout of her new place. I declined out of exhaustion, and we made our way to bed.
And this morning, my uncle snapped at me. He usually does when we come to visit, but today was over something particularly weird. My aunt had asked me to pour water into glasses for breakfast and said we didn't need a pitcher on the table. Just as I was about to fill the glasses, my uncle came into the kitchen and laid me out in lavender for not using a pitcher. When I repeated what my aunt had said, he yelled at me for not considering the man of the house and what *he* wanted. I apologized profusely, but felt intensely resentful over it all. I'm not making this up even though it sounds fairly incredible. I think my uncle likes the *idea* of having guests and being surrounded by family, but he's terribly resentful and unpleasant when we're there.
Oh, and this was an unusually low-stress (low snappage) visit, too.
If I was wavering in the least about going to NY for Thanksgiving, I've stopped. Good; that's settled.
But my family. My god. It's best not to look for validation from my mother, cause it just ain't coming. Last time I talked to her on the phone, well, that's not really what happened. She talked to me, I said uh-huh uh-huh, and when she ran out of things to say, she needed to go. Didn't even get to cut me off after asking how I was because she never asked. Last night, she made weird little unfunny and irrelevant interjections into conversations, cornered Robert and me after he returned to the apartment and talked to us, then finally, at 11:30, asked if we wanted to see the layout of her new place. I declined out of exhaustion, and we made our way to bed.
And this morning, my uncle snapped at me. He usually does when we come to visit, but today was over something particularly weird. My aunt had asked me to pour water into glasses for breakfast and said we didn't need a pitcher on the table. Just as I was about to fill the glasses, my uncle came into the kitchen and laid me out in lavender for not using a pitcher. When I repeated what my aunt had said, he yelled at me for not considering the man of the house and what *he* wanted. I apologized profusely, but felt intensely resentful over it all. I'm not making this up even though it sounds fairly incredible. I think my uncle likes the *idea* of having guests and being surrounded by family, but he's terribly resentful and unpleasant when we're there.
Oh, and this was an unusually low-stress (low snappage) visit, too.
If I was wavering in the least about going to NY for Thanksgiving, I've stopped. Good; that's settled.
and now a little light music...
Yom Kippur. Not fond of it, avoid it, but plenty of my friends observe it. This year, I attended a professional dinner the night that YK ended. The woman to my left announced that she was starving because she'd been fasting all day. The man to my right had been away from work that day because he went to temple. And what did they order? On one side, shrimp, and on the other, a bacon cheeseburger.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
hey let's not and say we did
The founder of the company for which I work is quite young: this spring he celebrated his tenth reunion from high school. He makes our vp of engineering, ten years out of college, look like a seasoned veteran. Anyways, the founder, ES, has a couple of friends who started a new web site, called Hey Let's Go. It's supposed to be one of those places where you can hook up with friends and friends-of-friends, figure out something to do (there's a calendar of events and they seem to sponsor, or at least schedule, parties) and then everyone can go do it. It looks great if you're urban, single, bored, and like to go out with others but you don't know where to go or whom to go with. As a sign of the target audience, there are discussion boards, including a bunch for recent college graduates.
ES sent mail to the company (or maybe just to the local office), encouraging us all to sign up and give feedback to the people who started the site. Being a good doobie, I checked it out. I started laughing when I got to the profile part. You're supposed to fill in your birth date (which I didn't do). To help, they've provided a default date, in 1982. Yup -- that's after I was supposed to graduate from college, after I'd been in the work force for several years. In fact, I probably could have gone to college, done a quick master's degree, gotten married, waited a bit, and had children older than the default birth date for this site. What a hoot.
Somehow, I think I'm not part of the target demographic for the adventure. I sent some polite feedback to someone who contacted me, seemingly within seconds of my signing up, and wished him luck.
performance, discussions...
I laughed a lot during last night's performance but didn't cry. The story was poignant, though. PB-R is a performance artist who has developed a character named Johnny Hobson, a young gay man from a small Texas town. We've seen PB-R in several earlier pieces; last night's was a continuation of the story. Johnny confronts a bewildering world full of inconsiderate slobs, uncomprehending family, and basic cruelty. Somehow, with great dignity, he always finds a way to take care of himself; the message is redemptive. Good material for last night.
Also, the piece ran for two hours and I could have taken more. I wonder how a solo performer can maintain high energy for so long; most of the solo pieces I see are 75 minutes long and the performer is drained at the end. At the end of his piece, PB-R looked like he could have done a second performance.
Over dinner, I had a long talk with Robert about his current job. He talked about how unhappy he and others in the company are, and it seems to boil down to a couple of difficult, unpleasant folks in a remote office. Robert's been humming this tune for months, but he finally sang the words last night. I coached R on the sorts of things he might say to his boss (who is also his brother) to start down the path of effecting change. It's clear that he wants to be there, but not under the current circumstances. We'll see.
And today, we're headed to NY for a brief visit. My great uncle Sam, who died at 99, would have been 102 or 103 yesterday. He lived for perhaps half a century in a small apartment building with two apartments per floor. His neighbor for most of that time became a close friend of Sam's and of the rest of the family. She likes to host a birthday dinner for Sam every year, and this year, my mother kindly asked if it could be on a Saturday so that Robert and I could attend. I'm looking forward to an evening of rememberance and laughter.
And then tomorrow, we zoom back to Boston to see a performer I've wanted to see for years, Savion Glovier, a tap dancer who will be performing to classical music.
Monday is a work day, and also visiting hours for Ed. Tuesday is the funeral. Last night I sent information about Ed to Jane's and my former coworkers. I expect that some of them will want to express their condolences to Jane, or at least have the option.
Also, the piece ran for two hours and I could have taken more. I wonder how a solo performer can maintain high energy for so long; most of the solo pieces I see are 75 minutes long and the performer is drained at the end. At the end of his piece, PB-R looked like he could have done a second performance.
Over dinner, I had a long talk with Robert about his current job. He talked about how unhappy he and others in the company are, and it seems to boil down to a couple of difficult, unpleasant folks in a remote office. Robert's been humming this tune for months, but he finally sang the words last night. I coached R on the sorts of things he might say to his boss (who is also his brother) to start down the path of effecting change. It's clear that he wants to be there, but not under the current circumstances. We'll see.
And today, we're headed to NY for a brief visit. My great uncle Sam, who died at 99, would have been 102 or 103 yesterday. He lived for perhaps half a century in a small apartment building with two apartments per floor. His neighbor for most of that time became a close friend of Sam's and of the rest of the family. She likes to host a birthday dinner for Sam every year, and this year, my mother kindly asked if it could be on a Saturday so that Robert and I could attend. I'm looking forward to an evening of rememberance and laughter.
And then tomorrow, we zoom back to Boston to see a performer I've wanted to see for years, Savion Glovier, a tap dancer who will be performing to classical music.
Monday is a work day, and also visiting hours for Ed. Tuesday is the funeral. Last night I sent information about Ed to Jane's and my former coworkers. I expect that some of them will want to express their condolences to Jane, or at least have the option.
Friday, October 14, 2005
quiet contemplation
My friend Ed died this morning, apparently at peace and surrounded by loving family. Those who've cared for him have set a high bar for the level of care we all deserve at this time in our lives. His caretakers are true heroes, every last one of them.
It's been a sad, slow day. It's raining a lot, for something like the eighth day in a row. In fact, the rain started about the time that Ed started on his final decline. I didn't do much today. I did go for a swim, but didn't speed along as much as I would have liked. I took my cat to the vet and felt cheered by the good folks there, full of hope and help and dreams and joy. The cat is next to me now, sitting under a lamp, purring her heart out. I am so grateful for her company.
I found myself moving through all sorts of emotions today. I sat for a while with my sadness about Ed and those loved ones he's left behind. Then it turned inward for a while -- it gave me access to other sadness that lives within but that doesn't get out much. I felt such disappointment for Ed, for all those dreams that he doesn't get to live out, and for Ed and Jane -- what about all their dreams? I felt pissed off for a while -- sometimes just driving in Massachusetts helps get that emotion out.
Tonight, we're seeing a favorite performer, Paul Bonin Rodriguez. I'm hoping that his latest piece will bring on both tears and laughter -- I could use a little, maybe a lot, of both.
It's been a sad, slow day. It's raining a lot, for something like the eighth day in a row. In fact, the rain started about the time that Ed started on his final decline. I didn't do much today. I did go for a swim, but didn't speed along as much as I would have liked. I took my cat to the vet and felt cheered by the good folks there, full of hope and help and dreams and joy. The cat is next to me now, sitting under a lamp, purring her heart out. I am so grateful for her company.
I found myself moving through all sorts of emotions today. I sat for a while with my sadness about Ed and those loved ones he's left behind. Then it turned inward for a while -- it gave me access to other sadness that lives within but that doesn't get out much. I felt such disappointment for Ed, for all those dreams that he doesn't get to live out, and for Ed and Jane -- what about all their dreams? I felt pissed off for a while -- sometimes just driving in Massachusetts helps get that emotion out.
Tonight, we're seeing a favorite performer, Paul Bonin Rodriguez. I'm hoping that his latest piece will bring on both tears and laughter -- I could use a little, maybe a lot, of both.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
sounds in the night
4:45 am. I am sleeping soundly, a rare restful sleep. For once, the cat has not been spending the night traveling back and forth across my pillow, deciding whether 'tis better to sleep on the left or nobler to sleep on the right. Ah, peace.
Thump.
I wake immediately and peer into the darkness. Juliet is on the floor, on her side, head up, but not moving much. She sees me looking at her and meows, but I can't tell if she's humiliated or hurt.
She has not had a seizure. She has fallen. It's unclear whether she started on the bed and fell off, or whether she decided to jump and couldn't make it. I direct her toward the tiny stairs leading up to the bed, and she makes it up fine. Of course, she's back to sleep again long before I am.
Thump.
I wake immediately and peer into the darkness. Juliet is on the floor, on her side, head up, but not moving much. She sees me looking at her and meows, but I can't tell if she's humiliated or hurt.
She has not had a seizure. She has fallen. It's unclear whether she started on the bed and fell off, or whether she decided to jump and couldn't make it. I direct her toward the tiny stairs leading up to the bed, and she makes it up fine. Of course, she's back to sleep again long before I am.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
good days, news is sadder
I swapped my days off at the beginning of this week.
Yesterday, I was home. I wrote to a friend, opining about a board of directors that he's on and that I'm on the periphery of. (I help with strategy, but don't attend board meetings. I think the board is in a transition period from operational to strategic, and it's done well at moving away from most operational issues, but hasn't quite figured out the strategy part yet.) I went swimming, managing to get in a mile. Then I went to visit a friend at his office to do a needle exchange (I got clean needles; I offered him a dirty cat, but he refused my end of the bargain.) But I also got some great hugs -- at that tiny place (ten employees?) I know three guys.
On to Bolton to pick up cat food and get a tour from Matt the fabulous vet tech -- what a magnificent place. And then to Waltham to visit a friend who was in the hospital last week. Dang. She now knows that it is ok to call me from her hospital bed and let me know where she is. Or to put me on her mom's "call list." Fortunately, she's doing much better. Then home (and to my friend's great amusement) to make dinner for the hubster. One year, two and a half weeks, and counting.
And today, work. People seemed relaxed from the long weekend. I used a specification (this is the first job I've had where people write them!) to write about a new feature, using our new style. It felt good to do some original writing. I started to receive some reviews for a long paper (short manual?) that I agonized over, not for writing reasons, but for technical ones. And I worked with the two other writers to solve problems they were encountering. Good, solid, productive day.
Late today, there was news that my friend E is actively dying. They're saying "hours, not days." I hope he is comfortable during this time. He is certainly surrounded by people who love him.
Yesterday, I was home. I wrote to a friend, opining about a board of directors that he's on and that I'm on the periphery of. (I help with strategy, but don't attend board meetings. I think the board is in a transition period from operational to strategic, and it's done well at moving away from most operational issues, but hasn't quite figured out the strategy part yet.) I went swimming, managing to get in a mile. Then I went to visit a friend at his office to do a needle exchange (I got clean needles; I offered him a dirty cat, but he refused my end of the bargain.) But I also got some great hugs -- at that tiny place (ten employees?) I know three guys.
On to Bolton to pick up cat food and get a tour from Matt the fabulous vet tech -- what a magnificent place. And then to Waltham to visit a friend who was in the hospital last week. Dang. She now knows that it is ok to call me from her hospital bed and let me know where she is. Or to put me on her mom's "call list." Fortunately, she's doing much better. Then home (and to my friend's great amusement) to make dinner for the hubster. One year, two and a half weeks, and counting.
And today, work. People seemed relaxed from the long weekend. I used a specification (this is the first job I've had where people write them!) to write about a new feature, using our new style. It felt good to do some original writing. I started to receive some reviews for a long paper (short manual?) that I agonized over, not for writing reasons, but for technical ones. And I worked with the two other writers to solve problems they were encountering. Good, solid, productive day.
Late today, there was news that my friend E is actively dying. They're saying "hours, not days." I hope he is comfortable during this time. He is certainly surrounded by people who love him.
Monday, October 10, 2005
cold and wet sunday
Saturday night, the weather turned. We'd been celebrating cool nights and perfect days. I kept thinking of my friend E, that it would be a lovely time of year to have some time outside on the back deck, contemplating the last nice days of the year.
But the rains moved in, and we've had a spell of wet which is looking to last through the week. With the rain came a cold front.
So, on Sunday, we put the heated mattress pad and the flannel sheets on the bed. We lit the gas stove in the bedroom (at least while we were upstairs), then had a big long fire in the wood stove downstairs. I dressed for the occasion in sweat pants. The cat alternated between her roaster pan (a souvenir from the place she boards -- the sides make her feel comfy, but I must say she's just so gosh-darned cute in that thing) and the hearth. It's hard to imagine that it would be pleasant to curl up on a slab of brick, but apparently with enough heat, anything's comfortable.
Frost will be here soon, then some Indian summer, then more fall.
But the rains moved in, and we've had a spell of wet which is looking to last through the week. With the rain came a cold front.
So, on Sunday, we put the heated mattress pad and the flannel sheets on the bed. We lit the gas stove in the bedroom (at least while we were upstairs), then had a big long fire in the wood stove downstairs. I dressed for the occasion in sweat pants. The cat alternated between her roaster pan (a souvenir from the place she boards -- the sides make her feel comfy, but I must say she's just so gosh-darned cute in that thing) and the hearth. It's hard to imagine that it would be pleasant to curl up on a slab of brick, but apparently with enough heat, anything's comfortable.
Frost will be here soon, then some Indian summer, then more fall.
Friday, October 07, 2005
My career in marketing
A few weeks ago, Juliet had a regularly scheduled appointment for cat-upuncture. I received a call saying that I needed to reschedule the appointment, and I needed to contact the vet directly on his cell phone. Huh.
It turns out that the acupunturist, who traveled around to different clinics, has started his own practice, one where he can integrate conventional medical care and complementary and alternative care. It's not too much further down the road than the original clinic, and Juliet can have the vet I had always hoped for.
Oh, and my favorite vet tech of all times, Matt, is there.
We went for our first appointment last Friday, and I asked if there was anything I could do to help. (I was feeling a little overwhelmed thinking about what it takes to start a new practice -- all the stuff you need, the organizing, the envelope stuffing.) So I was expecting to pitch in in some menial way. However, I was asked to write a press release.
Uh sure. Back at home, I quickly googled for, what else, "How to write a press release," got a few tips, and after a couple of drafts back and forth, we came up with the following:
* * * * * * * * *
PRESS RELEASE
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:
Contact:
Randy Caviness, DVM
Integrative Animal Health Center
556 Main Street, Route 117, Bolton MA
phone: (978) 779-2955
email: altvetdoc@comcast.net
Integrative Animal Health Center opens in Bolton MA
Bolton, MA. Oct 4, 2005.
Randy Caviness, DVM, proudly announces the opening of the Integrative Animal Health Center, in Bolton, MA. The Center provides complete conventional and alternative medical treatments to promote animal health.
In celebration of the opening, Integrative Animal Health Center is sponsoring an Open House on Sunday November 6, 1-3pm. The Open House will feature an opportunity to get a behind-the-scenes tour of the new facility and to meet the staff, including reiki practioner and animal massage therapists. There will be give-aways and opportunities to win introductory reiki, massage, acupuncture, or chiropractic treatments for your pet.
Dr. Randy Caviness, founder of the Center, and a practicing veterinarian for the past 12 years, graduated from Tufts School of Veterinary Medicine in 1993. He is also certified in veterinary acupuncture and chiropractic. Dr. Caviness says, "I'm excited to open the first clinic in this area that provides complete conventional veterinary care, integrated with alternative and complementary treatments. I take a practical approach to preventive, chronic, and disease care, drawing on many traditions to find the ideal treatment for each animal."
The Center offers annual checkups, vaccinations, preventive care, surgery, x-ray, dentistry, and help with prescriptions. The staff promises prompt feedback on lab results. The Center also offers acupuncture, chiropractic, nutritional consultations, massage therapy, and Chinese herb treatments.
Client Liz Augustine of Maynard says, "Dr. Caviness has treated my elderly cat with care and compassion. Through a combination of acupuncture, traditional medical care, and practical advice, he is helping my cat age gracefully. For the first time, she is happy and relaxed when she visits the vet."
The Center is a refreshingly bright, airy and comfortable place for animals and humans. It offers convenient appointment hours including some evenings and Saturday mornings. They are located at 556 Main Street in Bolton on Route 117, two doors west of the intersection with Interstate 495. For more information, call (978) 779-2955.
# # #
It turns out that the acupunturist, who traveled around to different clinics, has started his own practice, one where he can integrate conventional medical care and complementary and alternative care. It's not too much further down the road than the original clinic, and Juliet can have the vet I had always hoped for.
Oh, and my favorite vet tech of all times, Matt, is there.
We went for our first appointment last Friday, and I asked if there was anything I could do to help. (I was feeling a little overwhelmed thinking about what it takes to start a new practice -- all the stuff you need, the organizing, the envelope stuffing.) So I was expecting to pitch in in some menial way. However, I was asked to write a press release.
Uh sure. Back at home, I quickly googled for, what else, "How to write a press release," got a few tips, and after a couple of drafts back and forth, we came up with the following:
* * * * * * * * *
PRESS RELEASE
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:
Contact:
Randy Caviness, DVM
Integrative Animal Health Center
556 Main Street, Route 117, Bolton MA
phone: (978) 779-2955
email: altvetdoc@comcast.net
Integrative Animal Health Center opens in Bolton MA
Bolton, MA. Oct 4, 2005.
Randy Caviness, DVM, proudly announces the opening of the Integrative Animal Health Center, in Bolton, MA. The Center provides complete conventional and alternative medical treatments to promote animal health.
In celebration of the opening, Integrative Animal Health Center is sponsoring an Open House on Sunday November 6, 1-3pm. The Open House will feature an opportunity to get a behind-the-scenes tour of the new facility and to meet the staff, including reiki practioner and animal massage therapists. There will be give-aways and opportunities to win introductory reiki, massage, acupuncture, or chiropractic treatments for your pet.
Dr. Randy Caviness, founder of the Center, and a practicing veterinarian for the past 12 years, graduated from Tufts School of Veterinary Medicine in 1993. He is also certified in veterinary acupuncture and chiropractic. Dr. Caviness says, "I'm excited to open the first clinic in this area that provides complete conventional veterinary care, integrated with alternative and complementary treatments. I take a practical approach to preventive, chronic, and disease care, drawing on many traditions to find the ideal treatment for each animal."
The Center offers annual checkups, vaccinations, preventive care, surgery, x-ray, dentistry, and help with prescriptions. The staff promises prompt feedback on lab results. The Center also offers acupuncture, chiropractic, nutritional consultations, massage therapy, and Chinese herb treatments.
Client Liz Augustine of Maynard says, "Dr. Caviness has treated my elderly cat with care and compassion. Through a combination of acupuncture, traditional medical care, and practical advice, he is helping my cat age gracefully. For the first time, she is happy and relaxed when she visits the vet."
The Center is a refreshingly bright, airy and comfortable place for animals and humans. It offers convenient appointment hours including some evenings and Saturday mornings. They are located at 556 Main Street in Bolton on Route 117, two doors west of the intersection with Interstate 495. For more information, call (978) 779-2955.
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Monday, October 03, 2005
horrid, sad news
Late last spring, I learned that E, the husband of my old friend J, was diagnosed with leukemia back in March. E has managed to fight off several recurrences, including at least one close encounter with his own mortality. A few weeks ago, there was much celebration because E went home to J and his kindergarten-aged daughter, mostly to gather strength and increase his numbers in preparation for a stem-cell transplant. The doctors have been doing regular tests to measure his progress. As late as last Friday, his tests showed that he was sailing free and clear.
Yesterday (Sunday) he awoke with a sharp pain in his shoulders, and after some agonizing hours and some calls to the doctors, they decided he'd pulled a muscle. This morning, he went in for testing just to be sure, and it looks like the disease is back in full force. The doctors feel that they've run out of options for E and are now saying that at the outside, he has just a few more weeks.
I offer up my hopes for peace, comfort, and love on this next part of E's journey.
Yesterday (Sunday) he awoke with a sharp pain in his shoulders, and after some agonizing hours and some calls to the doctors, they decided he'd pulled a muscle. This morning, he went in for testing just to be sure, and it looks like the disease is back in full force. The doctors feel that they've run out of options for E and are now saying that at the outside, he has just a few more weeks.
I offer up my hopes for peace, comfort, and love on this next part of E's journey.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
westward, ho, to Montague
Robert and I consider our home dance to be in Jamaica Plain south of Boston, about a 50-minute drive away. It's odd -- there's a twice-weekly dance within 15 minutes of our house. I'm sure it's very nice, but the dance in JP is gender-role free, we've known some of the other dancers for years, and it's one of our most important communities. So we go a few times a month and always have a great time.
Last night, we drove less than half an hour more in the other direction, to the charming ville of Montague MA in the Pioneer Valley (western MA to those of us who live in the east, but I bet those who live in the Berkshires think of it as central Mass). There's been a monthly gender-role-free dance in Northampton for a while, but this year, they moved to the Grange building in Montague. They also moved up the hours to 7-10 for noise-ordinance reasons. The earlier hours combined with the new location and a free evening made us say "let's check this out."
Before the dance, we headed to the Montague Mill (home of the Montague Book Mill -- "books you don't need in a place you can't find") for a light bite to eat at Lady Killigrew's. We of course ran into contra dancers there -- about six of them in three different groups, one from Boston. Food and conversation were both great.
Back at the dance, we entered a tiny hall containing ten dancers and a caller who said her brain was fuzzy because she was coming down with a bad cold. Uh-oh. First thought -- it's a good thing we came; otherwise there would be eight dancers. Second thought -- thank goodness the band contained one of our own, Jared P, who plays one of my favorite instruments, hammer dulcimer. At least the music would be good.
Well, it turned out that the whole evening was fantastic. At one point, I counted about 40 dancers. The caller did well and provided some fun and challenging dances. Beginners came up to speed quickly. Someone new to me said this was one of the warmest, most welcoming dance groups she's encountered. And of course, we ran into all sorts of people we know from dance camps further west and dance visits to Boston. In fact, a favorite dance partner showed up -- he dropped out of dancing for medical reasons a few years back to the great dismay of many of his fans. But he came last night. We knew at least half the attendees, not bad for showing up at a new dance.
And the drive home wasn't too bad, though I realize that's easy for me to say since I wasn't driving. But it felt quick, not endless.
Bottom line, I can imagine making a habit of this dance quite happily.
Last night, we drove less than half an hour more in the other direction, to the charming ville of Montague MA in the Pioneer Valley (western MA to those of us who live in the east, but I bet those who live in the Berkshires think of it as central Mass). There's been a monthly gender-role-free dance in Northampton for a while, but this year, they moved to the Grange building in Montague. They also moved up the hours to 7-10 for noise-ordinance reasons. The earlier hours combined with the new location and a free evening made us say "let's check this out."
Before the dance, we headed to the Montague Mill (home of the Montague Book Mill -- "books you don't need in a place you can't find") for a light bite to eat at Lady Killigrew's. We of course ran into contra dancers there -- about six of them in three different groups, one from Boston. Food and conversation were both great.
Back at the dance, we entered a tiny hall containing ten dancers and a caller who said her brain was fuzzy because she was coming down with a bad cold. Uh-oh. First thought -- it's a good thing we came; otherwise there would be eight dancers. Second thought -- thank goodness the band contained one of our own, Jared P, who plays one of my favorite instruments, hammer dulcimer. At least the music would be good.
Well, it turned out that the whole evening was fantastic. At one point, I counted about 40 dancers. The caller did well and provided some fun and challenging dances. Beginners came up to speed quickly. Someone new to me said this was one of the warmest, most welcoming dance groups she's encountered. And of course, we ran into all sorts of people we know from dance camps further west and dance visits to Boston. In fact, a favorite dance partner showed up -- he dropped out of dancing for medical reasons a few years back to the great dismay of many of his fans. But he came last night. We knew at least half the attendees, not bad for showing up at a new dance.
And the drive home wasn't too bad, though I realize that's easy for me to say since I wasn't driving. But it felt quick, not endless.
Bottom line, I can imagine making a habit of this dance quite happily.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
celebrating a short life, IMO DEP
Last weekend, more than 25 of us gathered at the Pentlarge family "camp" in Maine to honor Daniel and to unveil his grave stone. Some had known him for his entire life, others since his late teens, and still others had known him just briefly. The weekend was an emotional jumble -- lots of funny stories, some tears, some unstructured time, some planned activities.
Breakfasts were long rambling affairs held in the "new" kitchen (there's an "old," now unused kitchen which serves as storage and entry hall). They segued into snacks and lunch, with food on the table constantly. Our one dinner together was held on the two porches, one screened, one not. A family dog provided immense relief as she toodled about the property, unaware of sadness or remembrance.
People were lovely, loving, irritating, strange, delightful, and charming, sometimes all in one package.
I spent some time in company, and some by myself by the boat house watching dragon flies in the bright sun. A few people wandered down and spent time with me there.
The stone itself is beautiful, still in its natural shape, with reddish highlights (which Daniel also had), and with beautiful, appropriate words inscribed on it. Thanks to D's sisters and to Graham for their part in articulating a permanent rememberance. The stone sits in the woods about half-way down the driveway, alongside the graves of Daniel's sister and mother.
All together, it was a typical weekend at the camp, one which Daniel would have greatly enjoyed, I think. Perhaps he did enjoy it from wherever he is.
The celebration continued on Tuesday night with an English dance in Daniel's honor. I was feeling under the weather, and Robert and I stayed just for the first half and two more dances. (Graham called, but only in the latter half, so I was unable to experience the full pleasure of an evening of his dances.) G spoke a bit about how much joy dance brought to Daniel, and I remembered how broadly he smiled whenever he danced. A good memory, one to replace, or at least reside next to, some of the more horrific images I've had.
Breakfasts were long rambling affairs held in the "new" kitchen (there's an "old," now unused kitchen which serves as storage and entry hall). They segued into snacks and lunch, with food on the table constantly. Our one dinner together was held on the two porches, one screened, one not. A family dog provided immense relief as she toodled about the property, unaware of sadness or remembrance.
People were lovely, loving, irritating, strange, delightful, and charming, sometimes all in one package.
I spent some time in company, and some by myself by the boat house watching dragon flies in the bright sun. A few people wandered down and spent time with me there.
The stone itself is beautiful, still in its natural shape, with reddish highlights (which Daniel also had), and with beautiful, appropriate words inscribed on it. Thanks to D's sisters and to Graham for their part in articulating a permanent rememberance. The stone sits in the woods about half-way down the driveway, alongside the graves of Daniel's sister and mother.
All together, it was a typical weekend at the camp, one which Daniel would have greatly enjoyed, I think. Perhaps he did enjoy it from wherever he is.
The celebration continued on Tuesday night with an English dance in Daniel's honor. I was feeling under the weather, and Robert and I stayed just for the first half and two more dances. (Graham called, but only in the latter half, so I was unable to experience the full pleasure of an evening of his dances.) G spoke a bit about how much joy dance brought to Daniel, and I remembered how broadly he smiled whenever he danced. A good memory, one to replace, or at least reside next to, some of the more horrific images I've had.
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