Part five - Pietro and Valencia

Valencia held her head in her hands, tears falling from her eyes.  Her Mother moved close and put her arms around her daughter.  "Don't worry, I will help you my daughter.  We will make Pietro do the right thing and we will make your Father accept Pietro."
Valencia stopped crying and looked up at her Mother, moving out of her Mother's embrace.  "No, Mother, we will not 'make' Pietro or my Father do anything.  If......if I am pregnant with Pietro's child, he will not need to be made to do the right thing.  He loves me.  And Mother?  I will speak to my Father with Pietro, if it is necessary.  I do not want you to do it.  This is my doing and I will handle it in my own way.  Promise me you will honor my wishes?"
Valencia's Mother looked deeply into her young daughters eyes.  She saw a maturity that she had not noticed before.  It tugged at her heart that her child was pulling away from her, but she knew it was right.  She nodded her head yes.  "I will do what you ask, Valencia.  I am proud of you, you have grown up to be a good woman."
"Thank you, Mother.  Who I am is who you taught me to be.  Now, I must go and try to find Pietro and tell him what 'may' be happening.  We will work it out together."  Valencia turned and left the room.  Her Mother stayed for a moment and looked around the room her daughter had lived in most of her life.  It had a few remnants of childhood, but mostly it looked like a woman's room, few frills, but very feminine.  Finally, she left the room and returned to the kitchen, her days work just beginning.
Valencia walked across the village to Pietros small rooms.  She had stayed away from them because she didn't feel it would look right, but now, that didn't seem to matter.  The closer she got the more her heart beat quickened.  Tiny beads of sweat formed between her breasts and her thighs.  The thought of being in Pietros rooms alone with him began to stir longings in her body.  Her nipples stood out against the fabric of her dress,  rubbing as she walked made them tingle.  Her belly tightened and she knew she would be wet, down below, down where her secret place was.  She laughed.  It was no longer a secret she guessed.  Pietro certainly knew about it.  These thoughts made her feel even more eager to see her lover.  She blushed knowing what would happen if Pietro was home.  A few minutes later she knocked on his door.  No one answered. She knocked again.  The excitement she had been feeling was slipping away.  Where could he be?  One last time she knocked, this time very loudly.  She heard Pietro calling, "just a minute."  She waited feeling relaxed and anxious at the same time.
Finally, Pietro opened the door.  "Valencia?"  He asked.  "Why are you here?"
Valencia pushed past him into the small room.  "I need to talk to you Pietro, it's important and you haven't been at the restaurant the last two nights.  Where were you?"
Pietro ran his hand through his wet hair, he had been in the shower.  Valencia looked beautiful.  He didn't want to talk to her, he wanted to hold her and kiss her and touch the parts of her that made her moan.  "I need to talk to you too."  He said, ignoring her question about his whereabouts.  He took Valencia's hand and led her to his bed-couch,  he sat down pulling Valencia with him.
He leaned toward her and took her chin in his hand.  He looked into her eyes and smiled.  He was filled with desire.   He took a deep breath and tried to stop his feelings, he did really need to talk to her.
Valencia looked at Pietro.  Her heart welled with love for the handsome young man.   She could smell the soapy cleanness of his freshly washed skin and hair.  All the tingling and tightness in her body begged to be answered with his touch, but Valencia was determined to talk.  At least....talk first.
"Pietro, I",  Valencia hesitated.  She knew Pietro loved her, but how would he react to her news.
"Valencia,"  Pietro began.  "I....have talked to the coyote."  There, it was out.  He waited for her reaction.
"Oh, madre dios."  She moaned.  "Why Pietro?  Why would you want to leave me?  You said you loved me, we.....we made love.  I don't understand."
"I do love you.  I love you so much that I need to go to the U.S. so I can earn enough money that your Father will have respect for me and we can get married.  Valencia, I do not want to live my life without you, I want you by my side as we grow old."  Pietro stopped talking.
"I am happy you say you love me.  Oh, Pietro, I love you so much my heart aches every minute I am without you.  But, for you to go away, no Pietro that cannot be the answer.  Besides......I.........a.....I'm late.   My.....flow has not come as it should have.  It is possible your baby is growing inside me right now.  You can't leave me.  Please tell me that you will be with me through this.  I need you."  Valencia stopped and stared into Pietro's eyes.  Her heart beat heavy in her chest, her throat dry, yet her hands felt slick with perspiration.
"Valencia, I love you.  If.....if  you are carrying our child we will handle it together.  I would never leave you to face such a thing alone, besides,  a baby, our baby............    When will you know for sure?"
Many thoughts were swirling around in Pietro's head.  What would he do now?  How could he make enough money to support Valencia AND a baby?
"Soon, Pietro.  If my flow does not come soon...... I will go to the doctor in the city, I couldn't go to the doctor here...."
Valencia leaned into Pietro's arms, he held her tightly.  She felt safe there.  She would stay in his arms forever if she could.  She put her cheek on Pietro's chest.  She could feel his heart beating.  Gently,  slowly, Pietro pulled Valencia down until they were laying on the bed.  His arms tightened and every part of her became alive with need.  His lips kissed hers, then moved to her neck.  He pushed her dress off one shoulder and kissed the soft skin.  She felt his need pressing against her.  Soon, they would join.  All thoughts of a baby were pushed from her mind, pushed by the desire, the need for more touches.
Pietro could hardly stand to wait, he wanted her so, but he held back, touching, rubbing, coaxing her body to the place where her eyes went wild and her moans grew loud.  Where she strained against him asking for more.
Later, as they held each other, their breathing calming and Valencia's eyes shutting with sleep,  Pietro thought about how their life would change if Valencia was pregnant.  He was afraid.  He would go to the church and pray for an answer,  for a sign that would tell him what he should do.  He wasn't sure he believed in the church, too many bad things had happened in his life, but he would try.  He would try anything.  A frown grew on his forehead.  He wondered if the coyote would be mad, if he would find Pietro and demand at least a partial payment.  Pietro put the thought out of his head.  He could control nothing in his life right now.  That would have to change.  Many things would have to change.  He hoped the answers would come soon.  He held Valencia tighter.  No matter what happened, his love for this beautiful girl would not change.  Maybe,  maybe, he thought, both he and Valencia should see the coyote.  Maybe both of them should head north.  Too many questions.  His eyes grew heavy and sleep captured Pietro.  At least for a little while, his problems would go away.
Click to go to part six.

Part Four-Meeting with Coyote

“Help? Si, Hombre, I can help even a dog like you, if you have the money.”

Then he corrected himself, after all this dog is a customer and with the downturn in the Norte there are fewer wetbacks to collect his fee from; he will sweet talk the stinking beaner.”

“Are you ready to go amigo?”

Pietro said quietly, “Yes, I am ready to go, it is my future.”

“And you have the money?”

“How much?” asked Pietro.

The coyote shrugged. “For these days, with the increased boarder patrol, two thousand dollars and I will get you across to the land of milk and honey and opportunity. Can you pay?”

Pietro was silent, two thousand dollars was more than he had.

“Si, Senor, I can pay you two thousand dollars. When can I go?”

The coyote’s patience went only far. He saw the hesitation in the wetback’s face, he knew the man did not have the money. He slammed his palm on the table and half rising from his chair he yelled into Pietro’s face, “Look Wetback, you bring me two thousand dollars cash and then we’ll talk about ‘when’.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds and then the sat back down.

“Never mind amigo, I can do it for you, just get your money first”. He looked at his half empty glass of cervesa and he took a deep breath.

“Look amigo, it is tough to get to the US now, but I can do it for you, just get your money, OK?”

Pietro answered, “No problemo, senior, I will come back to you soon.” This was more than his head was happy with, but he had to say it, his heart forced him…he’d find the money somehow.”

Pietro turned and strode out of the bar wondering how much his pickup was worth.

Valencia looked at the calendar on her wall with the picture of the virgin. It was marked with red for five days 25 days ago. The virgin seemed to look with disapproval. Her flow had not come.

Well, she was no virgin and that was it. Now she had to face the music.

Valencia decided she must talk to Pietro; maybe she was just late, but maybe not, maybe Pietro’s baby was inside of her. They would marry. She would explain to her father that Pietro was a good man and that he would… She stopped. Pietro would what?

Valencia had no idea what Pietro would do or say, not just if she told him she might be pregnant but what could he do to provide for them. Would he even agree to marry her?

Valencia knew that together she and Pietro could make it but she did not know if Pietro knew this. She would discuss it with him but he had not been at the bar the last two nights. She had to find Pietro; where was he?

Valencia slipped the cotton dress over her slender shoulders and she resolved to find Pietro this day.

As Valencia turned to go she came face to face with her mother. How long had she been standing there?

They stood there looking into each other’s eyes. Finally Valencia’s mother spoke.

“We must speak to the padre my daughter, and then your father.”

Valencia felt like her world was collapsing around her, she was rapidly losing control of what was happening; she sank back on the bed and put her face into her two hands and sobbed, “Mother, what can I do?”

Part five

Pietro and Valencia Part three

     Pietro agonized all day as he practiced his music, did his few household chores, and talked quietly to a few people about contacting the coyote.  He was nervous.  He had heard the horror stories; people who paid the man to get them across the border into the U.S., but never reached their goal.  He knew of people who were found dead, he had attended funerals and seen the pain on the faces of the families left behind.
     Pietros mind was set.  If he wanted a life better than he had growing up he would have to do more than play his pan flute at the local restaurants.  He would need to go to the U.S. and make money, real money.  Only  then would he be able to go to Valencia's Father and have a chance that he would not turn Pietro away.  Yes, his mind was set, but that did not mean he wasn't scared.  Not only of the coyote, and the journey, but of what Valencia would say.  What if she would not wait for him?  She was a beautiful and very desirable girl, other men would try to woo her into their arms.  Would she be able to resist?  Peitro decided that he would see the coyote first and find out how much it would cost him to get to the U.S.  He knew if would be a lot.  He had some savings, but he would have to work very hard to get the rest of the money.  He would have find more work.  He knew it would be difficult, jobs were scarce, but Pietro had a good reputation for being a hard worker, he would find employment somewhere.  It would mean seeing much less of Valencia and he would be unable to spend his days writing songs and practicing his music.  Sacrifices he would make for a better future.
     Pietro went back to his casa.  He counted the money he had hidden away under a board in the floor.  It was a little over seven hundred dollars.  Money he had planned on using to get a better place to live once he and Valencia were husband and wife.   He realized that had been a dream.  Without money, real money, his dream of a life with Valencia was just that; a dream.
     Pietro sat on his bed thinking of Valencia.  When he shut his eyes, he could feel the softness of her skin.  The smell of her hair, and how it felt to touch the tender spot just behind her ear with his lips.  He wished she was here now.  She had never been to his casa, she said it was to dangerous, too many people could see her and tell her Father.  Besides, she said, her going to Pietros home would make her feel like one of the bad girls with the bad reputations, the ones the men smiled at then laughed at behind their backs.  No, she was a good girl.  Well, maybe not pure like her Father thought, but better than most of the girls in the village.  Besides, Pietro knew Valencia loved him.
     Pietro did not take any money with him to the meeting with the coyote.  He tried hard to bolster his courage to face the man who could change his future.  He did not want the man to see his fear, it would make him seem weak and the coyote might try to take advantage of Pietro's fear and his youth.  Once again, Pietro shut his eyes.  This time he did not think of Valencia, he pictured himself as a strong young man, confident and sure of his actions.  He breathed deeply until he felt a calmness come over him.  Now he felt ready for the meeting.  He entered the small cafe where he had been told that he could find the coyote.  The cafe was small and dark.  Pietro had to wait to let his eyes adjust to the lack of light.  When they did, Pietro saw the man sitting at a table.  The man looked at Pietro like he was a piece of meat.  Pietro guessed that was probably close to the truth.  Pietro took another deep breath and sat down at the table across from the man.  He wished that he knew the man, knew whether he could really do what he promised; to get people safely into the U.S.. Pietro could only have faith.  "My name is Pietro."  He said.  "I want to go to the United States and find work.  I need to earn a lot of money.  I have heard you can help me."

Click to go to part four.

Pietro and Valencia Part two.

Pietro wakes up early; he is still thinking about Valenica; about the smell of her hair, her softness, and her eagerness. He also thinks about how a life with her would be, about how it should be but cannot be. He heats yesterday’s coffee in the tin pot and pours a cup. It is too hot to drink. He goes outside with the cup. With one hand he shakes a cigarette out of the pack and places it to his lips. He reaches in his pocket for his father’s Zippo. He looks at the USMC emblem on the old lighter.

The Zippo clinks open and Pietro lights the cigarette. He thinks of his father Noe, whom he knew briefly and misses terribly, and his mother, Maria, whom he never knew, and he is sad about the tragedy of their lives. It is too easy to imagine that this type of life could happen to himself and Valencia if they joined. He does not want this life. He does not want Valencia to have that life.

Pietro takes the cup and cigarette and walks along the quiet lane on which he lives. He can hear dishes clattering in Josephine’s house across from his casa. A dog is scratching fleas in the packed dirt lane. He thinks of his own family, such as it was.

Pietro’s mother died giving birth to him and this left only a stricken 20 year old Noe and the newborn Pietro. Noe fled with his grief and left the newborn Pietro with a sister. In a week he came back and began to raise Pietro with the help of the sister but the tiny boy’s eyes always reminded him of Maria. Noe blamed Pietro for Maria’s death but in reality it was their poverty that caused the young woman to die. Money for a clinic might have saved her but Noe had no money.

When Pietro was four Noe could face the child with Maria’s eyes no longer. He fled again, this time for good, to El Norte it turned out. Later money came, and once a photograph: a man in a green soldier’s uniform who looked somewhat like Noe, but to Pietro it was a stranger and he had to force himself to think of this man in the green uniform as his father. But Pietro loved his father and wanted him to come back and even if he didn’t exactly recognize the man in the picture he looked at it often and waited.

Pietro was raised with his seven cousins and the money from his father helped the family but one day the thin envelopes with only a check and a slip of paper with maybe a word or two no longer came. After five years they heard no more from Noe.

When Pietro was 12 a gringo came to his village and the padre brought him to see Pietro. The gringo’s said his name was Gary and he was Noe’s friend. He told of Noe’s bravery fighting for an adopted country and how he died by a bullet meant for the Lieutenant, fired by another soldier; a bad soldier. Noe was a hero but the circumstances of his death were never acknowledged. Gary gave Pietro the Zippo and at 12 Pietro was alone. He no longer waited for his father to return.

Pietro’s thoughts turn to Valencia and he knows what he must do. He turns and walks back to his casa; today he will see the coyote.

Go to Part Three

Pietro and Valencia, Part one

Pietro has played the pan flute all evening for the patrons of the restaurant in Ajijic, Mexico.  Many customers have given him tips, for his music stirs their souls, but Pietro is playing for Valencia, the girl dancing dressed in a bright low cut top and full skirt.  She hears his music deep inside her and it makes her dancing suggestive and seductive.  When the restaurant closes, Pietro takes Valencia's hand and pulls her to his old Ford pickup truck.  It is rusty and old, and some of the fabric in the seats is torn, but Pietro is lucky, trucks are valuable in this small village.  Pietro has covered the seat with a good thick mexican blanket.  He has another, just in case it is chilly.  "I will drive you home."  Pietro says to Valenica.  She looks up at him, her blood hot with wanting.  "Yes,"  she says. "take me....... home."  They climb into the cab of the truck and Pietro kisses her face, her neck, his hand straying to the bodice of her gown, lowering it enough that he can touch her soft full breast and the dark nipple, hard with excitement.   Valencia stirs beneath him.  "Pietro..."  She moans.   "Pietro...".
Pietro's hand slides up under Valencia's skirt.   "Yes, yes".  Nothing more is heard from the truck.  No one sees what happens under the thick Mexican blanket.  After a last kiss, Pietro drives the battered truck to the corner nearest her home.  He dare not go any closer.  He watches as she walks to her casa.  As she opens the large gate, she turns once and stares at the truck and the young man inside.  Her body still feels his heat.  Then she disappears.   Pietro sits in his truck letting his mind float.  He hopes she has no trouble at home.  Valencia's Father does not like Pietro, for he believes that music is for parties and fun, but not for a living.  Pietro finally starts his truck and slowly drives back to the tiny casa that he calls his home.  It is one room and a bathroom.  The bathroom is why he rented the small place.  The shower alone a luxury that he had never had growing up.  The room has a bed with lots of pillows, so it can be used like a couch.  in one corner there is a tiny fridge, a small sink and a two burner hot plate.  He can cook whatever he needs.  He quickly undresses and removing the pillows, climbs into the bed.  It is a long time before he sleeps.
Valencia goes thru the gate and into the home of her parents.  Her Father waits in the brightly lit living room, his eyes bore deep into her, looking for evidence of her misbehavior, "Oh Papa,"  she says, reaching deep into her bodice and pulling out many dollars and pesos.  "Look how much money I made dancing at the restaurant tonight!"  Valencia pushes the money into her Fathers hands, knowing that the greedy man will forget everything else but the money.
Her Father looks at the money, then at Valencia.  "You are a good girl"  he says and walks away, counting.
Valencia walks the few steps into the kitchen, her Mother is standing at the sink.
"Hello, Mama."  She says, but she does not look into her Mothers eyes.  Slowly without turning from the sink her Mother nods and smiles.  "Valencia." She says quietly.  "Is he good to you?  Does he stir your heart?"
Valencia blushes.  How can her Mother know what is in her soul?  "Yes, Mama.  He is my heart."
"Go to bed."  Her Mother says.  "Before your father forgets the money and sees what is written in your eyes.  I am happy you are so blessed my daughter.  Few are."  Valencia's Mother turns and reaches out and strokes the cheek of her only daughter.  "Someday, you will have to face your Father with your young man, but not tonight.  Tonight you may just wrap your arms around yourself and feel again his touches.  Don't look so shocked.  I too was young once.  I know what you feel.  It is something we never forget.  Now go, quickly to your bed."
Valencia shivers and hurries to the tiny room that is hers.  She undresses and climbs into her bed pulling the covers up to her chin.  She too has trouble sleeping.  Pietro has given her much to think about.  She looks out her window and sees stars, thousands of them in the dark sky.  She knows that her love can see these same stars.  It makes her feel close to him again.  Finally, she sleeps, her last thoughts those of his hands and his lips, the wonderful soft lips......

SO.  This is my thanksgiving.  I sat with my husband Howard at a picnic table in the park at Borrego Springs.  The desert air is very dry and everyone here it seems is gathering outside at large tables, laden with turkey and all the things that go with it.  This is the first time we have ever had a Holiday meal alone, (no family or friends) in the desert, but it was good.  Lots of wine, good food, candles on the table, a slight breeze blowing, making the hairs on my arms stand up.  And, of course, the music.  At first the traditional classics, then christmas music, traditional then the oh so funny 'grandma got run over by a reindeer'.  Such silliness.  By this time the wine is almost gone.  The music changes to the pan flute, a CD we bought in Ajijic, Mexico when a young man played his pan flute at a restaurant.  I want to sing and dance and move my body with the feelings that are building inside me.  FInally we go into the privacy of our small RV and I shut the curtains and let myself move, dancing, swaying to the magical beat.
I begin to miss my family.  One by one I think of them..  My children.  My grandchildren.  My dead parents.  My Brothers.  My mind lingers on my oldest Brother.  I can imagine him here in the desert sitting at the table drinking wine with me, my husband and Judy, his wife.  He would laugh and dance and let himself feel the music.  He would not be embarrassed to dance.  He would only enjoy.  I miss him so.  Now I will write and then turn off the music.  Will the nights magic end with the last song?  I wonder.  No,  there are roasted chestnuts and coffee with Baileys and.....the stars....we will sit or walk this night and gaze up into the darkest night and try to find familiar constellations....It is one of the best Thanksgivings I can remember.  I am in great debt to the God above who created the stars, and the music that so stirs my soul.  I can only wish that everyone I love could feel this blessed.  Goodnight.
Click to go to part two.

Busy as bees.....

It's the 16th of Nov.  about 8:30 in the evening.  Howard and I went to see son Rob's new home today.  It was great.   They are going to love having a home of their own.  We are very, very happy for them.  Kristi will have her hands full trying to get things organized and they will be pooped until the new year, but I am sure it will all be worth it.  Imagine, each kid has their own room!  And a swimming pool!
But we are tired now.
The yard sale was Sunday and we prepared all day Saturday.  It was a success, but Golly gosh what a lot of work.
We are going to go to Borrego Springs for Thanksgiving.  It is one of only two designated international
dark' spots in the world.  We will take the jeep and do some off roading, 500 miles of dirt roads.  And fill our little camper van with turkey and all the trimmings, eat until we are stuffed, talking about how thankful we are for so much in our life.  Then sit, quietly side by side and stargaze until we fall asleep.  It's not the traditional family gathering, but we are very much looking forward to it.  We have wanted to go for a long time and there are really good moon and weather conditions at that time. Well, to all I love, I love you.

Bored STIFF

Okay, so the doctors say I must lay flat on my back with a pillow under my knees or on my right side, a pillow between my legs, heat in the morning, ice at night.  I am allowed to get up to go to the bathroom and eat my meals.  Yeah, like this is going to happen.  The physical therapist says until I do it I won't heal so I am trying.  But it is sooooo boring.  I have been able to put myself in sort of a semi awake dream state and think about a lot of stuff from a different view point.  I think this may be related to the pain meds I am on.  It is interesting until I really do fall asleep.  I shall get better soon.  Today I walked to a neighbors house and laid on her chaise lounge and watched her go through boxes of stuff to price things for a yard sale.  That was fun.  Meals are interesting because I am hungry, but don't feel like cooking.  We haven't starved yet so I guess I must be cooking okay.  Think it's time for a rest now.

Happy Halloween

Just saying hi!  Happy Halloween.  We are going to have hot apple cider an donuts, a family tradition.  But, alas, in an old folks park no trick or treaters.  Gosh, how sad, we will have to eat all the candy ourselves.  Smile. Dr. Nash. (Our Dentist).    Except for the pain in my thigh and lower back, which is still bothering me, I am doing well.  Howard too.  Can't believe tomorrow it will be November!

monday, monday.....

So on Thursday the 22nd we went to Urgent Care, got an x-ray of my back, some meds.  Saturday the pain was worse and I couldn't pee.  That was scary.  Back to Urgent Care.  The Dr. said, I am going to send you to the ER for an MRI.  He didn't like that I couldn't pee either.  The ER doc was a jerk we were there in a room for over six hours.  When he came in he hadn't even read the chart and said he didn't know why the urgent care dr sent me for an unneeded mri.  I said it was that I wasn't peeing.  He said what?  Then he looked at the chart.  He said the nurses should have told him.  I said he should have looked at the chart.  He said the MRI would be uncomfortable because I had to lay still so he would give me a pain killer.  He gave me a low dose of hydrocodone and sent me to the MRI machine.  What?  Does he not know that the hydrocodone takes at least a half hour to work.  Oh well.  Grin and bear it right?  But the MRI shows nothing.  no pinched nerve, no bulging disks.  No reason why I can't pee.  So he says go home, ice and heat, rest.  Come back if it continues.  What a dweeb.  So Monday morning we go to our regular dr.  By this time my left thigh is completely numb. no feeling at all.  But I am peeing!  My dr. puts me on prednizone, more pain meds, says come back in a week, sooner if the numbness doesn't go away.  He says it may be a damaged nerve.  Crap.  So on our way home we stop at a store and some dumb thing falls off a shelf and hits me on the foot.  Breaks a blood vessel, it swells up, and big bruise.  And it hurts.   So I have pain in too many places.  And the pain meds take the edge off, but the edge is not enough!  What is next.
On the good side, Howard is feeling much better
I hope everyone is having a good day.  You must be, cause somebody got mine! Love ya'all

and the drama goes on.....

At 4:30 am I dialed 911.  Howard is laying on the living room floor in his boxers and a t shirt.  His pupils are huge.  His skin is pale and clammy wet.  He has terrible chest pain and trouble breathing.  I hurriedly put on a pair of pants and a shirt and move furniture out of the way giving space for the paramedics to work.  The paramedics arrive take Howard's blood pressure and attach wires to his chest.
"I'm feeling better."  Howard says.  "The pain is going away."  All eyes watch the screen recording his heartbeats.
The medic says his pressure is up, but not exceedingly high.  His pulse is up too, but not alarmingly so.  The little green screen tells us that his heart is functioning okay.  This is probably not a heart attack.
Howard feels embarrassed.  I can feel the muscles in my body relaxing a little bit.
Howard is sitting up now.  The medics have decided it must have been indigestion.  Howard had taken multiple Tums when the pain began and it seems they finally have taken effect.  I gave him an aspirin, just in case.
The medic team of five pack up their equipment and depart.  I put my pajamas back on and we go back to bed.  It was a very scary hour.
I haven't slept tonight.  I hurt my back day before yesterday and there is no position that is comfortable.  Also, about four hours ago I had heartburn so bad it took ten Tums before it went away.  I felt like I was going to pass out.  Howard and I decide it must have been something we both ate and settle on the pumpkin pie he bought at Costco.  I said it tasted different, they must have a new baker or something.  We won't eat an;y more of it.
The pain in my lower back, left side, is excruciating.  I am now pacing the floor.  I sit.  I lay down.  I walk more.  Nothing helps.  It is now almost 9 am.  I brush my teeth and get dressed.  Howard will take me to the urgent care center.  Riding in the car is unbearable.
When we arrive the Dr. gives me a gown to put on and puts me in bed.  After many questions and me disolving into tears of pain, they give me a shot of dilaudin (?) and a muscle relaxer.  It takes about ten minutes before I start feeling the effects.  After twenty minutes I can sit.  The pain is bearable.  They xray my back and see no bulging disks.  The Dr. decides I have sprained my back and it is spasaming.  All I know is that the horrible pain is slowly sliding away.  The Dr. gives me instructions and prescriptions.  I am to go home, lay down, find a comfortable postion and stay there for a week taking muscle relaxers and pain meds, and alternating ice and heat each hour.  He allows me to use the bathroom and get up for meals.  After a week I will begin physical therapy.
We go home after getting the meds.  I get into the bed, get comfy and fall asleep.  Hours later I wake up. The pain is coming back.  I have a beer, it is after 5 pm.  Get some crackers and cheese.  After about an hour I take the  pills. I have iced and heated my lower back.  It hurts.  A lot.  I thought I would write a bit, but the medicine makes it hard to see.  Guess it is time to stop, go to bed, get comfy and wait.  I won't be able to read, the pills make my vision blurry.
I think this may be a long week.
Howard says, other than a headache, he feels good.
I feel like shit. I won't be doing an;y gardening for a while.  That is how I hurt my back.
I am going to close my eyes now and drift around.
Have a nice night.

End in sight.....

It's Sunday.  I fixed egg, bacon, tomato and cheese croissants for breakfast.  Oh, and lattes.  It is the first day in a week that Howard smiled.  His fever broke.  We are hoping this means tomorrow he will feel normal.  NORMAL?  Better anyway.  Bells are ringing!
I have decided not to get this bug.  The Swine Flu should be kept to the pigs.
Will my will work?  Or will my will fail?  Only time will tell.

H1N1 hits our house

It's official.  Howard has the Swine Flu.  He is miserable.  Fever, headache, body ache, cough, runny nose, no appetite, should I go on?
Dr. Says to stay home.  Day four.

Disneyland reunion

The plan was a family reunion in Disneyland planned over a year ahead of time.  Seventeen family members.  Two Grandparents.  Three kids.  Three kids spouses.  Nine grandchildren.  So far, so good.  Then, a motorcycle crash and money gets tight.  Squeeky tight.  One less kid.  One less kids spouse.  Three less grandchildren. Hmmm.  Then sickness hits, temps of 103.  Bad.  One less kids spouse.  Two less grandchildren.  Well, our numbers are down, and it is no longer a family reunion, but we still had fun.  The hotels were great.  Food good, rides terrific, and lots of bonding.  All in all OUR two days were wonderful.
I hope next time we actually have less drama and more family.  Can't wait to go again!

There are some really nice people in the world....

I started on medicine on Saturday for a UTI.  It is Tuesday and I called the Dr. to make sure I was on the right meds, they had done a culture, and to check on another med they put me on.  He talked to me for five minutes.  He was so nice it made me cry.  The meds are the right ones, he said they often make people feel crappy.  If I didn't feel so awful, it would have made me feel great.  Anyway.....we are meeting children times 2, their spouses times 2, and grandkids times 6, in Disneyland on Thursday.  I need to feel better now.
Oh well, isn't that just life.  Whine, whine, whine.
Thank you to all the people out there who go the extra little bit to make someone else feel better.  You are appreciated.  You are needed.  And the world is a better place because of you.  I will try to make someone feel better today.  Maybe it will be you................

whoa!

The meds they put me on make me sleep.  Not that sleeping is bad, but I am not getting much done. Wait, hark.....who sayeth I had to get something done?  My Mother is in the nether world, so it could only be me.  So, myself: shutest thou up, the chores will still await thee on the morrow.
Oh yeah, I forgot that part. Hmmm.  Now if you are a husband, your wife not only takes care of you when you are ill, but does all her usual stuff and MAYBE some of yours.  But... a women takes ill and the husband exits to the nearest hardware store, only to come home hours later asking what's for dinner.  And, of course, the chores just pile up until you are better.
Now, my husband is the exception.  He goes to the hardware store and stops off at the grocery store and comes home with chocolate.  Yay, Howard.  And...he is barbecuing dinner. Gosh, I knew all that praying I learned in Sunday school would pay off someday.
Well, it's beer time......   My chores will wait until tomorrow.

Did you know?

Did you know SOME people expect a lot, and others very little.  Why is it we try so hard for the few?  And....where do we get answers?
We are now in our Southern home in Indio, CA.  We arrived to a houseful of ants. ARGH!  And no....argh is not what I said when I saw them.  We diligently worked at removing them with boric acid solution, poison, a vacum cleaner, and eeuw! our fingers, until I had the heeby jeebies.  There were thousands and thousands.  That said, we creamed enough of the little buggers to be able to sleep that night.  At least we had the van to keep all our stuff in, we didn't dare bring anything into the house.  Then....yes!  We awoke the next morning to MILLIONS of ants in the van.  My loving espouso had parked the van with the front edge touching the house and up they climbed.  A stream a good two inches wide.  Back to work we went! Smashing and scraping and sucking the little devils into the vacum, the boric acid, whatever we could manage.  We couldn't keep up.
After a major breakdown where I stood in the middle of our street crying, (it was the only place without ants), my neighbor came and hugged me until I stopped leaking all over and I tip toed my way around the piles of black and into our home and huddled on the couch with beer and medication.
By the next day they were gone.  I think God saw what he hath wrought and realized that this woman's mental state was in dire jeopardy.
Now we clean up.
And then.......yes, the saga goes on, my UTI came back with a major vengence.  I tried to go shopping, I couldn't walk.  I looked ridiculous.  How does one straddle an ice pack and walk at the same time?   I gave up and came home.  More medication and three beers later I felt pretty good.  That was Thursday.  Miraculously, Friday I felt okay.  And then.....Saturday arrived and with it pain, anguish and the desperate call to Urgent Care.  I went.  They tested.  The bacteria was off the charts.  The Dr. smiled and showed me the paper.  He told me I was sick.  I paid him how much to tell me that?  He asked if I wanted something to relieve the pain.  I asked him if I shoved cut glass up his winkus would he want something?  He gave me a script.  We got to the pharmacy just as the pharmacist was going to lunch.  It would be a hours wait.  After and hour and a half we got the medicine and headed home.  I took it on the way and fell into my bed upon our return.
Oh...and did I forget to mention that as all this was happening I had this funny tingling in my lip.  It's like a bunch of sharp needles pricking in the same spot.  Yeah, a cold sore.  I have had them before and they are always precluded by this tingling so I told the Dr. and he said, oh yes, he would give me another script.  But he forgot.  We realized this on the way home and called him, he said he would call it in to the pharmacy.  When we got to the pharmacy we were told it would be $300.00 and our insurance, lovely people, do you know them?, would not be covering it.  My lip tingling away, we had the Pharmacist call the Dr. to see if there was not something a wee bit less costly to fix the problem.  And yes! There was.
It is now 5:43 pm Saturday night.  I am going outside to sit on our patio and drink a beer.  Or three.
I am not going to church tomorrow, but I will try to update on the exciting life here in Seniorville.

jan roswold brown: WAKING UP by jan roswold brown

jan roswold brown: WAKING UP by jan roswold brown

WAKING UP by jan roswold brown

Maggie Campbell smiled, rolled over, and opened her eyes.  Her smile disappeared.  Her husband Hank had the pained expression on his face that told her he had one of his famous migraines, and he would need medications, darkness and quiet, not the helicopter tour they had planned for today.  She wanted to stay with him, he wanted her to go.  They argued and she reminded him that he always said he didn't get married to be apart, but an hour later, after telling him she loved him and giving him one last kiss, Maggie was standing alone in front of the hotel waiting for the tour van to arrive.  Instead of smiling, anger pinched her lips tightly together, guilt turned her forehead into a mass of lines, and worry made tears gather at the corners of her eyes.  Maggie turned away from the street deciding she would forget the tour and go back to the hotel.  A beeping horn stopped her.  The tour van had arrived.  It must be fate, she thought as she climbed aboard the old van that looked like many of the other vehicles here in the South pacific, a rusty relic that was held together with wire and bubble gum, but it made the trip to BuzBee Flight Services safely.
The BuzBee tour hostess, a young woman with red curly hair, announced that one person had cancelled, but another man was eager to go and would be along any minute.  Maggie stared at the helicopter they would be riding in.  To her, it looked like a bright orange ball with a black stinger poking out the back end.  A big orange Bee.  The last passenger arrived, and they began to board the helicopter.  Maggie hesitated.  Hank was supposed to be here with her.
Her hesitation meant she got the outside seat which made her nervous; she was afraid of heights, but she smiled.  She didn't want to come across as a complete chicken, even if she was.
The pilot, Tommy Jensen, gave a quick rundown on safety procedures and handed out headsets that would block some noise, but still allow them to hear him describing the scenic wonders below.
The door next to Maggie was mostly clear.  She would have a great view.  "Oh goody", she thought with a little panic.  The engine came to life, and the helicopter began to vibrate.  The noise, even with the head sets, was really loud.  The dreadful sound continued, and the blades began to turn.  Maggie's stomach clenched.  Everyone but Maggie seemed to be completely at ease.   The helicopter began to rise up slowly and turn at the same time.  In minutes they were off the ground and headed out towards the crystal blue waters of the South Pacific.  It was beautiful, and so exciting that Maggie forgot to be scared and began to enjoy herself.
The water was amazingly clear.  They saw coral, fish, sharks, lagoons circled by little islets, and tiny atolls; some under water with no trees, and others with tropical jungles, white sandy beaches, and aqua colored water.  Most were uninhabited, a few showed signs of life.
The pilot said the people survived without fresh water by drinking a lot of coconut water and catching the daily rain.  Supply boats came every week or so, but mostly the islanders were self sufficient, living on bananas, coconuts, fish roots, the gardens they grew, and pigs and chickens they raised.  He said they had lived this life for generations and were quite happy and content.
Lunch was on a small island, with drinks, fresh fish, sweet fruit, and bread that was like a mildly sweet cake.  During lunch, tattooed men danced to the beat of a loud drum.  They stomped, glared, and looked very threatening, showing they would fiercely protect their island.  Then young women danced gracefully, telling stories with their hands and bodies, taking their guests back to a time where visitors were not always friendly and caution was first, the welcome second.
They gathered in a tiny church, and the islanders sang, sharing the pure joy of the music with their guests.  It was sweet and native and enjoyed by all.  Near the end of the performance the church doors banged open, blown inward by a sudden big gust of wind.  The islanders laughed, saying, big storm, but Maggie was frightened.  As they left, each guest was presented with a beautiful lei and made to promise to return some day.  Maggie envied the islanders.  She thought she could get used to the beauty and the simple, relaxed way of life.
The wind had picked up, and it was chilly by the time they all boarded and got settled.  Maggie was glad she had brought a sweater.  Again, she sat by the door.  She had a perfect view of violent black clouds moving directly towards them.  "Oh shit",  she said to herself, wishing she could stay on the island, and maybe hide in the little church.  The pilot explained that because of the storm, they would take a different route to the wildlife refuge.  He assured them this was common.
No one but Maggie looked nervous.  Couldn't they see how rough the water was getting?   She wondered.  "Have faith Maggie."  She told herself.  "They have these little storms out here all the time."  She was not reassured.  All she knew about 'little storms' came from scary headlines on the TV news.  Like, 'huge wind gust causes plane to go down' or 'surprise storm batters beach homes, killing three.'  No, Maggie was not convinced that this 'little storm' was not going to become one of those stories.  She was really scared.  Soon the helicopter was bouncing around and the other passengers had stopped making jokes and were looking unsettled.  The pilot came on the headphones and said the storm was being uncooperative.  It wasn't following the rules or the weather forecast, but he still sounded calm.
Maggie wished she had stayed at the hotel with Hank, and gone down to the pool and read, maybe ordered one of the tropical drinks with the little umbrellas and the piece of fruit on the side.
The sky was now rolling black clouds, flashes of lightening, and horizontal rain.  If this was on TV, Maggie would struggle close to Hank, with a handful of popcorn, knowing the 'bad thing' was about to happen.  The passengers looked scared, and Maggie watched the pilot carefully.
He wasn't using the radio.  Was it broken or just the storm?  The helicopter was bouncing and turning violently, and he was having trouble keeping it under control.  He had stopped talking with the passengers, who were now looking at each other with fear in their eyes.  One couple was holding hands.  Maggie loved Hank's strong comforting hands, and she missed them right now.
Suddenly the copter made a sharp turn and dropped what seemed like a few hundred feet, really more like thirty feet, but it was terrifying.  Everyone screamed, and the sweaty smell of fear filled the cabin.  The pilot's hands were white knuckled.  On my God, thought Maggie, we're in bad trouble.  The helicopter was moving up and down and twisting around without any sense of purpose.  It seemed to be moving with whatever gust of wind blew its way.  Sometimes the water, which had become very rough and scary, seemed very close.  Other times they bounced way up, almost into the darkness of the clouds.  The pilot didn't seem to have any control at all.
Finally, the man closest to the pilot asked what they all wanted, or didn't want to know. What happened to the radio? Were they going to crash?  You could see each passenger straining to get the answers, holding their breaths.  The pilot paused for a minute, and then came on the headphones.  "A...the radio is not work..."  he said, static breaking up his words, "I haven't had contact....base for half an hour now,.... we are way off course.  Something is wrong with.....or the storm..I don't....I am.......trouble controling.... trying to.....a spot to land, remember.....safety procedures".
No one in the helicopter moved, they were frozen in fear.  The wife of the young couple began to cry.  Her husband didn't seem capable of comforting her.  One of the other men was looking around his seat as if he would find an eject button with a parachute and life raft, or something, a miracle perhaps.  His movements were panicky.  The man next to Maggie was cursing.  Maggie couldn't hear what he was saying, but she could read his lips and see the anger in his eyes.  He had been the 'lucky' one to get Hank's seat.  Seconds later, to Maggie's dismay the young husband was losing his lunch all over the floor of the copter.  The smell was disgusting.  Maggie didn't know whether to curse or to pray.  She choose prayer.   "GOD?  I THINK IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO SAVE US NOW!  I THINK WE'RE ALL ... A ..  MORE THAN READY DOWN HERE."
They were bouncing up and down, turning, twisting, the fear apparent on their faces.  God did not answer the prayers.  A few minutes later the helicopter tipped over to one side and began a rapid decent that the pilot was unable to stop.  The blades hit the water first, and amidst the screams, which Maggie could hear even through all the other noise, she heard the ripping metal, saw the cracking glass, and felt the rush of cold air filling the cabin.  She knew the door next to her was going to shatter; she had watched in horror as it hit the water and changed from clear to an intricate spider web.  Maggie knew it would be only a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, before the door disintegrated and water would begin to pour into the cabin.  Before she could finish the thought, it was happening.  Water was spilling into the copter.
She had no idea what to do.  She couldn't remember anything in the safety procedures giving instructions for this situation; but something, maybe the survival instinct deep in her brain, told her she needed to release her seatbelt and get out.  The copter was going down.  She struggled to find the buckle that would release the belt; which side was it on?  She found it and managed to undue the buckle; suddenly she felt free.  Then a hand grasped her arm and she could see the fear in the man's face.  She tried to reach down and undo his buckle, but he was so panicked that he began grabbing at her arms and face.  Maggie slapped him, hoping that would bring him to his senses; he paused, then began fighting again.  Maggie realized that inside the copter the water was quickly rising.  They were sinking!  She had to get out.  She let go of the man and tried to push him away.  Suddenly she found herself flung from his grip and sucked out of the broken door.  She felt a moments blazing pain, then blackness.

Want more..........let me know......

My first reading

today was memorable.  I visited my youngest daughter and while she slaved away mudding some sheetrock in her dining room, I sat at the table and read her part of my novel, WAKING UP.  She said she liked it.  I enjoyed reading it.  We only got to page 17, but there will be another day.
Then I went to my oldest daughters house and visited her.  She served us pear pie with a cheddar struessel topping.  Yum.  Really yum.  We had a great visit.  Then.......my sweet husband took me to our favorite restaurant, Molto Bene in Burlington.  If you haven't gone there you should, it's awesome.  I ate way too much.  We did our grocery shopping then went home.  What a lovely day.
Now I get to watch a little tv, write on my blog, then work on novel number 2.  I have a good life.  Thanks God.  Thanks to my two daughters for being such good people.  You make me proud.  And thanks to my husband for knowing when I didn't want to cook without my even having to say a word.  Yeah.  Now THAT is a memorable day.

Monday, monday

It's a monday.  What is it about mondays?  For me, it can't be the beginning of my work week because I am retired and set my own work schedule.  Maybe it is because mondays are fire meeting days.  My 'espouso' is a volunteer fireman and they train every monday night.  So I have to cook dinner early.  That's it!  I have to think about what to cook for dinner earlier than usual, it ruins my 4:17 beer time!  Has to be it.
But today isn't so bad, I have been writing since I got up this morning, and it is going well.  I am working on NOVEL #2.  YAY.  NOVEl #1 is ready.  As soon as I have my English teacher friend review my synopsis and query letter, then off they go to the literary agents.  And here I will be, waiting, impatiently to hear how awesome my work is.  Yeah.  Uh huh.  Well, hopefully I will get at least one positive response.  I am sending out over 30 queries.  But if not.....there are many more agents on my list.  I shall not give up.  I may, however, move beer time to 4:10 each day.
Ahhhhh, the joys of having flexibility in scheduling.  Of course, if I do not succeed, I may have to cancel beer time completely.  Even my one bud light a day costs moolah.  So far my husband has generously supported me, but I think he would like it if I brought home money instead of clothing or household items.  He does like the cookies though.  Well, rambled enough for today.  Must think about what to cook for dinner. hmmmm.  It would probably help if I was hungry, but I just ate a HUGE handful of potato chips.  Big mistake.  Have a nice night.

eeuw, yuck, pain with a ganglion cyst

I have been having pain in my left hand for about a month after I fell and landed on my wrist.  Today I finally went to the doctor to make sure it wasn't serious.  X-rays showed nothing broken.  Doctor said it's a ganglion cyst.  Probably from when I fell.  He said sometimes injuries can cause a cyst to appear.  It is fluid from the joint in my wrist and overuse makes it worse.  Guess I'm not doing anymore painting.  At least not of buildings.  Anyway, treatments - splint it so it doesn't move.  Drain it. eeuw.  surgery. oh no. or wait and hope it goes away.  Doctor said he had one, it lasted fifteen years.  Boo hiss.  So, I will splint it when I am going to do something that would cause it to bend a lot, and I will wait.  Such a day.  Visited both my daughters today. Courtney was tired and she has to work tonight.  Kristin was on the computer.  Not the best visit.  Think I'll go home and eat worms.  Tomorrow is another day.  Thank God.

<Wingssail Images-Cruising Photos from Around the Pacific>

children

Its sunday, sept. 6th.  Today I got to help one of my kids.  As a parent I want to see all three of my children happy, content, and with enough money to pay their bills.  I don't care if they are rich, I just want them to be able to pay the bills at the end of the month.  And I want them to be able to smile at the end of the day.  And to look at their children and be glad they get to sit on the floor with them for a little bit and build a lego castle, or read them a book, whatever.  And I want them to be able to sit down on the couch with their husband or wife and look around the room and feel relaxed.  That most of the daily chores are done.
But.....as a parent I can't do these things for them or make them happen.  And it hurts when you see one of you 'babies' unable to 'get there'.
Today I spent a couple of hours at my youngest daughters helping her catch up on some household cleaning.  They have been working on a huge project on the house and little by little, every day the things she normally took care slipped between the cracks until it was overwhelming.  She didn't say that.  But her eyes did.  So together we swept, and vacumed, and mopped and cleaned counters, stove, sink.  Dusted, put toys away, de-haired the couch, and got the kids room cleaned.  When we were done I was sweaty, but I felt good.  I'm not too sure about her.  She said she had a headache and a stomach ache.  I hope it wasn't because I helped her.  I just wanted to do something to make a little part of her day better.  I wanted to see her smile.  I didn't see the smile, but I did get a hug.  I hope she feels better tonight.  I wish I could help her more.  I will hope for the smile when I see her next.  It's hard to be a parent. Even when your 'babies' are parents themselves.  Maybe harder.  I want them all to smile.

It is a dark and stormy day....

It's windy out, the clouds are really on the move.  Dark gray and looking heavy with rain.  No drops yet though.  I had to turn on a light just to make it seem more like daylight.  

I am back at the computer.  Just re-wrote the first few pages of THE NOVEL.  Again.  Something about it wasn't right and was bothering me so I fixed it.  I wonder how many more times I will do this.  

I like the wind, the sound it makes whooshing through the trees.  Sometimes there is a gust hard enough to shake the 21 foot van we live in during the summer.  That's cool.  I don't even mind the darkness too much.  But when the rain comes, then it gets miserable.  I don't like rain, except at night, then I love the sound it makes, pitter pat on the roof.  Soothing.

Finished my breakfast and now will get back to writing.  Going to work on the synopsis.  I mean, what if someone actually reads my query letter and requests chapters and the synopsis.  Better have it ready.  Of course, I haven't sent out the query letters yet.  Fear.  I just hope that THE NOVEL is good.  The thought of someone laughing at my efforts, wondering why on earth I wasted my time writing, makes me ill.  I have no experience at writing, no contests, not even any writing groups.  I don't have the fancy piece of paper that says I am smart, that might make me qualified to be a 'writer'.  I just write.  The words just come.  The stories whirl around in my head until I put them on paper.  I cannot stay away from the writing.  Most days I begin at 9 or so in the morning and write until 11 or so at night.  I do take a nap.  I might do some laundry.  At 4:17 pm I have a beer.  I cook dinner for my husband.  But mostly, I write.

Does this make me a writer?

I haven't always done this.  I began writing just 6 months ago.  Before that I painted, sewed, knit, made costumes for a living, all sorts of artsy stuff, but the only writing I did was two plays, which I did write, produce, and direct.  Successful and profitable even.

But one day, while I was trying to nap this story just settled in my head.  I had to get up and write it.  So I did.  And now, 6 months later, I have re-written it many times, written another novel and begun a third.  I guess the worst that will happen is my great grandchildren will find a box of manuscripts someday and have a good laugh.  The best is that my work will get published and I can go on doing what I can't not do, and get paid for it.  oooooh.  That would be good.  Yeah.......I think I will end this blog on that bright note.  Writing AND money.

Writing THE NOVEL

 I am a writer.  Sometimes you want something so bad it makes your heart actually feel like it is swelling when you think about getting what you want.  I think this way about writing.  The words flow faster than I can type and I can't wait to find out what happens next, I don't plan much in advance, I just let it roll.  I am in heaven.  Then I read it.  Uh oh.  And the re-write begins.  But the second time it is better, and by the fifteenth re-write I feel I can ask someone else to read it.  That is a real issue.  You want the truth, but you want the truth to be something like: "Oh my God!  This is such a great story!  I feel like I am inside the book, and I can't imagine why you haven't written before."  Yeah.  You don't hear that often.  Maybe never.  But in your heart, it's there, just waiting for the right series of letters to come together into the words that will make your writing great.  Currently, I am somewhere around the twenty-fifth re-write and it is getting better.  I am a writer.     Jan Roswold Brown

12:11 pm 9-4-2009

Yesterday I tried to set up a blog page.  I have decided that I am about as technically smart as a frog.  No, he is probably smarter.  I have managed, by accident, to get onto my site twice, to put a picture of me, actually two pics, and write a few words.  That's it.  Argh!  Until I have semi mastered this my blogs will be full of, wait I can't use those words, hmmm.  Let's just say I will be using words like *+!^%#^*+ peachy to describe my mood.  

I continue to work on my novels, that is much more rewarding and the writing goes quickly, the editing, not so much.  But we press on.  Well, it's time for lunch.  Yay!  Banana bread and swiss cheese.  Maybe more coffee.  Life is so tough.  See you later.