Maracas in the sky, I call them. They play their music with the whispering leaves of the trees or, maybe more so, in the still, heavy heat of a breezeless day. Always, there is sun and warmth to accompany their continual concert of hypnotic buzzing and maraca-like harmonics. It is the steady and bewitching song of the cicada that has the power to transport me back to my childhood summers in Michigan.
Their sound alone conjures images of reading Nancy Drew Mysteries, The Chronicles of Narnina, or Island of the Blue Dolphins for the third time as I laze in a hammock beneath a canopy of trees while camping with my grandparents in Michigan's great Up North; or lying in the cool, fragrant grass with two or ten other kids to watch the clouds go by after a lively game of freeze-tag; or walking home in subdued contentment with my best friend from the community pool--our hair dripping down our backs, our wet swimsuits rolled inside of our damp towels, and the audible flip-flopping of our shoes joining the buzzing and shaking of those cicadas.
They are always there in the trees, making themselves heard, but it is in the hushed moments that our minds acknowledge the lulling call of the cicada. Like a sedative, their rhythmic percussions and buzzes commence softly, swiftly growing emphatic and intense with their sure stream of sound, then quieter again, with an abrupt end...only to start their good vibrations afresh minutes later.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
Crazy
It's July; my husband is still in Arizona and we are still here. I remember thinking that he would make it home with his job intact no later than May, but by June for sure; and how hard that would be--to wait until June. And it has been hard. For Grace especially. But here we are, two and a half years of living apart, and we are still living. And I mean living, not just surviving. Our lives go on, everything goes on: the rain falls in buckets here, but in Arizona the fire raged on with no rain to quell those flames, but life went on there, too. And now there will be new growth in those massive areas of devastation, just as all lives cannot stay the same and must go through a death of sorts to make room for change and growth. I know that as truth, I'm sure many people of Arizona know that too, but some moments, some days it's not enough to palliate the pain one feels.
But I'd like to get back to publicly acknowledging the sunny spots.
Back in March, Grace came down with a fever after being exposed to a friend who, we later found out, had strep throat. I watched her for signs of strep, checked her throat with a light, but after three days she continued to deny any pain or discomfort in that area yet the fevers did not let up. Gracie has a long history of unexplained high fevers (105 degrees Fahrenheit regularly) so I quickly learned to deal with them when they came. It seems that whomever she is exposed to, no matter what they are sick with, it will manifest as a high fever in Gracie, with or without the other symptoms of that other person's illness.
On the fourth day, the fever had eased up to a mere one hundred and Grace was more chipper because of it. But when I invited her to sit on my lap so I could read to her, I slowly realized that the girl could not be still. She's a naturally energetic child to begin with, even when sick, but this was different. I asked her what was going on; she said, "I'm just itchy all over, Mama." Her neck and torso were covered in a red, bumpy rash. I called her doctor's office but they couldn't get her in until the next day, so I took the appointment, but got online right away to see if I could figure out what kind of bug was attacking my daughter.
It was scarlet fever. Scarlet fever is caused by the same bacteria that causes strep throat. Most get strep throat when exposed to Group A streptococcus, but for some it manifests differently: scarlet fever. Again, I called the doctor's office to tell them my findings and the fact that she was exposed to strep, but still they could not fit her in and recommended I take her to an urgent care facility. I was actually relieved because I knew of just the one that was less than a mile away and both of my kids had been to before--I had called my insurance company before the first time I took one of them and they had said that it was within the network and it would be treated just like an office visit, but I would pay $30 instead of $25 copay--and that was exactly how it was both times. I was relieved because I was afraid I'd waited too long already--she needed antibiotics--I was worried about her heart, so I felt blessed that it worked out this way because I knew I could just go.
The desk clerks and the medical assistant, Jessica, were so compassionate and understanding at the urgent care center. But the doctor, he said, "I doubt very much that this is scarlet fever; she's not acting sick enough..." I explained how Gracie is different, how she never wants to give in to the sickness, how even when she has a one-oh-three fever someone who didn't know her (and hadn't touched her skin) would not know she was sick. He countered with the fact that her temperature was barely one-hundred right then; I had already told him how high it had been for the last three days, especially at nighttime and that the motrin was probably still holding it down. He just eyed me dubiously and said he'd do the throat swab if that was what I really wanted. (He wanted to let it "resolve itself" because he was sure it was "just a viral infection.") I knew he was thinking I had Munchhausen by Proxy or that I was an anitbiotic seeking mom, but I also knew my daughter, and I was sure she needed those antibiotics. The doctor, gave us one last ominous look before leaving the room to get the supply kit; I prayed that he would send Jessica back in to do the dirty work for him. And then there was Grace. She's a smart, intuitive, highly sensitive kid, the doctor's obvious doubt in my story and his opinion that the throat swab would be an unnecessary trauma to her easily sent her into a panic.
Thank Heaven and Earth, Jessica was the one to return with the swab kit because even to my utter shock, Gracie darted past us and hid under a chair in the corner of the room, tearfully begging us not to make her do the swab. My sophisticated seven year old was suddenly acting like a three year old. It took me hours later to wrap my mind around how she reacted, but my nursing and mothering instincts kicked right in, then and there, and I immediately went to talk her down, coaxing her out from under the chair. But it took more work to get her to keep her mouth open for Jessica--she tried, but she had so much fear about being choked that she would snap it shut at the last second. It didn't even help to let her see me getting my throat swabbed with a q-tip because Grace said it wasn't as big as the swab she would get. It was a smaller tip.
Jessica said she was going to get another medical assistant "with more experience" to help out. While she was out of the room, I talked to Grace again about facing a fear and trusting me to not let anyone hurt her; I promised her that she would not choke and that the swab would not go down her throat. It helped to have the object of her fear removed from the scene for that moment and she realized...she agreed to just let them do it but she said, "Mama? I really like Jessica, can you ask Jessica to do it when she comes back with the other lady?" And that was that. As scared as she was, she made herself remain calm so that Jessica could get in there and swab that streptococcal infested throat. It came back positive and for the first time in her life, Grace was started on oral antibiotics. And Jessica, sweet, compassionate Jessica, came back with a big (quart sized-big) baggie full of granola bars, cheese-n-crackers, licorice, tootsie rolls, suckers...she told Gracie how proud of her she was for the courage it took her to remain calm and keep her mouth open for the swab when she could tell how afraid she was, but that made her all the more brave.
Gracie made a picture and wrote a thank you message to Jessica right when we got home that day; I had planned on dropping it off to her with a bouquet of flowers within the next week when Grace was feeling better. But it didn't quite happen that way.
Six days after that, she was still having fevers, but much lower without the aid of motrin or tylenol; her rash had initially improved after three days but seemed to be at a standstill...the long and short of it is that on that sixth day I realized that Gracie was having an allergic reaction to the penicillin. This time I called her doctor expecting that he would start her on a different one. It was supposed to be a ten day course and she really only completed five full days; the fevers were still there, too, but he said no, just stop the course and start her on children's Benadryl. He said it was probably just the allergic reaction causing the fevers and rash now and that the scarlet fever was likely resolved. It was my turn to be dubious but I hoped he was right--ten days of fevers was enough for anyone, even Grace who was used to it.
As the day wore on, the hives and itchiness grew worse as did her temperature again. That afternoon after I'd asked her yet again how she was, how her throat was as she appeared to be turning into the Stay-Puff-Marshmallow-Man with red spots, and had a 102 fever, she smiled and replied, "I'm fine," in her own brand of insouciance that only Gracie can pull off while in that state.
By midnight I knew I would not sleep. Her face had become more swollen, she was restless with the high fever and though she continued to deny any trouble breathing or swallowing...what if she stopped breathing in her sleep? I watched her until five am until finally, I asked my dad and grandma (our guardian angels) to watch over her while I caught a few Zs with my hand on her chest and my face right next to hers. We woke at six-thirty; she was smiling and excited: "Mama! Look, the hives are gone!"
Oh, if you could've seen her. I struggled to compose my expression so she wouldn't become afraid. Her hives appeared to be gone to her because her entire body down to her finger tips and toes were one big, red, swollen mess. And her face--she looked like a person with botched collagen injections in her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, all over her face--she didn't look at all like my beautiful seven year old daughter; except in the light that still shined through her eyes. I mean, she was smiling, but it looked so tight and forced...so strange.
At the doctor's office, I asked about another throat swab to check for the infection since her fevers remained so high at night, but he said he was sure it was just the allergic reaction. She was started on oral steroids and a stronger, adult antihistamine. That was a Thursday, day eleven, he wanted to see her again on Monday. Good, because I still had my doubts about whether or not the scarlet fever was resolved.
I told him at that appointment, that she had had these fevers for fifteen days straight, and though there was an obvious improvement in the swelling and hives, it appeared that she was getting a new finer rash on her back that looked like the scarlet fever rash again. No, he said, it's still the allergic reaction.
On Wednesday, I was back at their office basically insisting on another throat swab. I had told him on Monday how important it was for her to be completely better by Friday, March 25th because she would be leaving on a plane at 7am by herself to see her dad who is still in Arizona, and now I was reiterating that point, along with the fact that I wouldn't ask if I didn't believe that that was what was causing her fevers. He tried to argue against it but I wouldn't back down this time, he said it would have to be a three day culture because the instant one would come back positive no matter what because she had it so recently. Fine. As a nurse I knew that the culture could show growth of the strep by Friday if it was virulent enough. I was sure it would.
When Friday came and went with no call back from her doctor, I was distressed to say the least. Her fevers had not let up and the rash was no better. She was a sick and sad girl. To her (and to me, who are we kidding) it seemed like forever with no hope of getting better before going to see her dad. She was sleeping eleven and twelve hours a day and not at all her upbeat self when she was awake. It had to be the scarlet fever keeping her down. The rash was there, the fevers, this could not be the penicillin still making her sick.
All weekend it was the same.
On Monday, before nine am, I got the call from her doctor. He said he had tried to call on Friday because as he said, "She must have a stubborn strain of strep because it was growing like crazy by Friday. But, he said he had an out-of-order phone number and didn't know how to reach me. He "kept hoping all day" that I would call him.
I was quietly angry. First: I had filled out all of the paperwork for the updated phone number during the visit almost two weeks earlier. And second: why didn't he keep trying then; why was he able to get a hold of me before his office even opened on Monday? Because all he had to do was ask the office clerk then too, as he said that was how he finally figured it out--that the paperwork I had filled out never got put into the computer. And third: he, along with that other doctor at the urgent care had been sufficiently condescending enough toward me to make me feel like I was just a crazy, MbP mom who couldn't even wait the required three days for the culture results. (But they're not open on Saturdays so I had to wait until Monday.) (Also, I knew I wasn't crazy and that I did not have MbP, but to convince these doctors of that...I felt like I was going a little coo-coo!) Not that I don't take responsibility for my own decision not to call when I so desperately wanted to, but that really was the reason I didn't. It sounds crazy to me as I type this that I didn't just call on Friday, but it's just another case for me and for others who need to trust our instincts no matter what the people of supposed authority say. I made myself not call.
She was started on the five day azithromycin that day, and by the next day I saw improvement in all symptoms. I also received an "Explanation of Benefits" from the insurance company for Gracie's visit to the urgent care; they weren't paying. Just when you think things will ease up...
I called. A nice man named William heard my story and agreed that I had no reason to doubt that it shoud've been covered as it was in the past, but that this particular doctor was not in network and that is why the insurance won't pay. He gave me the address to mail a letter of appeal. I wrote and mailed it along with a copy of the "Explanation of Benefits" which I had to take to the library to do. Then I waited.
A few weeks later I received a bill from the urgent care. I called to let them know the deal. They put my account on hold for thirty days while I called the insurance company back. They said that the letter was likely still being reviewed, that it was too soon to expect an answer yet. Fine. I waited some more. And forgot about it until...
Two weeks ago I received another bill from the urgent care. I set it down to do later. I really didn't want to, but finally, last week I called the insurance company again to inquire about the letter, explaining the story as to why the letter was sent in the first place. No record of any letter on file, she said. Oy Vey. She asked if I had a fax machine. No, hence the mailing of the first letter, but I simply said that yes, I could go to the library. So I reprinted the letter, wrote my note about sending it in March the first time...I mean really, how often does mail get lost? Hardly ever. But now suddenly, my appeal letter is just lost? Not by the U.S. Postal Service, I knew that much.
Before heading to the library, I called the billing department for the urgent care back to update them again. Lo and behold a woman named Pam answered this time. She said the story sounded fishy on the insurance company's part because she said that they have a "facility contract" with that company so it should've been covered no matter what. Then she looked up the particular doctor and said he also has a contract with that insurance company. She said that the fact that it was federal employee coverage shouldn't make a difference but that she needed a day to look deeper into it. She told me to hold off on sending the fax since it would cost me unnecessary time and money because she was almost sure that the insurance company was responsible for this bill.
Two days later she told me that it was their responsibility from the start and that this particular company is known to try to not pay--so she said she just "wrote off" our bill. You don't owe anything anymore, she said, and you don't have to worry about resending that letter to them and then waiting for an answer again. I was stunned and so grateful. Thank you Pam.
Oh, and thank you again to Jessica. (Grace and I did bring her the flowers and picture/note on March 31st when she was finally 100% better!)
Sometimes a littel bit of crazy makes us appreciate the little (and BIG) gestures of kindness and compassion all the more from those who let you know that they see you and know that you are not crazy, even if you once hid under a chair or called your child's doctor no less than five times in two weeks.
But I'd like to get back to publicly acknowledging the sunny spots.
Back in March, Grace came down with a fever after being exposed to a friend who, we later found out, had strep throat. I watched her for signs of strep, checked her throat with a light, but after three days she continued to deny any pain or discomfort in that area yet the fevers did not let up. Gracie has a long history of unexplained high fevers (105 degrees Fahrenheit regularly) so I quickly learned to deal with them when they came. It seems that whomever she is exposed to, no matter what they are sick with, it will manifest as a high fever in Gracie, with or without the other symptoms of that other person's illness.
On the fourth day, the fever had eased up to a mere one hundred and Grace was more chipper because of it. But when I invited her to sit on my lap so I could read to her, I slowly realized that the girl could not be still. She's a naturally energetic child to begin with, even when sick, but this was different. I asked her what was going on; she said, "I'm just itchy all over, Mama." Her neck and torso were covered in a red, bumpy rash. I called her doctor's office but they couldn't get her in until the next day, so I took the appointment, but got online right away to see if I could figure out what kind of bug was attacking my daughter.
It was scarlet fever. Scarlet fever is caused by the same bacteria that causes strep throat. Most get strep throat when exposed to Group A streptococcus, but for some it manifests differently: scarlet fever. Again, I called the doctor's office to tell them my findings and the fact that she was exposed to strep, but still they could not fit her in and recommended I take her to an urgent care facility. I was actually relieved because I knew of just the one that was less than a mile away and both of my kids had been to before--I had called my insurance company before the first time I took one of them and they had said that it was within the network and it would be treated just like an office visit, but I would pay $30 instead of $25 copay--and that was exactly how it was both times. I was relieved because I was afraid I'd waited too long already--she needed antibiotics--I was worried about her heart, so I felt blessed that it worked out this way because I knew I could just go.
The desk clerks and the medical assistant, Jessica, were so compassionate and understanding at the urgent care center. But the doctor, he said, "I doubt very much that this is scarlet fever; she's not acting sick enough..." I explained how Gracie is different, how she never wants to give in to the sickness, how even when she has a one-oh-three fever someone who didn't know her (and hadn't touched her skin) would not know she was sick. He countered with the fact that her temperature was barely one-hundred right then; I had already told him how high it had been for the last three days, especially at nighttime and that the motrin was probably still holding it down. He just eyed me dubiously and said he'd do the throat swab if that was what I really wanted. (He wanted to let it "resolve itself" because he was sure it was "just a viral infection.") I knew he was thinking I had Munchhausen by Proxy or that I was an anitbiotic seeking mom, but I also knew my daughter, and I was sure she needed those antibiotics. The doctor, gave us one last ominous look before leaving the room to get the supply kit; I prayed that he would send Jessica back in to do the dirty work for him. And then there was Grace. She's a smart, intuitive, highly sensitive kid, the doctor's obvious doubt in my story and his opinion that the throat swab would be an unnecessary trauma to her easily sent her into a panic.
Thank Heaven and Earth, Jessica was the one to return with the swab kit because even to my utter shock, Gracie darted past us and hid under a chair in the corner of the room, tearfully begging us not to make her do the swab. My sophisticated seven year old was suddenly acting like a three year old. It took me hours later to wrap my mind around how she reacted, but my nursing and mothering instincts kicked right in, then and there, and I immediately went to talk her down, coaxing her out from under the chair. But it took more work to get her to keep her mouth open for Jessica--she tried, but she had so much fear about being choked that she would snap it shut at the last second. It didn't even help to let her see me getting my throat swabbed with a q-tip because Grace said it wasn't as big as the swab she would get. It was a smaller tip.
Jessica said she was going to get another medical assistant "with more experience" to help out. While she was out of the room, I talked to Grace again about facing a fear and trusting me to not let anyone hurt her; I promised her that she would not choke and that the swab would not go down her throat. It helped to have the object of her fear removed from the scene for that moment and she realized...she agreed to just let them do it but she said, "Mama? I really like Jessica, can you ask Jessica to do it when she comes back with the other lady?" And that was that. As scared as she was, she made herself remain calm so that Jessica could get in there and swab that streptococcal infested throat. It came back positive and for the first time in her life, Grace was started on oral antibiotics. And Jessica, sweet, compassionate Jessica, came back with a big (quart sized-big) baggie full of granola bars, cheese-n-crackers, licorice, tootsie rolls, suckers...she told Gracie how proud of her she was for the courage it took her to remain calm and keep her mouth open for the swab when she could tell how afraid she was, but that made her all the more brave.
Gracie made a picture and wrote a thank you message to Jessica right when we got home that day; I had planned on dropping it off to her with a bouquet of flowers within the next week when Grace was feeling better. But it didn't quite happen that way.
Six days after that, she was still having fevers, but much lower without the aid of motrin or tylenol; her rash had initially improved after three days but seemed to be at a standstill...the long and short of it is that on that sixth day I realized that Gracie was having an allergic reaction to the penicillin. This time I called her doctor expecting that he would start her on a different one. It was supposed to be a ten day course and she really only completed five full days; the fevers were still there, too, but he said no, just stop the course and start her on children's Benadryl. He said it was probably just the allergic reaction causing the fevers and rash now and that the scarlet fever was likely resolved. It was my turn to be dubious but I hoped he was right--ten days of fevers was enough for anyone, even Grace who was used to it.
As the day wore on, the hives and itchiness grew worse as did her temperature again. That afternoon after I'd asked her yet again how she was, how her throat was as she appeared to be turning into the Stay-Puff-Marshmallow-Man with red spots, and had a 102 fever, she smiled and replied, "I'm fine," in her own brand of insouciance that only Gracie can pull off while in that state.
By midnight I knew I would not sleep. Her face had become more swollen, she was restless with the high fever and though she continued to deny any trouble breathing or swallowing...what if she stopped breathing in her sleep? I watched her until five am until finally, I asked my dad and grandma (our guardian angels) to watch over her while I caught a few Zs with my hand on her chest and my face right next to hers. We woke at six-thirty; she was smiling and excited: "Mama! Look, the hives are gone!"
Oh, if you could've seen her. I struggled to compose my expression so she wouldn't become afraid. Her hives appeared to be gone to her because her entire body down to her finger tips and toes were one big, red, swollen mess. And her face--she looked like a person with botched collagen injections in her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, all over her face--she didn't look at all like my beautiful seven year old daughter; except in the light that still shined through her eyes. I mean, she was smiling, but it looked so tight and forced...so strange.
At the doctor's office, I asked about another throat swab to check for the infection since her fevers remained so high at night, but he said he was sure it was just the allergic reaction. She was started on oral steroids and a stronger, adult antihistamine. That was a Thursday, day eleven, he wanted to see her again on Monday. Good, because I still had my doubts about whether or not the scarlet fever was resolved.
I told him at that appointment, that she had had these fevers for fifteen days straight, and though there was an obvious improvement in the swelling and hives, it appeared that she was getting a new finer rash on her back that looked like the scarlet fever rash again. No, he said, it's still the allergic reaction.
On Wednesday, I was back at their office basically insisting on another throat swab. I had told him on Monday how important it was for her to be completely better by Friday, March 25th because she would be leaving on a plane at 7am by herself to see her dad who is still in Arizona, and now I was reiterating that point, along with the fact that I wouldn't ask if I didn't believe that that was what was causing her fevers. He tried to argue against it but I wouldn't back down this time, he said it would have to be a three day culture because the instant one would come back positive no matter what because she had it so recently. Fine. As a nurse I knew that the culture could show growth of the strep by Friday if it was virulent enough. I was sure it would.
When Friday came and went with no call back from her doctor, I was distressed to say the least. Her fevers had not let up and the rash was no better. She was a sick and sad girl. To her (and to me, who are we kidding) it seemed like forever with no hope of getting better before going to see her dad. She was sleeping eleven and twelve hours a day and not at all her upbeat self when she was awake. It had to be the scarlet fever keeping her down. The rash was there, the fevers, this could not be the penicillin still making her sick.
All weekend it was the same.
On Monday, before nine am, I got the call from her doctor. He said he had tried to call on Friday because as he said, "She must have a stubborn strain of strep because it was growing like crazy by Friday. But, he said he had an out-of-order phone number and didn't know how to reach me. He "kept hoping all day" that I would call him.
I was quietly angry. First: I had filled out all of the paperwork for the updated phone number during the visit almost two weeks earlier. And second: why didn't he keep trying then; why was he able to get a hold of me before his office even opened on Monday? Because all he had to do was ask the office clerk then too, as he said that was how he finally figured it out--that the paperwork I had filled out never got put into the computer. And third: he, along with that other doctor at the urgent care had been sufficiently condescending enough toward me to make me feel like I was just a crazy, MbP mom who couldn't even wait the required three days for the culture results. (But they're not open on Saturdays so I had to wait until Monday.) (Also, I knew I wasn't crazy and that I did not have MbP, but to convince these doctors of that...I felt like I was going a little coo-coo!) Not that I don't take responsibility for my own decision not to call when I so desperately wanted to, but that really was the reason I didn't. It sounds crazy to me as I type this that I didn't just call on Friday, but it's just another case for me and for others who need to trust our instincts no matter what the people of supposed authority say. I made myself not call.
She was started on the five day azithromycin that day, and by the next day I saw improvement in all symptoms. I also received an "Explanation of Benefits" from the insurance company for Gracie's visit to the urgent care; they weren't paying. Just when you think things will ease up...
I called. A nice man named William heard my story and agreed that I had no reason to doubt that it shoud've been covered as it was in the past, but that this particular doctor was not in network and that is why the insurance won't pay. He gave me the address to mail a letter of appeal. I wrote and mailed it along with a copy of the "Explanation of Benefits" which I had to take to the library to do. Then I waited.
A few weeks later I received a bill from the urgent care. I called to let them know the deal. They put my account on hold for thirty days while I called the insurance company back. They said that the letter was likely still being reviewed, that it was too soon to expect an answer yet. Fine. I waited some more. And forgot about it until...
Two weeks ago I received another bill from the urgent care. I set it down to do later. I really didn't want to, but finally, last week I called the insurance company again to inquire about the letter, explaining the story as to why the letter was sent in the first place. No record of any letter on file, she said. Oy Vey. She asked if I had a fax machine. No, hence the mailing of the first letter, but I simply said that yes, I could go to the library. So I reprinted the letter, wrote my note about sending it in March the first time...I mean really, how often does mail get lost? Hardly ever. But now suddenly, my appeal letter is just lost? Not by the U.S. Postal Service, I knew that much.
Before heading to the library, I called the billing department for the urgent care back to update them again. Lo and behold a woman named Pam answered this time. She said the story sounded fishy on the insurance company's part because she said that they have a "facility contract" with that company so it should've been covered no matter what. Then she looked up the particular doctor and said he also has a contract with that insurance company. She said that the fact that it was federal employee coverage shouldn't make a difference but that she needed a day to look deeper into it. She told me to hold off on sending the fax since it would cost me unnecessary time and money because she was almost sure that the insurance company was responsible for this bill.
Two days later she told me that it was their responsibility from the start and that this particular company is known to try to not pay--so she said she just "wrote off" our bill. You don't owe anything anymore, she said, and you don't have to worry about resending that letter to them and then waiting for an answer again. I was stunned and so grateful. Thank you Pam.
Oh, and thank you again to Jessica. (Grace and I did bring her the flowers and picture/note on March 31st when she was finally 100% better!)
Sometimes a littel bit of crazy makes us appreciate the little (and BIG) gestures of kindness and compassion all the more from those who let you know that they see you and know that you are not crazy, even if you once hid under a chair or called your child's doctor no less than five times in two weeks.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Searching for the Sun
A sunspot searcher would say that not knowing when their loved one was coming home could be a reason to be hopeful and eager everyday. They would say it's like knowing you'll win the lottery but you just don't know exactly when that day will be. It could be tomorrow.
Tomorrow could be a day of news you've been hoping to hear.
Or the next day.
Or the next. You try. Grace tries.
But the air feels so heavy. It suffocates you. It weighs you down. You can barely lift your head to seek out that sunshine that you know is there. It's there. You know it is...
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Arizona Beauties (Part 2)
How about some nice slices of sunshine from this populous apartment pie here in Arizona?
I'll start with two special people I dubbed the "Resident DJs" in my own head within our first days here because one or the other of them can be counted on to share their voluminous music with our neighborhood at least once a week. Also, they were two who introduced themselves and welcomed us (on separate occasions) during our first week here. They are Ron and Andy.
Beginning with Ron, because in all honesty, he (and Miss Claire, but I'll get to her later...) was the first person I took note of because of his pleasant, carrying voice, so easily heard from atop our balcony or indoors. I can see him now, with his hands on his hips, in mock indignance, "Are you saying I have a big mouth, Gina?" No, Ron, I'm only saying that your merry and audible voice was a sign of your encompassing friendly heart before I even knew you!
Ron, with his boom box, playing dance party and pop-rock music like Crazytown, Black Eyed Peas, Lady Antebellum--for the neighborhood to enjoy from his front patio or at the pool. Ron who is so good with all kids of any age; out of the blue bearing gifts of popscicles or bitty tubes of bubbles so attractively nestled in tiny gift bags that my daughter, for one, loved as much as the bubbles themselves. The necklace, she loved it, Ron. Thank you. Ron who can be counted on to play catch or tag at the pool; who has no problem telling it like it is; and who I would've loved to have as my math teacher in high school. I think your students are lucky to have you, Ron.
Andy: our other Resident DJ, who plays heavy metal, alternative, and classic rock, like the Scorpions, Nirvana, and Frampton for our patch of neighborhood.
Hey, Andy, did you ever think that some other person in your life would write publicly about you again? Of course, this isn't Readers' Digest. You introduced yourself and welcomed us, and then you asked if your music was too loud (and you asked again on another day, "Are you sure it's not too loud?") and I told you that your music was fine and that I liked your music. But maybe you thought I was just being nice. I wasn't. My first concert was Dio with Metallica opening, back in 1985; I was fourteen. Then Ozzy the next year. Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd were my favorite bands in high school. I've expanded my repertoire since then; I like all music (except maybe the mega-mega-headbanging music of today--a sign of my age?).
Andy, who lives kitty-corner from our apartment on the ground level, who I often noticed sitting quietly observant on his patio just like me up on my stoop. (I only guessed the observant part, but found out later I was right when he'd told me that he'd thought we were smuggling family members into our 600 sq. ft. apartment to secretly live, after a misunderstanding when he'd spoken to Joel our first day here, and later seeing my family come to visit for a week...)
Andy who mostly keeps to himself except when he has invited the neighborhood to partake of his grand and glorious grilled feasts. Andy who when we first became friends only a month ago, was dismayed when I revealed to him that I was a vegetarian and could not eat the delectable smoked chicken he was offering to my family and me for dinner that night. Andy, who then prepared a platter half filled with various grilled meats and half with chopped cabbage, cukes, carrots, celery, tomatoes...along with sticky rice, grilled corn on the cobb, homemade salsa, real Hawaiian soy sauce and corn chips to boot! Andy who has fed my family dinner on numerous occasions since that first plentiful platter; who opened his home to all on Labor Day for intermingling and feasting and fun among his family and friends. His mom, Rita a mini ball of energy, who is so warm and gracious and friendly and whom I loved talking to that day. Thanks for inviting us, Andy. And I'm so happy for you to have your boys back.
--How about Andy's Convivial Concoctions for your Food Network TV show name? Or just The Desert Chef like Joel suggested? Andy the Taciturn Grill Master?
Trish and Brett, parents of the loveable toddling Tucker, who just moved into the place diagonally below us a month ago from their old apartment across the street. The new location is so much better for Tucker who gets to play with all the other kids on our patch of grass out front. Gracie loves having Tucker so near and she loves the lemonade slushies and popscicles that Trish so generously hands out to the neighborhood kids; so refreshing on these hot Arizona days. And Brett, I've appreciated our talks about meteorites and life, and the way you swooped right in with your first aid kit (and band-aid) when Gracie hurt her knee that one "block-party" night. She told me before bed, "That was so nice of Brett to help me fix my knee tonight, wasn't it, Mom?" Yes, it was, Grace. Thanks, Brett.
And how about the boisterously spirited Miss Claire from Jamaica who lives on the flourishing second storey across the street? Our whole family noticed, on our first day here, not only the lush plant life up there, but also the luscious livelihood of Miss Claire, who like Ron, has a knack for being heard by many when she speaks. (She's probably more gifted than Ron, I must say.) Miss Claire who enjoys our barking Beagle, Daisy, and whom I've spoken to from ground level while walking Daisy as she calls down to us from her perch, sometimes while we are still across the street on our side. Miss Claire whom I finally had the privilege of shaking hands with and learning her name only last weekend. It's been an honor, Miss Claire.
Dan and Patricia, parents to Dom and Kaydence; our downstairs friends. They know when Grace gets too ranbunctious at night when she plays with our cat, Tonky (sorry); they know when we are walking to the kitchen for a snack; and they know when we are up in the night using the shower or toilet. Somehow hearing their movements (we only know when they're in the bathroom or going outside) and knowing that they hear ours has made me feel completely safe despite the scary stories of this area, when it's just Gracie and me at night (with only our big, bad cat and dog to protect us).
Dan and Trish who welcome Gracie into their home daily and take her frisbee-golfing weekly. Dan and Trish who so generously offered their time and energy to watch Grace and Daisy so Joel and I could have an overnight date, which we never took them up on, time went by too quickly, but we are so touched and grateful to have had the option where before we had none. And of course, they did take care of Tonky while we went to the Grand Canyon for a few days, thanks again, guys.
Trish, with her salty sass and tough-girl 'tude who really does have a big heart and a soft spot for strays...not just the four legged kind. Trish with her frisbee-golfing get-up of shorty-shorts, bikini top, bandanna head gear, and hot pink tube socks to balance it all out--it's all perfectly Patricia.
And Dan, mellow and warmhearted who also once "rescued" Gracie when she wiped out on a scooter one day (he also got her down from a tree when she was afraid and stuck, just like a kitten). The Hello Kitty ice-pack that he procured had the power to put a smile on her crying face. Dan who talks doggie-talk to our Daisy; they share a reciprocal love. (I think Dom shares that same love.) Dan, who can be counted on for long and easy genial conversations about nothing and everything. I will miss our evening talks outside while watching our kids play.
I will miss having Dom and Kaydence up to our apartment to help Grace and Daisy wreak havoc and have a blast while doing it. I will miss listening to the hilarities that spill from Dom and Kaydence's mouths. I will miss those rare glimpses of that same saltiness in Kaydence that I see in Trish; she's tenaciously adorable. I miss already that we didn't get to do more together with the kids; I loved watching Dom and Grace dazzle the ladies at the Desert Museum with their vast knowledge of rocks and fossils and carnivores and herbivores and omnivores. Maybe they would've been offered Saturday jobs at the planetarium, too.
I will miss our impromtu weekend evening "block parties" with 10 adults chillin' out and 15 kiddies running around our grassy area for hours, stopping only to gaze up at the stars and moon and Saturn for a two minute break before they're off and running again. I will miss little Tucker's one-armed furious flapping as he races back and forth across the lawn. I will miss Andy's excellent salads and beans and rice with homemade salsa and grilled corn. I will miss each and every one of your benevolent faces. Ron, Andy, Miss Claire, Trish, Brett, Tucker, Patricia, Dan, Dom, and Kaydence. And there are more that I've not mentioned who were nothing but nice during our stay here...Jeff and his wife, who also welcomed us our first day, but who live a bit further down so we didn't get to know each other as well, but we always share a friendly greeting when we do see each other. And there are some of whom I don't even know their names but I know their smiles well as they pass by our apartment.
Thank you all for showing us kindness and love while we were your neighbors here in Arizona.
I'll start with two special people I dubbed the "Resident DJs" in my own head within our first days here because one or the other of them can be counted on to share their voluminous music with our neighborhood at least once a week. Also, they were two who introduced themselves and welcomed us (on separate occasions) during our first week here. They are Ron and Andy.
Beginning with Ron, because in all honesty, he (and Miss Claire, but I'll get to her later...) was the first person I took note of because of his pleasant, carrying voice, so easily heard from atop our balcony or indoors. I can see him now, with his hands on his hips, in mock indignance, "Are you saying I have a big mouth, Gina?" No, Ron, I'm only saying that your merry and audible voice was a sign of your encompassing friendly heart before I even knew you!
Ron, with his boom box, playing dance party and pop-rock music like Crazytown, Black Eyed Peas, Lady Antebellum--for the neighborhood to enjoy from his front patio or at the pool. Ron who is so good with all kids of any age; out of the blue bearing gifts of popscicles or bitty tubes of bubbles so attractively nestled in tiny gift bags that my daughter, for one, loved as much as the bubbles themselves. The necklace, she loved it, Ron. Thank you. Ron who can be counted on to play catch or tag at the pool; who has no problem telling it like it is; and who I would've loved to have as my math teacher in high school. I think your students are lucky to have you, Ron.
Andy: our other Resident DJ, who plays heavy metal, alternative, and classic rock, like the Scorpions, Nirvana, and Frampton for our patch of neighborhood.
Hey, Andy, did you ever think that some other person in your life would write publicly about you again? Of course, this isn't Readers' Digest. You introduced yourself and welcomed us, and then you asked if your music was too loud (and you asked again on another day, "Are you sure it's not too loud?") and I told you that your music was fine and that I liked your music. But maybe you thought I was just being nice. I wasn't. My first concert was Dio with Metallica opening, back in 1985; I was fourteen. Then Ozzy the next year. Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd were my favorite bands in high school. I've expanded my repertoire since then; I like all music (except maybe the mega-mega-headbanging music of today--a sign of my age?).
Andy, who lives kitty-corner from our apartment on the ground level, who I often noticed sitting quietly observant on his patio just like me up on my stoop. (I only guessed the observant part, but found out later I was right when he'd told me that he'd thought we were smuggling family members into our 600 sq. ft. apartment to secretly live, after a misunderstanding when he'd spoken to Joel our first day here, and later seeing my family come to visit for a week...)
Andy who mostly keeps to himself except when he has invited the neighborhood to partake of his grand and glorious grilled feasts. Andy who when we first became friends only a month ago, was dismayed when I revealed to him that I was a vegetarian and could not eat the delectable smoked chicken he was offering to my family and me for dinner that night. Andy, who then prepared a platter half filled with various grilled meats and half with chopped cabbage, cukes, carrots, celery, tomatoes...along with sticky rice, grilled corn on the cobb, homemade salsa, real Hawaiian soy sauce and corn chips to boot! Andy who has fed my family dinner on numerous occasions since that first plentiful platter; who opened his home to all on Labor Day for intermingling and feasting and fun among his family and friends. His mom, Rita a mini ball of energy, who is so warm and gracious and friendly and whom I loved talking to that day. Thanks for inviting us, Andy. And I'm so happy for you to have your boys back.
--How about Andy's Convivial Concoctions for your Food Network TV show name? Or just The Desert Chef like Joel suggested? Andy the Taciturn Grill Master?
Trish and Brett, parents of the loveable toddling Tucker, who just moved into the place diagonally below us a month ago from their old apartment across the street. The new location is so much better for Tucker who gets to play with all the other kids on our patch of grass out front. Gracie loves having Tucker so near and she loves the lemonade slushies and popscicles that Trish so generously hands out to the neighborhood kids; so refreshing on these hot Arizona days. And Brett, I've appreciated our talks about meteorites and life, and the way you swooped right in with your first aid kit (and band-aid) when Gracie hurt her knee that one "block-party" night. She told me before bed, "That was so nice of Brett to help me fix my knee tonight, wasn't it, Mom?" Yes, it was, Grace. Thanks, Brett.
And how about the boisterously spirited Miss Claire from Jamaica who lives on the flourishing second storey across the street? Our whole family noticed, on our first day here, not only the lush plant life up there, but also the luscious livelihood of Miss Claire, who like Ron, has a knack for being heard by many when she speaks. (She's probably more gifted than Ron, I must say.) Miss Claire who enjoys our barking Beagle, Daisy, and whom I've spoken to from ground level while walking Daisy as she calls down to us from her perch, sometimes while we are still across the street on our side. Miss Claire whom I finally had the privilege of shaking hands with and learning her name only last weekend. It's been an honor, Miss Claire.
Dan and Patricia, parents to Dom and Kaydence; our downstairs friends. They know when Grace gets too ranbunctious at night when she plays with our cat, Tonky (sorry); they know when we are walking to the kitchen for a snack; and they know when we are up in the night using the shower or toilet. Somehow hearing their movements (we only know when they're in the bathroom or going outside) and knowing that they hear ours has made me feel completely safe despite the scary stories of this area, when it's just Gracie and me at night (with only our big, bad cat and dog to protect us).
Dan and Trish who welcome Gracie into their home daily and take her frisbee-golfing weekly. Dan and Trish who so generously offered their time and energy to watch Grace and Daisy so Joel and I could have an overnight date, which we never took them up on, time went by too quickly, but we are so touched and grateful to have had the option where before we had none. And of course, they did take care of Tonky while we went to the Grand Canyon for a few days, thanks again, guys.
Trish, with her salty sass and tough-girl 'tude who really does have a big heart and a soft spot for strays...not just the four legged kind. Trish with her frisbee-golfing get-up of shorty-shorts, bikini top, bandanna head gear, and hot pink tube socks to balance it all out--it's all perfectly Patricia.
And Dan, mellow and warmhearted who also once "rescued" Gracie when she wiped out on a scooter one day (he also got her down from a tree when she was afraid and stuck, just like a kitten). The Hello Kitty ice-pack that he procured had the power to put a smile on her crying face. Dan who talks doggie-talk to our Daisy; they share a reciprocal love. (I think Dom shares that same love.) Dan, who can be counted on for long and easy genial conversations about nothing and everything. I will miss our evening talks outside while watching our kids play.
I will miss having Dom and Kaydence up to our apartment to help Grace and Daisy wreak havoc and have a blast while doing it. I will miss listening to the hilarities that spill from Dom and Kaydence's mouths. I will miss those rare glimpses of that same saltiness in Kaydence that I see in Trish; she's tenaciously adorable. I miss already that we didn't get to do more together with the kids; I loved watching Dom and Grace dazzle the ladies at the Desert Museum with their vast knowledge of rocks and fossils and carnivores and herbivores and omnivores. Maybe they would've been offered Saturday jobs at the planetarium, too.
I will miss our impromtu weekend evening "block parties" with 10 adults chillin' out and 15 kiddies running around our grassy area for hours, stopping only to gaze up at the stars and moon and Saturn for a two minute break before they're off and running again. I will miss little Tucker's one-armed furious flapping as he races back and forth across the lawn. I will miss Andy's excellent salads and beans and rice with homemade salsa and grilled corn. I will miss each and every one of your benevolent faces. Ron, Andy, Miss Claire, Trish, Brett, Tucker, Patricia, Dan, Dom, and Kaydence. And there are more that I've not mentioned who were nothing but nice during our stay here...Jeff and his wife, who also welcomed us our first day, but who live a bit further down so we didn't get to know each other as well, but we always share a friendly greeting when we do see each other. And there are some of whom I don't even know their names but I know their smiles well as they pass by our apartment.
Thank you all for showing us kindness and love while we were your neighbors here in Arizona.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Arizona Beauties (Part One)
The massive moon and the clarity of the stars. Some cities/towns here even encourage their residents to keep the curtains or blinds closed at night, to maintain the purity of the night skies for the astonomers who come from all over the world to view our universe from this auspicious area of our country.
Adorning the road sides, the store and library fronts, and the parking lots, are dollops of lavender forget-me-not bushes. There are bushes (?) of bright orange flowers that spill into a brilliant red at their centers, I still haven't figured out their names, possibly the Arizona Poppy? But when my mom visited she fell in love with them...it's hard not to, they really are everywhere--a favorite of Grace's and mine, too. And there are green trees. All green: the trunk, the branches, and the leaves, that seem to have come straight out of a monochromatic or a French Impressionist painting because of their uniquely singular color and their numerous teeny-tiny leaves that appear curiously fuzzy and blurry when viewed from afar; they are the state trees of Arizona: Palo Verde. And what about those Saguaros? The famous cacti with the arms number in the millions here in the Sonoran Desert of Arizona and Mexico. But on a worldly scale, they are actually rare. And besides Arizona, California is the only other state where Saguaros grow (and they only have about a hundred; they're smaller and skinnier). That's right, there are millions here and in Mexico, but there are zero in other states in the surrounding area like Texas, Nevada, and New Mexico!
It's the average rain fall of eight inches per year that allows them to flourish here compared to other deserts around the world that are too dry. Cacti do need some water and Saguaros need more than most because of their size. I could go on and on about the interesting facts I've learned about how the Saguaro thrives here and the details of their life-cylce, but I only have 30 minutes on this computer. (But feel free to ask questions in the comments section if you have any; I'd love to share. I see I have five followers now, thanks Kristen!)
I think most people that are not from this area (and maybe some that are) associate all of the southwestern part of our country with the immediately recognizable silhouette of that sentient Saguaro standing tall, as guardian of its surrounding land. And here, in Arizona, that is exactly what they are: sentinels on the hills and mountains of this beautiful Sonoran Desert land. On the way up to the Grand Canyon a few weeks ago, Grace and I relished in ogling at the prominent personalities of this state. We saw a "Grandpa" with his 10-12 large arms (it takes at least 50 years before they grow their first arm), a "ballerina" with two of her arms raised over her "head", a "mama" bending down slightly with arms curled in toward two smaller Saguaros, and literally thousands more.
The Saguaros, like the Palo Verde and the orange-red flowers and the forget-me-nots are all over town, too. We see them during our daily drives. But to see a "forest" of them, and there are many forests of Saguros surrounding this city once you get away from all the buildings and surface roads, just helps to remind me of how awesomely different Arizona is, for the Saguaros alone, compared to any other US state. And I'm happy to have had the chance to live here, if only for three months of my nearly 40 year life.
Adorning the road sides, the store and library fronts, and the parking lots, are dollops of lavender forget-me-not bushes. There are bushes (?) of bright orange flowers that spill into a brilliant red at their centers, I still haven't figured out their names, possibly the Arizona Poppy? But when my mom visited she fell in love with them...it's hard not to, they really are everywhere--a favorite of Grace's and mine, too. And there are green trees. All green: the trunk, the branches, and the leaves, that seem to have come straight out of a monochromatic or a French Impressionist painting because of their uniquely singular color and their numerous teeny-tiny leaves that appear curiously fuzzy and blurry when viewed from afar; they are the state trees of Arizona: Palo Verde. And what about those Saguaros? The famous cacti with the arms number in the millions here in the Sonoran Desert of Arizona and Mexico. But on a worldly scale, they are actually rare. And besides Arizona, California is the only other state where Saguaros grow (and they only have about a hundred; they're smaller and skinnier). That's right, there are millions here and in Mexico, but there are zero in other states in the surrounding area like Texas, Nevada, and New Mexico!
It's the average rain fall of eight inches per year that allows them to flourish here compared to other deserts around the world that are too dry. Cacti do need some water and Saguaros need more than most because of their size. I could go on and on about the interesting facts I've learned about how the Saguaro thrives here and the details of their life-cylce, but I only have 30 minutes on this computer. (But feel free to ask questions in the comments section if you have any; I'd love to share. I see I have five followers now, thanks Kristen!)
I think most people that are not from this area (and maybe some that are) associate all of the southwestern part of our country with the immediately recognizable silhouette of that sentient Saguaro standing tall, as guardian of its surrounding land. And here, in Arizona, that is exactly what they are: sentinels on the hills and mountains of this beautiful Sonoran Desert land. On the way up to the Grand Canyon a few weeks ago, Grace and I relished in ogling at the prominent personalities of this state. We saw a "Grandpa" with his 10-12 large arms (it takes at least 50 years before they grow their first arm), a "ballerina" with two of her arms raised over her "head", a "mama" bending down slightly with arms curled in toward two smaller Saguaros, and literally thousands more.
The Saguaros, like the Palo Verde and the orange-red flowers and the forget-me-nots are all over town, too. We see them during our daily drives. But to see a "forest" of them, and there are many forests of Saguros surrounding this city once you get away from all the buildings and surface roads, just helps to remind me of how awesomely different Arizona is, for the Saguaros alone, compared to any other US state. And I'm happy to have had the chance to live here, if only for three months of my nearly 40 year life.
Monday, September 13, 2010
There is Always a Reason
***
Yes, there's always a reason...
We came here for Joel. We came here knowing we would only see him for 2-3 hours on the days that he worked because 2-3 hours each day is much more than zero hours. We came here mostly for Gracie because as anyone knows two years is a great deal more unfathomable to a six year old than it is to a teenager or adult. And really, a six year old needs her dad just as much as a dad needs his six year old. (Think of all the changes and growth between five and seven years of age!)
As I've said, we are grateful for time spent with our significantly missed member of our family; but in an interesting twist of fate, it turns out that since Nate has been gone, Grace is not spending nearly as much time with Joel as we had planned. When Nathan left we were all initially devastated, and Gracie expressed it the most. Happily, she also bounced back the quickest because of her rapidly developing friendship with her newfound chums downstairs, nine year old, Domonic and his three year old sister, Kaydence. Nathan's departure was the catalyst for our six year old Gracie to plop herself comfortably right into their lives and they've been nearly inseparable ever since.
Accepting that Grace, being a mature child, loves Kaydence in more of a little-sisterly way, even though they are almost always, all three, together after school, it is Domonic who is truly Gracie's best bud here in Arizona. It is Dom whom she consideres her equal, and in most ways, I think he feels the same way about Grace.
Dom and Gracie. Gracie and Dom.
And here's the sweet irony:
On some nights that Joel works, Grace may only see her dad for maybe 20 minutes out of a whole day. On those days, she is with Dom and Kaydence either outside, or in their apartment, or frisbee golfing with their family down the road. On other days they are at our place, but do you think they're interested in playing with Joel when they're together? Nope. It's still Dom and Gracie/Gracie and Dom. (Kaydence tends to hang out with Joel and me when she's at our place; she cracks us up with the words that come out of her teeny-tiny mouth. {She is an itty-Bitty girl with an itty-Bitty voice!})
This is all good because besides the obvious similarities that Dom and Grace share: a love for learning but not of sitting still to learn, their love of talking, their love of talking and telling each other and everyone everything they know, and (unique from his sister, Kaydence) Dom and Gracie have loss in common. They've repeatedly had to deal with it at an early age; but whereas we know Grace's feelings of loss will mostly be temporary, Dom's have so far been more lasting. We hope to make our leaving less traumatic for him by exchanging full names and addresses so that they can continue their friendship as pen-pals, but until then, Joel and I are happy for this ironic twist in the tale of our Arizona adventure together. Our daughter's friendship is shining light through, and filling up some of the holes in Dom's young heart and he is doing the same for her. I'm so glad life doesn't always turn out as we'd planned.
***
Yes, there's always a reason...
We came here for Joel. We came here knowing we would only see him for 2-3 hours on the days that he worked because 2-3 hours each day is much more than zero hours. We came here mostly for Gracie because as anyone knows two years is a great deal more unfathomable to a six year old than it is to a teenager or adult. And really, a six year old needs her dad just as much as a dad needs his six year old. (Think of all the changes and growth between five and seven years of age!)
As I've said, we are grateful for time spent with our significantly missed member of our family; but in an interesting twist of fate, it turns out that since Nate has been gone, Grace is not spending nearly as much time with Joel as we had planned. When Nathan left we were all initially devastated, and Gracie expressed it the most. Happily, she also bounced back the quickest because of her rapidly developing friendship with her newfound chums downstairs, nine year old, Domonic and his three year old sister, Kaydence. Nathan's departure was the catalyst for our six year old Gracie to plop herself comfortably right into their lives and they've been nearly inseparable ever since.
Accepting that Grace, being a mature child, loves Kaydence in more of a little-sisterly way, even though they are almost always, all three, together after school, it is Domonic who is truly Gracie's best bud here in Arizona. It is Dom whom she consideres her equal, and in most ways, I think he feels the same way about Grace.
Dom and Gracie. Gracie and Dom.
And here's the sweet irony:
On some nights that Joel works, Grace may only see her dad for maybe 20 minutes out of a whole day. On those days, she is with Dom and Kaydence either outside, or in their apartment, or frisbee golfing with their family down the road. On other days they are at our place, but do you think they're interested in playing with Joel when they're together? Nope. It's still Dom and Gracie/Gracie and Dom. (Kaydence tends to hang out with Joel and me when she's at our place; she cracks us up with the words that come out of her teeny-tiny mouth. {She is an itty-Bitty girl with an itty-Bitty voice!})
This is all good because besides the obvious similarities that Dom and Grace share: a love for learning but not of sitting still to learn, their love of talking, their love of talking and telling each other and everyone everything they know, and (unique from his sister, Kaydence) Dom and Gracie have loss in common. They've repeatedly had to deal with it at an early age; but whereas we know Grace's feelings of loss will mostly be temporary, Dom's have so far been more lasting. We hope to make our leaving less traumatic for him by exchanging full names and addresses so that they can continue their friendship as pen-pals, but until then, Joel and I are happy for this ironic twist in the tale of our Arizona adventure together. Our daughter's friendship is shining light through, and filling up some of the holes in Dom's young heart and he is doing the same for her. I'm so glad life doesn't always turn out as we'd planned.
***
Friday, September 10, 2010
For My Brother
I love you, Tony. We will all help to watch over your beautiful Elizabeth until you return to her next year.
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