I hand wrote 24 different thank you notes today at work. I found it difficult to ensure that each one was unique and personal to the recipient. It was a bit of a chore.

However, all those who came together to help out with the party...the gifts, the supplies, and the food...well, each one deserved our token of our gratitude.

I would be remiss if I did not note that much of my gratitude goes to the Lord of Lords. It was patently clear to me that God's hand was at work in creating a joyful time for children and youth who have such little joy in their lives.

I lift a paean of praise to Him!

Well, it is over.

What is IT? The blasted holiday party for the foster children that I have been cobbling together over the last four weeks. I was so tired by the time this morning arrived, I think I might have sleep-walked through the entire event.

Those who know me well will not be surprised that I had a box packed for each element of the party, complete with a packing list taped to the top. Those who were manning the activity stations, such as face painting or cookie decorating, only had to unpack their box of supplies and set them up in order to be ready to go.

Of course, the day could not have been perfect. That truly would have been too much to ask after begging and cajoling folks to help out and all my planning/creating spreadsheets and literally driving myself crazy for weeks on end in order to make this party happen. What snafu occurred? Well, when we arrived, I found that the kitchen was locked up and our food was behind a secure door as well. I did manage not to cry nor loose my cool. I did rather frenetically pursue a keeper of keys to release my hostages. The 30 minute delay did not ultimately impact the party, so all was well.

One of my donors, the one who was paying for 1/2 the pizza did not come through with his pledge. Then my phone stopped working just as I was trying to touch base with Domino's about our order. Awaiting the timely delivery of 35 pizzas was a bit nerve-wracking for me.

The pizza arrived. The activities were a hit. The musicians were phenomenal. Santa, while a bit off his rocker, entertained the children and youth. The parent raffle was a success. The food was filling and satisfying. All in all, the party went well.

I was bleary-eyed before it even began and could not really tell you much about actual events between the three hours 150 people were milling around. Nor could I describe the clean-up or the carting of supplies back to our office. And, well, frankly, I was barely conscious during the drive home.

What did I do once I arrived here? You tell me!

Congress announced that it will be investigating the interrogation tapes that were destroyed.

When did Congress become law enforcement?

Perhaps if Congress focused on the problems of the country and left alleged criminal behavior to the Department of Justice, we might just might finally see some progress against the plethora of pressing issues we face in this country.

Oh, my. Oh, my. Oh, my! How I enjoyed my trip to see Sugarland!

On the way there, my friend D and I drove through a mist that parted to reveal a herd of deer. The moment was made all the more special shared with a good friend.


D was ever so patient with me. He arrived 12 minutes early wanting to detour to Lorton. Lorton is NOT on the way to Charlottesville...at least in my opinion. I presented myriad reasonable thoughts about not going until the next day, over and over again, as I packed up my things for our road trip: two inhalers, cough medicine, EpiPen, nebulizer, Chloroseptic, cough drops, and water. By the time I was ready, he caved from his desire to take care of his errand and agreed to get on our way.


The concert ended up being 112 miles and a mere five turns from my home. Of course, turn 3 brought us to a stand still for a while. I panicked in the passenger seat until D pointed out that we only had to average 37 miles an hour to arrive by my target time and surely the next turn (in 12 miles) would bring us back up to speed. Not even once did he tell me to "chill."


After our magic mist moment, our next adventure was a stop at Taco Bell since we were making such good time. It was an adventure because D has an allergy to gluten and he had never eaten at a Taco Bell before. We had to check out the ingredients on a half dozen menu items with the manager before D felt safe to consume some food.


On our way again, we were able to slip into the parking garage and make our way into the arena with 45 minutes to spare before the concert!

If you look really carefully, you can see Sugarland in the white blob on the stage. It is easier to see Jennifer Nettles on the main screen above the stage. She was singing their song "Stay."

Jake Owen opened the concert. I cared not for his music, but found the row of screaming young girls behind me who were fawning over him the entire span of his performance a bit amusing.

Next came Little Big Town. I do enjoy their music...at least most of it. One of the pure highlights of the concert was when they sang "Boondocks." The whole arena of people were on their feet singing and clapping, dancing and swaying to the music. Old and young, male and female. It was an incredible moment of camaraderie, of fellowship in the human condition.

That moment came again and again with several of Sugarland's songs. Of course, by then, I was singing along with my crowdmates. I tried not singing. I tried to be careful about my still sore throat and my asthma. But two songs into their set, I was lost in the music and singing at the top of my voice. Perhaps the fact that I used both inhalers and the cough medicine just prior to singing saved me another trip to the ER, eh?

The Sugarland merchandise truck had broken down on the way to Charlottesville, but it did arrive by the end of the concert. D spotted the shirt I wanted immediately. Hmm...do you think I choose the red one, the blue one, or the GREEN one? He called it a Jolly Rancher shirt because of the font on it, but I cared not.

My one disappointment was the fact that there was something wrong with the sound during Sugarland's performance. I am rather loathe to admit that for much of the time, Jennifer Nettles sounded like a chipmunk any time she hit the higher notes. We had listen to their cd's on the way home to remind ourselves what a great voice she has. I guess I could not expect a perfect evening.

Besides, I told D that the sound issue meant that we will need to go to another Sugarland concert! I also told him I wondered just how far he would travel for me to get my Sugarland fix. My stepmother, when she learned that we were going on a road trip for the concert, commented that he must really like the band. She didn't quite understand my response: D didn't travel for Sugarland; he traveled for me!

Do you have a D in your life? Do you have someone who will do something that he/she is absolutely not interested in doing just because you want to do it? Twice now, D has chauffeured and accompanied me to sit through a concert by a band he cares not for. He cares not for Sugarland, but he does care for me.

Such blessing there can be in true friendship...

In less than two hours, I shall be on the road to see Sugarland for a second time. I am hoping another ER trip will not be a part of this venture, but I am ever the weeist bit worried. I have been ill since before Thanksgiving, and I just cannot seem to get well.

I must admit that I am also a wee bit disappointed that I will not be able to sing. I mean, standing in a crowd of thousands who are all singing with abandon is kind of great. I won't get to join them...unless I want that ER trip.

My voice, while back, is still rough. I cough all night long. I am still quite congested. And I have ferociously sore throat. However, I am going to this concert!

Cross your fingers for me...

When do you draw the line and say that your ethical integrity is more important than a salary? When is who you are as a person more important than ensuring you have enough money to cover your prescriptions? I will never, ever understand how people can solicit funds for a children's event and then say internally that they want to use the money otherwise. How can I be a part of that?

I found a most tasty item at Costco today. However, to my sorrow, I am certain I could not share it with my friend B. You see, what I found was triangle ravioli stuffed with spinach and mozzarella cheese topped with savory herbs and a bit of olive oil.

I confess that I went back to the tasting booth five times, even though I had already put a package into my cart.

B just does not appreciate food stuffed with spinach. While I do not care for spinach by itself, paired with cheese I find the green vegetable most tasty. In this pasta dish, it is altogether satisfying.

I suppose I shall have to eat the entire bag of ravioli myself rather than share it with B and G when I return at Christmas!

My dear puppydog has been ardently guarding my gloves from the moment I came into the house and accidentally dropped them on the floor. Oh, how I have forgotten his deep abiding affinity for my winter gloves!

He lies couchant, gloves between his two paws, for hours on end. Should I dare walk near him, or even cast an eyeball in his direction, Kashi will lower his head to cover them and growls menacingly.

Although he is loathe to do so, Kashi will eventually ask to go outside. During a snowstorm, as we have had this evening, my habit is to follow him outside and shovel snow off the deck and stairs whilst he attends to his business. As soon as he is done, Kashi casts all thoughts of lingering in the yard aside and bolts for the back door, where he waits rather impatiently for me to let him back inside. When I do open the door, he pushes past me, races around the corner, slips and slides across the floor, and flings himself down to protect "his" gloves once more.

It will be a wily move on my part should I actually be able to retrieve them so that I can wear them again tomorrow. Serves me right for dropping them in the first place!

Still half frozen from being left at the metro earlier this morning, I managed to turn one interview into three! I do believe that by the new year I very well may have a new job! I did manage to parlay one visit into a second one some time next week. More people to meet. Another opportunity to see if I might be a good fit for a job where I will actually be using my skills, even if it means walking away from messaging and communications. I am trying to remain nonchalant by the prospect.

After such a heady experience where not one, nor even two, but three people told me that they were impressed by the diversity of my skills sets (finally someone who does not want me to fit into a box), I was buoyed enough to attend a roundtable discussion following by a holiday networking affair.

At the roundtable, I was emboldened to share my ideas about the need for shared messaging about affordable housing in the area. Instead of promoting the "I," the developers and community groups needs to start sharing the "we." The messaging also needs to focus on how affordable housing is an important cog in the wheel of a healthy community. So many people do not really understand what affordable housing is and who needs it. The faces of affordable housing are not merely drug addicts or welfare mothers with a passel of children. In this region, if you look around the community, you will find scores of folk who cannot afford a place to live without one or two or three salaries in the household. Teachers, administrative assistants, nurses, wait staff, sales people...they all struggle to find housing where they work, adding to the traffic congestion, increasing the cost of doing business, and decreasing quality of life--all blows to a region's economy.

Anyhow, off my soapbox and on to my evening. I actually stayed and mingled, having several conversations. One was with the man who cut me from my last job. He cares not a whit about what he put me through nor how his company has suffered from a lack of communications effort (two replacements have left, neither of them capable of doing half the work I did).

I was thoughtful. I was bold. I gave voice to my ideas. I was sought out. I was appreciated. A good day, eh?

You know what made it a great day? Fancy was not screaming as I walked up to the house. She did huddle on my shoulder for the remainder of the evening, but nary a cry!

I wonder if I shall be a sufficient flock mate for her. I would think she needs a new companion, but how shall I know who is the right one for her. Apparantly, her pairing with Madison was a felitious one. Oft times, it goes badly. I guess birdy marriages are not that different from human ones!

93 grams

B is fired. Or a least her baby J is. That whole family is overly generous with its germs, but given the fact that B has had these colds that last for decades ever since her first pregnancy, I blame the children, most particularly J.

My stinking cold is clinging with a vicious grip! Two weeks of sleep interrupted by coughing and breathing blocked by a stuffy nose stinks. I want my throat to stop hurting. I want to fatigue to disappear. I want my voice back. I want to feel better!

Trying to work days and nights and weekends is rather difficult when you feel like death warmed over.

Why, I've barely had the energy to celebrate the fact that my 'Boys are 11/1! And how in the world will I be able to accompany Sugarland at the concert on Saturday if my chords are all messed up?

Just because he's a bare year old doesn't excuse J from his social responsibility. Germs belong to yourself, J. No sharing allowed!

I am trying to restrain myself from plunking Fancy down on the scale hourly. Even daily might be a bit much. She was underweight from the stress of her recent molt. All my Googling about Cockatiel mates' death has resulted in alarming information of how easily the surviving bird dies of starvation born of grief.

She was 90 at B's house. She was 94 when we arrived home. She is 88 now. Her normal, chunky self is 114 grams. I would settle for anything over 100.

I have been getting ready for work with Fancy sitting on my shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. Doing so is not easy.

Primarily this is because does not care for half of my morning routine. She scolds me when I wash my face. She cares not for me peering closely in the mirror so that I can insert my contacts and ends up running around to my back. Applying powder to my face results in an outcry or two. And using my inhaler results in her flying away and then hollering for me to come fetch her.

I think she believes it would be better for me to merely hang out on the couch with her in the morning and leave makeup for another person. I wonder if I forewent brushing my teeth she would eventually change her mind about her dislike for my electric toothbrush.

Kashi stands guard at the bathroom door the whole time. Getting him up in the morning has become ever more difficult, so he rarely has the energy to protest her presence other than glaring at her from time to time.

Before I leave, I try to spend a few minutes with Kashi, reassuring him. When I finally walk out the door, he follows me, sits in front of the door, and casts rather baleful eyes at me. Fancy also makes leaving hard. As I walk past her cage to open the door, she follows me around until she reaches the corner, where she clings to the side with both feet and shove her beak between the bars.

I need a job where I can work from home full-time!

Fancy is not adjusting well to being single. Both days I have arrived home to her hollering at the top of her voice. It is my hope that somehow Cockatiels have super acute hearing, and she only begins to vocalize her grief upon my arrival at home.

I look at her, at the cage, at the lack of another bird and start to cry. I miss Madison.

The two of us have set Kashi on edge. Loyal mate that he is, Kashi has never tolerated my own tears very well. He becomes anxious and adds his own voice to the fray. He follows me around. He loses his appetite.

I am quite sure that Kashi cares not that Madison has gone. He is, after all, a Shiba Inu. Bred deep within his little personality is the unerring belief that the entire world revolves around him. And while he is not inclined to hang out with me on the couch, he adamantly believes that Madison and Fancy belong in the cage. It was a personal affront to him each and every time Madison flew over for a chat, to sing to me, and to preen my eyebrows a bit. "Mine" is Kashi's favorite word.

So, I am trying to spend copious amounts of time soothing Fancy, staunching my own tears, and reassuring Kashi that he is still my number one puppydog.

I held Madison in my hands tonight as he died. I will be forever grateful that T stayed on the phone with me while I watched his death. She talked of Christmas light snafus and her children and losing at Sorry. I know she felt helpless and awkward, but she loved me enough to wait with me.

Never have I hated MS more than this evening. I often joke about my cheese hole brain. I sometimes try to talk about the frightening changes I observe in myself. Yet, I never stop hating the cognitive changes. Oh, how I hate them.

Friday last I was frantically packing up for a blessed week and a bit at B's house. At the last minute, I noticed the metal clip that I use to anchor open the door on the bird cage lying on the antique record cabinet that stands beneath it. I scooped up the clip and stuck it on top of the cage so I would be sure not to forget it. When Madison hangs out on the door, if it is not anchored, he swings wildly about. I was thinking of him.

But it is as if that moment never happened. I completely forgot about the clip, even when I set up the cage in B's house. I completely forgot about a clip I use daily. I completely forgot.

Madison, ever the nibbler, took delight in chewing off the pink plastic that coated the metal clip. I noticed that his appetite had dropped off, but I attributed it to both the fact that he and Fancy had just finished molting and we had traveled a fair bit to get to B's house.

I should have remembered the clip. I did not.

Wednesday, much to my horror, I discovered that he was bleeding from his nether region. Frantic and frenetic, I called the vet, knowing full well that treating small birds is rather difficult and most often results in failure. She advised to get to the Penn State clinic if no vet was near because antibiotics might help him.

B found a vet, called her mother-in-law to babysit so I would have to go alone, and drove Madison and I to the vet. He had a prolapsed rectum, most likely from trying to expel the plastic. The vet restored it to its proper place (twice), mixed up four medicines and sent me home with instructions to keep him warm.

For the rest of my stay at B's, I sweltered at night so that Madison might have a chance. He didn't much like the medicine and seemed to aspirate it each time I gave it to him. He continued to lose weight.

Damn that clip. Damn this disease.

He stopped bleeding some time on Friday, started to eat a bit more, moved around the cage, and preened himself. I thought he might make it. I was worried, but I thought he was getting better.

He continued to lose weight.

Last night, Madison flew over to me, not quite making a distance he used to overshoot. He hung out on my shoulder, preening himself and taking a nap tucked beneath my chin. I thought he was getting better.

But tonight when I arrived home, I found him huddled on the bottom of the cage. When I picked him up, he collapsed, his labored breathing shuddering his whole body.

I held him. I gave him water with the syringe. I whispered sweet nothings. I called B. She was gone. I tried T. Even knowing she's not a bird person and would feel rather helpless, I called her. I didn't want to be alone. As I listened to her, I cradled him in my hands, trying to comfort him even as grew weaker.

Right before he died, Madison sat up and looked straight at me. For the briefest of moments, I dared to believe that he had just been sleeping. Then just as suddenly he fell back limp against my hands and breathed just one last time. It was as if he was saying good-bye.

I feel horrible. I am sad that a bird that should have had a couple of decades or more living left in him is dead. I am sad that one of my true companions is gone. I am worried for Fancy and how she will take being alone, since Cockatiels are flock birds. Tears are streaming down my face even now.

However, I feel horrible because he should never have been in this position. I should have remembered that clip. Every day for the past seven years, I have used it on the cage after opening the door. Why didn't I remember?

What a wretched caregiver am I...

My brother came in from across the country for a visit. Since I am working this week, he spent the weekend with me before going over to my father and stepmother's house tomorrow. I am truly grateful for the time with him, but I am half dead from his visit!

In an effort to be helpful and despite having a cold, my brother launched into an overhaul of my yard.

He started with pruning the trees. Of course, he and I differ in our beliefs in exactly how this should be done. He is MUCH more aggressive than I and thinks trees should be pruned higher as well. We had several heated discussions before it was all done, but I will say the trees look better, even if the removal of one entire branch nearly gave me heart palpitations!

He then moved on to raking the leaves, which took two days really. It involved getting them out of the flower beds and away from the fence.

When he looked at the fence, he noticed many places where old vines were still caught within the chain links. So, much hacking and sawing later, the fence was cleared.

That led to digging up three stumps that had been left in the yard. I was glad to see those go!

He started edging by trying to uncover all the stepping stones that had disappeared in the grass. While he went on to edge the rest of the yard, I took the opportunity to dig up each of the stones and raise them using some left over stone dust that I had gotten from my writing student's father a while ago.

While he raked, I had chopped up all the branches into the proper length for leaving at the curb for a bulk pick-up. I also helped bag all the leaves. While he was edging, before I started on those stepping stones, I also repaired the drawer on my potting bench that had broken and one of my wind chimes.

I also weeded all the beds and added a section of the rubber boarder that had somehow never been placed in the ground around the edge of the front flowerbed (this involved much digging in the Virginia clay, so I had put it off for far too long). I finished off the overhaul by fertilizing what little grass survived the drought in the hopes it my last through the winter.

Boy, am I sore. My shoulder has been screaming for two days because of sawing up the branches. My legs are painful from being stretched as I bent over the beds while weeding. And I am so stiff that even taking a bath was difficult because I couldn't hold the soap.

Still, I must admit that my yard looks fantastic. Truly. I haven't seen but the merest portion of the middle of the stepping stones for two years. When B comes on Friday, she will be most impressed!

~~~~
Go Cowboys! They are now 8-1!

Tiger finished up the tour winning the FedEx cup. The Cowboys are at the top of their division at 7-1. Sugarland won the Duo of the Year award tonight at the Country Music Awards ceremony! Could just one of them toss a wee bit of success my way????

I had the Google coup of the century this evening!

I am working on press pieces that center around a ground breaking of this affordable housing complex for one of my consulting contracts. It was the first one for African Americans in the District of Columbia and was designed by an African American architect.

I found some good information on the architect and a wee bit on the complex. But the real gold mind was a study on housing for Negros (sic) in the South (when is DC the South???) that was written in 1950! I saw just bits and pieces of it, but I know, I know that it will be fascinating. After all, one of the "new directions" in the conclusion had to do with residents taking charge of their destiny. Today, a key movement in preserving affordable housing in the District is residents exercising their right to purchase when their homes are put up for sale.

I sent the link to my writing student since she will have access through her college library. I'm fairly sure she'll track it down for me. I never heard of JSTOR, but apparently it is some archive of scholarly articles available only to scholars.

Boy, do I wish I were back in academics! I very much enjoy thinking, looking for connections, and writing about my ideas. I got a vision of a great article comparing 1950 to today, but I really don't know the industry well enough. Still, my brain got a good workout this evening...

I found out that Sugarland is headlining a concert in Charlottesville, VA on December 8th. A friend asked me out to dinner. I asked him if we could change our plans. I am crossing my fingers that he would be willing to drive another few hours to attend a second concert of a band he doesn't much like. What are the odds of that???

The stars aligned and I found myself without work today. However, it somehow not turned out to be as restful as I thought it might be...

Kashi and I visited the vet. I am dismayed to admit that I had to literally drag him over the threshold. He has the memory of an elephant when it comes to his initial emergency treatment for his infection and ruptured ear drum.

Once inside, he hid behind my legs beneath the chairs until his vet came into the room. I did provide the day's moment of amusement when attempting to correct his behavior. I was holding him so that she could peer deeply into his ear. Shaking his head back and forth, he was making the process very difficult even though I had him in a vice grip. So, I asked her for a moment, stepped away, and asked Kashi in a very stern voice, "Do you want a bath? 'Cause if you do, we can have one right now!" Bathes are his worst fear.

The up shot of the whole visit, despite the fact that he has lost weight again, was that his ear is finally clear. Of course, she advised that I clean them both out once every week or so to keep him used to someone messing with them. I am SO looking forward to keeping up that practice!

Once home, Kashi crashed on his bed from exhaustion (visiting the vet is an overwhelming ordeal to him these days), while I went to work on the house. I vacuumed, dusted, and cleaned from top to bottom (not that such cleaning lasts very long). I washed, dried, folded, and put away four loads of laundry. I cleaned the kitchen, ran the dishwasher, and then emptied it. I watered the plants and cleaned the leaves out of the fountain. I cleaned out my bedroom closet and found some more clothing, shoes, and books that I could donate. I bagged them up and put them in the back of my car for delivery. I emptied all the trash, made the bed, put away my clothes from the week that were draped everywhere, and straighted the living area.

Then I crashed on my bed...