Life of Wry

So…Peter heard from a college last Friday. Coincidentally, it was the very first one he’d sent an application to way back in November. While it’s a great school and we’d be totally thrilled if he chose to go there, it’s not among his first choices. Still, I have to say, we were all dancing in the aisles when he shared the news. Including Mr. Understated himself.

I mean, right? It’s one of those Big. Deals. You see senior year coming forever, you dread the college application process. It’s months of this low level anxiety as you work hard to have the right attitude and the right approach; you struggle to help just enough, but not too much; you hope he’s making good choices and putting together applications that show his best self. You go to workshops; you collect and pore through all kinds of resources and mailers; you hear from others about how they’re approaching this whole thing and wonder if you’re doing it right. You worry big time about how you’ll ever afford it and wonder how college became such the big business it has become. You fret for our nation and for those who can’t afford basic higher level education, including you. You wonder if a 4-yr college is the smart choice, or if a 2-yr is better, you wonder about the value of education anyway and… and…. and…Then you become hyper-aware of deadlines–which you see come and go, and are sometimes ignored completely. The whole thing is just something to endure, suffer through, and then you’re glad you have these kinds of worries. Mostly though, it’s something you want over in the worst way. When the last deadlines pass, you’re super relieved, but then comes the waiting.

And now it’s the beginning of the end of the waiting part. Peter got his first acceptance and it was a good one and we’re all pretty damn happy about it. And very relieved. He’s got somewhere to go.

Oh… btw, it’s Cal Poly San Luis Obispo!

He’d learned of his acceptance earlier in the day. A classmate said that he’d heard Cal Poly had begun to release some information and suggested Peter check on the status of his application. They spent most of fourth period trying to get into and around the site, until Peter finally got to his account and his updated status. It’s not even like Cal Poly let him know; he had to hunt this information down. No exciting congratulations letter or anything.  It simply said he’d been accepted as a first year freshman in physics for the fall of 2016. That was it.

He texted both Jim and me, which I’m so grateful for… but neither of us got the text (we’re such lame texters).

The text read: I guess I got into Cal Poly. Fri, Feb 19, 12:05 PM.

I wish I had gotten it! On the other hand, it was far more thrilling to be standing in the kitchen with Jim when Peter said, in the most unimpressed tone, “you guys never check your texts,” and then, smiling, gave us the news. And a few high fives.

It was a great family moment.

I heard an interview with an older woman the other day in which she characterized growing older as a process of tinkering.. as in, as you age, you find yourself tinkering with your body to kind of keep it going well enough and strong enough to keep going.

It’s not like I’ve turned 60 and now all I can think about are the effects of aging on my body, but I will say it’s been an odd little run this past few months… a bit of this, and a bit of that and no good stretches where nothing is happening. It used to be that the prevailing condition was all systems free and clear and it was unusual if something was amiss. Lately, it’s been the other way around. I’m optimistic this is, as I said, a bit of an odd run. Planning to return to normal soon.

Dr. D said to me the other day that there’s this thing in the medical world called an incidental finding, where you go in to talk to your doctor about one thing and end up chasing down something else entirely, because a minor question leads to maybe a test, which turns up a thing that then has to be resolved, even if it wasn’t the original purpose for the visit. Happens all the time, she said.

[Maybe I talked about this already…. ugh… memory, you know.]

Anyway.

It was Jim’s turn today. (Close this tab now if pictures of scars and stitches creep you out.)

Jim had gone in to talk to his doctor about a thing on his chest, which was nothing, but, in the great tradition of incidental findings, his doctor found, removed and biopsied two things on his back. They, too, turned out to be nothing, but did require some follow up attention.

And now, enter me, the maven of wound care.

For the last two weeks, I’ve been managing the dressings and whatnot for the two holes on Jim’s back, which, if you know me, is way (way) out of my comfort zone. To my credit, I’ve handled my duties quite well.

Today we took wound care up a notch: today was stitch removal day. Two holes, four stitches….. TWENTY minutes. This was perhaps a new world record (in the slowest stitch removal by an amateur category). As I said, not my strong suit…plus, one of the stitches was slightly embedded beneath the skin. You can hardly blame me for 1) taking so long and 2) nearly passing out.

Well, not much more to say about this except: tinkering. I think we’ll be doing a lot more of it going forward. Also: we now have a suture removal kit and some experience under our belts which prepares us for future post-op wound care.

(Did I mention I have trigger thumb surgery on Friday?)

It just gets weirder and weirder, doesn’t it?  I guess it’s no surprise, after a string of such poor showings, that Jeb! would drop out of the running, but I sure didn’t think the race for the republican nomination would be so upside down and that the formerly-considered presumptive nominee would become such a total non-player. People are throwing around the figure $100,000,000, as in, that’s how much he’s spent to date–on two primaries and two caucuses.. though technically he dropped out before today’s Nevada caucus–to get exactly nowhere. 

He brought out the big guns last week in South Carolina, too–his brother and his 90+ year old mum (desperate times call for…)–to absolutely no effect. Wow.

In a family of presidents, he drew the short straw. And with that, the Bush dynasty has come to an end.

I thought this poster was sort of sad and sweet in a way (well, and very funny). I admit to feeling a little sorry for Jeb and nostalgic for the republican party of old. I never thought I’d hear myself say, “Holy cow, Jeb Bush is sounding like the most sane and reasonable guy on that debate stage!”  If I were a republican in 2016, I’d be grateful for Jeb. It’s not that I support anything that he stands for, but at least he’s not jumping off the cliff of reason as spectacularly as all the others.

I’d actually probably support Kasich… you know, if I were a republican. Which, good lord almighty, I certainly am not. I’m no libertarian, but I even thought Rand Paul made more sense than most of them. But no… I’m happy happy happy that I can call myself a democrat, especially this year, in what has been the most bizarre and disgusting display of bad manners and shockingly provocative politics ever.

Primaries are always kind of a circus.  Maybe things will settle down in the general, when adults are back in the room.

I go back and forth between having faith that a majority of republicans will put their big boy pants on and reject Trump’s histrionics… and feeling like nope, it’s come to this, Fox has succeeded in whipping up the conservative base into a frothy mess of angry, fearful anti-anything-Obama voters who think Trump (TRUMP!) is some kind of savior.  They get what they deserve.

And it’s sure looking to me like he’s gonna be their guy.

It may mean a lot more election-related writing, or exactly the opposite because I can’t stand what our country’s become. We shall see.

Behind every great baseball player is a closet full of baseball paraphernalia. I just can’t tell you what it takes to keep a high school baseball player in a clean uniform. Honest to god, every day it’s a new ensemble, even if they’re just practicing. That’s pants, shirt, socks and sliders that get worn then dropped in the basket for washing nearly every single day of the season. For game days, add a jersey. The hat, belt and cleats are recycled everyday–dusty and sweaty as they may be.

And while he favors one worn and dirty glove, he’s got about seven of them scattered about. And balls, lots and lots of balls.

And we got off easy. As a pitcher-only, there are no longer any bats or batting gloves. The catcher’s gear he once owned has long been given away. Peter’s not a gear head, so no arm bands, wristbands, necklaces, post-game shoes or special jackets. He doesn’t even wear sunglasses.

At the risk of really (really) getting in trouble, here is the baseball closet of a certain Blue Devil:

Shirts on the left, then jerseys, then pants–white, white with blue piping, grey, grey with blue piping, grey pinstripes…

Behind and on the wall, nails for about fifteen belts, though he only wears blue now. Below, a shelf for sliders and cups (he forgoes the cups these days… definitely not cool), and below that socks.. dozens of socks, but, again, only the blue ones get worn. That white basket up on the top shelf has many dozens of hats, but his DHS Blue Devil hats are the only ones in circulation and hang on hooks in various other places.

And giving credit where credit is due, Jim does all the laundry.

Look down..

(This sweet little thing is happy in its wet spot by the front door.)

And look up..

(Trees in various degrees of transition. Corner 5th and C.)

(And skies I just can’t get enough of.  Through the windshield on southbound 113.)

You just don’t want to miss anything Spring has to say.

And wasn’t it nice that it was Peter who got to be the guy to start things off. First pitcher in the first game of the 2016 season, his final season.

Scorekeeper says that first pitch was a ball. But what does she know.

Mom and dad thought he looked great.

And ya know?… it was pretty fun to look out there today and see Peter, Daniel, Ray, Solly, James, Mason, Gabe…

They’ve come a long way together.

~~

Cold hard facts:

On this day, I wore a tank top, flannel shirt, pile vest, down sweater and arctic-grade down parka. When that didn’t work, I climbed under Dianna’s thick, heavy, fuzzy blanket. I was still freezing. After a double header sitting in the windy, cold metal bleachers, I came home and slunked into a very hot bath to thaw. I didn’t break a sweat until after about 30 minutes (had to keep draining and adding hot water to maintain a sufficiently hot water temp). What the heck is that about?

Other hard facts:

Today’s outing was a double header. First game against Pioneer: Peter, Ray, Holgate and Gib pitched. Nothing super notable except UCLA-bound Ryan Kreidler went 3 for 4 with three RBI’s and the team won 12-2, sometimes terminating innings early because we were racking up too many runs. Decisive.

The second game was against Rocklin’s Whitney HS: Mort, Bell, Danny and Eton pitched. Nothing too exceptional unless you count Griffin’s double to deep center field that cleared our loaded bases. We won that game 10-1.

The team looked good. And big.Not even too rusty.

Nice way to start off the year, all around.

February 19. A Christmas card–sent around the second week of December–comes back. If YOU are the one who did not receive our annual photo montage and minimalist greeting, I’m sure this is yours!

It’s a little worse for wear.

I thought you might like to see this picture. It’s not mine, though I wish I’d seen the Grapevine when it was covered in this much snow:

It’s a truly stunning picture of a part of I-5 that just never looks like that.

Jim, Peter and I did drive through the Grapevine over the holidays and did get a wee bit of snow:

Which was, while less spectacular, stunning in its own right.

I share because I know Southern California got some weather the past couple of days and that is welcome news.

~~

In other stormy news: I quit my job today. Yes I did.

There are a few reasons, but the primary one is time. Entering what will be a very busy half year ahead with baseball; Peter’s final year of high school; Grad Night planning; graduation activities; college-related visits/orientations/moves;  mom visits; summer trips; editing; writing; projects; body repair & maintenance; friends; life.

Who’s got the time to work?

That’s mainly why.

I actually committed to staying on another couple of months to assist on a big upcoming project, but still: I gave my notice, and that is noteworthy.

Ask me how ecstatic I am to be back in the gardening routine.

Very.

As I write this, it’s raining so hard I’m fearing for our solar panels, but earlier today…

That is a stalk of flowering quince. They’ve been out at least two weeks–I wanna say three–and are their usual lovely.

And this, below, is the start of what I hope will be a good crop of sweet peaches. This particular peach tree did not cooperate last year, but things are definitely looking promising this year.

Jim told a story tonight. It’s a dad moment worth blog-memorializing:

As the father of an almost-18-year-old, there aren’t many occasions anymore in which my dad-ness is not only requested but explicitly appreciated. Late last night – “late” in this case being 1:00 a.m.ish, as I’d already been asleep for a couple of hours — the near-adult was getting ready to go to bed when he got one of those mysterious chest pains, the kind that prevents you from inhaling deeply without sharp discomfort. I’ve always figured them to be some kind of muscle spasm, and find that they generally resolve on their own after 15 minutes or so. However, the victim this time had never had one before, at least not one that lasted so long, and it scared him. This kind of fear manifests as irritability and an expectation that someone must do something about the problem, so the parental units were alerted. After much questioning about symptoms I wasn’t alarmed, but agreed to call an advice nurse. She ran through pretty much the same symptom rubric and also concluded that there was no emergency. Still not reassured, the teenager agreed to try to get to sleep as long as I hung out in the room. So I grabbed a blanket and made myself comfortable-ish on the reclining desk chair, and sure enough after half an hour or so the pain and anxiety succumbed to sleep. But that half an hour was plenty of time for me to reflect on the many times in his younger years that I gave up a good chunk of my nightly rest in order to keep him feeling safe and comfortable. As I was leaving his bedroom the boy came just awake enough to say “Thanks,” and in the end it was worth the next morning’s grogginess to get to feel like a full-on dad again.

Much to love in that story.

Peter’s fear last night was so acute, his need for Jim’s assurance and presence, so tender. Jim’s reflection hits a delicate spot as we are both so aware of the changes coming.

Sniff.

~~

And.. don’t you remember being scared out of your mind the first time you felt those sharp chest pains? I very clearly remember going into my parents’ bedroom to tell them I was having a heart attack. I was probably in junior high, maybe younger, not sure. It was so hard to relax while taking in short, shallow breaths. They still give me great anxiety… it’s a pain that really gets your attention. I grew up thinking they were gas pains. Last night was the first I’d heard muscle spasm as an explanation.

~~

So, speaking of being in love with these skies….

Tonight’s as I pulled into the driveway.