As Tough as Painted Nails

Well….my mother and sister and I recently got together for a Mother’s Day Extravaganza. We had not been in the same room at the same time for at least 10 years. With this being my mother’s 70th birthday year, we decided to do this massive, girly fest slumber party. Originally, we were to have it at my house. But, the last year has been rough for all of us. I have a cancer scare, my sister has a career scare, and my mother has an aging scare. I thought we’d crawl into our pajamas, order a couple of pizzas and watch a few movies while gossiping….

Oh, no. That’s not what happened at all. My mother decided that if we were going to do this, we were going to do it right. So, she booked us a suite at a swanky hotel downtown where we could spend the evening having nibbles, facials….getting our nails done.

I’m not that sort of groomer. I don’t lather myself with lotion. I don’t do mud masks, I don’t exfoliate, I don’t concern myself with cuticles. But, I was having the best damned time hanging out with my mom and sis that I couldn’t resist! First, the facial.

I have to say I tried everything I could not to LAUGH, but was told not to. They put this slimy piece of cloth on my face. I have no idea what I looked like, but I could see my mother and my sister and they both looked like Leather Face. I kept giggling at the absurdity of it all. After 30 minutes I was allowed to pull that gooey material off my head and asked, “Can I wash my face now?”

There was an immediate plea, both of them leaping out of their chairs. “NO!!!! NO! You have to rub the serum into your skin, down your neck around your ears and let it absorb! You have to let the serum ABSORB INTO YOUR SKIN!!!”

I stood back, frightened a little.

“Okay….calm down. Everyone chill. I know ya’ll take this seriously,” as you would say to a member of a cult.

I complied and rubbed that gooey mess all over my flesh. (Fun fact. No one ever gave me the “all clear” that it was safe to wash my face. It was two days, my friends, before I finally said, “Screw this,” and finally splashed my face with water. I have to confess, my skin was surprisingly taught, though.)

Next up was getting our nails done. They were getting their toenails done. Apparently, it’s open toe season. You know, sandals, flip-flops, the like. My getting my toenails done seemed ridiculous. No one would see my painted digits because I always wear boots, or at least socks. I could walk around this house butt nekked in the summertime, but I still have a pair of socks on….and yes, sometimes my boots, too.

I was so pleased with the way everything was flowing. We were laughing, chatting, sharing, and all done as though it had NOT been ten years since we all three were together. The ambient mood suggested that we did this every weekend. Anyone strolling by would have thought that we normally did this on the weekend. We were so casual about it.

Having my toenails painted would have been absurd. So, I had my fingernails done. Bravely, proudly, for all the world to see. I had the normal questions that most newbies have. “How long will this last?”

“Maybe three weeks or so.”

“SAY WHAT???? THREE WEEKS????” I just assumed it would be gone in a couple of days!

My mom chimes in. “Son, if it bothers you we can always get some nail polish remover and be done with it. But, thank you for at least trying.”

I grimaced, I winced. Man, I have to walk around with this on for three weeks????

I stared at my nails and began to think about the whole trip, the whole weekend. This was the best time I’d had with two of the most important people in my life. No fear of cancer, no fear of career, no fear of aging. The three of us laughing and having fun.

So, it’s been about three weeks and my nail polish has been chipping. My nails are looking….yuck. Kara was over the other day and suggested we go up to Walgreens and get some remover and take it all off.

I looked at my nails, chipped and wrecked of a deep Navy blue and asked, “Once you take this off, should I stick with this color, or find a new one?”

She looked at me with a smiling curiosity.

Throughout the last few weeks, every time I looked at my nails I was reminded of a great weekend with my mom and my sister. We rarely get to see each other, but every time I looked at my nails I smiled with glee at the three of us looking silly while trying to look pretty….(excuse me! Prettier 🙂 )

“Yeah, I think I want to keep painting them. I dunno. It’s weird and beautiful at the same time. Every time I knit I see those painted nails. Every time I draw something, I see those painted nails. So, I guess it’s an interesting version of keeping a good memory around me all the time.” Yes, I am eccentric.

Much to my enjoyment, Kara suggests we make a night of it. “Oh! Next time Phillip is working until 4am, we’ll hang out, order pizza, do our nails, flip through Vogue, watch cooking shows and gossip about people we don’t like…..” (Huge smile on her face!)

“YES! Let’s!”

So, I guess my painted fingernails are an homage to the amazing women in my life. They take care of me, love me for being only me, and are always a phone call or a swag bag weekend in pajamas away.

Clergy

Phillip says to me, “Let’s start a rock band.”

“Beg your pardon.”

“Your voice, my instruments. I think we could do it. You could be my Nico.”

Then he says, “I’m pulling out my Gugin….”

I hope you are as wide eyed as I was when hearing that. “Pulling out your what?”

A Gugin is a beautiful stringed instrument from China. Phillip has some of the most fascinating instruments. Truth be told. He has a tons of them. Multiple music makers. He has a weird whistle that sounds tribal. A drum that looks sensual. He has all sorts of fun things. No guitars, no banjos….But, he does have a Gugin.

He sits me down in his new studio. Yes! We have an extra room, what we used to call the Florida room, but Phillip has decided to turn it into a musicians studio. (How fantastic. I mean, think about it. It could have been a dumb “man cave” where he played video games all day. No! He wants to create things, not kill things!)

The man wanted to make music, play, have fun, enjoy the creative process….and was kind enough to make me a part of his art 🙂 I got to be a muse!

So, we just played for a moment. My speaking for a moment while he played with his Gugin. Ha! Trying not to make it sound dirty. No, no innuendo here 😉

We decided not to edit the piece, but leave it as is. You can hear us trying to figure out software, layered tracks, and a little bit of both of us being a bitch for a minute. It was fun. And I think it’s barely a minute long. We call our little endeavor, “Clergy.” Click here to listen.

That Ever Dreadful Maybe

This won’t be a long post. I haven’t been very wordy lately. I’ve been very quiet….

A few Tuesdays ago I went to my dentist for what I thought was an abscessed tooth. A huge swelling developed on my neck, under my jaw. Upon inspection, she said it was not a tooth problem and demanded that I go to the emergency room. She even had one of her staff tell Kara (my ride) not to take me home, but to the ER.

Five hours later and a few CT scans and viles of blood drawn, the ER doctor was concerned that it was cancer. She saw the mass under my jaw, saw nodes not only there, but on the top of my lungs. She wanted to admit me then and there and begin biopsies and more CT scans.

I freaked out. FREAKED out. Began to vomit, nearly passed out. I told her no. Not at all. Want I wanted to do was go home, pray, and call my mom. The ER doctor said that without insurance (which I didn’t have), it was going to be very difficult to get a primary care doctor, then the head and neck specialist, then the lung specialist, then the oncologist…..

Too much at once, went home and did what I had thought would ease me: I prayed, then called my mom.

I kept getting roadblocks. The Centra Care in my neighborhood is virtually gone. The ER is expensive, getting a ride to another urgent care is difficult, primary care doctors weren’t taking new patients for WEEKS and this and that and this and that and then suddenly it all started coming into play. Everything started working out.

Within a few days of that very scary Tuesday I managed to get private insurance. Mercy, that’s expensive. It’s ok. I’ll start selling more teddy bears and write another REALLY good book. We’ll figure that out later.

God, had something else in mind, a different path that would work beautifully for me. A new doctor is only a few blocks away, and just feet from where Phillip works, and is in my network. They took my appointment the following day.

Phillip went with me, of course. And the moment we walked in I made a bee line for the receptionist. She greeted me kindly, handed me some papers and asked me to have a seat. Turning around, Phillip and I noticed that there were five older men in the waiting room. Rainbow flags everywhere. I just giggled and whispered to Phillip, “This is a doctor for old gay men….HALLELUJAH!”

The doctor was wonderfully kind, very humorous when needed, blunt and honest and calm when it was required. He was concerned about the nodes and wanted me to have more tests. The poo tests, the blood tests, more CT scans on my lungs and a few more angles of x-rays. He basically said he was going to treat the swelling on my neck as an infection with more antibiotics for a longer period….while looking for lung cancer.

I hate going into my portal to fill out paperwork because it doesn’t just say, “CT SCAN.” No, it says, “CT SCREEN FOR LUNG CANCER.” It triggers you a little. They haven’t said yes, they haven’t said no. They’ve only said that ever dreadful maybe.

He also wanted me to quit smoking as soon as possible, gave me resources. He wanted me to pursue my medical marijuana card because of my agoraphobia and anxiety, and to help build weight. “But, no smoking! Do edibles.” He also wants all of my teeth taken out as soon as possible.

(Side note. When he was examining me, he noticed the rosary around my neck. “Were you raised Catholic?” No, I responded. “Is this just a Madonna thing,” he asked? I replied, “I have a fondness for the Blessed Mother.” Phillip piped from the corner, “He has a statue of her in the back yard. He’s very religious.” The doctor said with a smile, “I’m going to share that in the notes on your file!”)

Well, next day I was Johnny on the spot, filling out paperwork, making appointments, scanning my documents, uploading my orders from the doctor. And I have to tell you, it felt therapeutic. All of the paperwork was being received and accepted in its rightful manner, appointments were being booked with quick ease. I began to feel like I was more in control of the situation.

I called George (our very own Mr. Magoo if you haven’t been following this blog!) for a ride. Ha! You have to love again how God sweeps in and makes things so easy. George has to have his CT screenings for lung cancer the same day, the same facility, our appointments within an hour of each other. Brilliant!

He was so fun when he said, “Oh, that’s my favorite place to get a CT scan. They share their parking lot with a Wendy’s!”

So, tomorrow George and I are going to get our chests scanned, hang out in a waiting room, then hit Wendy’s for a bowl of chili and a Frosty. 🙂

I’m in a better head place than I thought I’d be. I thought I would have flipped the *(bleeep) out by now. My doctor gave me instruction, gave me a ton of hope. I’ve been on antibiotics for nearly a week and have about five more days to go, but the swelling on my neck has shrunk. So, that’s a good sign!

So, I’m hoping I have your prayers that whatever they see tomorrow is just the debris of me having been me all these years. Oh! Forgot! I did go to tobaccofreeflorida.com and was able to get 200 pieces of Nicotine replacement gum for free. I got them yesterday! Today, I grabbed a bag full of Dum Dum lollipops. Going to get some licorice tea to sip on. Friday is my quit date. (All of my tests will be done by then. Things will be less stressful).

I guess my point is, rather than feeling frightened, or broken, or sad, I feel more empowered. What I find beautiful is that God has made this process so simple, so stress free, that I don’t have any fear, for I can hear Him say, “The more you fear, the further you are from me. You don’t want that. I’m here. There should be no fear.”

I’ll let you know what happens! Love you, too!

Gregory

I Miss You, Too

My mother suggested I should say something to you. And moms are often right.

“You can’t keep talking about your life and then suddenly stop. People will worry.”

SO! here goes! I have been struggling with essential tremors. It started about a year ago, worked it’s wild shakes only on occasion, but recently it really got bad, hence why you haven’t seen as my many blog posts, nor teddy bears for the last long while. It’s difficult, but not impossible to knit or write, it just….takes longer. There are some days when trying to drink a cup of tea is better done with a straw. Lifting the cup can result in quite a mess. But, other days are better. (Note to doctor: when laughing with friends, I don’t shake as much.)

Now, don’t get into a panic, because I certainly haven’t. It’s only life changing, not terminal. I actually don’t fear the diagnosis at all. ( was afraid it might be Parkinson’s). I’m just annoyed and aggravated that the shaking could prevent me from the things I love doing most….

And there you have it. That last sentence is very telling. Prevent me? From being creative? Are you kidding me? Pfff! I refuse to allow the shaking of my head, hands or voice prevent me from making beautiful things. That’s why you’ve seen so many illustrations. My hands sketching wildly while shaking actually looks rather nice. I can hide behind the shaking of my hands. I can turn a problem into something beautiful, full of striking color and movement. Ta da!

I’m doing physical therapy about 25 minutes a day. I like it. It’s fascinating. I actually force myself to shake, rather than the other way around. Apparently, we are trying to recharge the neurons in my brain, telling my brain to shake my hands and head, rather than my brain telling me.

Again, I have to stress, I am not worried about this. Just another one of those things that makes you discover through a hindrance just how capable you are. So, don’t be upset if you only see a teddy bear here or there, or if I only write a blog post now and then. I’m still here, doing fine…..making the most of my shaky scribble. I assure you something wonderful will come from this.

(And thank you for still being there for me. I miss you, too.)

An Afternoon in Paris

What a classic afternoon, what a great way to spend the day! It was gruesome, ghoulish, dark and dismal, rainy. And I was sitting and knitting, frowning.

My friend Kara came by for no other reason than to say hello. Don’t you love that? Old friends popping by to say, “Hi?” So, in she steps wearing the most amazing jacket. Kara has a particular style that is just so very her. She finds the most amazing clothes from all over the world….all in thrift stores.

I asked, “Where in the world did you find this?”

“A thrift store in Paris. No label.” There is always a little grin when she says that, or even when I hear it. Some artists work a piece without the pressure of couture….they do it for the experience. Who knows who made this gorgeous thing, but gorgeous it is and I was in awe.

It was a bit like tapestry, like the French version of that scene in “Gone With the Wind,” when Scarlet has her curtains turned into a dress. FANTASTIC! Some artist took what looks like a piece of carpet and turned it into the most stunning coat.

But, that wasn’t all….

“I also found this hat,” she said, “….that would fit a Gregory.”

I laughed. “Fit a Gregory?”

“Well, I know you have the tiniest pea sized head and thought this might fit you.” She grinned, handing it to me.

I’ll be damned, it did fit. And it felt….swank. Away with the ballcap for a minute and try this on. You may laugh, but I felt handsome. I giggled as I saw myself in the mirror. I felt handsome….again. The older you get the less attractive you tend to feel….or at least I do. And for one afternoon with a hat on, found in a thrift store in Paris, I felt striking.

You know I’m agoraphobic, so I don’t go out much, or at all. There is no reason to look fashionable, no reason to doll myself up and present myself, as one would say. But, when I put that hat on, things changed when I saw myself in the mirror. I’m much better looking than I think I am. You can call out my flaws, and I’m fully aware of them, but…it was so nice to reconcile with myself in the mirror and appreciate what I saw.

Kara said, “It looks good on you. You may not wear it every day, but when you do, you’ll look great.”

Then after that it was the common sort of afternoon you would expect. Two old friends in Orlando eating French bread with butter and lettuce, a few sips of wine, while Edith Piaf sings in the background…wearing vintage clothes from a thrift store in Paris.

I truly do have a great life 🙂

I Know That Story

I have been wrecked in the head trying to write this new book. I knew the plot, I knew the story….or so I thought. I wanted to have a child clutching to a purple bear for safety. But, why purple? While clutching the teddy bear she could hide the bruises from abuse.

I gave the idea to Phillip, Kara, George…..(cringes all around). They all suggested that it was too heavy, too horrible a subject for the softness of a children’s book about a teddy bear. Phillip suggested that the reason she wanted a purple bear was to help camouflage a birth mark on her face.

Wasn’t a bad idea, really. So, I sat here trying to write a story about something I knew nothing about. I paced, I washed dishes, I got cranky and screamed at the cats for meowing. Nothing worked. Words weren’t coming to me. The whole plot line was so precious, but the Universe wouldn’t inspire, muses wouldn’t court me. I guess I could dust the blinds while I wait for something to make me want to pen a story I knew nothing about. How horrid it would be just to script out crap for the sake of literary motion.

A little girl with a birth mark wants a purple teddy bear to hide it….

No.

I had no choice but to sit down and tell the truth to myself, in my own artistic way, tell the truth, tell a story that I’m familiar with. This book should be about child abuse. And it isn’t about a girl, but a boy….

Yes. That is the story I know. A young boy being physically abused…and hiding his pain behind the soft strength of a plush teddy bear….

And now this old man is peering into the heart of his childhood, still clutching a plushy.

I’m now pages and pages into writing a beautiful tale about something painful….because I know that story, and I feel much better about that because I know that it has a happy ending.