Mom's Trip to the ER

Mom had muscle pains in the muscles attached to the top of her rib cage and collar bones. They were sharp piercing pains which were worse when she breathed in and out. They could be controlled by pain killers and moving slower. She’d been moving boxes from one storage stall to the other for the past two days and she’s more than a little stressed. They persisted for a few days so she was worried. Finally, she called the 800 Nurse on the back of her insurance card and asked what to do.
She heard: ‘chest pains’ out of that whole description, but she said it didn’t sound like a heart attack. However if someone has chest pains you send them to the hospital period, end of story. If you don’t and it is a heart attack, then you get sued big time. “Just in case,” she told Mom.
So we went down to the emergency room in Auburn.
In triage they heard ‘chest pains’ and also ‘good insurance’ but still we waited for 1.5 hours to get in to see a doctor. There was a long line, you see, and lots of ambulances coming and going which you couldn’t see from where we were.
The doctor said, “It doesn’t sound like anything more than pulled muscles, all the evidence suggests I should just give you pain medications and send you home, but this is the emergency room and here we must handle ‘chest pains’ by thoroughly checking that it is not your heart. So I will give you a blood test, an electrocardiogram, and a CT Scan before I release you.”
So we read our books for an hour then they came by and took her for one of the above. He came back and said “All clear on that one. Here have some morphine for the pain.”
So we read our books for an hour then they came by and took her for another one of the above. He came back and said “All clear on that one.”
So we read our books for an hour then they came by and took her for the last one of the above. He came back and said “All clear on that one. You can go home.”
It was now 2:15 am in the morning. We’d arrived at 6:45pm.
The next day Mom went to her primary care doctor who said, “Yep, muscle pain and stress. FYI that machine of yours you are walking around in has been running for over 60 years—go easy on it. No lifting. That’s what young people are for.”
Memo to Dr. Turner from this machine I’m walking around in: “Thanks a lot! Ouch!”
So let’s look back on this experience…they say:

Single payer will mean long lines

• long lines now, check

Single Payer will mean tons of bureaucracy

• Triage—scanned insurance card
• Second Triage—signed some papers
• While lying in room—paid $75 co-pay for emergency room visits
• Tons of just-in-case policy-says tests—there until 2:30am
• Need I say more?

Government will mess it up

• Someone with chest pains waits for 1.5 hours to be seen, I think we’re doing a fine job of messing it up already.

My Bucket List

No, I don’t have terminal cancer like in the movie, but Mom encouraged me to do this the other day because, right now, I’m feeling adrift in the waters of life. It’s time to get my boat pointed in a direction and go.
The nice thing about a healthy person’s bucket list I find is that they can be filled with single experiences like the movie as well as life-long goals.
Without further ado, here are the things I’d like to do before I kick the bucket:
1. Own someplace to make and perform with puppets
2. Pass the Level 3 Japanese proficiency test
3. Go to an international puppetry festival
4. See the Great Wall of China
5. Visit Australia
6. Write a novel
7. Make a self-published book online
8. Build a Punch and Judy set of puppets
9. Enter a puppetry competition for an award
10. Go back to Japan
11. Visit Outer Space (why not?)
12. Find & Frequent my own Harmonia Gardens or Cheers bar
13. Make a Victorian Costume
14. Go on a Kayak overnight trip
15. Perform in another Shakespearian Play
16. Make a YouTube Web Show
17. Live in a really big city for a while

Ms. Leaverton goes to 915 2nd Ave. Rm 2988 Seattle

These Organizing for America emails I’ve been getting lately really sort of pull you into the notion that you matter in this whole thing, don’t they? I’m just one person…just one voter…but if I call my senator or send her an email or post to her Facebook page or visit her office, I could make a difference in how she votes. What are my odds, huh? Sort of like playing the lottery…accept there’s some skill and effort involved. What skill? Well, I think to be heard you’d better have something unique to say and be able to say it with style. Then add a little luck…that what you wrote or said has enough style to catch the eye or appeal to one of her staff. That staff person might then have the power to bring it to the attention of another staff person a little closer to Her Senatorialness who can show it to her. And if what you said has true impact and sound-byte quality perhaps she might remember it…use it in a speech if it jives with how she wants to vote. If it doesn’t jive, well it won’t make it past the first staff person, let alone influence her vote.
These are the things you tell yourself when you get those emails. It’s the way you justify sweeping it into your trash folder. But sooner or later, they’ll get to you. You see, we all want to believe that our opinion matters. So if someone keeps telling us it does enough times…we might be tempted to go forth and take some sort of action—as I did when the Chief (hale to him) asked me (and a million others) to visit my Senator’s office.
I had one more road block to overcome…that being the classic “Who has the time to go all the way over to their senator’s office?” especially in Seattle, where going anywhere is a chore, I mean…how dare they ask me to take some of my valuable time and go…how far? I don’t know. Better google it…um…let’s see, a click here and a link there and…TWO WHOLE BLOCKS! So much for that road block. *grumble grumble* All right, all right all ready! I’ll go. So today, on my way to get my mail from the UPS store, I detoured to the office of Senator Patty Murray.
There’s a metal detector you’ve got to go through…yep…show some ID. Then you gotta ride the world’s fastest elevator (be sure to pop your ears) up to the 29th floor (not quite the highest room in the tallest tower but still)! And then there you are, facing two lovely receptionists…who have by this time collected quite a stack of fliers Organizing for America asked you to fill out and bring with you. With a little prompting & some friendly banter, you can get them to tell you all about the other yahoos that Organizing for America sent in. They’ll even show you the stack of fliers. Some people signed up on the website thinking that they would get a meeting with the Senator…walked right in and announced “I have an appointment.” Some expected to meet with a staff person! At this, I had to ask the young lady who she thought she was if not a staff person of Senator Murray? She smiled and said the others wanted to talk to a Senatorial Staff Person (with a capital SS&P). I told her that once again, I was pretty sure she counted for that too.
I then asked the question that all probably do at some point, “Does it matter more that I showed up at the office with this flier filled out and handed it in in-person than if I say…mailed it or called it or emailed it in?”
She smiled again and replied, “Oh yes, I’ll tell Senator Murray that every one of these fliers was brought in. She’ll enjoy reading them.”
See? I knew I was talking to the right person. Who wants to talk to some inflated ego SSP? They’d bungle the job no doubt, they have no paper skills and they’re busy writing clever speeches on their High-Powered Laptops anyhow. It’s the front desk lady you want. She’s the master of paper…and she’s the one the Senator smiles and greets every single morning she’s in town because she’s the only guaranteed one to have a desk that the Senator has to walk by to get to her own. She’s the gatekeeper for the masses. Diss on her to your own detriment—this woman is the true conduit to power for the little people. She’s really nice to you too, if you are really nice to her. I even found out that her mom’s an engineer too.

My Monday Morning Mystery

Yesterday, I lost my keys…not an unusual occurrence in my life but that’s the only part of this story that is. Sandy came over to try out puppetry with me. She and I also tried out my new rolling seats that Dad got me. I decided that they were a valuable thing behind stage. That means that I need two more. So we googled where the nearest Sears was…turns out that the Seatac Mall still has its, so we determined to go there. At this point I began the key dance. It’s set to the tune “Where are my keys?” chanted over and over again.
They are not a small set of keys. They have a huge green carabineer, my scion keys and the keyless entry remote, there are 2 retractors, one with Mom’s house keys on them and one with my UPS mail box key and all the store user cards on it, and finally, on a ring with no retractor is my luggage key and my key for my rolling file at work. The whole thing is huge and extends about a foot long—I have to remove the car keys from the carabineer to use it to drive, otherwise the long dangling keys hit my knees over and over again. So…not small.
I looked everywhere I could think of. Sandy helped too after it seemed to be taking me so long. We must have been at it for at least 20 minutes with no luck. Finally, we gave up and she drove us to the Mall. When I got home again, I was determine not to sleep without finding them. I looked for hours…I folded and cleaned…I unmade and remade the bed. I tried to put myself into a trance telling myself to retrace my steps…I lost a few hours there to sleep…heh. I one point I put on a re-enactment of the night before when I got back from the movies and arrived back home. Finally, after hours and hours of cleaning, rearranging, and searching, at about 2 am, I decided to get more sleep. As I drift off to sleep, instead of counting sheep, I repeated over and over “I will wake up remembering exactly where I last saw my keys”. This sort of thing has worked in the past and I was at my wits end.
I woke up the next morning to the chicken alarm, which I didn’t set, to find my keys in bed with me. They were under the covers next to my leg. If you read back a few paragraphs, you will find that I did at one point unmake and remake my bed. How did they get there? That’s my Monday Morning Mystery.
I have some theories…first, I walked in my sleep and continued to search, found them and took them back to bed with me. If I can do that, then I certainly can also set the chicken clock, too. I’m not someone who has been known to walk in my sleep, however. But the rest of my theories are crazier.
My second is the cats played with the keys the night before, hid them, then retrieved them last night, played with them again, then brought them to bed and tucked them under the covers with me. Yeah…oh and set the chicken clock. Are cats that amazing?
The third, and most scary is that some evil stalker stole into my room Saturday night, took my keys and copied them, then returned them last night…tucking them under the covers with me. His motives unknown, but somehow he was able to pick a locked door the night before because I do remember locking it. This nefarious person has also to be in possession of the fact that I am a deep sleeper—so they would know that tucking keys in bed with me would not wake me. They would also need to be aware that I am sleeping in a strange room of the house—not a huge leap if one considers this person should’ve been watching me for many nights. Plus they should also know how to work the stupid chicken clock, which is some what counter intuitive.
Fourth, some friend or family of mine played an evil joke on me…like that’s in character for any of them. Plus all of my family are over six hours drive from me, except of course if it was my estranged husband who did it. That would be less out of character than you think…he’s known as a practical joker. Except, who plays jokes on someone they are desperate to get free of and clearly do not love?
Fifth, call the Ghostbusters, because there’s always the supernatural angle to consider. A poltergeist is enjoying itself by taking and moving things. If I believed in supernatural phenomena, I might be intrigued by the idea. But I don’t.
Alas, we must consider that all things being equal, the simplest theory is the most likely, so the only thing that makes logical sense is that I continued to search in my sleep. But that raise more questions…why was I better able to find something while asleep? Why did I disturb nothing else? Why did I decide to take the keys back to bed with me? Lastly, why did I set the chicken clock when I knew that there was 2 other clocks already set?
What do you think?

On Laughing

My friend Pam is a very loud laugher; she's also very easy to make laugh. When she came to see my show, we were all energized to have her out there laughing. I have now been to three theater productions with her, and she is free with her laughter at all times. This last Saturday we attended The Comedy of Errors free in the park in Bremerton. She thoroughly enjoyed it. I did notice once again that most of the audience twittered, giggled, or snickered softly, sometimes behind a hand as if they were watching TV or a Movie. Not Pam, and Pam was the only one that the actors came up and thanked for laughing. More than one said she had a great laugh and it was wonderful to hear it. It gave them instant positive feedback, you see, made them walk taller in spirit and do even better on stage.
We've all been trained to laugh quietly by movies and TV. "How?" you ask. It's because TV and Movies never stop and let you laugh anymore. The older ones used the laugh-track which folks were bothered by, now some of the better ones perform before a live audience. But most of the time the shows just proceed merrily along from one laugh line to the next with the merest pause in between. So you've got to laugh softly or you might miss something. In a movie it's even worse. They tell you "Silence is Golden". We are so programmed to laugh softly, that we get annoyed if anyone does laugh out loud.
My cousins once went to a movie with my mother Mary and afterwards told her they would never got to a funny movie with her again because she laugh so loud it embarrassed them!
When it comes to live theater though, laughing softly is the worst thing you can do. The actors get no energy from the soft laugh which can easily be considered a polite chuckle. To an actor, the polite chuckle is the sign that your show is falling flat. Theater is not TV. Those actors can see and hear you. They are trained to pause during a laugh so you don't miss anything. So don't be afraid to open the pipe and let out a guffaw, a roar, an LOL or even a ROTFLMAO. The show will be even better for it and the actors with thank you--and as we discovered, if the setting is small enough--they will literally thank you and shake your hand.

Two New Origami Videos

I'm trying out decorations these days. The following videos I made feature two decorative balls.

Origami 4 sider (20 sider) @ Yahoo! Video

This second one I call "Origami Christmas Tree" but it also is the basis for a decorative ball which I show at the end. The reason I choose to call it a tree, is because some feel that any origami creation which involves gluing is not an Origami creation. I stop at the tree, but I also show how many of the trees glued into a ball make a lovely decoration at the end.

Origami Christmas Tree @ Yahoo! Video

Why I want to stay with Frank forever

When I married Frank, there were no fireworks or deep attraction like those of the fairytales. There was a really good friendship. He was kind, friendly and thoughtful. He also seemed to have what I lacked: he wasn’t forgetful. He was incredibly observant of everything around him. I enjoyed going over an event with him afterward because it often was a completely different story from the one I’d experienced. I seemed to supply the things he was lacking. I was outgoing and gathered people around me. He relied on me to start things: friendships, networking, events, trips, haunted houses, clubs, and so on. I relied on him to keep things going. With friendships, I would get forgetful and distracted and wouldn’t remember to communicate. Frank is the ultimate loyal friend and good correspondent.

Also, we never seemed to argue…we’d have these intense discussions where we’d present things from our point of view in, I’m sure, what each of us thought was a logical manner. He was unflappable for the most part…he wasn’t the type to rage or hit. He also had what seemed like an infinite amount of patience—something anyone who would dare to brave a relationship with me would have to have. He also wasn’t intimidated by me. He’d always gone toe to toe with me in the dorm committee if he felt he was right. He wouldn’t back down. But he also listened to me…gave weight to what I said and was grateful for the conversation. He came to me in a difficult moment in his life, and I was surprised to discover that not only would he listen to my advice he would value it as well.

He was the first person in my life to do a very wonderful thing…he picked me to be on his team. He asked me to be on the swim team in fact. I know that seems childish—but all my life I was picked last for anything athletic. I was the one seen as a dead weight on any team. He believed in me. Not only that, but he helped me learn. He taught and encouraged me in the way to swim in races and never once did I ever get the feeling from him that he regretted his decision to ask me to join—and I looked for that—I dreaded finding it. I thought I would sooner or later but he never did. I don’t think he’s ever understood what that meant to me.

He was also willing to open up his hobbies to me and let me join. God, I loved every one of those gaming sessions! I still have my first character. He has a way to totally wrap you up in the world of his making…they were always his. Maybe a few ideas came from a book or two, but the creativity and imagination was all his. For the first time I realized that a good fantasy book or a day-dream wasn’t the only thing in this world that could transport you into another. He helped me build characters I truly loved in the same way I loved every role I ever played on stage. I didn’t think that wonderful feeling could be replicated elsewhere before I met him.

He and I could talk for hours. He was a practical joke player and I never got tired of hearing him tell the tales of his adventures in High School. I think I’ve made him tell every single story at least three times. Also, he was in theater like me…in the drama club. He told me he liked to perform and wasn’t scared of it. Then he proved it by joining me to play recorders during a Christmas program in front of a huge audience. He has a natural gift for music that I have always envied greatly. He’s never feared performing with me, and he’s willing learned new things to perform with me…like dancing. He’s taken classes and learned to do some ballroom dances—and then, once again, proven himself by trying it out in a public setting. It was at one of my company parties, or maybe a wedding. He danced with me, when others would’ve cowered and insisted they needed more lessons. He knew maybe five different steps, we did them over and over again and we smiled the whole way through. With the amazing confidence he approaches things like that, we shouldn’t have been surprised when people complimented us. (But we were!) It didn’t stop there…he learned contra-dancing too—something that was his and mine from the start. And if I ever had any doubt that he wanted to do it, they were put to rest by the fact that he went out and found the perfect shirt to dance in—he bought more than one too.

He got along great with my mothers too, except when they ragged on me, then he would rise to my defense immediately. I never doubted for a moment that he was on my side, and my mothers liked him even more for that. Plus he put up with my father…not an easy task for any Son-in-law. My father tested and tried his patience to the extreme, but Frank never asked me to step in between. (Dad did.) He dealt with my Dad without putting me in the middle and starting a tug of war. (Dad tried.) For that I am forever grateful and profoundly sorry for those nine months I made the two of them live together.

He also is someone who could let me putter…be alone and work for hours on a puppet. He didn’t mind listening to the same movie over and over while I worked. He encouraged me then left me to it. Best of all, he would always give me excellent constructive criticism whenever I asked it of him.

Another thing I love about him is his willingness to go out and read up on a subject. When he learned I had ADHD, he got a book and read about it. When we had difficulties in day-to-day areas, he’d find a book to read on it. Before we got married, we went through one of those “Things you need to know about your future spouse” books. I truly believe that the information we learned there was one of the things that got us this far.

He’s not one for touching, but I used to catch him staring. He had this look in his eyes that made me feel like the most loved creature on the planet. He’d even do it in front of other people. Mom mentioned it to me several times. She marveled at the love there.

Though it wasn’t a clear communication to me, perhaps, as a hug or a held hand, he would find other ways that spoke volumes of love. Poetical cards and flowers—always what I wanted and who cares what all the guys in line buying flowers thought.

I loved to make things for him. He was so appreciative. I remember with crystal clarity the day I got his Greenwood costume done. He liked it so much that he wanted its exact copy if a part of it wore out from that point on. I also remember the day I gave him some Jedi robes. I was so glad I was able to make him so happy. Making him happy like that is something I’ve tried to do over and over. He tells a person that he doesn’t want anything and that making Christmas lists is a real chore for him. But the projects I’ve done for him…when he opened them…you’d think that it had been the dearest wish of his heart for his whole life.

Japan was a real test of our marriage. It was something I’d wanted to do all my life and when Frank learned I was looking into it…I wasn’t really committed to it then…he went out to dinner with a good friend of his who had done it. He learned everything he could from him and he determined that it would be a good thing for me. He was so concerned about my depression at loosing my job and the deep funk I’d sunk myself in, you see. He selflessly encouraged me to go. He reported all that his friend had said. He’d found out that I would be safe there. But none of that would’ve done the trick until he promised me he would visit me there. I was stunned…and in love…and overwhelmingly grateful for my luck in finding him. He was lonely without me, but he hid that from me. Our correspondence by email and chat was regular and he did come and spent nine of the most wonderful days of my life with me (not at all lessened in my mind by the fact that I got sick during it). I looked forward to returning to him…and, you know, I was never homesick before he visited, but after I fell into a real low point and at one time I called Mandy because she was the only one I could get a hold of and just bawled. Then when I got back, he was waiting. He threw a huge party for me and he tucked me back into his life as if I had never left. It was such an amazingly special occasion.

But it’s not just the special occasions that I love him for—sometimes I find myself in absolute joy over a simple dinner and a movie. I think fondly of our usual order of food at a Thai restaurant—two Thai Iced teas, Chicken satay and tom kai gai soup with a side of rice. It was perfect. We never had leftovers. It became comfort food for me. Even when things were tough between us we could go out for that meal and just talk.

That’s another thing…we could talk. We always could talk for hours…we never lost that. We’d talk about gaming, friends, or politics and a three and a half hour car ride would be over before we knew it. He’d come home every night and give me a (usually entertaining) account of his day. I may not have tracked the whole story because I’m not the same type of engineer but he’d make it easy for anyone to understand. I now know a great deal about a subject I have no interest in—Soil Nail Retaining Systems—and I don’t regret a moment of it.

I don’t know why I’m writing this…I don’t really know what’s going on. But I do know this…that I love that man. I want anyone who’ll pause to read this to know it too. I hope it isn’t a futile thing to explain but sometimes you get going along so fast in the here and now that you don’t look back at what was. Or I should say I don’t look back and I need to. This marriage wasn’t created out of the blue. There were good reasons; beautiful reasons and I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to loose him to anything…folly, depression, steamrolling, or my shear stupidity at times. Though I may have seemed discontented with this or that from time to time, I know now that I was happy. I was so happy and now…I’m not. Signs don’t get anymore plain than that.