happy bday, douglas!

 

It's been a long road. Douglas and I were married 44 years ago, in 1978. He was born in '44, and now he is 78. We were once very young.

Katie took this picture, so you know I have known her for a long time also. Not sure of the year. But it looks like the Claudia's Surf City era in the 80s.

This picture was taken on January 1, 2022, on our daughter's 40th birthday. It was taken by Simon, Douglas's youngest son. And the picture below was taken on the same day, of Douglas and his current family, Simon and  Lynn.

 

 There was love there, and there still is. Happy bday, Baby!

the one and only randy

 

There are so many Randys in Thomasville it should be called Randyville. But for me, there was only one. My Randy was the one with the heart big enough for anybody, whether you came from his country or a foreign one, whether you were light or dark, city or rural, no matter your beliefs. If you were in need, he was there to help. He never met a stranger, and he took everyone in and trusted everyone—until you lied, cheated or stole, and then his wrath was terrible. He liked to say that he was a member of the Hatfield family, of the feuding Hatfields and McCoys, which I guess could account for the wrath!

   I wouldn’t have lasted in Thomasville without him. He helped me with my well, my electricity, my air conditioner, carpentry, repairs—and was a hero during the flood. But most of all, by accepting me, a liberal citygirl outsider, he caused the rest of the town to accept me as well. He was my foot in the door. More: He held the door open for me. That’s the kind of heart he had. And that’s the reason he has friends all over the world.

   He loved his town, his neighbors, his animals, his children and grandchildren, but most of all he loved his Baby. “I robbed the cradle,” he liked to say. He wanted her next to him most of the time. “I have to get my helper,” he’d say. I don’t know if he and Virginia ever quarreled, but I certainly never saw it. All I ever saw was love, on both of their parts.

    I don’t know what his turkey is going to do without him. There was always an animal following him around, his rooster, his little dog, most recently the turkey. 

 

 I really don’t know what any of us are going to do without him.

 

snow day

Snow days aren't like they used to be when school was in person. Milla and Isaac have been on virtual school for two days now. And it snowed last night! The first big snow of the winter! But today their teachers gave them a snow-day break: school was out at noon. And so the back yard became a playgound of snowballs, sculpture, building, shoveling and sledding. A fine time was had by all. Though the wuss watched from indoors in Sara's excellent abode.

 

 

the party's over

 

Aaand, two people who attended have tested positive for Covid. Mind you, people were vaxed, masked, tested, outdoors and careful. But.

  The kids are at school, and afterwards Camilla is learning to crochet. A gremlin.

partay

 

You may not know this—I hadn't thought about it—but in time of pandemic one does not blow out the candles on the cake. One may, however, at a rainy 40th birthday party, eat cake, have hot cocoa with whipped cream and hot cider with spiced rum and champagne and cotton candy and lots of other treats. 

   The lollipop girls enjoyed many.

And then there was the poutine et al from the French fry truck.

 

There were Gasners abounding, as well as a few Dowlings.

We wrapped it up late with a fire and kareoke, which the kids loved, and a fine rendition of "Baby Got Back" by the birthday girl and her best friend from grade school.

 

 

party ready

Back in the day, Hannah's birthday party was at 98 Riverside Drive (below). Probably like 35 or so of them. But her life has moved north, and so has her party. They moved me north too. And this is quite the affair, being as it is to be outside (pandemic) and it is raining.

Milla was the decor assistant, assembling decorations, stacking champagne glasses and helping dad tent the yard.

 The French fry truck arrives at 1:30, so away we go!

les visitants

Peter and Jamie (yes, the first wife of my ex-husband) visited me in New York for a fab week that required my not even getting dressed. They took in a Broadway play, were disappointed by a cancelled Carnegie Hall concert on Cristmas Eve, and took in the Jasper Johns show at the Whitney and the Kandinsky show at the Guggenheim. But most of the time was about eating: Chinese takeout on the nonChristmas. And MamaDonna (above) showed up to cook us dinner for Jamie's birthday. I don't usually post pictures of food—but

 Prawns with grits. Mmmmm. 

Jamie made one-dish pasta. And arranged flowers.

 

She would kill me for posting this picture. But here's one just as dorky of me, wearing the ring-toss reindeer Hannah sent us.

 

notes from the lotus eater

                                                        Photo by Donna Ferrato  

Sorry. I’ve been in an opiate haze of nausea and pain for the last three weeks and haven’t been able to respond to the many wonderful get-well and happy birthday cards (yes, Linda Gomez, I talkin' to you!), happy birthdays, worried update-needing friends who have sent gifts, text messages and made many a phone call I haven’t answered. I think I've heard from everyone I've ever known. It’s like attending your own funeral before you’re dead. 

     Also thanks to the steady stream of visitors who amused, massaged, doctored, cooked, shopped, entertained, encouraged self-torture and just plain encouraged. I’m sorry, but some of my only memories of people and occasions are only recorded on my camera, and not in my brain. I don’t even remember all of my visitors! (Paula? I think you were here!) BTW, I don't recollect writing the previous blog entry, which I guess proves that I can write in my sleep.I am now one week detoxed and resuming function. The kitchen table office is open. I hope to get back to you all individually as it wears on, but meanwhile have a great time over the holidays. Happy solstice! Happy full moon! Don’t forget to love everybody. And love from me to all of y’all. I felt it so much.

 Herewith a recap in mostly bad pictures (mine) and some good ones (others’), starting with Thanksgiving.

 

 

 

 

 My wonderful daughter Hannah (almost 40!) stayed after Thanksgiving here and took me to the Hospital for Special Surgery, and waited with me in the waiting room and then the antechamber of the OR, where she became the Designated Relative for patients who had none there. Oddly, another patient by the name of Chris Dowling was there too, but they did not get us confused.

 

Hannah brought me home and got my meds and fed my meds and ran the leg-icing machine, all the while dealing with her Christmas rush at Wear Your Music. My sister Erin took over from her, kindly taking the train down from Rhode Island after just being here for Thanksgiving. But I remember very little of that sororal visit, alas. I do know she learned how to operate and maintain the ice machine, which had to be done many times a day.

Donna took over the ice machine from Erin and cooked Italian food and other things that I can't remember, and asked me if I was doing my physical therapy (um) and, of course, took pictures. She also brought a watermelon.

 She entertained writer/editor Allison Adato and writer/photographer David Van Biema, who were kind enough to pay a call. I hope they can come back when I'm more with the program.

Then came a party for Ed, which I provided the venue for but you could hardly say hosted. Karen Emmons, another former LIFEer, from Thailand, brought the caviar and food, as did writer/editor Hope Hamashige and I guess others. Tommy V, also LIFE, brought the music and the mozzerella. Ed's son brought Ed, which was all anyone really cared about, fortunately. I was descending into La-La Land and took to my bed, missing the party almost entirely. 

I was virtually nonfunctional by the time Katie and Mike arrived on the train from the Berkshires for my birthday, filling the house with flowers and song and hootenanies and a 71st birthday cupcake. There was almost nothing they could do for me as I wallowed in misery. They tried everything, though! 

 

As they left, I went off the opiates, which left Changping to deal with Claudia in detox and terminal nausea. As she arrived bearing giant bags filled with my favorite foods—edamame, boiled peanuts with star anise, tofu, congee, mushrooms and Chinese cabbage, this was an enormous disappointment to her. But she concealed it well and sat by my bedside and gave me massages and talked with her friends in Taiwan. She was delighted to serve me Chinese food and herself eat a Zabar's pastrami sandwich. 

 

My neighbors did errands and brought food. Debby made me chopped liver and picked up my drugs (which BTW I have stopped taking entirely—I prefer pain). Toby bought me the apples which seem to form the bulk of my diet at this point). I had my first out of house (if not out of body) experience today, going to physical therapy, where I am meant to learn to walk without a limp for the first time in 15 years. I also bought milk at a store. The world seems very scary at first. I will never again try to use a cane, which seems to be more of a danger than an aid to me. 

  And finally (TMI?), is this what it's like to be old?

 

 

But who brought the canteloupe, I have no idea.

 

Simon meets the Christmas Dragon

preview

I kind of feel like I have been able to attend my own funeral: Practically (and virtually) everyone I have ever known has sent me good wishes re my knee replacement recovery. Thank you! So this is a response to the outpouring of love I have gotten. Word: I am not dead yet! However, during physical therapy I sometimes wish I was. 

  I can walk around. I took a shower. I walked up to Broadway and around the block yesterday. I have had good helpers to measure my pain meds and refill my ice machine. Daughter Hannah saw me through the surgery a week ago today, and sister Erin subbed in as handmaiden when Hannah had to go home. Mama Donna comes in this afternoon to make sure I am not moaning on the floor. They have been better sports than me. I am so lame.

Lame. Yes, I am lame. And, oddly, that's what Claudia means. Lame, after the emperor Claudius, who was lame—club foot. I just have a fake knee. Trigger warning: took the bandage off today.

Those black lines are sharpie. Also the surgeon's initials. She told me that the computer assist used by the Hospital for Special Surgery basically just helps to draw a straight line, which she is accustomed to doing by eye. Also she said she did not play football like every other orthopedic surgeon I talked to, but softball. And when I asked her whether the cure was worse than the disease, she said that was an interesting way of putting it. She said it was my call. At the moment, I feel like it was the wrong call, but everyone says to wait until the pain has lessened to decide. So I will. 

   I neva shoulda climbed Mt. Everest.

   Meanwhile, the apartment looks like an old person lives here. I guess an old person does. Is this a preview of the rest of my life?  Ice, ice, baby.