fivebyevif

My grandfather died when I was 15. It was sudden — he was 72, and as far as we knew, in good health. As it turns out, he wasn’t, but that’s not here or there.

As a little girl, and even as a young adolescent, my grandfather was everything to me. He was one of the three cooks in my life (the other two were my grandmother and mother), and he had a penchant for good chocolate, jigsaw puzzles, and singing, “Here She Comes, Miss America” whenever I came walking down the stairs.

After they moved back to Ohio, I would come to visit in the summer, and he and I would take long walks through the forest and meadows, collecting wild fruits and bringing them back to my grandmother. Sometimes we had enough for pies, sometimes we had enough for jam, but usually we only had enough to eat out of hand.

I remember my grandfather being wiry, but strong. He insisted on walks after a meal. He was picky, and stayed up very late. He wasn’t afraid to say what he meant. He was intelligent, kind, and he let me put his hair in rollers. He was a positive male rolemodel, and though he’s now been dead longer than he was alive for me, that early influence of a man with a sense of humor and can-do, improvisational attitude has always been a strong force in my life.

When Mike asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday this year, I mused, “You know, I’ve always wanted to see my grandfather’s gravesite.” Mike’s response was, “Then let’s do that.”

And that’s why I love him. Because yesterday, we did. It’s been 18 years, but I finally got there.

I miss my grandfather. It was nice to see him again.

My grandfather's marker.

I keep getting up at 7:30 AM. There are two reasons for this:

1. Drugs. After a decade, my sleep disorder has been addressed, and I can actually go to bed at a normal time.
2. Relationship. We both need to be healthier, and have come to independent conclusions on this. Mine was that I needed to hit the gym at least 3-5 days a week and cook more meals. His was that he needed to eat said meals more often.

Additionally, we both are people with side projects. Mine is writing, his is coding. The free time we devoted to this suddenly evaporated when we started living together, because we tend to gravitate toward one another when we’re awake. I’d be in my bedroom, typing up an action scene, and I’d hear from his room, “Hiiiiiii.” Or he’d be in his bedroom, frowning at Ruby on Rails, and I’d bounce in and curl up around him because I was bored. Neither of us was getting much accomplished.

I’d been sliding toward an earlier schedule since I started taking the sleep medication, and I find I like it, a phrase I never thought I’d utter in written or spoken form. In the mornings, I can do some cleaning up and get to work early, when it’s quiet and distractions are fewer. Because I get home before him, there’s plenty of time for me to prepare a healthy dinner without us having to eat at 10 PM. In the evenings, when I’m sleeping, he can focus on code.

Not that we don’t still cuddle and talk. But we both recognize that we’re cuddle addicts. Addicts, I say!

Anyway. Still adjusting to this, but it seems to be working. Better living through chemistry. And, y’know, that whole give-and-take of a relationship thing.

I’m not saying this journal is back from the dead, by the way. Sometimes things do feel like they need to be said. So I’m letting them talk. For now.

Eight years ago was doomsday mumblings, Gladiator tickets, funnelcats, birthday/Pamie babble, and 5k awards.

Seven years ago was bad military jokes, pontification, and corrections from Mom.

Six years ago today? Melancholic about being single. A kick in the ass from a kick ass woman named Kim.

Five years ago I was riding emotional rollercoasters, experiencing house anxiety, still pondering being a spinster.

Four years ago I was writing a book, starting to feel iffy about the house, blissfully not a manager.

Three years ago I was going to E3 in Los Angeles, learning to grapple with being a manager, and a couple months away from an ER visit.

Two years ago I was getting a massage and party-bound, still single, still wrestling with keeping my house in order.

One year ago I forgot to post.

So here we are, and I did not forget this time. This is the watermark post of this journal.

I’m grillmaster today at our company barbeque, and I’m up early because I need to pack some things and do a little prepwork. Last weekend we went camping. I found two ticks on me, and Mike found two on him, and that doesn’t worry me anymore. Most of the weekend we relaxed and ate brats and steak.

I had a car accident exactly two weeks ago. The less said about that, the better, but it’s significant, so I should mention it.

But mostly I have been thinking for several nights now how much Papo would have liked some of the changes in the world. I’m sure he would have hated others, but I think he’d enjoy some of the food I’ve found and cooked, and I know he’d like Mike. Certainly the new American love affair with hot peppers would have made him happy. And he’d have fussed over the great-grand-babies/kids: Brooke, Cari, Jay, Brett, Kiryan, Kip, Ben.

In June, Mike and I are taking a trip for my birthday to visit the cemetery where Papo is buried. That’s my birthday gift. Call it morbid, but it’s something I’ve been wanting to do for years, and my birthday seemed a good time to do it.

Tonight I will make beef and mushroom soup, and I’ll remember my granddad. For now, though, I need to chop onions and prep the coolers. I suspect, as a restaurateur, he would understand this.

I love you, Papo. I miss you.

I’ll be honest, I’m not sure this blog is necessary anymore.

You who are reading it are already with me on Facebook or Twitter. Which is a fine thing; all the minutiae of my life is happily shuffled around there, and I love that it’s more of a two-way conversation and less me dropping a wordbomb on peeps.

At some point, though, I lost the desire to rant. Or, I should say, I lost the need to publicly rant. Arguably, some might say I grew up.

I also became increasingly less capable of articulating the workplace that is so large a part of my life. Primarily because I became a manager, and my idea of a good manager is one that practices professionalism. Which is to say: I became more diplomatic.

I also moved my writing discussions over to the Writing Blog and the gaming reviews and industry discussions over to the Livejournal, which left this place…kind of empty.

It’s hard to let go of something you’ve had for nearly a decade. Going back and reading those old entries is a treat. Sometimes I need to be reminded of my younger self’s humor and optimism, and sometimes I want to punch her in the head, but most of the time I think it’s a good thing that I kept track of her in some way.

So I’m going to do the right thing and archive fivebyevif. The site will remain, and I’ll post some recipes in the recipe section, but updates on life and the pursuit thereof will…well, I started to say “start to happen”, but they already have been happening on the Facebook/Twitter end of things. That’s where it’s moved to. That’s where it’ll be.

I know who most of you are that follow this journal. I also know there might be a few lurkers. If you want to friend me on Facebook, please be aware that I have a personal policy of not friending people I don’t really know. That is not your fault; it’s entirely me being finicky and pesky.

But the Twitter feed is open to everyone, and I’m pretty regular in updating it. So enjoy.

Clean up will occur suddenly, probably on a weekend when I have time and I’m bored and/or insomnia-ridden.

In conclusion: I am happy, life is good, and remember that god dammit, you’ve got to be kind.

♥ - Steph

The very nicest thing about having a good boyfriend is that he helps with the big tasks. Like, say, clearing a year’s worth of leaves from the covered carport.

Usually this task takes me about three hours. Yesterday it took us one. While I hauled things around the garage into discreet piles of “what to keep” and “what to trash”, he gathered the leaves. We both got to use the leafblower, because we are, at our hearts, juveniles who like to see high-powered motors blow dust and leaves everywhere.

And then there’s the other nicest thing: which is the rubber ducky in the shower. The rubber ducky started out where it always is, on the window shelf. Then it started moving. Sometimes, on top of Mike’s shampoo bottle. Sometimes on top of mine.

Then the ducky clearly got bored. At one point I found it sitting on my washcloth, wearing my loofah like some sort of enormous afro. Another time, Mike found the loofah hanging from the window latch, and the ducky perched upon it.

It has appeared on the towel rack. On the shower head. Stuffed inside a LUSH container. It’s a very creative ducky.

So anyway. I am sitting here when I should be mowing. Just the front, I figure; we’ll do the back next week.

Things are things. I’ve lost five pounds simply be watching what I eat. I’m looking forward to some things, dreading others, and that’s pretty much that.

…asks the little voice, and the other voice answers, “Sorry to be a bother, but there’s no such thing.”

I’m poking my head back out, because somewhere in the world it’s March, and I like to think of February 2009 as a kind of temporal sacrifice that has been made and done away with. Not that the aftershocks have ended, or ever will, but the initial impact — it’s not too much to wish that it’s done for now.

Right before the major calamity started — as in, the morning of — I signed myself up for a 5K run, not because I’m entirely certain I can do it, but because I wanted a fitness goal and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

It has turned out to be a lifeline: something that I grabbed on to tight when all I wanted to do was sleep in and eat pie.

Something else I’ve done that is pure selfishness and hedonism — I found a really good massage therapist. Who loves Firefly and knows the authors I read. Finding her was totally random, but it’s been good for my back and knees and wellbeing. It’ll be the first thing to go if stuff goes south, but for now it’s doable, and it’s doing me good.

Yeah, so, that’s the state of things. Still training for a 5K, using various tools to keep me going.

And Mike, of course, has been great. Sometimes I’ve needed to be left alone, and sometimes he’s needed to go out, and sometimes we’ve gone out even though I said I’d cook because my heart just wasn’t in it. We’re loving and still in love, and it’s a great comfort.

Writing now. Back later with something less long-winded, more the usual mischief.

I started this post earlier. I ended up killing the original because it was full of wailing and teeth-gnashing, and wallowing isn’t my thing (if I can help it).

There was one thing I liked about it, though. This:

So there’s nothing to say other than that this has been a crap month, and if I were Buffy the Calendar Slayer, I’d have staked February several times over.

True dat. February’s been a crap month. But for others I know and care about, February was an even crappier month. I’m giving them my support in any way it can come. It’s all I can do.

Here is the one bright point: contracts came in today for “Midwinter Gifts”, so by December 2009 I will once again be a published writer. Go me.

Next week is work. And more work. And still more. I have been blessed by years of strong ties to amazing people. This week has emphasized that and once again reminded me that I am blessed, even when I’m losing some of the things I cherish most. I’ll try not to take the refresher in that lesson for granted.

The radio silence might continue a while more. I hope not. I still want to post pictures of Mexico, but right now I need sleep, which has been in short and restless supply of late. I need to think about solutions, not problems. I need to not dwell on everyone and everything that February has taken from me.

I need to love, and let go, and be strong for the people who need me to be me.

Back, but unfortunately I now have a story to finish, which is where my writing attention is focused. I promise a longer post (or two) when I have the time and photos to draw upon.

Despite rain, injury, and high surf (the cause of the injury), we had a great time. Next time we have decided to be a bit more adventurous and break away from the all inclusive, but I think it was a great way to get comfortable visiting a foreign country. We can already tell that Mexico makes a decent getaway for us since it’s 3 hours away by plane, the people mostly know some English, and it’s not expensive if you know what you’re doing.

I also think I am going to wind up being the language-speaker on these trips. Not that I exactly have a gift for language (or, god help us, pronunciation), but I can usually order us food and know what we’re getting. Which is really, really important in the country that invented menudo (the stew, not the band — though they invented that, too).

Peace out, girl scouts.

I’m not prone to “I have a great guy” posts. Not because I don’t, but because when I was single and reading the posts of other women talking about their great guy, they always sounded slightly…defensive? Territorial? Smug? Bragalicious?

I agree: probably jealousy on my part. But I’m not prone to bragging. I’m far too modest for that.

There is another reason not to write these posts: superstition. It’s like the old adage from knitters: never knit a sweater for your boyfriend. You’re guaranteed to break up a week after you block the damn thing.

But screw that, because you know what? I have a great guy.

I could tell you a lot of ways in which he is great, but I was thinking about two examples this morning as I was doing some chores that needed to be done due to the impending Mexicopalypse.

Reason Number One: The Teapot
I realize this is a material reason, but bear with me. For Christmas, he got me a teapot. Not any teapot. He got me a patina green, cast iron dragonfly teapot. I don’t even want to think about what it cost, because I know what it cost, and it’s why I never bought one for myself. And when I opened it up, I nearly started crying. Dude, I have wanted this teapot for years and just never bought it because it was such a frivolous purchase. But it’s gorgeous and it’s mine and it’s because of him and we are using it for dinner tonight because he looked at me all excited last night and said, “Are we going to have tea? In the teapot?”

Yes. Yes, we are going to have tea. In the teapot.

Extra added bonus: the thing is heavy enough that any burglars had better watch out. That’s how we like our teapots around here. Green and lethal.

Reason Number Two: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
I was making dinner last night, which was Thai-inspired and thus entailed a lot of chopping. Jalapenos, cilantro, onions, cucumbers, mint. As I was mixing up the cucumber salad dressing I heard behind me a scrape (of a chair), then a thump (of him sitting down), and then: “The house stood on a slight rise just on the edge of the village….”

You see, I once confessed to him that I hadn’t read the entirety of the Hitchhiker’s Guide. He was mortified and, in turn, tried to lend me his copy, but I refused stating that every copy I had ever owned had vanished under mysterious circumstances, and his copy is very nice (it’s like a Bible: leather bound, thin pages, satin bookmark) and I did not want this to happen to it.

“Fine then,” he said. “I’ll read it to you.”

So that’s what we’re doing. While I prep meals, he reads me chapters of the Guide.

I don’t want to gloat or brag or smirk smarmily, but come on: that’s awesome.

I’m wrapping up chores this morning. So far I’ve scheduled a cab, prepped Miss Geriatricat’s medicated food, started a load of laundry, cleaned up the kitchen, a half dozen other little things, and even managed to eat breakfast. Next up: finish the rough draft of the story I want to have done before the trip.

When I get back, I hope to have Dr. Siler’s diagnosis and some medication waiting for me. I woke up three times last night that I can recall, and wandered out into the hallway at some point. Honestly, I don’t know why I woke up at 9 AM like I did; probably just too much to do, and the brain won’t shut down as it should.

Have a lovely week, all.

So I’m going on a great vacation (I am convinced!) starting Sunday. This is why I scheduled my sleep study for the Thursday before we left. The contrast seemed appropriate.

During a study, you get numerous electrodes glued to your face, arms, legs, and chest. If you are lucky, you get Doug the Awesome Technician to be your handler, and you both talk about all your favorite sf and fantasy novels while he’s using the air compressor on the glue. Then wires are connected to boxes, adjustments are made, and you are put into a bed and told to go to sleep. At 9 PM.

This clearly did not work for me. Despite an initial lulling off, I woke up at 12:30, and stayed that way until 1:30, which is about when the Ambien Doug gave me kicked in. Ambien, for the record, is Good Shit and I wholeheartedly would be a poster girl for it.

But I don’t need to be, because once the doctor reviews my records he’s probably going to recommend a sedative. The theory is that it’ll relax me enough during those first two hours to stop the wake-up-screamings. And I will experience full nights of sleep once more.

So that wasn’t the sorrow, actually. It was uncomfortable at times and I’m yawning like a starving Venus flytrap, but that’s not the sorrow.

The sorrow is Bart, who was my first Aikido instructor. Massive heart attack. Coma. And the news is that after today, “nature will take its course”. Which I think is the gentle way of saying he’s going to pass sometime this weekend or earlier.

And god. damn. it. Healthy man, couldn’t even be far out of his 40s, sweet guy who scared the crap out of me when I first met him, a brisk but technically brilliant instructor.

God damn it. Too young. Too young.

Anyway.

I have a huge list of things to get done today. And a few more tomorrow. Saturday night, as promised, I will likely organize my pantry. Gleeheehee! You all thought I was crazy when I organized my freezer and put it all into a spreadsheet, but who’s crazy now, hunh? Hunh??

Take care all. See you when I get back from Mexico. Perhaps even with pictures this time!