California Dreaming

We made it to California alive and still together. There was a moment of doubt when we checked in at the airport and the ticket kiosk somehow switched to Spanish. With unknown choices ending in the question "si" or "non gracious" we knew we were in trouble. We hadn't even left Cleveland and we were already clueless. Rudy kept his composure, begged the person at the ticket counter for assistance and managed to get our boarding passes. Since one of the questions regarded the additional charges for baggage, we may be in for a real surprise when his credit card bill comes next month.

Marigrace timed her arrival perfectly, and picked us up curbside within moments of leaving the baggage claim. California driving , especially, in Los Angeles is not for the faint of heart. I rode shotgun with my eyes closed, while Rudy sat in back with Sassy, his new best friend. MG hasn't changed a bit, and we were all on the same page from the first hug. The ride was filled with catch up chatter and laughter.

By the time we arrived in Redlands it was 1 AM Cleveland time and we were seriously jet-lagged. MG's apartment is an adorable efficiency meaning our bed is right out there in the open. She unfolded her futon 10 feet away, and crawled under the covers with Sassy and Tanzer. It was like one big pajama party except that we all soon began snoring rather than giggling. This morning as she goes for her usual run, and Rudy and I wake up over freshly brewed coffee, I look out at the palm trees and mountains and think to myself. What was I worried about? I'm living large on the ground floor and it's all good.

Pre Jet-lag Jitters

Today Rudy and I are leaving for the sunshine state of California. I will be so glad to leave the snow and cold of Cleveland behind for a week. The plan is to visit our daughters, who coincidentally, both live on the West Coast seven hours apart. (California is a really really big state). I haven't seen my MG in about 3 years and have never visited her in Ca. Rudy's Mindy was home for Christmas, but she's just moved into a new home which he's never seen. He's pumped, excited, ready for action. When I called him this morning he answered his phone singing "I'm leavin on a jet plane...." Pretty scary stuff. He's planned the routes, printed out paperwork, and he's chompin' at the bit to get rolling.

Me? I'm scarred to death. Didn't even want to get out of bed this morning. Panic stricken and unable to eat, I await my fate with great trepidation. You see, I don't like to travel. I hate airports, and all kinds of ground transportation. Crowds make me crazy(er). I'd rather walk than ride/drive. I want to be in California, not spend the day getting there. I want to hike in the National Forest with MG and Rudy. I can't wait to give MG a big smushy hug. But I don't want to GO there. Doesn't have to make sense, because feelings and emotions seldom do.

And another thing. This is our first trip together as a couple. I've spent years carefully selecting and weeding through friendships to find a perfect travel partner. Her name is Michelle. (I love you kiddo!) I'm not good at the 24/7 kind of life, so I have no idea how Rudy and I will do as partners this coming week. That unknown, terrifies me. I love him, and I'm hoping we travel together as well as we hang together. I don't know where he gets his confidence from. He always knows everything is going to be just fine. I still keep looking up at the sky waiting for that shoe to drop on my head.

He won't like this blog entry, but he'll read it and try to understand. He's pretty good at talking me down from the ledges in life. Maybe I should live on the ground level instead of on the seventh floor. (That would be funny, if it weren't so full of truth.)

The Boo

Boo is a Make A Wish Kid with the heart of a lion. Her pint sized six year old body is crisscrossed like a crazy quilt with scars. Tangled blond hair and bright blue eyes; she is precious and precocious, and the love of my life. She has faced every surgical assault with dignity and bravery and without complaint. Her only real desire in life is to be able to keep up with the rest of the first graders in her class. She knows the doctors have been helping her to do just that.

Boo is my only grandchild. I've been there from the first frightening prenatal sonogram, to her risky birth. I've stood beside her hospital bed praying life back into her while she recovered from each surgery. I've held her face in my hands as she pleaded for them to stop hurting her when they pulled her chest tubes. I've held her mother when she finally broke after being told that the last open heart surgery was failing and another would be needed. It's been such a long journey for all of us. I cannot even begin to imagine the future. I'm just thankful there will be one.

In my daughter, Wendy's, fifth month of pregnancy, a routine sonogram revealed numerous, severe, congenital heart defects in the baby. Prenatal care was immediately switched to the Cleveland Clinic and a search for a pediatric cardiac surgeon was begun. Every opinion seemed to point toward abortion as the better option for both mother and child. Wendy and her husband were given one week to make a life changing decision. It had taken them eight years to conceive and a second pregnancy was not likely.

Over the next seven days they searched for a miracle; a single surgeon who might give them hope and take on their case. Their prayers were answered with the appearance of Dr Mee. A man so gifted in pediatric cardiac surgery that a book had been written about him entitled "Walks On Water." He gave them tough answers to their questions. He drew them a picture of the difficult struggle of love and survival that their lives would become. He believed that a series of surgical repairs would, at the very least, buy the time needed to extend her life until either a transplant or medical advances provided a more normal life expectancy. He made no promises, gave no guarantees, but he gave them enough hope to decide in favor of continuing the pregnancy.

Now, six surgeries later, we begin a new future with Boo. She has been made whole, so to speak, and her life expectancy is that of a normal child. She finishes the first grade soon, and is, as promised, able to keep up with the other first graders. Make a Wish gave her Disney Land. The Doctors gave her life. Her future is limitless.

Angry American

It's happened at last. I've become that which I swore I would never be, an angry, perhaps even bigoted American. While on my last vacation in Mexico, I had my credit card number stolen by a local merchant. Needless to say, my holidays were filled with credit card nightmares from this incident. National City Bank did their best to cancel the card quickly and replace it with another VISA, but since then things just haven't been right with my account. At one sitting, I spent one and a half hours on the phone with credit card "specialists" trying to get things straightened out. During this phone-a-thon I spoke to nine, yes, nine such specialists, none of whom could give me a solution to my problem. I was however, promised that things would be taken care of if, I waited patiently for an additional two weeks.


The two weeks passed and there were no changes in my account. Yesterday I called back and spoke to someone I guess was just a regular credit card person because she couldn't explain why my card was still messed up. She transferred me to another specialist. However, no one picked up the phone. I simply sat in automation land until I punched the number 0, the universal number for Operator? Who should come on the line but a young man whose Spanish accent was so thick I could not understand a word he said. The irony in this was simply more than I could stand. I hung up the phone!

Early this morning I went to the National City ATM (which had been out of service the night before)and tried to retrieve $60 fast cash from my account. With the temps at 4 degrees my car window was frozen, and I had to pull awkwardly forward and slightly away from the ATM in order to open my door to access the screen and the terminal buttons. I was freezing, I was running late for work, and I was becoming seriously frustrated. As I began to furiously punch in passwords and access codes, I reached to hit the Fast cash button and the screen flashed yet another question at me. English or Spanish? The English option was nearly out of my reach, and as I struggled to enter it, I heard myself screaming, "English you F---head!" Perhaps the guy who stole my credit card number needs that option, but he probably doesn't have an account at National City Bank in Parma, Ohio. I do and I speak English! I looked around to see if anyone had heard me, quickly grabbed my cash and my card, and exited the parking lot.

I don't know if my bank account will ever return to normal. I don't know if they will every punish the man who stole my card number. All I know is that I just don't care anymore and I'm mad as hell.