Snoring Beauty

Do you remember watching the movie "Sleeping Beauty" and the lovely Aurora is cursed by the witch? She is told that when she is 16, she will prick her finger on a spinning needle and die. I always thought the same thing . . . .. so don't sew, you idiot. Just stay away from needles. Really, how hard is that? There are lots of other professions to go into . . . .

I've decided that the same witch has cursed me. Only she decided at 51, you shall start snoring. And, here's the kicker--since you are an auditory person, you will wake yourself up on a regular basis. So, sleep will be pretty much impossible for more than a few minutes at a time. It's karma coming back for all the times I complained and whined about my mother and father's snoring, I am sure. Drove me nuts. Now I am driving ME nuts. It used to only happen when I was on my back, but now it seems to be an issue on my sides as well. SIGH. An hour's nap today was interrupted nine times so I think that means I didn't rest a bit . . . .At least I don't feel like I did.

Any great snoring cures out there? Don't say ear plugs, cuz if you know me, I have tinnitus and listen to a sound machine every nite. Plugs in my ears would only make things worse and I'd have to start calling myself Snoring Ringing Beauty.

Early Morning Ramblings

Hey there. It is just past 7 am and it is still dark outside. Although this is the typical time to get up for many, it's pretty early for me. I prefer closer to 9 since I commonly stay up until 12 or 1. So why have I been up an hour . . . . . I could blame it on a backache that made sleeping more difficult. I could blame it on too much on my mind. I could blame it on the occasional hot flash I get that makes me push all the covers off in the middle of winter.

The truth is, however, I could not sleep because of the DOG.

Copper is a great dog. She has slept on our bed since we got her four plus years ago. And I like the feel of her pushed up against me. On chilly nights, I even appreciate the extra warmth. But in the last few months, she has started to SNORE at night (which I can't make fun of because in the last three years, so have I, damn it) and it wakes me up. I sleep with a wonderful sound machine by my head but she drowns it out too. Plus, each snore makes her vibrate and since she is up against me, I feel it. I try nudging her (which turns into gentle kicks after awhile) so she will stop and she does . . . for about 60 seconds . . . long enough that I relax and start to fall asleep and then get jerked back up. I know the solution is to have her sleep elsewhere but that makes me sad and will make her utterly miserable.

So, this morning I just gave up trying to sleep and came downstairs. Sat in front of the computer for a while, posted (DUH) and then I will attempt to go sleep on the couch. Or stay up and work, who knows?

I mentioned before we had out of town company coming yesterday and I am so pleased to say it was a wonderful visit. I have met pen friends in the past and been disappointed or surprised to the point that our correspondence ended after the visit. Not true this time. My friends were delightful and fun and I think they enjoyed Portland, despite the rain. We hit major bookstores, a thrift store, a couple of restaurants and saw a little scenery. We are hoping they return in the spring/summer when the city is much prettier and we can outdoor things like the waterfalls.

Today Nicole's room will get finished painting and mural and hopefully, tomorrow we can start putting things back in it and get the house back under control. She will be going through all of her things and making some donations to Goodwill.

If the dog doesn't quit snoring, I think I will include her in the donation box.

Correspondence and Chaos

Chaos reigns in the Orr household right now because we are repainting Nicole's room. This means everything in it (and believe me, if they had a young adult version of "Hoarders", she would qualify . . . but then she is her mother's daughter . . . ) has to be taken out and moved somewhere else in the house. Books are piled on the kitchen table. All of her clothes are stacked in her brothers' rooms (they roll their eyes at her and hope the paint dries quickly). Definitely chaotic. The room is shaping up nicely though and the new colors mean a new beginning. Tomorrow a friend is coming over to paint a wonderful dandelion mural on one wall. Can't wait to see how it turns out.

Of course, at the same time all this is happening, a pen friend is here from out of town and we are going to get together for the day. I wish I could bring her and her husband to my house but not when it looks like THIS. Instead, we will spend a rainy afternoon showing them what makes Portland unique . . . Powell's bookstore, maybe a drive by Multnomah Falls, a stop into VooDoo Doughnuts, a cool thrift store, etc. I love this city and hope to show it off as much as possible despite cold, wet weather.

Of course, throughout everything I do, my mind wanders to the loss of my friend. It's like reaching out the pulling on a wound each time. It hurts fresh without fail. Last nite I expected to dream of him, but instead dreamt of my oldest daughter--a common occurrence--and how she came over, spent the evening at some camp site with us and best of all, let me hug her for a moment without stiffening up but instead, hugged me back. Those dreams are tough. I wake up smiling and it quickly turns to tears.

Amidst the new year starting chaos going on, I took a moment to tally up my letter writing for 2010. Even I was a little astonished at the final numbers. I received a total of 585 letters and I sent out a total of 665. That's a bunch of fountain pen ink and paper, eh? I have met some really tremendous friends over the year through letters. I am so glad I rediscovered the joy of corresponding.

Okay, off to get ready to meet one of those correspondents. We will explore the city together and hopefully she will go home raving about Portland--albeit wet and cold, a fascinating place.

Next time!

Passages

Hey everyone. Happy 2011. Still sounds futuristic to me.

Hope you had a good Christmas and New Year's. We did. They were quiet but full of family and love, so couldn't be any better.

As this year starts, my life is so full. I have a family I love and a job I enjoy. I have friends who make me laugh and who care about me. I have high hopes for 2011 in many ways, but I am also facing it, as of this morning, without someone who has been with me for half my life. And while I know life is full of passages, some of them sure can hurt.

I met Shayne through a letter writing magazine. He was in prison and I was a new mom and somehow, we "clicked". Our letters began flying fast and furious, long missives in which I learned of his past and he of mine. Truly, we couldn't have been more different. The redneck, football loving, abused boy who would spend the rest of his life behind bars and the city girl-turned wife-turned mother in a small Indiana town. Odd combination for sure. Yet, as the years passed and the letters written and responded to, we grew close. We sent Christmas packages. We talked on the phone. My whole family sent him photos and drawings and letters. He was a part of our family.

For a few years around 2003-2004, we lost touch. Unbeknownst to me, his only daughter had been killed in a house fire and he was so completely devastated that he cut off all contact with anyone. He had loved her dearly and her loss was almost more than he could bear.

I didn't hear from him for several years and I missed him terribly. Then, in January 2008, I got a letter again. He had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given six months to live. At the time his letter arrived, I was in the process of losing my mother as well and it was awful. We took up right where we left off, writing long letters. As time passed and he was still here, the doctors were amazed at his endurance. He credited me . . . . I credited his stubborn nature. :)

Shayne was also a painter. I would get paintings from him every year or so. Stop by my house and you can see one framed on the wall. His handpainted cards and t-shirts were always such fun to get. Even the kids have some of them.

About six months ago, he sent me a cell phone. It took him months to earn the money for it. He sent it to me and arranged it so that he could call me straight from the prison. We spoke several times a week for a couple of months. Hearing that slow southern drawl (he was originally from Texas) always made me smile. We would only get 15 minutes to talk and were constantly interrupted by the recording that this was a call from a prison system (like either one of us had forgotten!), but these calls were sweet.

Two days after Christmas, I received a sweet letter from him. It was full of gratitude and affection and, in retrospect, I realize it was some what of a goodbye as well. Patrick Shayne Sesco, my friend, my correspondent, my family, a part of my life for 25 years, passed away in his sleep last nite. I was called by a friend of his and told this morning.

My heart hurts. I accept that with the passage of time, we lose people. I've survived the loss of my parents and even a few friends. And now, one of the dearest people in the world. I am grateful I've had him for 25 years. I'm grateful I got to meet him in person two years ago. I'm grateful he was part of my life. And I shall miss him more than he could ever know.

Shayne did not believe in god, but he did believe there was an afterlife. He was sure that when he died, he would be reunited with his daughter. He was also sure that he would find a way to come back and haunt me (usually he told me he'd mess with the toilet paper roll whenever I walked into the bathroom). I hope he's right. I hope he is sitting under a tree somewhere with his daughter. Then, I hope that later he wanders around and stops to say hello to my mom and dad. They can compare notes on what it was like to know me and then swap silly stories. I don't think for a moment that is possible, but I can hope.

Have a special friend who means the world to you? Take a minute and let them know today, ok? It will be our honor to a friend who is gone but never, ever forgotten.

The Spirit of Christmas

It is still Christmas Eve but I have experienced several "spirit of Christmas" moments. Here they are:

(1) An unexpected gift

This morning I received a gift from an old friend. It was completely unexpected and very sweet and thoughtful. I am surprised and touched.

(2) A just right gift

I very much wanted to come up with just the right gift for a special friend of mine . . . she has meant so much to our family since we came to Oregon and I just felt like I wanted to share something special with her that showed how we appreciated her. I thought and thought and thought and thought. Then, I came up with it. I gave her a ring that I had bought for my mom 12 years ago. It was an important gift to my mom then and I have had it since she died 3 years ago. I took it over and gave it to my friend and I think that she liked it as much as I had hoped.

(3) An only gift

We are BIG thrift store fans (that is putting it mildly). One of the stores we go to the most (because it is close to where Nicole works so we go by multiple times a week) has a lovely woman working there. She always has a big smile for us, greets us by name and makes the experience even nicer. I wanted to give her a gift as I knew that she didn't have any family around. We took it to her and it made her cry. She then said, it was the only gift she would get this year. That made me cry. It really, really made me glad that I had thought of it and we stopped by.

Those three experiences have reminded me that Christmas, to me, is all about showing our love and appreciation of others. It's about saying "I love you, I care about you, you are important to me" in whatever way we can. I felt loved and loving today. Hope you did too.

A Day in the Life of a Freelancer

After 25 plus years of doing what I do, if you asked any of my family members what I do for a living, they would probably say, "She writes" and that would be it. To be honest, even though they share this house with me daily and hear me rant loudly and frequently, they have little of idea of what I actually do. It is just too hard to explain.

For example, take yesterday. I spent about 10 or 11 hours working. I researched how lighthouses were built for a book I'm writing in a few days . . . wrote a bunch of college level questions for a course on educational technology planning . . . revised a book I recently wrote about Afghanistan . . . applied for three new jobs . . . and interviewed two people by email for a book I'm doing on ancestry. . . . filled out an instructional design document for a college course . . . . and that isn't even everything (I am guessing your eyes are glazing over by now so I will stop here.)

Most of the time, I love my job. It's hard and demanding but it's also diverse and I can do it at home in my pjs. Today is different. I was contacted by a company six weeks ago about a project. Was I available? Sure. Ok . . . assignment coming any day. . . . soon . . . . pretty soon . . . just hold on. It came through on Tuesday. I got a call saying we need you in on a conference call in 30 minutes . . I couldn't make that was I was in the middle of a store when they called. Ok, we will send you all the documents you need. They did . . . OODLES of stuff that was incredibly confusing to piece together. Then, here's the kicker. They gave me 48 hours to get it done. Yes, the week of Christmas, new project, no training and I was given 48 hours. I stayed up late last night and got up early this morning and worked on it. Skipped my morning coffee run with the hubby. Sent it. Now guess what? It came back. I did it all wrong. I rewrote it. Sent it. Guess what? Still wrong. Talk about frustration for everyone involved. So, after more than EIGHT hours of working on it, they gave the assignment to someone else. I don't get paid for a single word.

Today is NOT one of the days I love my job.

Look! There's a Light!

I am infinitely happy to report that life in the Orr household seems to be on the mend. A few well timed checks have made it possible to breathe again. And best of all, although my girl still cries at least once a day, I have heard her beautiful laugh ring through the house again. I see light in her eyes. I see signs that although she is still deeply wounded, she isn't terminal. I had forgotten how much sunshine she brought to my life but when it was covered up, its loss was overwhelming.

So Christmas may just be a nice day here after all--I had my doubts, but it seems to all be coming together. I owe thanks to many places . . . my friend Susan who always, always, always comes through for me when I need her (and usually finds a way to make me laugh in the process), my kids who have been patient and sweet and compassionate, my husband who manages to look at this 51 year old, frumpy, stressed out woman and still think she is beautiful and correspondents who have sent me emails, letters and left comments to let me know they are thinking good thoughts for me. No one wants heartache in their lives, but sometimes I think it exists so that we can be reminded of the power and importance of the joy.

Enough of the philosophy. Time to go decorate our tree and sing Christmas carols in the process and do the inevitable walk down memory lane as we hang ornaments. Hope you're all finding the light appearing/reappearing in your lives as well.