Michelle’s home Michelle’s home!

Car keys have been borrowed. Somehow that makes it feel official.

Scene: Trader Joe’s. I was wearing a plain shirt and this gerdan.

The woman in front of me at checkout looked over at me, decided I looked friendly enough to engage in conversation, and exclaimed, I just love that!

She tried to get back to the task at hand but ended up saying it again.

I told her a woman in Ukraine had made it for me.

“I’m from Ukraine!” She asked me who I’d bought it from, but I explained that the woman had lived in Kherson and had evacuated and I didn’t know where she was now.

She asked, with some hesitation at first, if she could touch it?

Sure!

She felt the beads: yes of course glass, not plastic. Could she take a picture of it? She loved it so much!

Sure!

She did, and I wondered if she was a beading artist herself or was close to someone who was; she was texting the joy of the moment via her phone with someone whom it would mean something to, too. All artists need that spark renewed from time to time.

And everybody far from home needs to feel welcomed and a part of their new community.

The guy finished checking her out and she headed on out the door, beaming at having run into someone who knew what those were, who’d interacted with her countrywomen, who cared about her country during this war and who was making that part of her culture visible here. She was just about dancing.

And that, I said to the guy now checking me out, is why I wear these even to the grocery store. I have several of them. There are quite a few Ukrainians in the community.

He glanced out the door after her and for the first time in this long wearying Saturday rush, he was now smiling, too.

Some thoughts re Gavin Newsom’s talk about redistricting to match Texas’s sudden mid-decade redistricting to kowtow to 47’s demands. The first screaming and dishonest flier has already come to the mailbox.

We voted in a nonpartisan commission to set our boundaries. I wish we had ranked-choice, too.

But here’s the thing: in Texas, the Republicans have complete control and are ramming it through and they certainly aren’t asking the voters about it.

In California, Newsom asked the legislature to put the question on a ballot, not to rescind that commission but whether we the people want to, for a maximum of three redistrictings, change our boundaries ourselves as a statewide choice, to add five majority-Democrat seats to the House of Representatives–to ONLY take effect if Texas takes away five majority-Democrat seats there as they’ve loudly said they will.

Newsom could have redrawn ours to be eight. He didn’t. It’s not a competition nor punishment, it’s a statement and a remedy to a wrong. You break it, then on behalf of the entire country since we’re the ones who can do something about it, we balance it out. Representation continues exactly as it was, overall.

He is using democracy in an effort to save democracy and he will abide by the will of the people on the issue. Yay or nay, speak up, vote, choose to be heard! Treasure the fact that you have a choice and a voice so that you still will!

This is how you serve the people.

At the same time, given how red Texas is, the very fact that they’re playing stretchy Silly Putty with those lines gives away how afraid they are that they would otherwise surely lose.

Because after all, you just can’t vote for people who would ask the taxpayers to fund one single storm monitor to be awake during a massive flood where kids are camping, right?

In case this is of use to someone else out there: decades ago I had a doctor tell me to take 500 mg of vitamin C a day to help ward off bladder infections.

I call it my placebo of choice, and awhile ago Richard got in the habit of taking one when I did. Anti-colds, right?

The first thing the doctor at the clinic asked him was, Do you take vitamin C?

Yes…?

Stop immediately. It almost certainly is the cause of your kidney stone.

Turns out the last time he’d had one it was the type directly tied to it. The guy also told him supplements for calcium and vitamin D are the other culprits for their particular types of kidney stones.

So it could be that easy to never have to go through this again.

Savoring peaches.

Changing his bandaging.

Doing three mini puzzles.

Just being. Together.

You’re going to like this part.

His kidney stone moved to where it somehow doesn’t hurt, and the clinic’s urologist saw him and is keeping tabs on him. Cardiology set him up on a heart monitor for two weeks to get a more complete diagnosis.

And while that was getting started, I was in the next town over seeing my surgeon #2.

Who told me that surgeon #1 had called him and warned him she was sending a doozy of a case over. I got a bit of, Oh, *you’re* the one!

She had told me of potential nerve damage.

He told me it was way more than that. With no colon nor rectum in there holding things in place, things just slosh around, and–he was pleased that I knew what adhesions were–that ovary they couldn’t find on the ultrasound: it could be fused with my tailbone. Anything could be anywhere.

Finding it all and fishing it out and freeing it amongst all the adhesions risked my small intestine.

I was stunned. I’d had no idea.

I asked him how many hysterectomies he’d done on patients with colorectomies.

It was rare. He’s been practicing a long time. He held up five fingers and said–But they all had cancer. There’s a risk/life balance decision that has to be made. He went through all the testing I’d been through, and he too had tested, giving me a pap smear just to make sure and do due diligence.

And my reaction to that smear was to start bleeding on the spot, and it’s still noticeably going. But that’s not necessarily cancer.

A side note here: his nurse had come in first and while she asked questions, I said that the bleeding had started small and gradually crescendoed over the two years till it was (this much). I wrote about it while waiting for this appointment, I told her, and was quite surprised that the next day it was far less.

And then friends told me they’d put me on their prayer lists. I didn’t know–and it changed, and make of that what you will, I told her. (A thank you to all you who prayed or Thought Good Thoughts my way, which to the loving G_d I believe in fully counts. Love, as they say, is love.)

Come back in three weeks, the surgeon said, and we’ll have the results of that pap smear.

But as he said it, we both were sure we knew what it would say and what we would say and that it would wrap it all up nicely. He didn’t quite say, And tell your friends to pray again, y’know, just to make it a little easier on you.

Having told him about my husband’s hospitalization, I told him of the ones who had asked what they could do to help. And then they’d joyfully made a day trip out of it with their teenagers to make sure I didn’t miss out on my favorite peaches.

And with that I left him with the most perfect single Kit Donnell ever, with the divine scent of tree-ripened perfection. He was blown away by just the smell and sight of it and the kindness of people he didn’t even know and he wanted to know where this had come from so he could find more for his own family.

Such a good man. His patients are lucky to have him. And lucky, in my case, soon not to have to!

Ceramic makes pie crusts crisp in a way no other material does.

A few years back, I asked my friends Mel and Kris if they ever made pie pans. They said no, but then decided to go play with the idea. I happily got two of the results.

They are big, meant for baking for a crowd, not like my store-bought one.

Today Richard came home from his sixth day of treatment and fifth day in the hospital. There was one last slice of grape pie in the smaller pan from last week and, after having saved it for the breakfast he didn’t ever get to have, he finally got to taste it.

He settled into his chair in the kitchen with no desire to spend any more time on any bed during daytime, and I got to work on those peaches. I at last felt like I could. Like I could breathe again.

Boiling water, peaches in the mesh strainer, count to five, out, peel, slice, work a little orange juice through, freeze a pie’s worth. A big pie’s worth!

Four, so far. Tomorrow I’ll tackle the next box. The neighbors to either side got peaches. Proud parents sent us a photo of their toddler’s absolutely gleeful face after biting into one.

I know a family with teenagers who are going to need a surprise pie in the coming darker colder months. A big pie. To let some of their peach gallivanting to rescue a couple in pain come back to them again in thanks.

One friend asked a few days ago what she could do to help and I somehow let myself say out loud in spite of myself that it was the week the Kit Donnell peaches at Andy’s were ripe, that I consider them his best, that I wait all year for them and I was just going to have to miss them this year. Otherwise I’d be buying a bunch and freezing them.

We can do that!

What?! He’s in Morgan Hill, it’s a 45 minute drive each way when the traffic is good, I can’t ask you to do that!

She and her family decided to make a day trip to Santa Cruz, let the kids have fun at the beach before they all finish growing up and going away, stop at Andy’s on the way and get some of those fabulous peaches for themselves, too and learn about what he had to offer. So much of California was still new to them. Exploring is fun!

The whole thing turned into so much joy. They were absolutely jubilant at the day, the trip, the getting to do something that they knew meant so much to me and we had a good hug this morning.

Her daughter helped me load my boxes into my car after the main meeting at church, I got them home and then made a beeline for the hospital.

Where I surprised Richard with a new Nautilus puzzle that I had ordered Tuesday, right before all this hit. A clown fish.

Having no idea that the most pieces in the smallest size would be the best for doing on a bedside hospital tray.

Two of the friends who stopped by to visit him couldn’t help but match up a couple of pieces themselves, to our great delight.

He looked so much better today. So much better. Normal heart. Swelling way down. Sitting in a chair, alert and with it, taking phone calls from family. He snorted a little laugh when I pulled out a 65-piece Nautilus puzzle and asked him if he were interested–and then we dove in on it together.

But the latest buzz is that kidney stone ultrasound treatments for some people can damage surrounding tissue so they’re having him wait it out for now.

An MRI this morning says the foot infection did go to the bones. The Infectious Diseases guy came in, knelt on the floor before him, and unbandaged and rebandaged him with a gentle tenderness that made me think of the story of Jesus washing his disciple’s feet to teach humility and service towards one’s fellow man. Then he told us that the antibiotics will continue orally for a goodly while after he goes home, but that these days, that should be all that should happen on that.

Who knew that catching the bathroom door on your foot could get your heart diagnosed in time.

He is a stone’s throw away from getting to go home.

I’m so glad they kept him overnight: he was in the hospital and on monitors when his pulse went bonkers. I watched it happen.

That nurse was right there right away doing an EKG. He got a doctor showing up, a diagnosis, the right medication, and the horrific spiking went away just like that. Mere minutes.

“Have you ever been diagnosed with that before?” the doctor asked him.

Nope.

Scene: Wednesday, Urgent Care. IV antibiotics round one.

Thursday: Urgent Care, same, round two.

Thursday afternoon, hours into this: Oh look he’s got a kidney stone too and it’s big. Take this CD with your info with you to the ER.

CVS sends reminders that a prescription refill is due, then that it’s ready, and then, hey you, come get this thing already willya.

Except for those times when it sends nothing at all and you suddenly realize the dose meter on the inhaler is close to zero and you should always have been paying more attention to it than that–but you didn’t.

I showed up 22 minutes before closing without even the prescription number but the pharmacist saw me standing uncertainly at the drop off counter, called over to me, and then immediately got to work on it.

I’ve seen some who used to work there steadfastly ignoring people trying to get their attention when they knew they were going to turn their computers off at 6:00 pm sharp and walk away. Not this lady.

The pick up line was going the fastest I’d ever seen it. I got behind half a dozen people and five minutes later I had the med she had held up to catch my eye with to say it was done and waiting.

I said to the clerk as she rang it up, Could you do me a favor? Could you thank the pharmacist for me? I was going to come in hours earlier when it wouldn’t have been a problem for you all and then had a day…(I described it very briefly.) Please tell her I am so grateful.

She glanced over towards her colleague, suddenly almost radiant in anticipation at being able to tell her what a difference she’d made and promising me she would.

More later.

When I was growing up my mom baked a lot of pies, and one of my favorites was one that it surprised me that none of my friends had ever had.

They thought the very idea was weird.

But then, my folks took us to pick-your-own farms and the grapes that went into those pies were not your bland Thompson seedless: they were meant to have flavor.

They were surely geared towards the DIY winemaker types but we were Mormons so we made juice and we got pie.

All of which came back to me when my friend Catherine, delighted at my delivering some peaches, gifted me with some grapes from her garden. Then when she saw my reaction she put more in the bag. Then more. After all, I’d done that drive so she didn’t have to. (We have a standing arrangement that if they’ll let me buy that many, I’ll pick up a lug for her, too.)

Hers were about the size of cranberries. I ran a handful at a time in my palm, searching for stems and hoping I got them all. It reminded me of processing sour cherries–a bit of work but so worth the effort.

The pie is in the oven and I put too many in and the top fell apart because I rolled it too thin and it is overflowing a little and the only recipe I found was for seeded Concord grapes from my 1952 Betty Crocker so it’s all guesswork. But since my mom used that cookbook I figured it was the one to start with. Their 1 1/3 c sugar became 1 1/4 because I know their editors went heavy on the stuff in everything but I didn’t dare mess with it too much on the first try.

It wasn’t done as I was typing this but pulling it out of the oven to see if it was, I dipped a spoon at the edge to see what I was getting.

Wow that was good.

Even better, now that it’s out.

I know who needs to try some of this. Hey Catherine!

Her mother had an apricot tree and she misses it.

Which is how the latest Anya seedling very happily found its new home. Funny how a random conversation can lead to fruitful discoveries about each other!

We were standing around not quite eating yet, I was listening to other family members and I didn’t even see him take one. I had quartered a heaping large serving bowl’s worth of Baby Crawford peaches right before time to leave so they would be as perfect as possible.

It was the motion that caught my eye: his face did this sudden downward-nod of someone caught by surprise as a soft “Oh wowwww!” came out of his mouth. He had not been expecting that.

I had also brought a smaller bowl of green gauge plums and none of them knew what they were. The guy’s daughter biting into one of those had the same reaction as her dad had had.

Are these from your trees? –Where was this place??

I think we have some new Andy’s Orchard enthusiasts.

When it was time to go, between the eleven adults and the baby everybody wanted to see and the three year old being adorable, we found ourselves lingering alongside the staircase without quite reaching the door. The toddler was in her daddy’s arms at that point, and I softly sang to her, So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen good night!

She stared at me in delight and an expression her daddy explained for me: astonishment.

Because every single night at home at their own house across the country, they sing that song to her. While going up their staircase one step at a time. ‘The sun has gone to bed and so must I.’ And with that they put her to bed.

And here was her great aunt whom she has no previous memory of meeting before tonight having no idea of any of this singing it to her in front of her grandparents’ staircase at bedtime.