V's Version

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Current Mood: grateful
Current Music: Natalie Merchant, Wonder


It's that time again - as if I don't feel gratitude every day, every moment of my life! But I rarely take the opportunity to make a list of the things for which I am grateful. Which is a shame, really, because i love lists.

Pk's laughter
the sound of wind
consistant friends
P & our years of marriage
others' willingness to open up, go deep, be real
clean, cotton sheets
orgasms
flirting with words
alliteration
onomatopoeia
my parents' love
the friendship of my sisters
being off almost all meds
having access to the meds I need
"In Retrospect", the healing quilt
children and teens
all colors, especially peach and purple
telling stories
my own laughter
the internet
cell phones
our fragile planet
yams
candlelight
vanilla
woodstoves
not having to lock stuff up
my capacity for compassion
seasonal ritual year-round, traditions
bird songs
connection
generosity
my ability to survive, to thrive, to get out and drive!

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Current Mood: determined
Current Music: Cheri Lovedog, Every Six Minutes


Frances had in her journal (and I want to pass on the thought): A smart woman who's name used to be on the Geist masthead said:

'I'll be post-feminist when we are post-patriarchy.'

It made me laugh and it made me think. I'm thinking of patriarchy and misogyny. I am thinking of the girl I know who is in so much pain that she is cutting herself and how there is nothing I can say that seems to make a difference. I have had to witness.

I am thinking of how a friend of mine has recently linked the movement of FTM transitioning to genocide of lesbian culture by misogyny. I'm not sure what I think of that. I don't agree but I can see her point. And I wonder where do I fit in as the small pool of potential mates (given my preference for the butch identified woman) rapidly fades to a fraction of what it was? Homoflexibility. I have had to adapt.

I am thinking of raising a boy in this age of global turmoil. A white male who seems to, at this point, be inclined toward heterosexuality. Being able to articulate emotions, keeping him safe from the horrors of war, insisting on respect for women, for all of life. A mother's jobs are many. I have had to be responsible.

Communicate. That's all I know how to do. Communicate, witness, adapt, find what is true for me and try to hold onto it.


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Current Mood: surprised


Current Music: Liz Story, Peace Piece


OK - I read Jess's Journal and she had this timeline. I thought, "Hey! I've had a diary for 30 years, I can do this!' I have to say that I had no idea whatsoever what I would find when I went back in time. Unbelievable.

On this day 15 years ago: I was 24 and dating Alexis in Boston and Cayenne in San Fransisco, living in Somerville, MA. Both relationships were falling apart. My best friend Hanne consoled me as I cried about how insane it all was. My mother was on her way to detox and I was newly clean and sober. The phone and the doorbell rang at exactly the same moment on November 19, 1989. On the phone was Jorj (my ex) who was trying to reconnect lines of communication. At the door was P (aka WW). A quote from that day: "P is a woman from AA. She works in the theater and we've been getting to know each other lately. I like her. She's cute (as if I need another lover?! She has a girlfriend which is the safest thing possible!) But she's a lot more than cute - I like the way we talk & how she questions & how we're honest (with each other)..." I was overwhelmed by the choices in my life and how to make good decisions. Another quote from that day: "I am suffering so much now & it feels like burden upon burden is upon me...it really feels like too much to bear. Yuck. I hate even a glimpse of suicide. It comes sometimes. Never has it before but now? I'm too strong. Suicide is stupid. I want to cry my pain until the tears are a river & I can float away to a place where I feel calm & loved & safe." I cried myself to sleep that night and two days later, P and I slept together for the first time.

On this day 10 years ago: I was 29 and my mother had been dead for 1 1/2 years. I had been married to WW for 3 1/2 years, living in Watertown, MA. She was taking 11 credits in seminary, working 3 part time jobs while I was working one full time job at a bead store and two part time jobs cleaning an office and restoring antique quilts. We didn't see each other much & I was profoundly aching to start a family. From that day: "I'm soooo sick of being depressed and unhappy and enraged. I want to SNAP OUT OF IT! Don't know how I would take my life - if I could do it. Carbon monoxide is convenient. Painless. Then I catch myself & say what the fuck? OK. OK. So I'm lonely & isolated & directionless & angry & empty. So what? It's all manageable, right? I can break my isolation. I can find direction. I can express anger & somehow fill the emptiness....I go back & forth between seeing in color and seeing in a very dim black & white & gray tones...I am 29 and I want more...I want to have the energy to donate my bone marrow if someone with lukemia needs it & give my time to feed hungry people. I want to be on committees at church that mean something & belong to an artist's co-op. I want to watch less TV and listen to more music. I want to fight less. Be angry less. Care more. Be less spikey & more soft. I want a family. I want relationships & intimacy. I want sexual contact & to laugh more. I want a pet. I want to do what I am supposed to do: love, nurture & create."

On this day 5 years ago: I was 34, still married (very much the minister's wife), a nursing mother of 2 1/2 year son (Pk), youth group adviser to teens at church, living in Santa Cruz (Aptos, really), CA. The closest entry was November 13th: "Sarah is a young woman from Maine that we met at festival who wants to be a UU minister. She just showed up on our doorstep & expected us to take her in & feed her. Normally, that's exactly what we would do but to have 5 adults, 2 babies & a dog in this tiny house was way too much (ed: we were housing a couple of unmarried teenagers and their new baby.) I think WW was pushed over the edge when Sarah put the electric griddle on the gas stovetop burners & filled the house with toxic burnt plastic smell!" The kids at youth group honored me for my birthday. Some quotes from the teens: Teddy: " I admire you. It's amazing that you are not bitter with all the oppression of lesbians." Mac: "It's so cool that you can get along with so many different kinds of people." Leo: "V - you bust out! You are the coolest. You're like an old Chinese man who can talk about any subject." Melissa: "I look up to you. You are my hero because you are both kind and strong." Ben: "I think it's so cool that I am now where you were 16 years ago. I like that you don't try to control us." Another quote from the diary: "There were other things said but the overall theme was one of affirmation that I am a good adviser, that I make a difference in their lives. It was awesome."

On this day last year: I was 38 and a year into fighting cancer and PNP. Pk was 6 1/2 and into Aikido. WW had informed me that we would no longer be married a month earlier. We were in the process of buying a house but still sharing a bed in our Aptos home. It was torture. Although she was on the phone daily with K, she was, on this day, on a date with J in the city. From my diary: "The whole freaking situation is depressing. She is Ms. Independence - liberated from the shackles of marriage - even an open marriage. Now she can play as much as she wants - go out salsa dancing & up to Berkeley each Sunday & whatever she wants. It fucking pisses me off. While she's buying (edited) "toys" for K, I'm looking at vibrators because that's how it's going to be: She's going off to fuck other women & I'm staying home with cancer and PNP - it sucks." I cannot see / imagine any intimacy with another adult any time soon. From the diary: "I have enough to take care of myself & Pk. And even that I can't do alone. But he's my priority. I like spending time with him - playing hangman, jumprope... He is my salvation (but I don't tell him that - too much of a burden.) I love to put him to sleep. I sing, we talk, he tells me stories, I tell him stories, we ask each other questions...I scratch his back & somehow convince him to settle down. I love to feel him fall asleep." I hate to admit this but another quote from the diary: "Oh - another thing that makes me angry is me - I'm smoking. It's sooooo so stupid. I know that the main reason for doing it is to relieve stress (an illusion, I know) and because I want to be included. WW & Ch go out at night to smoke and I want to be out there laughing too. I want to be part of the fun. It's pathetic. Senseless."

A week ago: I just turned 39. I live in the Santa Cruz mountains with Pk. We share housing with a wonderful friend, a man, and his two children (there part time) who are 11 and 13 and their little dog, Reo. We do not get one television station up there. We share alot of music. I haven't had or wanted a cigarette for 8 months. P just told the congregation that he is transitioning and they applauded. The closest diary entry says: "Life is rich. I feel my blessings in an acute way. I don't know how else to describe it. Brook and I walked on the beach down to the rocks toward Sunset & back to the Seacliff pier where Pk made a fort. We talked of politics and people & energy & life...At the moment I just feel so grateful to be alive, to be a participant in this wild and crazy journey. It's been such an interesting time - politically, culturally, emotionally - to be a mother. Between the divorce & the transition & school & the election & Samhain & the Red Sox. So much change - so many deaths and new beginnings. How lucky I am to share all of this with Pk. We laugh and talk and go for walks. We eat together and study and listen to "This American Life" stories."

Yesterday: I LOVE Friendster! I just found my uncle Patrick, whom I haven't heard from since Mom's funeral. I found his profile and knew it had to be him so I emailed him and he emailed back: "It's your Auntie Paddy!" I LOVE his wonderful, campy personality! It's also good to be in touch with the only other gay person in our crazy, impossible-for-outsiders-to-get-family. Life is just full of surprises.

Today I drank coffee with two other Hip Mamas - all of our kids are in the same second grade class at school. We talked of our lives, our children and their crushes (isn't it a little early for this we all wondered?) - of parenting. We laughed. I played ball with Pk after school in the sunny playground surrounded by mountains. I let him drive down the driveway to our house. His feet don't reach the pedals yet.

Tomorrow I will bring Pk's friends up the mountain for a day of play. We'll stop at the Farmer's market first for organic stuff. Hopefully I can drag them away from Pokemon trading long enough to enjoy a walk in the woods. I'll drink carrot apple juice and make cookies. We'll meet up with their mother (and my good friend) Jennifer at the open mic where I will perform my Fat Girl Thoughts.

Next week I will spend the day with dear, dear William (college buddy) who will be up from West Hollywood for Thanksgiving. Pk will be with P and his grandmother until Saturday. I'll need to pack for our trip to the East Coast where we get to see beloved Bettina and Daddy and Gini. Hooray!

Next year: I am in remission. The strength of my spirit has worn that damn cancer down. I'm growing my hair long again. Pk is in Little League and loving it. I am still writing the book & have doubled my collection of music. I continue to laugh and flirt and wear black boots. I want to jump from an airplane for my 40th birthday.

In five years: I am 44. A butch man or woman has found me. S/he's a cowboy who is nice, but s/he looks real mean (Kasey Chamber's Pony song.) My tattoo sleeve is finally finished. I've got the mermaid and the butterfly and lots more stars. Pk wants to go to the movies - on a date. Isn't it too early for this? I am a little freaked out. Luckily the boys cook better than I do so we're all eating well. We visit the ocean often.

In ten years: I am 49. The house is full of teenaged boys. Their huge sneakers are everywhere and the music gets a little loud. I escape to the sanctity of my studio where I let colors wash over me, inspire me. I still need to call the publisher back & pick up my cowboy's boots from the cobbler but that can wait.

In fifteen years: I am 54. I am so glad the college has a video phone. I miss Pk's presence. I'm used to it but it's still great to see him. "I want to be called Nanna V, you know." "Yes, Mom. I know. I know. But we're not that serious yet. Geez. We want to travel!" We joke and make plans for our Thanksgiving reunion. The piece I've been working on should be done by then. I just have to tweak it a little. The house smells like apple crisp and I can see my cowboy chopping wood outside. I sigh and count my blessings. Actually, there are too many to count...To love, to nurture and to create. I'm doing what I need to do.


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Current Music: Neil Young, Harvest Moon


Whew. It looks like the negotiations are over! Hooray! P has served notice that he will not pay for my health insurance premiums when he leaves his job and I'm cool with that. I served notice that when that happens, I'll have to ask for the child support that the state says he's actually supposed to be paying because I'll be using the money that I need for basic living expenses to pay for health insurance premiums. so we are all set for the moment. What a relief.

And all kinds of cool things have been happening - I was able to eat a small amount of yams with ginger yesterday. It sounds like a small thing but it isn't! It is a total victory. Ginger? Yeah - it burned but I was able to taste it and the burning eventually went away. And it tasted so good and November-y!

Someone ordered the wrong latte so I got it for free (I had brought my own cup of tea from home to the coffee shop where I check my email)

As we snuggled in the dark, Pk was able to identify 13 emotions that he felt the other night. He is amazing. Truly amazing. AND he read Hop on Pop and Go Dogs Go all the way through with no help at all. More Hooray!

The air is full of blowing yellow and orange leaves (fall lasts a long time here) and the smell of woodsmoke.

A friend is gifting me a hair cut in ten minutes. Since I know I'm going to lose it all again, why bother to grow it out? I'm just going to stay with the cute fierce girl look for the moment.

If you haven't seen me lately you can go to Friendster.com and look up the username JustV - there are pix of us there.

I love life! Hope you do too!

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Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Kasey Chambers, Wayward Angel
This is a journal entry - it is unabashedly personal & from my point of view. To every story there are many versions. This is mine and if you want to ask anybody else about their version, go right ahead.

I don't know what you know and what you don't. So if I am repeating myself - forgive me. I also will try to condense what is not a short tale.

My cancer was diagnosed in December of 2002 although the symptoms began years earlier. The diagnosis of a rare disease called para neoplastic Pemphigus (PNP) in the spring of 2003 was practically a death sentence. There are no known documented cases of people living past two years. I am coming up on two years and am stronger now than ever. The fight has been long and hard and continues. My attitude at the moment is one of pure joy to be alive. I am acutely aware of my blessings because I have come so close to dying so many times. I much prefer this lightness of being and my re-emerging self than the fear and anger and desperation that accompanied the early fight with cancer and PNP and the changes that followed. Having my skin fall off, not being able to eat much for almost two years, vomiting daily - you know it takes it's toll. And then there was the divorce.

When my partner since 1989 announced that we would be divorced last year, I couldn't see much reason to live. Except our son and that tiny spark of life in me that stayed lit like a damn pilot light in a tempest. It was bad. She had been my rock during the god-awful hell of the disease (keeping my skin from disintegrating, hydrating me at home, feeding me, bringing me buckets and blankets and meds and shakes.) She was my hero, my angel, my wife through hard times and happy times. Actually she said that it wasn't a divorce - it was a transition to a new kind of relationship. She would still care for me, she would be everything she had promised in our wedding vows except be my lover. I didn't understand why we couldn't work on the communication problems that existed and I tried my very best to be supportive of her new relationship. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted to be happy. But I was utterly heartbroken and confused. I was still deeply in love. My pain was compounded by the fact that i could not speak in our community about what was happening because it could jeopardize her job. I didn't keep that boundary as well as I should have (I told one person everything the day after I was told. In my grief, I completely forgot that she was connected to the job. I regret that. I also wrote a post on an internet bulletin board that stayed up for a few hours or so before I erased it. Those were the biggest blunders but there were others.) Anyway - I am not a very private person. I don't keep secrets about my own life, never have. The balancing act of keeping her life private (a valid desire) and being able to express my intense grief was not possible. I felt gagged and went to friends and family far away for most of my support. And, locally, I put on my happy mask and made pretend that everything was OK. I was "just fine" with the "transition." That coupled with the fear regarding my health made it a profoundly difficult time. I was so sick - bedridden mostly. Not able to do stuff (like drive or do housework or be a primary parent or walk sometimes) on my own. I didn't know how to survive so I kept breathing as best I could.

We bought a 4 BR house (with help from her job so everything is in her name) a few miles away from the home we had been in for six years. We first began house hunting before the divorce-not-divorce. It was me who kept saying we can't afford this. It's too much but she said no, we can do it. By the time a house was finally available, it was she who was saying no, she didn't want it. I knew my ex's new partner would be moving in soon and hoped that it would alleviate the palpable anger that surrounded our homelife. I just wanted us all to be happy. I desperately wanted our 7 year old to retain stability as much as possible. And I was well aware that I could not fend for myself. Our old house was too small for 3 adults and a child so we moved.

Two months later, in May of 2004, I was given three days to live. I had had a pulmonary embolism (blood clot in lungs) and an infection that had gone septic. It didn't look good at all. I had to say goodbye to our son every time I felt sleepy because the doctor said I would most likely go into a coma and just not come out. My family all came to say goodbye. We got the coffin and I wrote cards for my boy's birthdays until he turned 18. It was hell. I mean not the same hell as having my skin fall off (the joy of PNP) and having burnt lips and lesions everywhere but a psychic hell nonetheless.

Obviously, the tide turned and I lived but my ex was done with the roller coaster and while my family gathered around with a social worker, she suggested that I go back to New England with them. She wouldn't characterize as kicking me out but it certainly felt like that at the time. I was told to leave with the vague notion that I might be able to return (an offer that was never repeated.) The house was not in my name. She couldn't leave me the house (she said she would have if only the money weren't tied to her job) but she could have let me stay until I found something else. She could have found me a place (remember I was in no shape to go interviewing!). She could have moved out temporarily until I found a place. None of that happened. So, the reality was that I had no choice but to let my family take me to New England. Not much changed there in May or June or July into August. I was in and out of the hospital. I could definitely not do most things on my own - not even get dressed. And the daily vomitting continued so I was very weak and malnourished (with much weight loss.) I was cared for and loved by family and friends in New England but I knew I couldn't stay there. The winters would be too harsh. The medical care was archaic. Our son needed his other parent and his normal life of church and school and friends and familiar geography. I was weak but determined.

I was blessed to be with a longtime festival friend, Scout, and his partner, Susanna. They cared for me and for the rugrat. They have three kids of their own so it just added to the mayhem. One day, I looked in the mirror. It was my first venture in quite a while to try to take a bath alone. There was a full length mirror. I was so terribly thin - I could see my bones. 130 pounds was gone and I was in shock. I don't know what happened. It was a turning point. I felt hungry for the first time in recent memory. I managed to drink milk shakes and rice with butter and wanted more (Susanna is a really good cook.) I miraculously stopped throwing up and decided to quit all the damn medications. If I was going to make it, I was going to make it and if I wasn't, well I wanted a better quality of life.

I made the gutsy move to come back to CA. Homeless, with only my insanely small disability check and the generosity of friends to try to sustain the two of us, I came back. It was a desperate time - looking for housing - not knowing where we would land. Not being able to tell anybody very much because of the whole privacy thing in our community. I understand the concept and tried to adhere to my ex's wishes but it wasn't easy. Luckily, I was able to find a suitable home in not too much time. Actually, having lived here for a couple of months, I can easily say that it is more than suitable. It is perfect.

Having the housing piece out of the way (people wanted to know why I couldn't live in the house as we had planned. What could I say?), the next major privacy piece was keeping the secret that my ex was becoming a man. He decided to transition genders sometime over the summer (well - as with most transgendered folks, I am sure it was a long time coming) and I couldn't tell our son, even though I thought he should know as soon as possible to start taking it all in. It's a lot of change for anyone, especially a kid. As a mother, I feel obligated to help him with all of the changes. I couldn't tell most of our friends or anyone in our community. I couldn't easily process my own sadness. Not that I am sad that he is transitioning - I am very happy for him. But the sadness that it couldn't have happened while we were together. That's easing up a little now as time goes by. And now the transition is so obvious, our community will know soon. Our son knows, friends know. He's also putting it out publically (on the internet) that he is male identified so that's cool. I look forward to being able to support him in a more public way in our local community. I just don't hold my cards so close to my chest.

We are still in mediation over financial stuff. I think we are both doing the best that we can. We do not see eye to eye on support issues but have both been willing to make major compromises. He has agreed to pay for my insurance premiums (for which I am unbelievably grateful because I am completely uninsurable with private insurance if I should lose this coverage), our son's medical & dental and part of what the state says he legally has to pay in child support. We both wanted to stay out of court so we could agree on whatever we wanted. And I really don't like to fight so - I am feeling a mix of gratitude for what has been offered and anger that it is so much different than if we were hets. It's a little crazy that we both vocally support equal rights for gays to marry. And yet when it has comes down to what the state says he should be doing for support and division of assets and debt, he says it isn't possible. If we had been straight when we were married all those years that I was a housewife and mother, actively supporting her in her job, the state would find a way to make it possible. The consumer debt would be divided equally (I have the lion's share of it), we would split the house, the retirement fund, I would get social security benefits if I ever lived to be old. As a home maker, there is a court ordered formula for compensation for years of service. But here in CA the domestic partnership laws do not have the same legal rights as hets until January 2005. I guess the divorce (for that is what it is) happened at just the right time for one of us.

I haven't figured that one out yet. I am really peeved that someone who proclaims to hold such high ethical ideals can act in a way that seems so hypocritical. I'm open to the idea that I am in pain and I am wrong. Maybe I am missing something. But if you cry out in public for equal rights and then say something else behind closed doors (where most people will never hear of it) - it seems? What is the word? Wrong.

I have our son all but 8 days a month. It's hard, as a mother, to watch this process. The divorce is very hard on the little guy. But, luckily, where we live is so fun and beautiful. School is going well and there are playdates galore. I can drive for the time being and have the energy to be a really good mother. We laugh a lot and I cherish every moment that I have. He is relieved to see me gaining strength. He probably doesn't trust that I'll be around for a long time and he's probably right to have that attitude. My chances statistically aren't good.

But for now, I am riding my wave of energy. I am thoroughly enjoying life. I have had different attitudes over the last year. And I use the lemons as a metaphore (as in: "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.") I have gone from "Oh yeah? Well YOU make lemonade from lemons if you are so fucking fond of it!" to "HOW can I make lemonade with no SUGAR??" to "Damn! Lemonade is soooo refreshing! I just LOVE lemonade!"

It's been quite a ride.

I'm still off most meds, refuse chemo despite the fact that I am nowhere near remission. I take a pooled blood product called IVIG to keep the lesions under control.. At $10,000 a day for the treatment, I am eternally grateful for that private insurance. I have to come up with the $6000 out-of-pocket deductible but it's worth it. My mouth is doing pretty darn good and my eyes hurt worse than I could ever describe. Horrible. The disease is eating the skin around my eyes. I guess I figure attitude is everything and if I can go to the hell I have experienced and make it through to this glorious place where I am today - how could I be anything but grateful?

Why I am still alive: My raison d'etre (my son), the incredible support of my various communities, the fact that I started off at 250 pounds (fat chicks rule!), my intense love of life and my kickass spirit.

So - that's as brief as I could get. Any questions?! Ha!

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Current Mood: devious
Current Music: Joan Jett, Spank Me, Daddy.
Cherry Club, Cherry Bar - I can't remember - someplace on Folsom in SF. Fun fun fun. And I decided to go with the 1950s retro look of wide neck black collared shirt of pink with black polka dots because I didn't give myself enough time to change from church clothes.

Funny unexpected thing happened - I figured no one would notice (in row three in the dark), if I quickly took off my shirt (I was wearing bra) to get rid of the long sleeved shirt underneath. It was getting warm in there - if ya know what I mean. Well, some fine looking butch from across the room did notice and came over to put money in my bra. Oh my gosh! I blushed and felt pleased and embarrassed at the same time. It made me laugh! I later slipped my number into her suit pocket when she left her jacket behind to go get water. Maybe she'll call?

It was a fun night and I'm grateful to have Trish to drag me out to these city events that I might not go to otherwise.

My favorite dancer was DEFINITELY the classy, sassy femme who had just the right walk, just the right snap of the head. She accepted money but spit it out onto the floor. She was too high class to have money hanging off of her. One of her outfits was a retro see-through lingerie number (good thing I didn't wear mine!) and the other was school girl with ruffled panties underneath. I cheered the clothing.

As opposed to my reaction to Alix - who was a punk rock butch who paid me quite a bit of attention and left me breathless. Oh my! Yes - it was a good night.

I sure do wish I could beam up to the city more easily.

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Current Mood: grateful
Current Music: Tori Amos, Little Earthquakes
It was such a great birthday. I turned 39 and, although he was with his other parent not celebrating any of it, Pk turned 7 and 1/2.
On Wednesday night my dear friend Brook and I taught YRUU (our church youth group.) It was good fun. We came home and drank cocoa made from scratch. And then proceeded to stay up way too late due to all the caffeine.

Brook had promised to treat me on my birthday and what a day it was! Thursday morning was spent lazily until we got our acts together and had a photo shoot for Friendster pix. That was a blast. Because I really love film instead of digital, I have to deal with the consequences of not-so-immediate gratification. But, luckily, there is a one hour photo place nearby. While waiting for photos we went to a great little lunch place & ate delicious salads (no boric acid - I mean dressing, please) and spoke of how to avoid the draft. Or more to the point, how to help the boys and men in our lives avoid the draft. a perfect Veteren's Day conversation. I, of course, honored the beloved veterens in my life too. It's just that not everyone wants to be a veteren.

Politics was mixed with sweet decadence. We split a banana and nutella crepe. O my gosh! Yeee-um. We were both so aware of how lucky we are to be so far away from the chaos of war and acknowledged all those people who couldn't dream of sharing a crepe in a cafe with a friend.

Back home to load up the new pictures and then off for a walk in the most amazing place. Neighbors (who must have more money than god) have 20 acres and are hortoculturists AND people sho like to share their space. There are acres of secret gardens and pathways and lakes and terraces and stonework and mountain vistas in the redwoods. It's outrageous. The day - as most of my birthdays are - was a beautiful shade of grey. We walked in the mist and discovered the Baroness Garden and the Butterfly garden and the crazy woodworking shop that is built around a grove of redwoods. We watched the sun set in the clearing sky behind a long ridge of a nearby mountain range. Glorious.

Back home for a little down time before we left for a play: The Complete Works of Shakespeare: Abridged. It was hysterical. Especially since I have seen almost all of the plays between one and half a dozen times (except the histories - and they made those very funny too!) I laughed and laughed as they rolled all the comedies into one skit and then did Hamlet in 15 minutes, only to get up off the floor (they all die in Hamlet, if you remember) and say "Let's do it again - only faster!" The shorter version is even funnier than the first. They pop up from the dead and shout "Again! Faster!" to which they each shout out just one key word and hurl themselves to the ground. My sides hurt and I wasn't sure my bladder would make it when they decided to do it all again - backwards. Oh - oh - rich laughter.

The day was made more special by the emails and posts that I got from friends and family. And the day after brought cards from even more friends. I am so blessed. Truly blessed.