My Second Shot Scheduled

Tomorrow I'll be having a second stellate ganglion injection in my neck. I haven't a clue if it'll be as painless as the first one, or if it'll provide more, less, the same effects as the first one. More, please...lots more.

My Second Shot Scheduled

RSD

When I checked in during January, I'd been put in a cast for a broken hand. Well, the cast came off, I went to Occupational Therapy, but instead of recovering properly, I was diagnosed with a rather rare malady called RSD, Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy Syndrome, AKA Chronic Regional Pain Syndrome. Here's what that means: When injured, the sympathetic nervous system clicks on like an automatic light switch. Occasionally, when the injury involves an extremity like a hand or foot, it doesn't turn off. That's what they believe has happened to me. If you've got allergies you know that your body thinks it's fighting something dangerous, releases histamines, and you get allergy symptoms. RSD is kind of like that, only with the nervous system.

After diagnosing me, my hand doctor sent me off to a pain management doctor, who put me on Lyrica, which has an unfortunate side effect of causing some patients to lose vocabulary...not a great thing for a writer. She thinks it will abate, and I believe it is starting to do so. Forgetting the word "cord" or how to spell "who" scared the crap out of me last week.

The problem with RSD is that it's a race against the clock; you've got about six months to get it under control or it can get really bad...with symptoms jumping to the other hand, permanent changes in skin texture, my hand turning into a claw, and, quite frankly, a lifetime of pain.

My RSD was diagnosed fairly early, although I'm guessing the unforgettable pain I felt in my fingers while in the cast is when it began, which means the clock is really ticking now. So far I've had one stellate ganglion injection, and am going to have a second on Wednesday of next week.

The shots are administered while under heavy sedation. The needle goes in about two inches to the left of the voice box, and for most people, the doctor is led to the correct spot by first injecting iodine dye. Unfortunately, I am allergic to iodine dye, so apparently during the first shot she brought me out of sedation and asked me questions to help her administer the medicine in the right place.

I did not have the immediate, rock-star results some people experience. Whether that's because she didn't quite hit the sweet spot, I don't actually have RSD, or that it's going to take a lot of injections, I'm not quite sure. All I know is that my flare-ups are no longer three days. They last one day instead (I had one yesterday and I was a useless human being because I lost all ability to cope). I can bend my pinky all the way so that the it goes into the "fist" position. My ring finger no longer feels quite as much like a log as it did, and I can actually get a ring over my knuckle, which means the swelling that causes a lot of the pain has gone down. My pinky and ring finger don't shake quite as much. My joints don't seem to be turning blue and filling up with blood as much as they did either, another good sign, but I have a small niggle at the back of my mind: Am I the victim of wishful thinking?

With the exception of yesterday afternoon, I have not taken any of the hydrocodone prescribed because how can I tell if I'm getting better if pain meds are covering up the pain? My husband understands the logic, but both he and the doctor think I'm wrong to not take the medication. She assures me I won't end up like House, but I'm just not going to get back on them after taking so many between November and March.

If the shots appear to help at all, I'll have more, possibly up to six, and the doctor might actually go in and burn the nerve. I don't want that. As I told my mother, who is increasingly anxious on my behalf, so far the treatment is not as bad as it sounds. Yes, the prep for the shots is much like what happens before a general anesthetic, and there's no doubt if I didn't have that fucking iodine dye allergy (discovered in high school when they injected it via IV for a brain scan while looking for tumors to explain headaches) that I'd feel more confident in the efficacy of the shots, and the efficacy by degree as well: Are the shots working at all? Would they work better if she were visibly able to place them?

Meanwhile, all my editors--at PW & H&H--are very patient and understanding. A couple of days ago my first H&H blog entry in about seven months was published. It's called Kindle Magic (Or How to Organize Your Kindle Library. It's had about 700 views, not great, but not horrible either. It's amazing how easy it is to get used to low expectations.

I'm trying to get on with my life, whether or not this treatment succeeds. I'm forcing myself to use my hand and wrist as though the pain were not there because lack of use makes it worse. I'm typing. I'm carrying bags that aren't too heavy, although when I last did that on Thursday, my hand shook for a day. I put on earrings, bracelets, rings, and a necklace each day, even if I'm staying home, not only for the therapeutic value to my small motor skills, but also to remind myself of beauty. And I do my best to make sure my mother and daughter understand I'm not scared, so they can chill out until I tell them to worry.

That's all for now

RSD

Offline Again

Since my last post, I've exchanged one cast for another, larger cast. When my doctor removed the original cast, my hand still felt wrong, and my suspicions were confirmed when X-rays revealed a broken bone. He put ma in a larger cast, further delaying my recovery from shoulder surgery in December. Worse is that my finger--the break is in the area of my index finger, around where carpel meets metacarpal--feels better elevated, which, depending on where I'm sitting, causes pain in my shoulder to kick in. At times I need to lie down simply not to hurt. I'm spending a lot of time that way. It sucks.

I see my shoulder surgeon tomorrow. I last saw him three days before hurting my hand, so it'll be interesting to see his reaction. As for me, having only the use of my thumb makes even the most rudimentary of skills almost impossible, but it's stretchy pants and camis with shelf bras for the foreseeable future...and as little time online as possible.

Offline Again

What's Going On?

I started having pain in my left arm this summer. I thought I had pulled a muscle, so I rested it for a couple of weeks. It didn't help, so I saw a shoulder specialist, who took X-rays and explained that it was referred pain from my shoulder. He gave me a shot of cortisone and sent me to physical therapy. Though the physical therapy worked to an extent, my second visit to that doctor showed me he didn't really understand what was going on with my shoulder.

My physical therapist recommended another specialist, whom I learned was in partnership with the shoulder specialist my husband saw a couple of years ago when he had trouble with his left shoulder. (He had had shoulder surgery shortly before we got married because his shoulder kept dislocating. Though his surgeon had long ago retired, he referred his patients to the specialist my husband saw a couple of years ago.)

Although I didn't know it at the time, it turns out it's my husband's doctor is the top shoulder specialist in the city. Luckily he saw me right away, looked at my older X-rays, and gave me a 2nd shot of cortisone, one which actually worked for a few days. Both my physical therapist and I noticed an immediate improvement in my shoulder, but a week later it had started to regress. So I went back to the doctor, who indicated that the shot had been as much for diagnostic purposes as it had been for pain. We talked about it, he sent me for an MRI, and after getting those results, scheduled surgery for a few days before Christmas.

Everyone in my side of the family has a very low threshold of pain, so after surgery when the doctor said my shoulder had been really messed up, I was actually relieved. Not only was there a tear in the rotator cuff, but the bone spur he had expected in my shoulder had actually broken off, leaving everything inflamed and disgusting. I had just started physical therapy again, a week after my surgery, when my husband, daughter and I went to see A Dangerous Method. I missed the last step going down a large flight of stairs and landed directly on my left wrist. After trying to ignore the pain through lunch, I noticed a huge blood clot had developed on my wrist, and we ended up at a nearby doc in the box. Two hours later I learned nothing had broken but that my left arm, hand, and fingers were badly sprained. They splinted my hand and wrist and sent me on my way.

When, a few days later I realized I kept re-injuring my hand, my husband suggested I see a specialist. He agreed that nothing was broken but I left his office with my wrist hand and fingers in a cast. I am supposed to have the cast removed this week, and I hope most of the swelling, pain, and general ickiness will be gone. I did take a break from PW duties for the last week in December, and have muddled through my last three reviews using DragonDictate, a voice recognition program I am using to write this very blog entry. I wish I had had Dragon Dictate back in November when I researched and wrote my 1st publishers weekly feature article, which required me to interview 20 authors, then writes eight hours a day for two days to complete the piece.

All of this explains why I've not blogged in months, but this weekend, when I went to look something up in my old blog, I discovered it was gone. Blog-city.com apparently went off line on December 31. I did not know they were going bye-bye, because all their e-mails to me must have been sent to my old AAR address, which has been defunct for 3 years.

This had a very disheartening effect on me; that's more than 6 1/2 years of writing, including probably 100 reviews. Even worse was discovering that I did not have complete archives for the blog. When I switched from PC to Mac this summer, I needed to jettison old files, all of which I had backed up. Unfortunately, the process of transferring files did not go entirely as planned, and not everything made it through the process. Among the lost files was a huge XML file containing the old blog in its entirety. I contacted blog-city.com's owners this weekend, and have requested they try to send me another backup. In the interim, I decided to upload here on blogger the files I did retain, which includes everything from the original blog's inception in 2002 to early 2007. There is simply too much good stuff for me to let go entirely, and it's a shame that all those links from AAR and Heroes and Heartbreakers are now useless. But by my uploading the blog here--each month is a single entry--I will feel better. I can only hope that those missing months can be accounted for. As for the password-protected portions of blog, I have no clue whether or not they were/are included in the archive files, but I'll soon find out. So far I've uploaded August, September, and October 2002.

As for my injuries, I plan to work through any remaining discomfort associated with my shoulder and arm in trying to get back into online writing. The hand may slow me down, but now that I know that anything I do to my shoulder cannot damage my shoulder, I'm going to grin and bear it.

See you here and there!

What's Going On?

Forced Hiatus

A couple of months ago I injured my shoulder. I thought it was a pulled muscle, but when it didn't get better itself, I finally went to a doctor a few weeks ago, who put me on Celebrex. Earlier this week she sent me to a specialist, who diagnosed me and prescribed a month's worth of physical therapy on top of the Celebrex. The shoulder issue radiates pain down my upper arm to just below my elbow, and typing exacerbates the situation. As a result I'm trying to stay offline as much as possible; most of my posting for the past several weeks has been via my Droid, simply linking to various articles on FB and Twitter.

I hope to be back to full strength shortly; if not, I'll be getting a cortisone shot at the very least (epidurals were mentioned). Once I'm back to normal, look for me to start posting here again, and to return to Heroes & Heartbreakers; I have two articles I stopped mid-way through. Even more frustrating is that reading a print book makes the discomfort worse, so on top of everything, I'm depressed that my favorite pastime now hurts (the irony being that it's how I read that led to the injury over a long period of time in the first place). My Kindle is getting a major workout, but that doesn't help with the PW books I've been assigned to review as none so far have been in digital format.

Anyway, here's to hoping my forced hiatus ends soon.

Forced Hiatus

The Mashboard

It's 11:30, the DH is sleeping as he has an early morning, so it's just me listening to Rachael's radio show on KHDX 93.1 at Hendrix. I'm very proud of my very musical daughter and the unique angle she's found to entertain people. Her show is called The Mashboard, and her Monday night playlist features various mash-ups like this one—Norwegian Recycling's No Taylor, No Scar, which includes music from Missy Higgins, Men at Work, Jack Johnson, and Wyclef Jean.

I've enjoyed all of the mashups she's played tonight, even the one that features the altogether annoying Fireflies by Night Owl. If you get a chance next Monday night, you can listen on your computer like I'm doing tonight. I think you'll like it.

It's time to sign off now, and I'll do so as soon as Hulk Mash's mashup of Ke$ha, Taylor Swift, and Maroon 5 comes to a close.

The Mashboard

A Remembrance of Pets Past

I've been reading the utterly fascinating The Philosopher and the Wolf today, and though I'll be reviewing it tomorrow, one of its themes is downright Proustian: Animals are at our mercy in the civilized world.

***

One day while driving to the library in graduate school, I came upon an injured bird in the middle of an intersection in a residential neighborhood. Though I'm not a bird person, I felt I needed to save this poor little creature. After it was gathered up gently in a jacket, I drove to our nearby vet, and with tears streaming down my face, handed him the bird as though it were some sort of chalice, and begged him to save it.

The vet knew the bird didn't stand a chance, but he gave it a valiant effort anyway. My day at the library doing research shot to hell, I drove home instead, and shared my story with my husband, who could see how shaken I was by the experience. It's been nearly 30 years, but I tear up even now when thinking about that fallen bird.

A couple of years later, I visited my family in Los Angeles, and met my sister's new dog Joshua, some sort of miniature Samoyed. I loved this beautiful dog, and the feeling was mutual, so much so that by the time I left L.A. a few days later, it had taken a protective stance toward people moving too quickly in my direction. I think some sort of strange animal imprinting had taken place because Joshua never bonded with either my sister or her first husband and they eventually returned him to the breeder.

Joshua was one of many "off" animals in my life. Though I'd grown up a dog person, my husband and I had only owned cats. Our first, the first of many strays, was Praline, although I called her Kitty. Not very original, I know, but she was my first cat after a lifetime of dog ownership. I used to open the door and call, "Kitty, come home to mama," and she did. But only for me, and if she'd gotten stuck on the roof, extra coaxing was involved. When we moved from Dallas to L.A. at the end of the year, we had to leave Kitty behind with my eventual brother-in-law, Jack. I don't know what happened at this point, only that when we moved back to Dallas a year later, Kitty was Miss Strin (my maiden name), and the opposite of the sweet, loving pet I'd known.

We came back to Dallas with Raindrop, the first of our true rescue cats. Incredibly loving, playful, and snuggly, she was the first "she's not really like a cat" cat we owned. She suffered some major medical issues. Indeed, she may have been the first cat to have interferon treatments after a case of exposure nearly destroyed her little immune system. The shots worked, and she lived a very long and happy life.

We'd only been back in Dallas for a couple of years when we adopted Satchel, an injured, jet black stray. Satchel had a remarkable sweet tooth—he once ate an apple pie sitting on the counter. Raindrop really didn't know what to make of such a scaredy cat, but our vet actually called me after Satchel had been with us several months, and told me the story of a man who'd lost his cat and was desolate. Our vet knew we already had a cat, and asked if we'd let this grieving man adopt Satchel. After meeting up and taking his measure, we agreed, and gave Satchel over into his care.

Next up was Boo Boo, a cat who'd been abused. When my husband brought him home, his feet were burned, and though we needed another cat like a hole in the head, we nurtured him back to health, and gave him the love he needed and deserved. Boo Boo was the scardiest cat ever, and while I was pregnant with Rachael, and maternal hormones raged within me, his liver failed. The vet warned us that Boo Boo was on his last legs, but I was having none of it. If he wanted to eat a teaspoon of food at three a.m., I gave it to him. I sat with him, loved him, and willed him back to life, and his liver regenerated. The vet called it a miracle.

Right before my pregnancy with Rachael, I had a miscarriage, and during my recovery two stray cats appeared in the atrium outside my bedroom. I felt these cats had been given over to my protection—a baby had been taken away, but these were two new lives I needed to save—yet as we already had two cats, I was in no position to keep them. I did, however, feed them and coax them into accepting my touch, so that after awhile, I was able to hold them. At which point I took them to my vet, told him my story, and he agreed to take them in and find them homes. And he did.

On Mother's Day when Rachael was six, we woke up to a swimming pool of baby ducks. They were amazingly quick in the water, and Rachael and I needed to don our swimsuits to catch them. Chlorine isn't good for baby ducks, so animal control took them after we nabbed each one. It was an exhilarating experience, and the officer vowed the ducklings would be taken to Samuell Farm, a city-owned farm open for urban school-children to commune with "nature." I can only hope she did because to contemplate anything else, particularly on Mother's Day, was, is, and will always be abhorrent.

A year later Raindrop finally died...she was into her 20s by then...and we went to adopt a new cat. Our new vet had an animal rescue within her practice, and an entire litter to choose from. Bob (you know, Bob The Cat), was the sweetest of the group, and after he came home with us, his little paws rarely hit the ground because Rachael and her friends carried him so much. It turns out Bob had IBD, which meant a shortened life as a result of cancer, but also because of the lifetime of steroids he had to take on a daily basis. They made him eat like mad, and gave him a mild case of the jitters, so that he became a scaredy cat around anyone he didn't know. He wasn't with his mother long enough to know how to "knead the dough" (cat owners, you no doubt know what I mean), but he loved to be carried and cradled in my arms like a baby, on his back, and to have his belly or ears rubbed. He was the most handsome of cats and very nurturing, with that instinct some animals have to provide comfort and succor. Whenever one of us was sick, he knew, and in his own way, tried to nurse us back to health by sitting vigil on the bed. Bob loved a good nap with his mom...there will never be another Bob.

Perhaps a year after Bob moved in, Boo Boo died. Although my husband said, "No more cats," one day while Rachael and I were at the mall, the ASPCA's Christmas Adoption campaign was in full swing. Rachael found Baby, my heart melted, and Harold capitulated. Though tiny in stature, Baby has always been the princess of the house. She's the healthiest cat we've ever owned, but unfortunately, the loudest as well. She goes into a state of mourning every time Rachael leaves for school, and it's obvious she still misses Bob, her big brother. She comes when called, and like all our cats, she's very un-catlike. I say that with some pride because I can't stand aloof cats. None would dare live in our house.

It's funny...every time we've lost a cat, even with another one at home, I've felt the sole-deep urge for a new one. Bob changed all that. Baby remains young and healthy, with many years ahead of her. She'll be the last of our cats, but I feel we've done the job we were meant to do.

A Remembrance of Pets Past

Facebook, No...Google+, Yes Please

I think the last straw for me at Facebook was discovering that if I opt out of their automatically linking all my "likes," such as bands, TV shows, etc., my "likes" basically disappear from my Facebook page. It's just the latest intrusive attempt to force me to wade through more and more crap to discover what I really want and need to know...how are my actual friends, family, and acquaintances doing, and what are they up to?

My dislike really began when Facebook removed the personalization aspect of my page, forcing me to go into my left gutter to access third party apps. Then they removed the tabs, so even if I wanted to share my FB friend web with people, I couldn't. Hell, at this point even I can't find it...or my world map of all the places I've been, or particular music I want to share, or anything that I'm guessing doesn't provide FB with a way to make money off of me.

Yes, I can go in and individually shut off the No Doubt updates, along with those from Mad Men, Big Bang Theory, Game of Thrones, James Taylor, and so on. But why should I have to do that, one by one, for each "like?" If FB is going to allow intrusion, shouldn't I be asked to allow it on the front end, not disallow it, individually, for each intrusion I never asked for?

Wow...I don't think I've ever ended so many sentences, let alone paragraphs, with prepositions!

At this point I check FB mail, wish happy birthday, and then get the hell off of Facebook. Most of my posting is done from another locale; links on EW.com, the NYT, my blog, H&H, direct to Facebook without my actually being there. I'm incredibly happy now that Google+ has shown up; my plan is to set up the kind of circles I wish I could on FB...for friends, family, work, acquaintances, politics...and limit who is forced to endure any particular update from me. Why force Diana, a died-in-the-wool conservative, to read my endless NYT links about things that get my progressive dander up? Why post an update about the Border's bankruptcy to all my followers when only those involved in some way with publishing or bookselling give a crap? And why post a link to an article I've written for H&H to family who have no interest in romance or urban fantasy novels?

I've been extending invitations to Google+ to all who ask...all I need is an email address...with the understanding that unless I actually know you in some substantive way, circle joining will not follow. I understand there are burps along the way; it took two invites to two addresses each for my husband and daughter to join, and a friend of mine is having problems having Google+ accept her. But I love the idea of having a place to post without limiting to 140 characters—if this goes as I hope, my Twitter feed will soon cease to have anything personal and solely be about politics and publishing because I doubt Author A or Publisher B is interested in where I checked in for dinner last night using Foursquare— and I'll actually be able to see updates from the people I care about.

My daughter joined, but has no intention of actually using Google+ "until it catches on." My response? "It won't catch on unless people actually use it." I'm making a conscious effort to do that, downloading the Google+ app to my phone yesterday (I used it last night to pull Kevin into my "family" circle on the way to dinner).

If I can convince all family members to join, and can find some way to import birthdays into my calendar, I plan to leave Facebook altogether. Yes, I know you all play games there, but I quit cold turkey about a year ago when I realized what a time suck it was, so if you are growing more and more dissatisfied with Facebook, please consider the Google+ alternative. And if you need an invite, let me know.

Facebook, No...Google+, Yes Please

To Hell with Hits...Let's Go Shopping!

No mourning over the death of my latest H&H article, although I thought for sure somebody would find "...fitting your dainty foot into a glass slipper held by a prince has nothing on learning you have special powers that can stop a werewolf in high dudgeon in his tracks" out and out hilarious. Instead, let's go shopping.

Like every other young woman, my daughter is totally into Vera Bradley. To me her stuff is very hippy dippy, Calico Corner peasant skirty—not something that would appeal to a 2011 audience. But for girls living in dorms, who need their ID, key, and phone handy, they really are just the thing. So when we wandered into the Vera Bradley store so she could buy a larger wallet/wristlet thingie because her new phone is bigger than the old one, I kinda cringed. They were having a sale, though, and the "one for the money" she bought was actually cute.

The more I thought about it, though, the more the idea of not having to figure out what to do with a phone, keys, money, I.D., credit card, and key ring reward cards while running out for a quick errand in the hot summer heat or going to the gym appealed to me. The sale continued when we next visited the store, and we both ended up with purchases, although nothing we bought this time was on sale. She bought the "one for the money" in the print she liked, along with a lanyard to sorta turn it into a shoulder bag, and I bought a "one for the money" I liked, in the same print as the only sunglass case I've found that can fit this pair of sunglasses I have with enormous hinges. She also gave me the "one for the money" she'd been using this past month, and asked me why I ended up with two. The answer well and true? I wanted the wallet thingie to match the sunglass case and her cast-off didn't have a sunglass case to match. Also, I've been on a buying binge, the first in years and years, for the past couple of months, and saw no reason to deny myself.

The binge, thankfully, is over now. My husband asked how it felt to be able to buy whatever I wanted (more or less); he's been on his own binge as well. I told him I loved everything I bought...nothing was a regretful purchase...but that I did not like feeling as though I needed things I clearly did not need. He, on the other hand, was just happy to be able to buy whatever he wanted to buy.

Let's tally it up now, shall we?

• White topaz earrings—25% off—from the amazing @GottaHaveBling (Ross-Simons) because I wanted needed a pair of day-to-day earrings that were substantial, and real (white topaz is not expensive, but it looks like diamonds; the real cost is the white gold setting).
• Two Brighton discontinued watches from e-Bay; I've hungered for the chronograph for years (it goes without saying both brand new watches, with tags and boxes, were both less expensive than originally priced at Brighton).
• A multi-gem bracelet, also 25% off, and also from Ross-Simons. Ever since I first saw that David Yurman Confetti Cuff I wrote about last month, I've wanted to find a more reasonably priced alternative. This cuff is amazing, and according to my jeweler, hand made.
• Re-set a very large blue topaz yellow gold ring into a white gold pendant on sterling silver chain. I've owned this gorgeous blue topaz for more than 20 years, but what worked when I worked in an office setting no longer fits my lifestyle. My jeweler re-set it as a white gold pendant, used the gold from the ring to off-set some of the cost, and we picked out a very modern sterling chain to go with it. I saw no reason to buy a white gold chain at five times the price. Please excuse the photo; it's blurry, but it manages to display the gem's color quite nicely.

I splurged on a bag for Rachael as well (this bag, on the right, in this color—on your left)...she still can't believe I stopped being austere, but it's fabulous and she now "gets" why fabulous bags are fabulous. We're also doing major work on the house, but I'm not including any of that, because not only are we going to enjoy it, it'll help when the market returns and we can get the hell out of Dallas!

And so ends the Great 2011 Shopping Spree for things I craved, but did not need. When I add it all up—thanks to the terrific sales prices—it's not all that bad, but it's the craving aspect that scared the hell out of me. May I embark on no further sprees for years to come.

To Hell with Hits...Let's Go Shopping!

Interior Design

Yesterday we met with our new interior designer, and the designated project manager, for the master bath re-do we have planned. A couple of weeks ago we met with two local designers. I passed on the first because while she had great credentials, the amount of money she thought we ought to spend on the bathroom equaled about a fifth of our house's worth. The second designer, who also does contemporary spaces, although ours is eclectic more than modern, also has great credentials, but I felt far more comfortable with her.

A few days after signing the contract with her, she sent out the project manager and his assistant to measure the space and take photographs. Not long thereafter we received three design concepts and some photos. We decided on the concept we liked best, then I began to get additional ideas so that when our Big Meeting happened yesterday, I'd be able to show them what my "ideal bathroom" looks like.

BTW, for those of you interested in interior design, Houzz.com is a fantastic resource...I actually located some of the photos our project manager sent to us for perusal while going through ideas, and soon discovered our designer had 181 photos on Houzz as well. Anyway, on Saturday and Saturday night, because local bathroom showrooms all closed down for the Fourth of July weekend, I created an ideabook at the site that featured the colors I gravitate towards, tub and shower designs, etc.

I was thrilled that they had intuited my design aesthetic and brought wood and tile samples in my color palette, which happens to be sea foam green, and various shades of gray as the neutral influence. As I explained to Rachael, "think Vermont"—the color of the granite you see as you drive the highways that pass through the mountains, with their cutaways of the granite within— and "organic." We plan bowl sinks, a white free-standing tub, but not one with claw feet, a shower with two glass walls that will open up an end of the bathroom, cabinetry that doesn't rest on the ground and includes open areas for that "spa look," and drawer space made for jewelry. All of this meets our design aesthetic but also takes into consideration resale, as we would love to leave Dallas as soon as the housing market picks up.

Here are some photos from my Houzz ideabook:

contemporary bathroom design by seattle interior designer Garret Cord Werner Tub and shower configuration, though the tile wall is actually our outside wall, with a large window over the tub	contemporary bathroom design by detroit kitchen and bath Tanya Woods Inset for shampoos and such
contemporary bathroom design by vancouver interior designer Claudia Leccacorvi Rain Shower Head	modern bathroom design by boston architect LDa Architecture & Interiors Above floor and "open" cabinetry
contemporary bathroom design by new york general contractor Prestige Custom Building & Construction, Inc. Color Scheme (the lighter gray)	modern bathroom design by new york architect Ann Marie Baranowski Architect PLLC Bowl sink...although ours won't be glass, and will be the same oval shape as the tub

Interior Design

I'd Like to Say It Ain't So, But...

Sometimes I get weird intuitions. Mostly it's mother's intuition, which is generally dead-on, which makes it critical to listen do, but also more than a little creepy. Occasionally, though, it's about other things, and this weekend I had one of those "other" intuitive thoughts.

I've written a couple of times about Austin Art Glass, on SoCo in Austin as owned by artist Aaron Gross. Last October we picked up three new plates for our wall, including one to replace a broken piece, and I spent quite a bit of time talking to Aaron about whether or not he'd be able to stay in business given how slow it was for him last summer. He was less noncommittal than he'd been in September, giving me hope that because of his talent—and his prices— he was going to stick out the economic downturn.

Well, Saturday evening as we were driving home from dinner, I suddenly flashed on Austin Art Glass, pulled out my phone, and tried to access the website. I couldn't. When we came home, I went first thing to my desktop and went through all the Googled links I could find for both Aaron and his store. Lots of reviews and previous mentions of both...but nothing but a "Forbidden" message when going to austinartglass.com. I told my husband about it, and added that I felt like crying at the store's closing.

There's so much beauty in Aaron's art, and even with the economic downturn, people are spending all sorts of money on all sorts of things they don't need (iPads topping the list) and rarely consider the influence of beauty in their lives. I'm not immune to buying things I don't need, but when we drive down to Corpus Christi this summer to visit my m-i-l, I had every intention of stopping by Austin Art Glass to buy more lovely glass plates for our wall. I know there are other artists out there creating beautiful glass art, including James Hayes in Little Rock, but I'm taking the closing of his store very personally.

I'd Like to Say It Ain't So, But...

Updating My Travel Map

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Laurie's Travels has traveled to: Canada, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Ireland, Israel, Italy, Japan, Mexico, Monaco, Netherlands Antilles, Puerto Rico, Russia, Sweden, Turks And Caicos, United Kingdom, United States, United States Virgin Islands, Vatican City, USA States: Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Louisiana, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, North Carolina, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington

I've seen [just] 11% if the world. How about you?

Updating My Travel Map

New at H&H: Me Again...on Pr0n This Time

In my first entry for today, I mentioned dashing off a quick piece in response to a tweet from Megan yesterday. It's just been posted online at Heroes & Heartbreakers.

I wrote about so-called Lady Pr0n in response to an article on a website for an NBC affiliate in Utah. Historical context always matters, and given that when I ran AAR we went through a similar controversy way back in 1999 that led to an article in Salon.com, I wanted to add my two cents, in an updated way.

As always, I'd love some feedback on H&H after you read my piece. Even though I had a fabulous, confidence-inspiring birthday yesterday, the lack of comments to my H&H articles, let alone the usual dead-silence here, feeds my insecurities. I can't help it; I need lots and lots of validation!

New at H&H: Me Again...on Pr0n This Time

New at H&H: A Makeover of a Different Kind

I think that subconsciously, watching Will Farrell's hilarious appearance on Conan O'Brien's show in early May gave me the idea for my new article at Heroes & Heartbreakers. It reminded me of a joke I heard back in the day. The joke kicks off the article. Feel free to watch the clip below in its entirety, but it's between 1:20 and 1:55 minutes in that it all started to gel in my head.

Putting a piece out there of on a topic such as this (you'll see when you read it) was not something I took lightly. I mentioned last week that I had a blast writing it, but that it took a lot of effort on my part to get to and maintain just the right tone...to write about a delicate matter and keep it light so as to be funny yet not be prurient, and to be revelatory enough while not exposing myself too much in the text. Hopefully I succeeded.

Because of the subject matter's delicacy, I feel a little squirmy knowing that people will actually read the article. On the other hand, I'm kinda proud of myself for tackling the topic in a funny way. Did I succeed? Please let me know by posting a comment at H&H after you read it.

New at H&H: A Makeover of a Different Kind

A Perfect Birthday

I mostly adhered to my daughter's "you shall not work on your birthday" edict yesterday, but after following one of Megan's tweets, I felt compelled to dash off a quick article that may go online today...and if so, may kick my article originally scheduled for today into some time next week. But I had fun writing it, it was quick and off-the-cuff, and I didn't edit myself to death.

My husband and I put ourselves on an austerity program a few years ago that precluded big celebrations and big expressions of affection, but this year we've been able to ease up. Because yesterday's birthday was a biggie, I actually looked forward to it. I knew this year would not be a repeat of last year's self-imposed pity party because...ta-da...a birthday card and check arrived from my mom last week, along with a birthday card and check for my husband, whose birthday was two weeks ago, and an anniversary card (our anniversary is in March) and check. Do I think my mom remembers just how big a birthday it was for me? Probably not, but to have had it remembered for the first time in three years is good enough for me at this point.

When I picked up Rachael after lunch yesterday, she couldn't wait to give me her gift. The card brought me to tears. After all our struggles, to be at this place in our relationship with one another is something neither of us takes for granted. As I told a close friend yesterday, in our immediate family we treat each other with respect and love, but don't allow anyone to either sit in their shit or be full of it.

Mostly, though, we laugh and talk, run errands, go to movies, and watch Bravo marathons. This morning talk was all about The Boy, who will be coming to visit late this month. Anyway, after the card came the gift, a lovely purple/blue glass bird made by a gifted glass artist who graduated from Hendrix College in 1998. Which means she bought it not over the weekend or last week...she bought it before coming home for the summer. It was thoughtful...obviously I adore purple, and I've transferred my love of glass to both Harold and Rachael...and lovely. After putting the card away, we put the bird on my bedside table. And then she took me to Starbucks for a drink. When we came home, she did my makeup, and noted that this fabulous new eye concealer from Mahya I've been using on my eyelids made a tremendous difference. (Truly, if you have discolored, dark, or red lids, this product is frigging amazing. Because my lids are so discolored, for a couple of years I've been unable to wear most of my beautiful BE shadows unless they are pretty light. This concealer makes it possible for me to pull out some of my favorite darker colors, and to wear them without looking like a raccoon.)

Later in the afternoon a beautiful display of hydrangeas and mini-calla lilies arrived from my family. More thoughtfulness as I am the Queen of the Hydrangea. When Harold got home, he gave me his gift. His card also brought me to tears. And the gift (depicted on the right)...extravagant and over-the-top on any other birthday than this one, but perfect—for me, and our lifestyle—for every day. Silly, silly man...I think he actually thought I was disappointed he didn't buy my dream bracelet (seen to the left), which would have been the perfect gift if I lived a different life. If I actually owned it, though, I think I'd probably gaze adoringly at it on a daily basis, but only wear it three or four times a year.

So ends the conspicuous consumption portion of my blog entry. <g>

Then it was time for dinner at Fearing's. Dean Fearing, along with Stephan Pyles and Robert Del Grande, invented Southwestern Cuisine, and for years Fearing ran the restaurant at The Mansion, a boutique hotel here in Dallas. A couple of years ago he opened his own restaurant in the Ritz Carleton, and though it isn't as highly acclaimed as Pyles' is, the food is more accessible, and more Texan in its exuberance and abundance. Dinner was spectacular, the birthday cake the best damn restaurant birthday cake you can fathom, and when I got home and checked my twitter feed, there was a response from @fearingsdallas about my foursquare tweet, sent in the car on the way to the restaurant.

To top it off, there was a birthday message from my mom, who called while we were at dinner, and though it's a very easy thing to post a Facebook birthday message, the number of family and friends who bothered to take the time really warmed my heart. And since I didn't know until this morning that the Mavs lost game one of the NBA Finals (our game is #3, on Sunday), the entire day went off without a sour note.

A Perfect Birthday

Let's Not Forget the Forgotten

A close friend of mine has a son who joined the armed services straight out of high school rather than going to college, not because he and his family were gung-ho hawks, but because he wanted to serve his country and because he thought it would help him become a man. He chose to become a grunt in the Marines; if he was going to do it, he was going to "do it right" by being on the front lines. He was injured yesterday in his second tour of duty in Afghanistan by IED attack. His injuries were considered minor, but the injuries of one of his buddies were far graver.

I think I've written before about the emotional dangers facing our soldiers, and that they seem to increase exponentially with each deployment. That's outside of the physical danger they face daily, and the unbelievable conditions in which they live. I remember the first time I saw this photo—these guys are sleeping, not dead—and having it hit home in a visceral way how brave these young (some as young as 18) men and women are; it's frankly unfathomable to me, in my air-conditioned suburban home surrounded by beautiful flowers and the ability to bathe and/or shower at will.

These "forgotten" wars of ours shame me, not only because we continue to fight them when the true enemies are elsewhere, but because they are forgotten. I continually wonder why we aren't exposed to these wars on a daily basis, on television, in newspapers, on online news outlets and blogs. Because of modern techniques more and more soldiers survive horrific traumas to their brains, psyches, and bodies that would previously have left them dead on the battlefield or in field hospitals. And yet most of us don't realize their survival comes at unimaginable costs to their long-term quality of life.

And now, I guess it's time to go shopping in order to support our troops this Memorial Day weekend.

Let's Not Forget the Forgotten

Gotta Love the Free Market

I just read that the U.S. lags behind other many other developed nations in terms of broadband access and speed. That according to the FCC, which, as we all know, is not exactly a market-neutral entity, as most recently evidenced by the so quick the revolving door gave me whiplash career change for Meredith Baker, who just a few months ago voted for the monopolistic merger of Comcast and NBC, only to have announced last week she'll be working as a lobbyist for Comcast.

Every day I read something that infuriates me, that makes the case that "we, the people," no longer are. Whether it's Net Neutrality, the wives of investment bankers getting bailout money, or the sale of our infrastructure to foreign interests, monied interests are not looking out for you and me...they're looking out for themselves, but have convinced many of us that it's government that's the problem, that taxes are awful, and that the free market can solve anything.

It's as though there never was a Great Depression, trust busting, or any ability in our minds to understand how credit inexorably links Wall Street to Main Street. Or that if we cede control over legislation and regulation to business, they come out on top at our expense.

We blame Obama (not entirely blameless), rather than remembering what he inherited. We refuse to pay for our wars by raising taxes, and believe ridiculousness like 90% of funding to Planned Parenthood is for abortion, 15% of our budget funds the NEA, and that foreign aid accounts for a quarter of our spending.

The "government is evil" bunch hasn't got it entirely wrong, but that's only because government is in so deep with big business that I believe this picture says a thousand words.

Gotta Love the Free Market

It's a Look

This morning, after getting my driver's license renewed, I met a friend for coffee at a local mall that also houses a mineral makeup store for which we'd both bought Groupons. Because I knew I'd be getting my picture taken for my driver's license, I wore makeup (mineral foundation and veil, three colors of eyeshadow applied with a very restrained hand, a brow filler/tamer, mascara, and my typical blush). I should have known that perhaps this store wasn't for me when the make-up artist/saleswoman asked if I was wearing any makeup.

I told her that I wanted to try out her store because Bare Escentuals tends to build their product line around warm tones and I prefer cool ones. What do you suppose she did? Well, after putting foundation and a very brown bronzer on me, she loaded on eye shadows that she described as neutral—ie, browns—but in no way restrained. As for the blusher she used, it had already turned orange by the time she finished my eyes, so she removed it all to try again.

At this point I suggested a neutral look built around gray, but I guess I should have specified light gray, because her idea of a neutral gray eye featured charcoal gray over most of my lid, a teal color on the inner part of the eye, and a coppery yellow smack dab in the center of my lower and middle eyelid. At that point I said, as tactfully as possible, that this might be a fine "night" look, but she assured me it was perfect for daily wear.

In the end I used my Groupon for the foundation, mineral veil, an eyelid primer to cover my red lids, some brow filler, and a huge Kabuki brush that puts my BE Kabuki brush to shame. I picked up a new technique for loading the 'buki brush that I can't wait to try, but after walking in the door five minutes ago, I headed straight for the bathroom and scrubbed the whore off my face.

It's a Look

All About the Benjamins

My husband and I flew to Rhode Island Friday to be a part of the 110th anniversary of the founding of the United Brothers Synagogue in Bristol. Anyone who knows me realizes I'm a fairly secular person, so why would I fly to New England to celebrate the 110th anniversary of a once-orthodox synagogue? Actually, it's quite a story...

In the late 1800s, in what is now Latvia, a man named Joseph Benjamin was married to a woman named Etta. They had three surviving children when Etta died, and according to local Jewish tradition, although Joseph was 20 years older than Etta's younger sister Emma, Joseph married Emma. They had four children—the eldest of whom was Jacob—before moving to America and settling in Bristol, Rhode Island, where they had many, many, many more children. It seems Joseph was particularly fruitful.

Joseph, along with several other Jewish immigrants, founded an organization to maintain their Jewish identities and perform good works in their community. In 1900, they consecrated the United Brothers Synagogue. By 1905, btw, there were 36 Jews in Bristol.

When Joseph died, there was a schism between Etta's children and Emma and her children, and while most settled in Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and New York, the ill will spread like a disease so that two generations later, few of the cousins of the original descendants knew of each other.

Jacob moved to New York and married Dora; they had two children, Emma and Martel. Later they moved to Texas where Jacob became what I imagine was quite the rarity: a Jewish wildcatter. When that didn't work out, they moved to Austin and started a cafe in a building that eventually became the University of Texas' bookstore. Eventually Jacob and Dora moved back to New York. I don't know when he died, but she passed away in 1979.

Marty married Rhoda and had two daughters, Carole and Sharon. They settled in New York. Emily stayed in Texas and married Sammy. They had four sons: Lewis, Paul, Harold, and Jack.

Harold is my husband, and until about a year ago, he had never heard of most of his family, let alone met them. But over time, a few of the cousins had independently begun to research the family tree, including Paula Reynolds, a most amazing woman whose work on tracing the family tree back in time has been phenomenal. My s-i-l Alice (married to Lewis) got involved early last year and last July there was a family reunion that we unfortunately could not attend as we were scheduled to be on a cruise ship to Mexico at the same time.

Meanwhile, a member of the United Brothers Synagogue, a PhD (who sat in on Bill Cosby's orals, from what I gather!), who had started doing family trees a decade earlier, decided to find the descendants of the synagogue's founders for the big anniversary celebration. When she and Paula found each other, they were able to locate the final missing pieces of this large family puzzle, so that 31 Benjamin descendants took part in this weekend's festivities.

Friday evening we attended a Shabbat service at the synagogue, led by the lay leader. The synagogue reminded me of what I imagine an old European or Russian shtiebel looked like. It's a small, unprepossessing building on the outside, but on the inside one immediately feels a strong sense of family and community. That sense of community extends beyond the building; local churches donated the pews and one of their reverends taught the synagogue's first group of children Hebrew.

The difference then and now is that rather than separating the women from the men, as the Orthodox do, this congregation had decided some time ago to become Re-constructionist (I'm still working on a definition for that, but I think it's becoming somewhat of a replacement for Reform Judaism as Reform Judaism moves to the right). The founders were forward-thinking: The by-laws allow a majority of congregants to choose their own sect. By the time we arrived Friday night, the place was packed, so we sat up top, where the women would have sat back in the day. Having that bird's eye view somehow made it all the more special. Not as special, though, as actually meeting some of the Benjamin relatives and hearing stories about the olden days.

Saturday morning we returned to the synagogue to look at old documents and photos, and to take part in an official get-together of the founders' descendants. One of the second generation Benjamin cousins had put together a book with photos and a narrative. Both fascinated me, particularly the photographs, because two of the men depicted—they would have been my husband's great-uncles—looked exactly like him. Some powerful genetics are at work in the Benjamin family!

After milling around and looking at the history, a videographer set up and some of those in attendance began to share stories. The first was Alfred, who would be Emily's first cousin, and the "patriarch" of the Benjamin family. He's 87 and sharp as a tack. A number of Benjamin descendants spoke, but we also heard heart-breaking and heart-warming stories from descendants of other founders, including a 35-year-old woman who never knew any of her extended family until she spoke up. It was but one of many Kleenex moments. Then three siblings spoke: their ancestors had died in 1910 and 1913, leaving young orphaned children behind. As a result, most family connections were lost.

What most people don't realize is that it's far easier to do a family tree if you're from Western European stock. Eastern Europeans present a problem for a variety of reasons, including name changes at Ellis Island. Apparently what's helping today are genealogy centers created by the Church of LDS. When I attempted to do a basic family tree a decade earlier, I could get no further than my mother's parents on her mother's side. She has no knowledge about any relatives on her father's side, other than "a cousin with pretty hair who used to visit once a week" when she was a young girl. The Benjamin family can now trace its roots to the 17th century.

As if discovering all these family members weren't enough, the icing on the cake is the kindness and generosity of the entire Benjamin clan. I wished oh-so-much that Harold's mother Emily had been able to make the trip, but beyond spending time with Lewis and Alice and Paul and Susie, my husband and I each quickly developed relationships with other family members. We're both in the process of Facebook friending, and after one of my new second cousins-in-law (I think) linked to my twitter feed, he proudly showed me his daughter's feed; she's a sportswriter at the Boston Globe. As the credentialed lexophile, I've even been given the task of setting up a sort of Benjamin book club. I can't wait.

Our weekend ended with a trip to a Jewish cemetery in Providence where Harold's grandparents are buried. It was there that we said goodbye to Lewis and Alice, and when we spoke on the phone with our daughter Rachel last night, we couldn't wait to begin sharing stories. Already we're thinking about another trip to New England where Rachel can meet the Benjamins.

It's possible I've presented some of this information inaccurately or incompletely. If any corrections are necessary, I'll make them.

All About the Benjamins

A Table...at Last!

We're heading out to Rhode Island tomorrow for a weekend-long family extravaganza. Because I knew this was coming, I planned for it, time-wise:

• I turned in my review to PW Editor B, due today, last Friday (in addition to my other PW review last week, for PW Editor A).
• I turned in my review of PW Editor A, due Monday, on Monday as planned, and started to read the book for the PW review due this upcoming Monday, also to PW Editor A, so that I would not need to worry about it this weekend, or face a last-minute review Monday morning before eleven.

Alas, my best laid plans were to write the review this afternoon, leaving me enough time for mani-pedi, trip to tailor to pick up hemmed trousers and slight damage repaired to a sweater/jacket I found on deep discount earlier in the week. It's 4:30 in the afternoon now, and I'm just home after a last-minute three-hour adventure. It'll be a late night tonight, but since I don't sleep the night before we fly anymore, I'll be up anyway.

As for that three-hour adventure, here's the story: World Market's online circular arrived in this morning's email, indicating a huge sale on dining room furniture. We've lived in our house for 22 or so years, and don't have a real dining room table and chairs. We always end up renting when we entertain, but the thought of possibly getting a terrific deal on something appealed to me so much that I went through the circular and sent my husband photos of four possible options that were approximately half off—at least—prices we'd seen in the design district.

Next I drove to the nearest World Market. Two of the four options looked better in the photos than in person, and of the other two, which were quite nice to look at and featured clean lines, only one had chairs I found both comfortable and appealing, and were made from a wood and in a finish I liked. Had we been working with the decorator we occasionally use, he might have steered us away from buying eight side chairs rather than buying six and finding two other arm chairs, but I made an executive decision: time to finally take the plunge.

To get the best price, I needed to buy the six-piece set (four chairs, extendable table, and bench), then add four more chairs—two as swap outs for the bench. We don't yet know where, or if, we'll even use the bench, but because of the sale, the store would not swap out the bench for two chairs so that we'd need to only buy two more to end up with eight.

Unfortunately, the sole table at the store was damaged, and after they spent a figurative eternity phoning around, they finally located the one table in all of Dallas county at a store about a half hour away. The other store, which had the table but no chairs or bench, put the table on hold for me, and I paid for all the seating while the managers arranged so that when I paid for the table at the other location, they'd refund the difference to give me the lowest price. We had to eat a second delivery charge, but I went on my merry way to the other store. Because of the high finance involved, it took three employees at each of the two stores to make the transaction work, and I've got my fingers crossed that on Monday the actual two deliveries will be correct...not to mention Amex requiring me to call in to unfreeze my card due to all the strange activity.

I'm quite happy with what I picked out, and happily anticipate a dining room furnished with a dining room table and chairs rather than the small conference table and Windsor chairs that moved with us from our first house back in the day. It would be wonderful to finally replace the china cabinet we inherited with our first house, but hopefully it won't take another 22 years to find one now that we have a style with which to work.

A Table...at Last!