• Looking up

    Everyone knows life has its ups and downs. Well, except for some folks who aren’t right somehow. Perpetual happiness isn’t normal. I think it’s a little creepy. But look at me, talking about right minds. Aren’t I just adorable?

    I’ve been down. Hell, I’ve been riding the trench so long I can barely remember what the plateau looks like. Does the grass grow lush and green up there? Maybe it’s not so great after all. I really don’t like yard work.

    Tonight’s an up night. The weather has cooled. It’s not much, but enough to notice a difference. It’s enough to be comfortable outside when the sun isn’t up. Hell, it’s seven o’clock and my thermometer says it’s 80F. Eighty, where have you been all my life? There’s a breeze no less. This outdoor, front porch post is brought to you by eighty – the makers of a relieved soul.

    About a month ago some friends of Cheryl gave us a telescope. It isn’t huge. It isn’t motorized and it doesn’t have a computer guidance system. It’s a 60mm refractor. What makes it a gift from the Gods is the light it collects compared to my little, 30 year old reflector that’s a toy by comparison. Squint your eyes, use a little imagination, and you can just barely make out the rings of Saturn on my old telescope.

    Saturn isn’t out right now, but you may have heard Earth is at its closest point to Jupiter on its leisurely, annual lap around the sun (or it was late last month).

    It was still pretty darn close a week or two ago when I hurried Beth out to the back yard to watch the eastern sky. The brightest star in the sky wasn’t a star at all. It was Jupiter. The light captured from moons of Jupiter with our new telescope was spectacular. We shared an astronomy moment, awed by an image seen much clearer in too many magazines to count. We could make out bands around the magnified point in the sky, revealed as the relatively near object it really is, and looked upon the clouds of Jupiter.

    An otherwise mundane Monday was transformed into an event we’ll share forever.

  • Interpreting Beth

    Many of you know Beth has high functioning autism. Some of you know Beth. A few of you are familiar with Beth’s low tolerance for discomfort of any kind, and the hypochondria that accompanies it.
    More than once we’ve played the town’s folk as Beth cried wolf, only to find later the wolf was real – and caught up to her.

    When she was a newborn/toddler her way too frequent complaints turned out to be urinary tract infections brought about my a birth defect requiring surgery – and removal of half a kidney.

    As she got older, the constant stomach pains turned out to be something we’d later learn was a classic symptom of autism: she didn’t “go” when she needed to go. As a result, she became spectacularly backed up – surprising her doctor with her steel resolve in the face of pain.

    It all played out so contradictory, I was completely lost when it came to Beth and illness.

    Fast forward to this morning. No I take that back. Fast forward to this year. Beth’s been spending a fair bit of time curled up on the couch in pain. A few specialists gave us their answers, and their advice seemed to work… for a while. We’ve been keeping a closer eye on her diet and exercise. But we still occasionally have mornings like today – Beth impersonating a fetus on the couch.

    Sometimes she makes a miraculous recovery and goes to school. Sometimes it doesn’t last and one of us makes the trip to her school to pick her up. Other times we go to the doctor for a quick check and a new piece of advice. Sometimes it’s behavioral advice. Sometimes it’s medical.

    This morning Beth was on the couch again. We decided to take her to one of several doctors again.

    Are you familiar with the phrase, “one more thing?”

    Sometimes there are legitimate reasons for anxiety and depression.

  • For Sale

    You’ve heard a picture is worth a thousand words, but have you ever considered words can have infinite meaning? It’s the beauty of language; this thing our gray matter dreamed up to communicate. It’s so complex it’s a wonder we can keep it straight, and it explains why so many of us have trouble capturing its intricacies in print.

    Just the words “for sale” can mean several things to different people, depending on context, inflection, or tone. They can explain one’s principles or one’s property, their meaning completely different. They can conjure countless stories from your imagination: like the broken dreams of a sign in a small, abandoned shop downtown, or the excitement of a brighter future posted in the yard of a modest home.

    To me, they mean giving up. I knew the words were inevitable for months, but my heart didn’t truly accept them until last weekend. We agreed to call a realtor and put our home up for sale.

    Funny word, “accept,” or maybe just the wrong one. I feel anything but accepting. I feel resigned. I feel broken.

    I feel crushed by responsibility.

    Don’t try this at home kids, I’m a professional. I’m of course referring to self-pity.

    If I was more ambitious we’d have more income. If I wasn’t sick we wouldn’t have so many expenses. If I was more disciplined we wouldn’t have quite as much crap we really don’t need.

    Whatever the reason, we find ourselves in the same boat many others do, maybe even you.

    For years our income sat still like a naughty child in time out. Expenses went up. A lot. A few of those expenses were discretionary, like my recent vacation, but many were not. Every year we went through the budget, cutting chunks here and there in order to tread water. Every year it got harder to find big chunks. This year they’ve been scattered, small, and most importantly: not enough.

    So this weekend we met with the realtor. We signed some papers and sprinkled them with a few initials.

    A sign goes up in the yard next week.

    Everywhere I look inside I see other signs, the ones that spawn memories.

    I’d sooner clip off a little toe than sell, but it’s the right move – the smart move. We have the plans drawn for the addition that will become our new home, after (if) we get our price.

    Now I wonder, emotions torn.

    How long?