Willow

More than just a tail

The Time Has Come...

At some point Ijust have to jump in and blog again. It takes more than 140 characters to say what is on my mind most of the time, and I think some of it is worth reading.

July 4 in Georgia

I got a real bang out of the 4th here in Georgia. For all its big city-ness,
Marietta is a fine small town here around the square. The neighborhood was
filled with people enjoying the evening in their front yards until nine or a
little after. Then everyone took their camp chairs and walked the half block
or so to Whitlock where we found places with a clear view of the church
parking lot across the street. That was the staging area for the fireworks
on the Square, so we had the perfect view from mortar firing to skyward
explosion. It was a grand show, maybe twenty minutes or even longer. Then we
picked up our chairs and walked home and sat on the screenporch again.

Bill commented how fun it was to BE the people in one of those houses you
walk past getting to your car parked way too far away to struggle through
traffic and go home. I must admit that was awfully nice. And it was even
nicer because he had decided to stay until the traffic cleared, so he got
George (my 1949 Martin Guitar for those who haven't met him) out and played
and even got me to play. This is the life!

The world would be a better place if we all had front
porches.

Kathy Seven Williams

July 4 in Georgia

I got a real bang out of the 4th here in Georgia. For all its big city-ness,
Marietta is a fine small town here around the square. The neighborhood was
filled with people enjoying the evening in their front yards until nine or a
little after. Then everyone took their camp chairs and walked the half block
or so to Whitlock where we found places with a clear view of the church
parking lot across the street. That was the staging area for the fireworks
on the Square, so we had the perfect view from mortar firing to skyward
explosion. It was a grand show, maybe twenty minutes or even longer. Then we
picked up our chairs and walked home and sat on the screenporch again.

Bill commented how fun it was to BE the people in one of those houses you
walk past getting to your car parked way too far away to struggle through
traffic and go home. I must admit that was awfully nice. And it was even
nicer because he had decided to stay until the traffic cleared, so he got
George (my 1949 Martin Guitar for those who haven't met him) out and played
and even got me to play. This is the life!

The world would be a better place if we all had front
porches.

Kathy Seven Williams

Salesmanship

When the movers were unloading the truck they discovered our couch won't fit into this house. We could remove the door from the screen porch, take off one pannel of screen framing, and put the couch in the living room, but since I wanted it in the basement, we decided to put it in the carport like a good Southern couple. So now we are engaged in a great shopping war. War? Yes. Imagine this...

We went to a family run furniture store that has been in the area for almost as long as our house. We first chose a daybed to put in the music room, then proceeded to select a couch. The criteria for the couch was a bit specific since it have to be less than 31 inches in one dimension so we could get it through the door. On the showroom floor were 11 versions of one relatively nice couch that would meet the height requirement, but I didn't like any of the fabrics. Next to it sat a lovely Dark blue sleeper/sofa with good high arms all the way to the front edge, and nice lines.

Measuring this sofa by finger-spread it seemed just the right size as well, so I asked the salesman to measure it for me. That's where the war began. He insisted it wouldn't work. He REFUSED to measure it. He spoke to me like I was a dumb woman who simply didn't understand about furniture moving. He muttered something about the arms going too far forward making it absolutely impossible. Jay and I both asked him to just measure, but that was out of the question. He repeatedly refused, insisted he was the Authority and that we didn't know what we were talking about.

I tried to explain to him that if the largest dimension in one direction (In this case the height) was less than 31 inches, the couch would pass through the door that way whether the arms included in that height were halfway or all the way to the front of the seat. He couldn't get his head around that idea for love or money. In this case it would have been for money. His parting shot as he walked away from us was that he simply wasn't going to sell it to us.

We had to wait for our friend to get off her cell phone conversation before we could leave the store. In that time, as we stood by the front door waiting to leave, the salesman had a change of heart and measured the couch. He came over to us after our friend was free to leave and said he had gone ahead an measured it and it might work if we'd pay his delivery men whether or not they could get it into the house. I told him it wasn't a matter of maybe; it either would or wouldn't fit. I told him that after his behavior I wouldn't take the couch if he gave it to me. And we left humming "Pretty Woman."

Kathy Seven Williams
Thinking politicians should work on commission - if the polls don't buy what they're selling, they don't get paid.

Life Is Good

Just a line to say all went well. I have a Fistula in my left arm. Thank you to all who shared prayers and good thoughts.

Kathy Seven Williams
"Georgia On My Mind"

The Time Has Come

The Time Has Come

As the Walrus said. It would seem we've put it off as long as we can and then some. With my kidney function down around 8 or 9 percent it's a bit of a wonder I haven't been readied for dialysis before now. But now it's happening, and I'm glad I made it to Georgia for it to happen.

I happened upon a doctor who seems really good. She is bright, quick, straight forward, and concerned. I think she's a bit alarmed that I've gone this far unattended for all intents and purposes by an involved nephrologist. But now she's involved, and moving forward. I think she could sell snow to Eskimos with her gentle and kindly approach to getting you to do what she thinks needs doing. But I like her and she does listen and takes action. She promptly sent me off to a Vascular surgeon to set up getting my dialysis access installed. She's doubled my Epo and has made it clear that dialysis is just around the corner in a month or two unless I back off to better labs once settled in the new house.

So the dialysis access is next on the list. On June 1 a Vascular Surgeon will make a little hole in my right arm just above the elbow and attach an artery to a vein in hopes of pumping in enough pressure to stretch the vain and make it big enough for the two dialysis nails - ur um, needles to be placed there. Now if the lack of this blood supply to my hand is too painful or too disabling, I guess they'll give up on that option. I've only got one choice for where to put it because I've got tiny little veins - yeah right, why couldn't it have been my hips. If this process, making what's called a Fistula, doesn't work, they'll put in a graft in the lower right arm. This isn't as good because it doesn't heal between stabs and eventually becomes a soaker hose and has to be replaced. So everyone think Fistula, thank you.

Am I scared? Heck yeah. If I've gotta work all this hard to stay alive, I do want it all to work well. There are endless horror stories about how bad it can be. But there are a lot of stories about how well it can work, too. So I'll just hold onto the hope of good progress and carry on glad I'm in Georgia and not in Port Angeles at this medical moment.

Kathy Seven Williams
"Georgia On My Mind"