There’s going to be a party!  I really like having Halloween parties, and it will give me a chance to show everyone my new place.  And I figure the sooner I do this the less together the house needs to be.  After all, I just moved in.  The weather’s going to be absolutely perfect for the next ten days and if it could just hang on a little longer, we could be outside sitting around the campfire or out on the wrap-around porch.  This is a perfect party house.

Did you hear how jubilant, how upbeat I was feeling?  It’s gone.  The puppy was whining about not being able to go to sleep without sitting in my lap.  So I went over to the chair (this really embarrassing recliner I bought at a garage sale for $25, which is my favorite place to sit) and started reading Anne Lamott, with puppy in my lap.  She quickly fell asleep and I began reading stuff that brought me to tears.  I have really oily skin and I had not washed my face yet.  It’s only 8:13, still early.  So somehow my finger, instead of lifting my glasses and wiping away the tears, slides off my skin and lands in my eye.  This is the same finger that puppy was chewing on earlier.  This finger is filthy.  I just went and looked in the mirror and I have one red eye and one white eye.  The red eye, of course, is my good eye.  This is why I give money to the blind, because I live in fear of not being able to see.  It’s the one impairment I don’t think I could handle.  Even admitting it, here, for all to see, makes me nervous.  Usually, I try not to think about it and just quickly write out the check to the National Federation for the Blind.

I’m thinking about how I actually would fare better these days, being blind, as compared to the last time I had an eye injury and contemplated blindness.  I don’t even wear makeup any more.  I can’t find it.  I quit working out so I’d just as soon not check the mirror to see how far my stomach is sticking out.  And I don’t even want to talk about my hair.  My oldest daughter is in beauty school, maybe I’ve mentioned that, and she is not willing to give me the haircut I want.  It’s too drastic.  She says, “I’m not experienced enough to do short cuts,” or some such excuse.  So I walk around with unsatisfactory hair.  If I were blind, I’d go to a barber and have him give me a buzz cut, just long enough to look chic. 

As I tried to talk my middle child out of depression yesterday, I marveled at how quickly she had gone from being totally up, just a week ago.  And I see, in myself,  this state of mind is all in our heads, it has nothing to do with reality.  It has to do with focus.  I hadn’t realized what an important byproduct of writing this can be.  From cancer I learned the importance of staying positive during trying times, but how soon we forget.  And I’m going to tell this to my daughter.  We should wake up with a plan.  You don’t get in your car without a destination.  Especially now that I have a party date in mind:  A due date.

Here’s what I’m going to do.  I’m going to wake up each morning with a plan:  a focus.  It’s going to be positive and it’s going to be productive.  And at the end of two weeks I will be ready for my party and I will be a better person.  I will have eaten better and I will feel better.  My house will be in order, and I will feel like I always thought those people must feel, when I looked at their perfect porches, all decorated for Halloween:  Content.

Okay! The picture is up!  I know she looks a little goofy at this age but just you wait and see.  She’s a charmer.

I’m pissed.  After dragging my youngest daughter to Best Buy to pick out a digital camera, getting some good shots of the puppy and then getting them on the computer, I am unable to load it onto Xanga.  They are having “difficulties” at this time. 

My family of origin has evolved to the point that we were able to give our mother a party when she turned 80, and we enjoyed it.  I drove home in amazement.  My younger sister, wondered later what had changed that evil woman, to make her tolerable.  “Dr. Phil,” I said.  She retired five years ago and began watching daytime TV, Dr. Phil being one of her favorites.  I guessed, “maybe watching his advice to all those people allowed her to move through that life-long, mean state of mind.  You know, through osmosis.”  Maybe there was a mother who was finally forbidden to enter the homes of her children, and when they started having grandchildren, the mother couldn’t bear it any more and said she’d do anything to be invited over.  And they made her go on Dr. Phil.  My mother didn’t seem too interested in coming over when we all started having children.  And, in those days, I would only consent to a visit at Christmas, Thanksgiving, and the girls’  birthday parties, just for the first couple of years.  After that the kids figured out how awful she was. 

The real turning point was that on my father’s death bed we discovered he was a scoundrel.  When he was first diagnosed with prostate cancer, a litigator friend told me I had to “take action NOW, in case he dies and it goes into probate.”  The rest of the family was not comfortable with this so we did nothing.  All the lawyers flew into action the day he went into the hospital.  I had just started chemo and did my depo over the phone, but I have refused to be party to the subsequent hearings.  When we first learned about what he’d done,  my brother and sisters would come to my house (our mother was not included) and we would have these meetings to figure out what we should do.  It usually involved calling our cousin, who had worked with him, in the family business.  We would bring wine and dessert and after the “discussions” and the call to the cousin, we would go into the dining room and sit around the table, just like when we were kids.  Plus there would be much phoning, as we gathered and shared information.  Those months were the closest we’ve ever been and it has changed the quality of our family get-togethers.  The biggest change, however, was when Lois — we sometimes call her mom now, in her presence — told us about the affairs he’d had while we were growing up.  In my case the woman lived next door and was the mother of my best friend.  We suddenly had to move and I was never allowed to see or talk to Becky again.  I was given no explanation, and at eight, I did what I was told.  See, we all thought he was the good one and she was the bad one.  We loved him and hated her.  He and I were the closest, so it came as the biggest shock to me.  It kind of turned my world upside down.  I had just left my own family and was living in a rental house.  My kids were pretty pissed.  They were 20, 18, and 13.  The youngest one, because I had joint custody, would stay with me, but the other two didn’t come around at first.  My brother and sisters were my family.  This all happened in 2001.  When I bought this house I realized my brother lived around the corner.  I had been there exactly two times, but I remembered the name of the street.  My mother, when she heard about this house, exclaimed “That’s right around the corner from the lot we were going to build on, when you were little.”  I feel as though I’ve come full circle, and I’m right where I belong.

I know I wonder why they are still typing when I read something along the lines of  “I’m so bored.”  I’m not bored but I will need to dig deep to get past my state of dreariness.  The rain has come.  That means that the door will remain closed; that I will need to locate my waterproof shoes and boots; that my summer clothes must go to the back of the closet.  The puppy’s not diggin’ the rain, either.  The animals all take one look and turn back into the house.  I think it’s time for a fire.  It’s time for that first pot of soup.  In the summer all I have to do is step outside and everything’s good.  With the rain, I must have music on, be cooking something, and my house must be in order.  That’s what’s bothering me:  the disorder.  If you could see the floor right now, you’d be appalled.  My thinking is that whatever lands there is fair game for the puppy.  Right now she’s demolishing the paper around a hanger.  The wrapping that the oriental rug was rolled up in is lying over by the door, and that’s been fun to charge at.  My youngest sister is coming over today, if she’s not put off by my cold.  She can watch the puppy while I get stuff put away.  Why am I still typing?

I usually love Tuesdays.  Tuesday is the day I volunteer at the hospital, and Tuesday is the night I spend with my boyfriend.  But I have some bug, either a cold or flu or both.  Is something going around?  I can’t wait to be old enough that I don’t  have a child starting school in September and, like clockwork, bringing home some bug.  And, ever since I did chemo, my immune system just isn’t what it used to be so these bugs bother me more.  This morning, before I leave, I must empty the back of my truck so I can get the crate in, not to mention somehow untying and lifting the huge board from the top of the roof.  I start thinking about calling in sick, but there are three patients to see and I didn’t go last week because of the move.  I volunteer with the Breast Cancer Outreach Program so, typically, the patient is well but having a mastectomy or lumpectomy.  Oh, I’m going, and once I get there I’ll be glad I did.  The tricky part will be leaving the puppy in the crate.  But I have that figured out.  I will let her out every two hours, to pee.  It’s not going to be hot today, according to weather.com. 

You’re probably wondering about the boyfriend and the one night-a-week thing.  See, he only lives three minutes away, and when I bought this huge house he starting making noises that all started with “we.”  “We are thinking of putting hardwood in the kitchen”; that sort of thing.  So I quickly instituted the call-ahead plan.  We get together for dinner, he spends the night, and maybe we do something over the weekend but not at my house.  I have my youngest daughter every weekend. 

Things are coming to a head, beneath my feet.  The oldest dog is still in the car, from the run to Starbucks, and not in a position to intervene.  The puppy is half under the computer table with her head exposed.  The cat is slowly advancing, making terrible noises.  I gotta go

This dog is an old soul, and she remembers all the dos and don’ts.  Instead of coming to a complete halt, when leashed, she actually trots alongside like she knows what the word “heel” means.  Most puppies, especially their first time out in the world, and on a busy street, no less, would flip out.  There would be much whining, with a refusal to cooperate.  She did better last night, too.  We only got up to pee, once.  And there wasn’t a lot of carrying on when the crate door closed, just a few whimpers to let me know she’d prefer the bed.  But she awoke at that same unGodly hour so I’ve been to Starbucks already.  The difference, this morning, is that, after her breakfast, she didn’t stand there quivering on the deck. She bound out into the yard looking for that perfect spot.  She acclimates easily.  I am loving her personality.  Getting a dog is so hit and miss.  You can’t interview them beforehand, like a prospective date.  You just take one look, put them in the car and take them home for 12 years or however long they live.  

This confirms my suspicion that there’s something to be said for just picking a man who seems reasonable, and working with him.  Knowing it’s not perfect, by any means, I am sticking with my man, giving it a chance.  After yesterday, I know that it’s wise to keep my distance on game day, if there’s not been a victory.  Especially when golf has not gone well, that morning.  Men identify so, with their teams.  He takes it as a personal loss when his team loses.

I must tell you about the call I got, from the new owner of my house.  Terse would best describe her tone.  Apparently, she put five cats in the little bathroom, closed the door, and went to spend the night at a friends, as her furniture has not arrived yet.  So when she gets there the next morning, she sees only one.  Four of them had crawled up into the heating duct “because of the loose vent.”  It wasn’t that loose.  They must have clawed it off the wall in an effort to escape.  All I could think about was the picture of five cats in that little space.  “They could die!,” she exclaims.  They sound like very skittish cats, as she describes their tendancy to run when someone approaches.  So her friend’s efforts to put an arm up into the duct, with a treat in hand, only serves to move them further away.  But she quickly moves on to the next irritant, the basketball hoop, left in the driveway.  That and the fact that the sprinkler system can’t be turned on.  When you fill out the disclaimers there is a checkbox for the sprinkler system.  Either yes or no, as to whether it works.  My realtor said to put yes.  I mean if I knew where the turn-on valve was, it would work.  My landscaper covered it up.  I put in a call but I think he’s avoiding me.  He hates that sprinkler system.  He dug long hours, in the rain, fixing it.  Or maybe it assured him of a job, with the new owner, knowing we’d have to call him.  I see rain in the forecast, for Wednesday, so maybe it will not be an issue, just yet.  I’m gonna go grab a shower while the puppy sleeps.  Oh, by the way, we picked out a name, but I think I’ll just stick with “puppy” here.

I will try to balance the puppy on my lap and type.  I was so excited to see my first eprop and comment but when I replied, my comment was posted to my site.  One of the movers said something about a “prop.”  It’s sad to be old and out of touch.  Maybe it’s computer talk.  If anyone can enlighten me, feel free. 

So, I got my puppy and spent the first sleepless night with her.  Well, it wasn’t entirely sleepless.  In fact she did pretty well.  She cried herself to sleep and went four hours until she woke up to go pee.  Then she slept another three and-a-half.  So we went through the Starbucks drive-through at 6:00.  She started to shake this morning, which she hadn’t done yesterday.  I thought she was cold but now I think she was nervous about where the hell was she and why weren’t her brothers and sisters around?  Or maybe it was mostly about not being able to nurse, because she was really going at my neck.  She’ll be fine, it’s me I’m worried about.  My youngest daughter shows up today, though.  And maybe then I can sneak in a nap.  It’s just like having a new baby at home except there’s all this stuff on the floor, from the move, that she wants to get into.  So it’s more like when the baby starts to crawl and you spend every waking minute following them around making sure they don’t put something in their mouth.  My oldest daughter went out with me, to the breeder, and she drove while I held her.  I had thought the puppy might be jumping all around, making it difficult to drive.  But she held very still.  Then I had to go back and clean the old house so she took the puppy for about four hours because then I had a birthday party to go to.  When I went to retrieve her, I could see it was going to be hard for her to hand the puppy over.  I’ve got to decide on a name, so if anyone happens to see this, “I’m taking names.”