There are days, in this journey of mine, that are extreme. One way or the other. Extremely awesome...and those that are extremely bad. Bad or awesome? Which one first? Awesome you say? Hmmm...bad it is then. ;)
Bad:
Bad is having some "flat-earth" moron take one look at me and surmise that I'm a "guy-in-a-dress" freak. Refusing to use the name so prominently displayed on my nifty librarian badge, and choosing rather to refer to me by every masculine pronoun his limited cro-magnon brain can recall.
Bad is watching the "ever-so-NOT-sneaky" mentally underdeveloped men/boys as they believe themselves to be invisible while they crowd around the corner to peer at me from down the aisle and laugh.
Bad is having my identity challenged on a daily basis by those who should care about me most...but obviously don't.
Bad sucks!
Good:
Good is being so completely accepted as female...while making an emergency run to the grocery store...sans make-up and any form of confidence.
Good is having a student become so confused by my profile on IMDB as to ask if I shared the resume with my husband.
Good is being led to believe...for the merest moment...that a handsome straight man might find me attractive in the genuinely appreciative gaze from a stranger.
Good...could happen more often...please!
Sara Jade Woodhouse
Friday, April 8, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
It HAS to be said!
"The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone."
- Harriet Beecher Stowe
I find it very hard to begin this particular post. But, they say that anything worth doing is difficult to do...well then...this post must be solid gold! ;p In all seriousness though...what I have to say has gone unsaid for far too long. I hope that you will bear with me as I attempt to kill two birds with one stone.
The first bird I would like to kick in the kisser is this...
I have, in past posts, waxed metaphorical and because of this some people may be confused as to the exact state of my dad. Allow me to be completely clear. My father has Alzheimer's. It is an aggressive and incurable disease. His Alzheimer's brings with it Dementia, Psychosis, and Aggression. It is a horrible thing to witness and possibly one of the worst ways to lose a loved one.
My dad, as hard as it is to hear, is lost to us. He is NEVER coming back. My mother on the other hand is NOT. My mother, as far as we know, is not afflicted with the disease that has taken my dad from us. That is not to say that my mother is in perfect health...there are some very deep concerns that my sisters and I are losing sleep over every night. This is our lives and we are dealing.
I would like to speak directly now to all the "friends", "family", and "friends of the family" that would seek to offer their "sage" advice to my mom in her time of need. My dad is where he is for a reason! Late last summer, my dad reached a point in his illness where hospitalization was necessary. The psych ward at University of Utah, while a competent and caring place, is a very cold and clinical place for your loved one to be confined. While he stayed there, the rest of us searched high and low for someplace that my dad could go that would be comfortable, friendly, and...warmer.
There were stipulations. My dad had to be in a secure lockdown type of facility and they had to have an in house 24 hour qualified nursing staff. These were NOT suggestions! They were, and STILL ARE requirements. In addition we wanted a place that was...nice. Friendly, warm, compassionate...and didn't smell of urine or look like a prison. That place was Silverado. Thank God for them! I shudder to think of how it would be to visit my dad in most of the other options we looked into. And we DID look into ALL of them.
This decision does not come without its downfalls. Silverado IS far away. Silverado IS expensive. BUT Silverado IS THE BEST PLACE THERE IS!!! There are those who would say to us, or my mom, "When are you going to move Allen down here closer?", "He needs to be closer to everyone down here.", "He would be so much happier if he were in Provo, or Spanish Fork.". Let me be blunt. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT! If you should happen to visit my dad on a "good day" and wonder 'why is he in this place so far from home' and 'he could be cared for at home why isn't he there'. PLEASE try to remember that you happened to catch my dad in a good MOMENT. Chances are once you left he proceeded to shout at people in the dining room that they were all going to die because the plane was crashing, or started smashing all his dishes for no apparent reason. My dad is not a bad man. My dad is not a dangerous man. His disease...is.
It is true that his meds have reduced his paranoia quite effectively. That is so AWESOME!...when he takes them. A skilled nursing staff sees to it that this happens. It is not always easy...and during those times when it's not...we are grateful for their expertise. But, remember that, even though his paranoia is under control, he is still DEMENTED and PSYCHOTIC! He needs constant supervision and he needs a controllable environment. He is most of the time looking for an escape. Trying to take doors off their hinges, trying to open doors that (luckily) he can't, or planning to dig a tunnel out with the other residents. You might try to familiarize yourself with the disease before you offer an opinion based solely on the emotion of the moment. Try spending a complete day with my dad. Try spending even five straight hours with my dad, and you will see that he is where he needs to be.
My mom struggles with where my dad is every day of her life. She feels guilt, and sadness, and frustration to an extreme. She wants to simply carry my dad away. This is a justifiable emotional response. She misses him. But, what her emotions do is to cloud her logical judgment. She doesn't realize the impact of such a decision. When others feed her desire to have him home...it leads her further down an emotional pit of despair. Because, that is NEVER going to happen. Alzheimer's doesn't have a cure. My dad will not get better. Not amount of medication will reverse what has been done, and what continues to happen, to his brain.
So, before you think about how sorry you feel for my mom, and how happy everyone would be if she could just have him closer to home, think about all that that would entail. I don't care if you think you have some kind of "in" with a facility closer to home, unless they have a secure lock-down building AND a 24 hour skilled nursing staff, it doesn't matter. So, your suggestion does nothing but aggravate the issue. Instead, think about all that I have said and offer this to my mother...
"I know that you are hurting. I can't even imagine how bad it must be. But, he is in a good place. A caring, beautiful and safe environment. Be happy that he is where he is. And, if you ever need to get up to see him. Give me a call. We can work it out."
There now...isn't that better?
Now, onto birdy number two...
My family, like most every family in the world, is dis-functional. We have never had a reason to doubt the love our parents have for us...but growing up in a family where praise and encouragement were rarities had its toll on all of us, each one in its own way. Communication between each of us was never our strong point. So, perhaps there is alot of misunderstanding by each of us. Because we have a hard time communicating our feelings to each other...we assume too much. And, in addition to making an ASS out of U and ME...alot of hurt gets passed around. Most of the time...I like to think that this is unintentional.
I would like to bridge a vast gap here and offer some insight for all of us.
First, we are our father's children. My dad was a workaholic! No denying that. He was always the first one at the airport and the last one to leave. And, it wasn't just the airport. His workaholic nature pervaded his religious and civil assignments as well. He absolutely threw himself into his roles as City Councilman, Bishopric, Mayor, and Bishop. As his children we are no different.
Each of us works hard! We work hard at everything we do. We wouldn't be Allen Woodhouse's children if we didn't. Not ONE of us works harder than any of the others! Seriously...let me say that again. NOT ONE OF US WORKS HARDER THAN ANY OF THE OTHERS!!! IF we can get that through our thick skulls...that will be a huge step in the right direction.
Second, all of us have grown up. I know that may sound obvious and strange...but think about all that that implies. As a "grown up"...I have earned the right to be respected by all those around me. Those who don't respect me...I don't have to have anything to do with them. As a "grown up"...I make my own decisions. I also suffer the consequences and rewards of making those decisions. NO ONE ELSE has a right to take that away from me! I don't have to justify a decision of mine to any of you and you should feel the same. As a "grown up"...I have enough on my plate to worry about without your life and what you are doing with it. I don't care how you spend your money! I don't care if you go on vacation or not! I don't care if quit your job or not! I don't care if you want to become a $2 stripper in New Orleans!!! Your life is yours! I hope you LIVE it! I will rejoice with you in your triumphs! I will be sad with you when something doesn't happen the way you wanted it to! I will support you in EVERYTHING that you have decided to do! WHY? Because you are family! I may not agree with all of your choices...but they are YOUR CHOICES!
Lastly, there is one person, in all of this, that is in desperate need of ALL the attention that we can spare. That is our mother! While it is true that she has been through a tremendous amount of pain and despair...she can get better. But, not without our help. She is in no position to make vital decisions on her own right now. Her judgment is clouded by her depression, frustration, and God knows what else is going on mentally and physically. As a diabetic there are numerous dangers which are new...to her and us. Of course we don't expect her to snap back into "normalcy" but she needs to have certain things done. Things that she no longer has the luxury of choosing whether or not to do. IF she can't make those decisions on her own...then she needs us to be strong enough to make those decisions for her. Out of love! I'm sure that none of us, as children, ever WANTED to go to the doctor. But, if our mother, and father, hadn't made us go...well some of us might not be alive today.
Well, there you have it. Quite possibly my longest post to date. I'm sure I have left some things out which I shouldn't have...and I'm quite sure that I've stepped on more than a few toes. But, I am not sorry. I am hopeful!. I hope that we can be a bit kinder to each other. I hope that we can understand and respect each other a bit more. I hope that we can help each other see my mom through this darkest of periods in our immediate families history.
I love you all!
Sara Jade Woodhouse
- Harriet Beecher Stowe
I find it very hard to begin this particular post. But, they say that anything worth doing is difficult to do...well then...this post must be solid gold! ;p In all seriousness though...what I have to say has gone unsaid for far too long. I hope that you will bear with me as I attempt to kill two birds with one stone.
The first bird I would like to kick in the kisser is this...
I have, in past posts, waxed metaphorical and because of this some people may be confused as to the exact state of my dad. Allow me to be completely clear. My father has Alzheimer's. It is an aggressive and incurable disease. His Alzheimer's brings with it Dementia, Psychosis, and Aggression. It is a horrible thing to witness and possibly one of the worst ways to lose a loved one.
My dad, as hard as it is to hear, is lost to us. He is NEVER coming back. My mother on the other hand is NOT. My mother, as far as we know, is not afflicted with the disease that has taken my dad from us. That is not to say that my mother is in perfect health...there are some very deep concerns that my sisters and I are losing sleep over every night. This is our lives and we are dealing.
I would like to speak directly now to all the "friends", "family", and "friends of the family" that would seek to offer their "sage" advice to my mom in her time of need. My dad is where he is for a reason! Late last summer, my dad reached a point in his illness where hospitalization was necessary. The psych ward at University of Utah, while a competent and caring place, is a very cold and clinical place for your loved one to be confined. While he stayed there, the rest of us searched high and low for someplace that my dad could go that would be comfortable, friendly, and...warmer.
There were stipulations. My dad had to be in a secure lockdown type of facility and they had to have an in house 24 hour qualified nursing staff. These were NOT suggestions! They were, and STILL ARE requirements. In addition we wanted a place that was...nice. Friendly, warm, compassionate...and didn't smell of urine or look like a prison. That place was Silverado. Thank God for them! I shudder to think of how it would be to visit my dad in most of the other options we looked into. And we DID look into ALL of them.
This decision does not come without its downfalls. Silverado IS far away. Silverado IS expensive. BUT Silverado IS THE BEST PLACE THERE IS!!! There are those who would say to us, or my mom, "When are you going to move Allen down here closer?", "He needs to be closer to everyone down here.", "He would be so much happier if he were in Provo, or Spanish Fork.". Let me be blunt. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT! If you should happen to visit my dad on a "good day" and wonder 'why is he in this place so far from home' and 'he could be cared for at home why isn't he there'. PLEASE try to remember that you happened to catch my dad in a good MOMENT. Chances are once you left he proceeded to shout at people in the dining room that they were all going to die because the plane was crashing, or started smashing all his dishes for no apparent reason. My dad is not a bad man. My dad is not a dangerous man. His disease...is.
It is true that his meds have reduced his paranoia quite effectively. That is so AWESOME!...when he takes them. A skilled nursing staff sees to it that this happens. It is not always easy...and during those times when it's not...we are grateful for their expertise. But, remember that, even though his paranoia is under control, he is still DEMENTED and PSYCHOTIC! He needs constant supervision and he needs a controllable environment. He is most of the time looking for an escape. Trying to take doors off their hinges, trying to open doors that (luckily) he can't, or planning to dig a tunnel out with the other residents. You might try to familiarize yourself with the disease before you offer an opinion based solely on the emotion of the moment. Try spending a complete day with my dad. Try spending even five straight hours with my dad, and you will see that he is where he needs to be.
My mom struggles with where my dad is every day of her life. She feels guilt, and sadness, and frustration to an extreme. She wants to simply carry my dad away. This is a justifiable emotional response. She misses him. But, what her emotions do is to cloud her logical judgment. She doesn't realize the impact of such a decision. When others feed her desire to have him home...it leads her further down an emotional pit of despair. Because, that is NEVER going to happen. Alzheimer's doesn't have a cure. My dad will not get better. Not amount of medication will reverse what has been done, and what continues to happen, to his brain.
So, before you think about how sorry you feel for my mom, and how happy everyone would be if she could just have him closer to home, think about all that that would entail. I don't care if you think you have some kind of "in" with a facility closer to home, unless they have a secure lock-down building AND a 24 hour skilled nursing staff, it doesn't matter. So, your suggestion does nothing but aggravate the issue. Instead, think about all that I have said and offer this to my mother...
"I know that you are hurting. I can't even imagine how bad it must be. But, he is in a good place. A caring, beautiful and safe environment. Be happy that he is where he is. And, if you ever need to get up to see him. Give me a call. We can work it out."
There now...isn't that better?
Now, onto birdy number two...
My family, like most every family in the world, is dis-functional. We have never had a reason to doubt the love our parents have for us...but growing up in a family where praise and encouragement were rarities had its toll on all of us, each one in its own way. Communication between each of us was never our strong point. So, perhaps there is alot of misunderstanding by each of us. Because we have a hard time communicating our feelings to each other...we assume too much. And, in addition to making an ASS out of U and ME...alot of hurt gets passed around. Most of the time...I like to think that this is unintentional.
I would like to bridge a vast gap here and offer some insight for all of us.
First, we are our father's children. My dad was a workaholic! No denying that. He was always the first one at the airport and the last one to leave. And, it wasn't just the airport. His workaholic nature pervaded his religious and civil assignments as well. He absolutely threw himself into his roles as City Councilman, Bishopric, Mayor, and Bishop. As his children we are no different.
Each of us works hard! We work hard at everything we do. We wouldn't be Allen Woodhouse's children if we didn't. Not ONE of us works harder than any of the others! Seriously...let me say that again. NOT ONE OF US WORKS HARDER THAN ANY OF THE OTHERS!!! IF we can get that through our thick skulls...that will be a huge step in the right direction.
Second, all of us have grown up. I know that may sound obvious and strange...but think about all that that implies. As a "grown up"...I have earned the right to be respected by all those around me. Those who don't respect me...I don't have to have anything to do with them. As a "grown up"...I make my own decisions. I also suffer the consequences and rewards of making those decisions. NO ONE ELSE has a right to take that away from me! I don't have to justify a decision of mine to any of you and you should feel the same. As a "grown up"...I have enough on my plate to worry about without your life and what you are doing with it. I don't care how you spend your money! I don't care if you go on vacation or not! I don't care if quit your job or not! I don't care if you want to become a $2 stripper in New Orleans!!! Your life is yours! I hope you LIVE it! I will rejoice with you in your triumphs! I will be sad with you when something doesn't happen the way you wanted it to! I will support you in EVERYTHING that you have decided to do! WHY? Because you are family! I may not agree with all of your choices...but they are YOUR CHOICES!
Lastly, there is one person, in all of this, that is in desperate need of ALL the attention that we can spare. That is our mother! While it is true that she has been through a tremendous amount of pain and despair...she can get better. But, not without our help. She is in no position to make vital decisions on her own right now. Her judgment is clouded by her depression, frustration, and God knows what else is going on mentally and physically. As a diabetic there are numerous dangers which are new...to her and us. Of course we don't expect her to snap back into "normalcy" but she needs to have certain things done. Things that she no longer has the luxury of choosing whether or not to do. IF she can't make those decisions on her own...then she needs us to be strong enough to make those decisions for her. Out of love! I'm sure that none of us, as children, ever WANTED to go to the doctor. But, if our mother, and father, hadn't made us go...well some of us might not be alive today.
Well, there you have it. Quite possibly my longest post to date. I'm sure I have left some things out which I shouldn't have...and I'm quite sure that I've stepped on more than a few toes. But, I am not sorry. I am hopeful!. I hope that we can be a bit kinder to each other. I hope that we can understand and respect each other a bit more. I hope that we can help each other see my mom through this darkest of periods in our immediate families history.
I love you all!
Sara Jade Woodhouse
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Back from The Triangle!
Deep within the swirling mists of the unexpected, the ridiculous, and the frightening...I have wandered and witnessed...but I have thrust my head above the absurd discombobulation that has been my life for the last six months in order to deliver this missive.
I am alive!
I have not been lost forever to the realm of the vanished...banished...the displaced. It's been an undeniably tenuous hold on sanity and, with ragged nails dug deep into my own flesh, I have held on to...me...my animus...my self.
My father has raced into horizons where none of us can follow. I can wish for years, months, or even days and hours, but nothing I, or anyone can do, will bring my father back for things that were left undone, places that were left unseen, or things that were left unsaid. His days are filled with missions that only he can understand, with events that only he can see, and conversations that only he can carry. People with opinions, and suggestions, about how we should care for him, and where he belongs, are literally 'a dime a dozen'...both in quantity and value. But, that is for another blog (soon I promise). For those of us who live with this every day, and love him more than any other person on earth, our choices are neither light nor easy. I hate that the man I knew has been reduced...to this shell. I am full of longing for the strength I once saw, the wisdom that used to glimmer in his eyes, and the laughter that used to brighten up his face. But, I know that he is not coming back. His course is his own now...I only hope that he flies it straight and true, and that the sunset is unforgettable.
My mother is almost as lost to me as he is. Her descent into the madness that is consuming her frustrates and angers me. I cannot understand it! Does she truly not know how disconnected she is? Does she honestly believe that none of us see her instability? Or, does she just not care? We need her...here! We cannot tumble down the rabbit hole with her...or stand by and watch her slip away to the Mad Hatter's tea party. I feel like we are throwing life saving line after line as she simply treads water at a slower and slower pace. Sinking into a sea of blackness without so much as a reach out to the help we so desperately need her to grab onto. I don't know what my mother's future holds...but I hope...I hope for more.
I know this isn't much, dear reader. I know that you all deserve more. I can only say...that I am here. That I am making my way through it all. That the book is still being written (chapters 2 and 3 are on their way). That tomorrow dawns another day and that dreams allow escape each and every night. I am glad that there are those of you who are still with me...and I am grateful for those brief and oh so precious words from you who are my anchor...my home.
More soon...I PROMISE!
Sara Jade Woodhouse
I am alive!
I have not been lost forever to the realm of the vanished...banished...the displaced. It's been an undeniably tenuous hold on sanity and, with ragged nails dug deep into my own flesh, I have held on to...me...my animus...my self.
My father has raced into horizons where none of us can follow. I can wish for years, months, or even days and hours, but nothing I, or anyone can do, will bring my father back for things that were left undone, places that were left unseen, or things that were left unsaid. His days are filled with missions that only he can understand, with events that only he can see, and conversations that only he can carry. People with opinions, and suggestions, about how we should care for him, and where he belongs, are literally 'a dime a dozen'...both in quantity and value. But, that is for another blog (soon I promise). For those of us who live with this every day, and love him more than any other person on earth, our choices are neither light nor easy. I hate that the man I knew has been reduced...to this shell. I am full of longing for the strength I once saw, the wisdom that used to glimmer in his eyes, and the laughter that used to brighten up his face. But, I know that he is not coming back. His course is his own now...I only hope that he flies it straight and true, and that the sunset is unforgettable.
My mother is almost as lost to me as he is. Her descent into the madness that is consuming her frustrates and angers me. I cannot understand it! Does she truly not know how disconnected she is? Does she honestly believe that none of us see her instability? Or, does she just not care? We need her...here! We cannot tumble down the rabbit hole with her...or stand by and watch her slip away to the Mad Hatter's tea party. I feel like we are throwing life saving line after line as she simply treads water at a slower and slower pace. Sinking into a sea of blackness without so much as a reach out to the help we so desperately need her to grab onto. I don't know what my mother's future holds...but I hope...I hope for more.
I know this isn't much, dear reader. I know that you all deserve more. I can only say...that I am here. That I am making my way through it all. That the book is still being written (chapters 2 and 3 are on their way). That tomorrow dawns another day and that dreams allow escape each and every night. I am glad that there are those of you who are still with me...and I am grateful for those brief and oh so precious words from you who are my anchor...my home.
More soon...I PROMISE!
Sara Jade Woodhouse
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Overwhelmed...
Teach...move...shelve...move...rehearse...move...cry...move...
Spinning into the abyss. I'm in a new location. The semester has begun. My internet has yet to be transferred. And, I've finished the first chapter of Steadfast and True!
Here it is for your perusal...
Steadfast and True
Spinning into the abyss. I'm in a new location. The semester has begun. My internet has yet to be transferred. And, I've finished the first chapter of Steadfast and True!
Here it is for your perusal...
Steadfast and True
Thursday, August 26, 2010
tremors...and trips into the twilight...
Yesterday I awoke to the worst sensation of...well to be honest...I don't know what. Shaking so bad that even lining my eyebrows was a task best left to someone else, and unhinged by an uncontrollable anxiety that flooded over me, I barely made it out the door in time for my first class of the semester. I got there fine enough. Comm 1010...covered the syllabus...sent them on their merry student way. Class over... but the anxious shakes were not.
While I couldn't come up with any truly concrete reason for my distraction...deep inside I knew it had something to do with my dad. I've always felt close to God and when I have these kind of emotional tremors it's fairly wise to listen. Too far away to do much about anything troubling me, I did the next best thing...I used my cell phone. Calling mom and dad yielded no answer. Calling sister Mel reaped the same. Calling sis Jen...I finally got through to someone.
I told Jen about my feelings and she seemed to think that they were completely valid. She let me know that things that morning weren't good for dad...as they so often aren't these days...and that sister LeAnn was on her way down from Wyoming. Or course knowing that...really didn't help much at all. Most everyone in the family knows that a visit from LeAnn is never pleasant.
Through all of this I have worried most about my mother. Don't get me wrong...I love my dad...but he is disappearing into the void and our mother is the one that has to witness this 24/7. Our family has always been one to downplay illness of any kind...which makes this time that much more difficult. It's so much easier to say everything is fine than to admit that the proverbial "shit has hit the fan".
I hate not being close enough to simply drop by my parents house and check in myself. I hate having my guts twisted up in so many knots as to challenge a boy scout. I hate breakdowns in the communication channel...which plague my denial prone family. But, most of all, I hate Alzheimer's! I can't stand this sneaky, villainous, thief in the night that steals my father from me.
The day draws to a close. I eat something, hoping that it will ease my mind, and find myself at home. I do the only thing I can...I ride. My bike and me cruising along the river pathway at dusk. The chill night air surrounds me in it's cleansing breath. Miles sweep away...and sunlight dwindles. Soon I find myself racing against the encroaching darkness. My surroundings transform as I pedal faster. The shadows become living things that press in around me. I'm unafraid and under the spell of my own intense concentration. Then it comes...my muse. I open myself to it and soon I'm home.
I write and Steadfast and True unfolds it's pages to me. Chapter one almost done!
Sara Jade Woodhouse
While I couldn't come up with any truly concrete reason for my distraction...deep inside I knew it had something to do with my dad. I've always felt close to God and when I have these kind of emotional tremors it's fairly wise to listen. Too far away to do much about anything troubling me, I did the next best thing...I used my cell phone. Calling mom and dad yielded no answer. Calling sister Mel reaped the same. Calling sis Jen...I finally got through to someone.
I told Jen about my feelings and she seemed to think that they were completely valid. She let me know that things that morning weren't good for dad...as they so often aren't these days...and that sister LeAnn was on her way down from Wyoming. Or course knowing that...really didn't help much at all. Most everyone in the family knows that a visit from LeAnn is never pleasant.
Through all of this I have worried most about my mother. Don't get me wrong...I love my dad...but he is disappearing into the void and our mother is the one that has to witness this 24/7. Our family has always been one to downplay illness of any kind...which makes this time that much more difficult. It's so much easier to say everything is fine than to admit that the proverbial "shit has hit the fan".
I hate not being close enough to simply drop by my parents house and check in myself. I hate having my guts twisted up in so many knots as to challenge a boy scout. I hate breakdowns in the communication channel...which plague my denial prone family. But, most of all, I hate Alzheimer's! I can't stand this sneaky, villainous, thief in the night that steals my father from me.
The day draws to a close. I eat something, hoping that it will ease my mind, and find myself at home. I do the only thing I can...I ride. My bike and me cruising along the river pathway at dusk. The chill night air surrounds me in it's cleansing breath. Miles sweep away...and sunlight dwindles. Soon I find myself racing against the encroaching darkness. My surroundings transform as I pedal faster. The shadows become living things that press in around me. I'm unafraid and under the spell of my own intense concentration. Then it comes...my muse. I open myself to it and soon I'm home.
I write and Steadfast and True unfolds it's pages to me. Chapter one almost done!
Sara Jade Woodhouse
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Somewhere over the rainbow...
Watching a loved one lose their mind is never a pretty sight...but sometimes it makes for an interesting adventure. One that, hopefully, you take only seldom. Tripping down the rabbit hole has its advantages...and coming late to the tea party makes for interesting conversation.
When I set out to take my father on an errand, I was decidedly unprepared for the men in the white van. I'm still trying to figure out how (as my father puts it) they are able to videotape so completely our surroundings, edit it all together with what they want us to see, and get them projected onto the windows of my car so quickly. One thing is for certain...we have to lose them before we head back home.
Who needs LSD?
The painful loss of my father this way causes me to pray for filmmakers of comedic expertise. Drop my father into Who Framed Roger Rabbit...or Get Smart. Let the villains be of the Pink Panther variety, or like those from some Mike Myers film. Easily defeated by Allen "Powers". Here's hoping the Almighty Cecil B DeMille will hear my prayers!
Dearest Cecile in Hollywood
Hear my prayer
Let my Father have the best of agents
Keep him safe according to SAG
Help him remember his lines
And let his stunt double take the fall
Give him his due credit
And ensure him top billing
Hold his place at the Oscars
Have his limo waiting early
Let Leno give him his due
And Letterman too
And forgive me that rhyme
Help him to know our love
To feel our hope
To hear our applause
To see our smiles
And carry him through
To the rolling of the credits
This I pray in the names of
CBS, NBC, ABC, Fox, Warner Bros,
Paramount, Miramax, Universal
And all other major, independent,
Commercially viable, and artistically valid
Studios
Amen
Sara Jade Woodhouse
When I set out to take my father on an errand, I was decidedly unprepared for the men in the white van. I'm still trying to figure out how (as my father puts it) they are able to videotape so completely our surroundings, edit it all together with what they want us to see, and get them projected onto the windows of my car so quickly. One thing is for certain...we have to lose them before we head back home.
Who needs LSD?
The painful loss of my father this way causes me to pray for filmmakers of comedic expertise. Drop my father into Who Framed Roger Rabbit...or Get Smart. Let the villains be of the Pink Panther variety, or like those from some Mike Myers film. Easily defeated by Allen "Powers". Here's hoping the Almighty Cecil B DeMille will hear my prayers!
Dearest Cecile in Hollywood
Hear my prayer
Let my Father have the best of agents
Keep him safe according to SAG
Help him remember his lines
And let his stunt double take the fall
Give him his due credit
And ensure him top billing
Hold his place at the Oscars
Have his limo waiting early
Let Leno give him his due
And Letterman too
And forgive me that rhyme
Help him to know our love
To feel our hope
To hear our applause
To see our smiles
And carry him through
To the rolling of the credits
This I pray in the names of
CBS, NBC, ABC, Fox, Warner Bros,
Paramount, Miramax, Universal
And all other major, independent,
Commercially viable, and artistically valid
Studios
Amen
Sara Jade Woodhouse
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Mirror Mirror and *%&)in# Father Time...
Having spent the majority of my life trapped inside a persona most definitely "non-grata", I feel especially robbed by time at this juncture in my life. How, you may ask, can I go from the top of the world yesterday to the hairy armpit of hell today?
Swimsuit shopping!
I have promised my daughter, for years, that someday I would swim WITH her. Traditionally I would recline in the shade and watch her attempt to entertain herself, at the ripe old age of ten, while gliding through the water like a dolphin. My excuse is valid! Pre-surgery complications abound when attempting to "pass" with only the thinnest amount of spandex between you and the world. So, in my later years I have beached myself. Evolved into a desert creature that still longs to return someday to my watery home.
Our last swimming expedition was at my friend, and previous student, Nicole's house. This time I got so far as to dip my oh-so-white stumps into the lukewarm liquid. Staring into the reflective depths, I could feel it's ebb and flow...the steady pull each time a wave washed over my calves. I ached to be wet! Sensing the gravitas of my situation, my friend suggested that we both swim with Kira next time.
What was she doing? Thank God my daughter didn't hear that!
"Yes you should!"
Damn! There it was. My daughter's extraordinary sense of hearing, turned on I believe only when she truly wants it, had captured the suggestion and turned it into a full tilt plea. But, what was even more miraculous was the assent I felt leaving my lips before I could seal them up and stop it's irreversible course. The promise was out. And I...was doomed.
With only a few weeks left of the summer break, the time seemed to rush in on me too quickly. Our last chance weekend is here. And tomorrow...barring the end of the world...I will join my daughter in the pool. Today...we shopped.
I have decided that Super Target has installed the worst possible torture device for women. TWO mirrors, positioned just right, allowing you to see with perfect clarity...your entire backside. A sight I NEVER want to see again. If I could have successfully determined a swimsuit fit by trying them on over my street clothes...I hate you Super Target!
I hate you Father Time as well! For cursing me with 40+ years of testosterone poisoning. I will most likely never have hips. Which means that I will also never have a figure. What I have...is a back. A back that runs from my neck to my thighs! After trying on two swimsuits...I was done. Using the very valid excuse of getting Kira back to my ex...I pulled my daughter past the checkout stands and out into the parking lot. Once we were in the car and ready to pull out, my daughter said...
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" I replied.
"I'm sorry about the swimsuit."
People have asked me before if I would change anything about my past. If I could live it all over again would I, knowing what I know now, have done anything different. Do I wish that I had transitioned at an earlier age? Do I regret not having estrogen at work in my body sooner? There is a part of me that screams...
"Of course!"
But, just now, as I sit in the car with my lovely child sitting next to me...and the sun setting behind golden clouds tinged red...my answer is a resounding...
"No."
Sara Jade Woodhouse
Swimsuit shopping!
I have promised my daughter, for years, that someday I would swim WITH her. Traditionally I would recline in the shade and watch her attempt to entertain herself, at the ripe old age of ten, while gliding through the water like a dolphin. My excuse is valid! Pre-surgery complications abound when attempting to "pass" with only the thinnest amount of spandex between you and the world. So, in my later years I have beached myself. Evolved into a desert creature that still longs to return someday to my watery home.
Our last swimming expedition was at my friend, and previous student, Nicole's house. This time I got so far as to dip my oh-so-white stumps into the lukewarm liquid. Staring into the reflective depths, I could feel it's ebb and flow...the steady pull each time a wave washed over my calves. I ached to be wet! Sensing the gravitas of my situation, my friend suggested that we both swim with Kira next time.
What was she doing? Thank God my daughter didn't hear that!
"Yes you should!"
Damn! There it was. My daughter's extraordinary sense of hearing, turned on I believe only when she truly wants it, had captured the suggestion and turned it into a full tilt plea. But, what was even more miraculous was the assent I felt leaving my lips before I could seal them up and stop it's irreversible course. The promise was out. And I...was doomed.
With only a few weeks left of the summer break, the time seemed to rush in on me too quickly. Our last chance weekend is here. And tomorrow...barring the end of the world...I will join my daughter in the pool. Today...we shopped.
I have decided that Super Target has installed the worst possible torture device for women. TWO mirrors, positioned just right, allowing you to see with perfect clarity...your entire backside. A sight I NEVER want to see again. If I could have successfully determined a swimsuit fit by trying them on over my street clothes...I hate you Super Target!
I hate you Father Time as well! For cursing me with 40+ years of testosterone poisoning. I will most likely never have hips. Which means that I will also never have a figure. What I have...is a back. A back that runs from my neck to my thighs! After trying on two swimsuits...I was done. Using the very valid excuse of getting Kira back to my ex...I pulled my daughter past the checkout stands and out into the parking lot. Once we were in the car and ready to pull out, my daughter said...
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" I replied.
"I'm sorry about the swimsuit."
People have asked me before if I would change anything about my past. If I could live it all over again would I, knowing what I know now, have done anything different. Do I wish that I had transitioned at an earlier age? Do I regret not having estrogen at work in my body sooner? There is a part of me that screams...
"Of course!"
But, just now, as I sit in the car with my lovely child sitting next to me...and the sun setting behind golden clouds tinged red...my answer is a resounding...
"No."
Sara Jade Woodhouse
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