New Plan.

So, The Bee and I trekked down to the Valley of Death yesterday to have our post-op appointment with Dr. Paymealot. Actually, I have to say, he was much more human yesterday. He picked up The Bee, and she wanted to draw with his pen while she was in his arms, and the nurse gave her the pad she’d been taking notes on, and The Bee decided to add her two squiggly cents onto it, and everybody was grinning appropriately at her cuteness. So, the man has a heart.

I had explained to The Bee that we were going to the doctor so that he could “help” her with her mouth, and that she would need to open up real big when he came in the room. We started this line of talking at home, continued it in the long car ride, and then emphasized it again while waiting for him in the exam room. When he came through the door, she immediately dropped open her mouth very wide and greeted him that way. It was hilarious.

He looked at her fistula and said that “it happens” and that this one is in the absolute best position possible to fix. And because she’s having issues with food getting stuck up there, and because it’s right in the advantageous middle place, he’d like to do the repair sooner, rather than later. Usually, he’d wait 6 mos. to a year, but he said he would do this in three or four months, and not wait. AND he wants to do the lip repair (that we were going to wait two more years to do) at the same time, saving her an additional surgery. Hearing that made all the difference to me, as the fistula will not mean an additional surgery. She’ll have the same number of surgeries as we were originally anticipating, just sooner.

So, we’ll be back in the operating room in February probably, and he will close up the fistula and remove her external scars, so there will be no visible sign of her clefting at all.

And then we went out for MickeyD’s french fries. Because she is totally off her dietary restrictions. And her arm splints. And she got all her pokey toys back today, too.

Neither Here…nor There…

Anyone curious about how Homeland Security is taking care of your dams?

Here are the latest developments on the Hoover Dam Bypass-Colorado River Bridge project, slated for completion in 2008. The bypass will allow vehicles to cross the river without getting anywhere near the actual dam (right now, you drive across the top of the dam). It is very high–so high that I don’t expect you will even be able to see the dam once you’re up there, driving across the new bridge.

Last year, there were only large cranes and no actual pilings up yet. This year, there are many pilings up on the Nevada side…

and a few up on the Arizona side…

with a very large gap still to be…well…bridged…

And the dude who waved us through the security “stop”? He ducked back into his booth right as we coasted up to the stop sign and waved us on without looking up from his…er…Slurpee. No, I’m not kidding. It was a Slurpee.

And, just for good measure, here is the bathtub ring on the Colorado River this year–it’s the deepest ring (the lowest water level) I’ve ever seen there…

Holes.

Vegas or bust?…Bust, mostly. Let’s just say the best part of the trip this year was the two hours we spent at the Shark Reef…now that was cool beans. In fact, I think I had what amounts to a spiritual experience–as close as I get anymore to said experience–way down in the “ship wreck” room, in the darkest hole of the reef tank. You walk into this Disneyfied room that’s made to look like a sunken ship, complete with hull-like curved glass walls and glass floors, and the ship prow “sticking out” into the tank itself…and so sharks and fish and sea turtles are swimming over, under, and around you. Oh, and there are sound effects. As if you’re under water. Which you are, of course, but it’s so disorienting that you have the momentary impression that you’re actually swimming with the fishes (so to speak), not just walking through them.

Anyway, so there I was, down in the deep hole, and the sandbar sharks are swimming by inches from my face, and their skin catches the light and is…surreal. Just. So. Beautiful. It’s silver and metallic and shiny soft gray, but with a very slight–slight–hint of pink underneath. It made me draw my breath in very fast. If I could, I would say sharkskin is my favorite color. But then you would think I sounded hungry (in an exotic locale sort-of-way). Or nuts.

The Bee had fun, too. This exhibit had a lot fewer people wandering through than the National Aquarium we visited in July, although it didn’t have dolphins. Just predators. Lionfish, jellyfish…

piranha, barracuda, water monitor, crocodiles. She got to be very close up to the animals for a long time…

Otherwise, the trip was stressful. Drive stress on the way there, involving some wackadoo who hit a utility pole and dragged it into the highway right in front of us. Work stress for R., including a weeping employee at lunch. Palate stress for Mama. It looks like The Bee has a tiny fistula, right in the middle of her palate. Sometimes these re-heal themselves. Sometimes they don’t. At the moment I am desperately trying to keep food from getting stuck in it. Can anyone say Water Pik? Saline drops? Squirting water bottles? Hot liquids?

Some holes are better than others.

The Bee, on the other hand, spent her hotel time lounging in front of her beloved Signing Time DVDs…

The Bee To Buzz Sin City…

So, we’re off this morning, on our annual trek to Vegas for the trade show (sellin’ those palm trees…). You’ll remember if you’re a longtime reader that I spent my 40th there last year…

No shoes like that this year…we spent my birthday yesterday in the big city down south, where it was only 96 degrees. Okay. So, the doctor’s appointment…

The Bee has totally normal hearing!!! Yippee. The tubes are looking great, no infection, no blockage, in place…and the hearing test put her completely in the normal range. One down. One to go (palate surgery follow-up is scheduled for next week…).

The best part of the day was that this was The Bee’s first day back on solid foods (albeit soft solid foods), and, boy, did she make the most of it! Mac and cheese at lunch, followed by chocolate ice cream, and then eggs and cheese and pasta for dinner, followed by coconut-cream pie for dessert (that was my birthday cake…I’m a pie person, rather than a cake person…).

She’s laughing hysterically in a post-pie haze and, also, because we made a little book together last night, cutting out graphic and colorful pictures from magazines–The Bee got to choose the pictures–and then fitting them into the pockets of this little photo book. She loves it.

So, we’re looking forward to some Lazy River sojourning in Vegas. The ENT doc said The Bee “can only go down in the water to a depth of four feet.” Darn. That’s really going to put a crimp in her scuba time. Heh.

*Age, not months since LID…

Happy 41 to me*…

We’re spending the day in the Valley of Death, at the otolaryngologist’s, for The Bee’s follow-up appointment for the ear-tube surgery. I’m not sure if she’ll have another full hearing test or not, or whether he’ll just look in and see if the tubes are still open and in place. I haven’t noticed any difference in The Bee’s reactions to spoken words…the other day, I said the word “shower,” and she signed “flower.” Hard to know what that means. Perhaps she’s a postmodernist.

Oh, and yesterday’s post was spot on. Last night the temperature sunk to 40 degrees. It was darn right cold in them these parts.

‘Tis the Season

In the high desert, the seasons change in less conventional ways. There are no crisp days and changing leaves here (we’re too low for the gilding of the aspens). Our “trees” are scrub oaks, and the leaves of scrub oaks actually turn a dingey yellow and drop to the ground in March every year. The first year I lived here, I thought all my trees were dying one spring. Not so. They just have their seasonal ministrations inverted.

The very first sign of Fall, usually in mid-to-late August, is a cool morning. Not a cool day. Not a cool evening. Just a morning where, when you walk outside for the first time, you aren’t hit by a warm wave of sauna-like conditions. You can actually breathe deeply and glide into it easily. The days are still in the upper 90s. But the morning offers just the slightest suggestion of what is coming. By September, you get a few cool evenings thrown into the mix, too. Still blazing hot during the day, but the air is able to shed the scorch after sundown.

And–just as I often refer to summer here as “snake season”–I often refer to early Fall as “skunk season.” The road to town has been lousy with skunk hides and lingering skunk smell (what The Bee calls “Peeeuwwweeeeee!”) all week. I don’t know why they suddenly appear in early September, but all my epic late-night dog baths of V8 and vinegar have taken place in early September. In fact, the reason I wasn’t up early watching the news on the morning of 9-11 was because I was sleeping off a particularly late dog-and-vinegar bath, post-rendezvous with a skunk.

So, the rains have been declared officially over for the year, after a few sprinkles this weekend. We had more rain here this year than last, but still fairly feeble. To celebrate the End of the Rains and to herald the coming of autumn–my favorite season–(although since I moved to the desert, winter is fast becoming my new favorite. That thing about snakes plays a big role in that determination)–here are a few shots of the clouds that we were visited with this year:

The last is my favorite. That’s Black Mountain. The ranch sits at the foot of it. I think it looks like Scotland more than usual with this hirsute skein of clouds.

Happy Fall!

Interesting Adaptation…

Because The Bee is having to wear the arm splints that immobilize her elbows, it has become much harder for her to sign in a regular way. Many signs require the use of your face and others are signed in the air right in front of the face, rather than at arms’ length.

The Bee has come up with a rather ingenious adaptation, which I thought I’d mention because it’s sort of cool…she is using MY face to sign on as a sort of human chalk board. Yesterday, we went to the Farmer’s Market in town, and I had told her there would be peaches and tomatoes there, so she turned around and signed “peach” (a full-fingers stroke down the cheek) on my face. And she’s signed “girl” and “papa” and “thank you” and so forth, borrowing my face to do it. Way cool.

We are technically done with the arm splints…10 days was up on Friday, but R. and I decided to go for two full weeks on the splints and liquid diet, just to be sure. And then maybe more splint-time just at night, when she’s more likely to suck her fingers, for another week or so. We’re being conservative, but the thought of a fistula (hole) opening up drives me to do it. So, she’ll get the splints off during the day and start eating soft foods on Tuesday–pasta and applesauce, here we come.

Yippee for working elbows.

Thank you

for the support and perspective, re: Dude and the mirror. Sometimes, when you live in a hole like I do, you wonder if your take on something is appropriate or accurate. I am sort of uber-private, too. I hate people I don’t know in my house, knocking on my door, in my driveway, etc., so Dude sort of pushed all sorts of buttons just by his very presence.* I get this hypersensitivity to unknown folks from my father, who refused to answer our door growing up, unless he was expecting someone. I guess the ethic of inviting a stranger to dinner is one that’s going to be lost on me–although I like it, in principle.

By the way, Dude IS the boss, the supervisor. He OWNS the appraisal company that the bank contracted with. But going to the bank and reporting our experience with him is a good idea, and one that I’ll pursue, as soon as we get a favorable appraisal. I don’t think I even mentioned yesterday that he *forgot*–or *overlooked*–pulling one of our plats. So, he didn’t even have an accurate sense of the property until R. pointed it out to him. GAH.

More later.

*Although it’s interesting, in light of my uber-privacy IRL, that I am one of the more public blogs that I read. Hmmmmmm…anybody want to psychoanalyze that? I’ve always attributed my lack of anxiety about stalkers to the fact that we live in the middle of nowhere, past a locked gate, a long driveway, a guard dog, and a gun (well, it IS the West, ya know…).

Pissed. Need advice.

Okay, so we had an appraiser here at the ranch today, as we’re going for a mortgage equity loan. R. arranged the whole thing, and–frankly, embarrassedly–I know precious little about it.

I was walking out of the bedroom, having just dressed The Bee this morning, and The Appraiser Dude is taking notes on my back garden. My weed-filled, choked-with-green, viper-pit of a back garden. Taking notes. GAH. The Bee walks straight up to him and yanks on the cord to his GPS. (Guffaw.) Dude grunts at her. I go into the main house and notice Dude entering my bedroom building, wandering around by himself. Eyebrow raises.

I mention this to R. when I get down to the office, but R. insists Dude didn’t go into the main house. I insist he did, or would. Then Dude barges into my office without knocking while I’m sitting at the computer, through my outside door, even though R. told him explicitly to use the other door, the one that goes to R.’s office. Guard dog wants to rip Dude’s northern vertebrae out. As Dude sticks his head in my door, I simply say, “You really don’t want to come in here.”

We pass a mid-day. Dude has long ago left.

I take The Bee back up to the house and notice that the door to the guest room is askew. The guest room sits at one end of our doublewide and used to be two separate bedrooms, but we ripped the wall out between those and merged the rooms as one. But the two original entrance doors remain, although I keep a strategically-placed chair and baskets thingy in front of the door that we never use, thusly:

It’s important that I do that because propped behind the unused door in the guest room is the largest damned mirror you will ever see–or not see, because I can no longer show it to you, because Dude frigging went through the door (behind the chair and baskets thingy) and the gargantuan, ceiling-to-floor mirror came crashing down. And broke. Leaving one of us with seven years of bad luck.

Now, my questions are plenty.

Such as: since he had just been in the guest room, having walked in through the usable door, and he could see how freaking big the room is, WHY would he jam his weight into the other door (behind the chair and baskets thingy), looking for “another room”? (This was his later–much later–explanation.)

Please note:

You can see the mirror on the floor here, and here is the room in the other direction, back of broken mirror also visible on floor:

How do we possibly tuck another room in here?

GAH.

GAH.

GAH.

So, the absolute worst of it is that Dude leaves WITHOUT SAYING A WORD ABOUT IT.

After doing his dirty deed and leaving the main house, he spends another 45 minutes walking and driving the property–all the way up the mountain to the back twenty–WITH R. FORTY-FIVE MINUTES of chitchat, of guy-crap, of shooting the breeze, and Dude says nary a thing about the scene of ka-ka he left for me to walk in on in the guest room.

Jeezus. My dogs do a better job of cowering letting me know when they’ve had an accident.

I immediately have R. phone him. R. comes back and says it’s his “impression” that Dude was “hoping it would just go away.” R. says Dude reluctantly agreed to pay for a replacement mirror, but R. says take pictures in any case. Um, duh…hello? Blog!

Okay. I get that we initiated the reason for Dude to be here, even though we didn’t hire him–the bank did. I even get that R. should have been escorting Dude around 100% of the time whilst he was surveying. (I’m still unclear why that wasn’t happening…seems that R. was under the impression that Dude wanted to do his thing alone.)

What I don’t get is the imbecilic and completely immature way that Dude handles this mistake. What? Are we five?

No. We are a professional. We own our own business. We have an “& Associates” after our name on the shingle.

Okay. So, I need a reality check. Am I way out of line? Feeling overly-protective and overreacting as a result? How would you feel about this? Advice?