The girls off in the world

With Kaylee in Germany and Chelsea in her own place, the normal bustle of the house has decreased. Less to cook, less to clean, less chauffeuring to do – no wonder people without kids or with only one get so much done.

Surf sessions #36, #37, #38, #39

#36: Moonstone, two weeks ago. Small and mushy, still windless and warm.

And the days go by…

Talking Heads here.

After the long night of high blood sugars and 2 a.m. set change, Nick’s blood sugar ended up exactly in the “good” range by morning. I don’t know why the pump system sometimes goes wonky on the third day, but that’s been the only drawback so far. The pump is so much easier, lends so much towards even greater self-sufficiency by Nick, that at times I worry we’re slipping into taking for granted everything’s fine. The nights that force us out of slumber also push us out of complacency. Modern medicine may assure Nick’s ability to lead as normal a life as possible, but management is not the same as a cure.

Still high

396

How can that be, after a shot? No real sleep for me now. What to do? Wait, check again in 30 minutes? Page the on-call diabetes doctor? I just want him to be okay,  want to sleep. A full day of work awaits, arrives in less than six hours; I need to be at my best. Not exhausted and struggling for coherent thought. Even worse, the few ways in which I can help my son aren’t working. Despair surrounds me. I cannot give into it. I must figure this out.

Set change

I stare at the flow chart. Blood sugar is over 300 –> Check for ketones –> No ketones, check again in an hour –> Still over 300, give insulin via a shot, then change the pump set.

Fox News in the background, jazz in the fore

“You are approaching a very sensitive metal detector. The best way to avoid the loud beep is to remove all metal you are wearing. Yes, even your shoes and belt.”

– Sacramento International Airport, June 15, 2009

surf sessions #31, #32, #33, #34, #35

More small, fun, beautiful. Sea lions and porpoises, dolphins and seals. No wind. Some sunshine. Dawn patrols, sunset surfs. Let’s surf every day in June! we said, thrilling to the consistency of spending hours in the ocean.

And then, an hour past sunset Wednesday night, while crossing a friend’s yard lit only by the flames in the fire pit, I failed to see a trench dug out for a future sidewalk. Down I went, skirt billowing, ankle twisting. The pain that arced up my fibula failed to subside when concerned friends pulled me to my feet. I sat back down. The host wrapped an ice pack around my ankle. That helped. The hostess brought ibuprofen. That helped, too, hours later, as I tried to sleep with my foot propped on a pillow (Rest, Ice, Compress, Elevate!). In the morning, no bruising, but still some swelling and tenderness. I missed a planned dawn patrol surf for my friend’s birthday. I caused the breaking of my and Nick’s surfing streak. Today’s better, but I can’t walk normally, won’t be able to pop up with nonchalance, so no dawn patrol – and the rest of the day is scheduled to be absorbed by work, Germany packing, 8th grade graduation.

I know a couple days of pain and restricted physical activity is so not a big deal, but losing any of the few activities on which my sanity depends? The balance is indeed precarious.

Spent hours at the beach last night chaperoning a high school party (last day of school!). Hanging out with teenagers who laugh and run around, hug and converse with intelligence and empathy, all sans the alcohol and attitude I felt so necessary at that age warmed me as much as the successful bonfire we’d built. I’d been worried we’d started with too few sticks, but some planning and attention turned a small blaze into a fire big enough to warm the whole crowd.

Expanding our horizons: K to Germany, Jen to new career

Nine days from now, K becomes the first member of the Savage-Wright family to leave the country. Emotions this occasion provokes include excitement, anxiety, pride, terror, joy. Is it ever easy being a parent? I can’t believe that despite cutbacks at the paper I’m managing to pull this off – down to the wire, but I think we’re going to make it – and am so pleased K’s therefore able to take advantage of the opportunity to Travel. Castles! Cathedrals! The Rhine! Munich! Berlin! Austria! EEK! My baby across the country and across the Atlantic?! The farthest she’s been from me is Petrolia! I can’t breathe! She’ll have a wonderful adventure! She’ll be amazed! She’ll know that she can do something brave, go off into the unknown, and thrive! But she’ll be so far! EEK!

Yeah, it’s like that.

(Speaking of… several people have offered to donate to K’s trip fund. I’m so appreciative and have wanted to say yes; at the same time, I have such a hang up about seeming “poor” or having to ask for money, my response has been, thanks, but we have it covered. And I am going to do it. We do have it covered. Then again, given the fat paycut I took earlier this year leaves no safety margin – and also given the knowledge that I’m about to be in a place where I can do nice things for people in return – I’m willing to accept the generosity of others at this point. I won’t come asking, but if you still feel willing/able, I’ll accept. Even though my insistence on self-sufficiency has me cringing in embarrassment. Gak.)

surf session #30

(Must write before the troops arise. No time for coffee or editing.)

 

June 5, 2009

The phone rang. ”Go out to the dunes and take photos!” Bobby said. He’d just left to chauffeur Chelsea to a babysitting gig and the sky was beautiful. In the midst, as always, of a half-dozen things, my first reaction was reluctance. But the recent days of minimal wind had brought a clarity to the ocean: Summer’s peaceful moment between the mean north winds of Spring and electrifying south winds of Fall. Everything has been so still and into that stillness, the world expands richer, deeper and in greater detail.

So I took the camera and slogged out through the sand. Bobby was right; sunbeams poured down through holes in the clouds. Too many photos later, I couldn’t resist the ocean’s invitation any longer. “Nick!” I hollered, barging back into the house. “Everybody! To the beach!” Bobby had already returned, so he and Kaylee lit out first. Nick and I pulled on our wetsuits – “Hurry!” I helpfully implored – and followed, boards tucked under arms, lupin and coyote brush lashing against us as we jogged back toward the ocean.

Nick and I have been surfing out in front of our house most of the week, sometimes with his friends, sometimes just us. The trek isn’t exactly easy: the soft sand makes getting over the high dune nearly unbearably slow and the trail’s overgrown enough that using it feels a bit like bushwhacking – we joke as if we’ve gone feral and are surfing in some undeveloped region across the world. But in 10-to-12 minutes, we can get from our front door to the ocean. That’s a lovely thing. Especially when the surf stays clean, small and peaky all week long, and Nick gets to invite his friends over, for once having something to show off.

Sandy, aglow.

He’s a good sport in general, whether dealing with the diabetes or playing a baseball game, but I can see how sometimes our lack of financial resources bothers him. His friends get new surfboards and  trips to places Nick only sees in magazines. Although we’ve accumulated our share of boards and wetsuits, much of it has been through randomly scoring deals or the generosity of friends. I’ve rarely been able to walk into the surf shop and drop several hundred dollars. (A few times, usually after the tax refund comes in, I’ve bought new wetsuits for the kids. I’ve bought a new board exactly once, a new wetsuit for myself maybe twice – everything else has been used or a gift. Which is fine and a testament to how much good luck I have along with all the more challenging moments. But the folks at Greenhouse are always so nice. I wish I could support them in more concrete ways.) Point is, for Nick’s friends to come over, suit up and charge out front was, in the words of one, “sick!” The waves a certain amount of stoke; being able to provide that stoke to his buddies enabled Nick to feel rich for a moment.

 

Invitation

We raced the sun as we hurried out. It won, slipping behind the clouds stretched high across the horizon, a last burst of fire defining sky’s edge, leaving us only a half-hour or so before dusk would make way for night. We paddled through the few lines of whitewater, breaking the outside glass with our presence. Birds dove, seals popped their heads up like curious Labradors. Sometimes I think they’ll swim over for a belly rub. No sea lions this time, but we’ve seen them close up for days. Huge and intimidating, they’ll cruise by, sometimes barking, at which point I usually defer to the true locals and exit the water), sometimes just serving up a cold dish of stinkeye.

Caught some tiny waves, developed permagrin from the joy of being in the Pacific with my kid, near my house, the world’s beauty unfurled just for us.

surf sessions #25, #26, #27, #28, #29

All variations on the theme of small, windless, close to home and with varying grom combinations. If I was surfing less, I’d have more time to write about it… but then, I’d be surfing less.