Family Calamity: Part 1

First watch:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BXkpZ1AZM2M

I wish I could say this didn't happen to me. I wish. Let me explain...

About four years after the death of Nathan's grandfather his family finally decided to scatter his ashes. Our daughter was a newborn so the event coincided with all the extended family coming to town. For some reason it was decided that the best place to leave his ashes would be on the intracoastal waterway, so we all met at The Chapel by the Sea - a modest outdoor worship area next to the campus where Nathan and I attended college.

As Nathan and I drove to the event we had to wonder why this took so long. Four years? Then we ultimately came to discuss the very scene shown above from The Big Lebowski. Nathan made sure to remind me, "We can't let anyone stand down wind." Ha! Seriously, that would be awful.

We arrived, greeted our extended family members, listened to his dad share stories about Grandpa and deliver a sermon. We sang from the hymnals that were somehow supplied from the trunk of Nathan's parents' SUV. Not sure if this is a regular thing to have 15 hymnals on hand.

The moment was coming. The family debated who should scatter the ashes; each person passing the duty off to someone else. Nathan's dad took on the responsibility. He clutched the box of ashes and lifted the lid. Everyone emotionally gathered around the sea wall to say a final goodbye prayer. It was at that moment, a moment that I so richly regret, that I saw Nathan's mom standing on the sea wall trying to capture the last moment on her camera. She had been in this family, had known grandpa so much longer, she deserved to be in the pictures. I convinced her to trade places, stand with everyone else, and let me take the picture. She quickly obliged.

I was trying to find my angle. The best, most poetic view I could capture. I wanted to make sure everyone was in the shot. I didn't take any time to consider anything else. Nathan's dad grasped the box of ashes and swung his arm back like it was the opening pitch of a baseball game.

It's hard to describe the next horrific moment. The moment I realized the wind had dramatically shifted my direction. A widespread doomsday-like cloud was rushing towards me. Every particle racing my direction. "Don't scream, you'll inhale him," I thought. I turned my back to the advancing ashes. Can I outrun this? I will try. Go diagonal! This assessment left me two paths: diagonal left into the plausibly shark infested sea, diagonal right: all clear. I was no match for the wind. I was quickly covered. Every inch. My black pants now soot colored. My hair chalky. My eyes burning. My lips and mouth gritty. My pace slowed because the worst was over, but I couldn't turn around. I just continued walking to the car. Nathan's family was in a state of quiet horror. Nathan's sister ran over, "Don't make it a big deal!" and lovingly patted down my outfit. What a futile effort. Nathan rushed over, "What should we do?" Go home. Nathan's dad passed by to put the hymnals away, "It's just a little dust." No, no not really. It's your dad. He is on my clothes. In my hair. My mouth. My eyes. My nose. I can picture his remains on a cellular level passing through my airway, into my lungs, somehow diffusing into my blood supply and my only hope is that in a few days he will be gone.

Nathan reluctantly informed his family we needed to leave. His mom pleaded, "but I brought Subway..." Not really interested in eating right now. Nathan took both sandwiches to go, picked up our innocent newborn daughter, and we hit the road. The car ride was silent. The kind of silence that builds. Then somewhere, someone broke. Who even knows what was said, but here is the gist of each of our arguments:

Nathan: We shouldn't have left. It was insensitive to the people who were mourning.

Me: #1. Alleged mourning is about four years late. #2. I am covered in your grandfather, which is evidenced by my pants: they were black, now they are light grey.

Nathan: I told you to move!

Me:When?! What did you say?

Nathan: I did this. (swishes his hands in the air)

Me: That is not TELLING me anything! (To prove my point:) Here I am going to tell you something, but don't look at me. (wildly flail my arms around) Can you tell me what I just said?

I think it is clear to most sane people who would win this battle. And this was the first time in our marriage where I really wondered where I went wrong in my life plans. (It's ok, I think this is normal for most married people. If not, you don't need to inform me that everyone does in fact live happily ever after).

The hours that followed that event were not nearly as dramatic. I called my mom and retold my story. She laughed uncontrollably. Sympathy is hard to come by. The next day was Thanksgiving, and Nathan's dad sang me a song he thought was appropriate: "I Want to Wash that man Right out of my Hair" from the musical Hairspray. This was complete with dancey arm moves.

It's one and a half years later, and I now know this is funny. Not just a little funny. It's hilarious.

yours,

Tiffany

Blinded with Science

Tomorrow brings the start of a new semester. From now until May I will walk the halls of the VA Hospital soaking in all that I can about Med-Surg nursing and mental health. That's my professional life.

Personally, I am trying to challenge myself. Push myself to learn as much as I can, be as creative as I can, and love as much as I can. It was easy for one week, but my endurance is waining. It will come back.

Today I was affected by an emotional contagion that left me uninspired and unable to commit to the work of enjoyment. I needed to study. My brain would say, "need to study," the heaviness would reply, "can't study." The brain won - in a roundabout way.

Studying in the necessary way wasn't going to happen yet. I had to build towards it. What was I interested in and had yet to explore? Psychoneuroimmunology. (A field of study that examines our emotions effect on immune response.) I did it. The material online was more than enough to graze on. Over time the heaviness disappeared. It was replaced with inquisitiveness and the feeling of accomplishment.

So, I would like to know what the very few people who read this are interested in and have not allowed themselves to look further into. Often things cross our paths, they pique our interest, and time won't allow us to examine them further. What are your "things?"

Here is what my investigation of Psychoneuroimmunology revealed to me today:

• Studies show that increased stressors/chronic stress increases the number of white blood cells and decreases the number of our helper T cells, suppressor T cells, natural killer cells, cytotoxic T cells, and B cells.
• Stressors yield sympathetic nervous system and endocrine system changes, which then causes impaired immune function
• Simply explained: Stress manifests as anxiety/fear/sadness/tension -> increased heart rate, increased blood pressure. In a prolonged state this -> body's inability to maintain homeostasis. Bad news.
• Mid 20th Century studies indicated that psychotic patients had poor antibody response to whooping cough vaccines when compared to non-psychotic patients.

Hope this wasn't too nerdy or self-centered. I hope I will get to hear about subjects you readers are interested in and will try to look further into.

yours,

Tiffany

Best Friends and Serial Killers

V.V. came over today and our little girls had the chance to play together for the first time since before Christmas! That is an unusually long time to go without seeing each other since our families are, well, like family and at a minimum hang out once a week. It was so good to see her and even better to watch the girls play and interact with each other.

A few pictures from the day:

The weather could not have been more perfect so we loaded the girls up in the ol' radio flyer wagon and went walking in the neighborhood. We were crossing a street as a man in a white van was exiting. He let us cross the street first. As we reached the safe sidewalk ahead he rolled down his window and shouted, "Hot girls in moccasins!" Cool dude. ...Really though, I sort of wanted to say thanks for the compliment. We walked and talked some more and as we got closer to my street we saw him again. What makes this weird is that these streets don't join and there is little reason for someone to just go up and down each one of them. He rolled the window down again, "Where did you get your moccasins?" I appreciate neighborliness, so I obliged with a brief explanation. I was still perplexed about him though and assumed he must be a realtor since I could see a black binder in his car plus he's a dude in a white minivan. I asked. "No." That's all he said. Still no explanation why he was cruising the safe streets of my neighborhood. With that he drove off. It was strange to me, but I also realize I can be paranoid about strangers.

Let me mention exhibit B of said paranoia:

Nathan and I went through a pretty morbid phase of our relationship where we almost exclusively watched Law & Order and any other TV show that had anything to do with mobs, gangsters, serial killers, or unsolved murders. I generally don't regret my programming choices, but there is one show I wish I never ever ever watched: Interview with the IceMan Killer. (I don't know if that's the exact title, but that's the idea). This guy was the type of serial killer who was dad by day and monster by night. He could live in your neighborhood. He explained his kills. I was gripped and terrified by the random simplicity of his victims. He said he hid in one person's closet all day, and at night snuck out as they peacefully slept and killed them! This single bit of information has provoked me to do a nightly psycho-check in every closet and crevice of my house. It's totally disrupting to any normal routine, but his creepy story dances around in my mind if I attempt to lay in bed without checking at least every closet. Ridiculous. I know.

And really what would I do if someone was standing or crouched in my closet? I think of this often. In my mind I run through a catalog of combat moves I can unleash. I'd reveal them on here, but who knows who is reading! So serial killer, if you are reading this: Be careful. I'm ready to pounce. My moves are deadly, and they are for me to know and for you to find out.

yours,

Tiffany

Now I floss all the time.

For those who are wondering where I got the blog name "Catalogue of Fictional Memoirs," I am now here to satiate your burning question. For years my parents have pleaded that I begin a catalogue of my stories, and for several years beyond that I have been recounting stories to them with my sardonic sense of humor. Everyone has great stories to tell over a life time, and each of us has our own way of telling them. As for the Fictional part...well, I'd like to save myself the heavy responsibility of offending someone. If a friend were to read something with their corresponding name (or initials) they might get angry. That's when I step in and reassure them, "It's ok. It's fiction!"

In reality, I would never want to hurt any feelings. These really are just some experiences as seen through my lens.

Before this explanation becomes too prolonged, I would like to share the first of my reflections. A random memory from a few years back.

Now I floss all the time

The cast:

Me – a bit out of place and feeling awkward

V.V. – comfortable among her peers

R.E. – in her home and feeling like the great hostess that she is

G. – floss toting friend. Possibly one of the nicest people anyone could meet.

J. – bright eyed, kind, what else can you say

M. and S. – mostly huddled in a corner talking amongst themselves

Unimportant side note: V.V. has known she is pregnant for about two weeks, but no one else knows. Besides me, that is. The pride I feel of being entrusted with this secret swells inside me and could erupt from my mouth at any moment. Instead of giving away this secret, I shoot meaningful looks at V.V. every time I hear the words “roller coaster,” “babies,” “sushi,” or the like. If only the fools knew to look…

I was at a party. I believe it was all girls. In fact, yes, it was all girls. The church-going type – very sweet, poised, and praising one another all the time, which would be a fault if they weren’t mostly just harmless and kind. Anyway, at this party they were serving spinach alfredo pizza. It was delicious! I ate a few slices, a-thank you very much! Then G., someone I sort of knew, pulled out little travel flossers and started flossing her teeth. I paid no attention...that's a little weird...whatever. Not taking the hint, she proceeded to ask me if I would like one. "No thanks!" Who flosses in public anyway? She insisted. Being the type to give into peer pressure, I accepted in order to make her happy. A few teeth in, and despite the faint taste of blood, I feigned a sincere smile and said, "These are great." That was the moment I realized the flosser was stuck. Time sort of stopped as I rapidly grew claustrophobic and felt the impulse to pull out the flosser; even if it meant losing a tooth in the process. The plastic handle protruded from my mouth like some horrific snaggletooth. I excused myself because, at the time, I didn't make a habit of flossing regularly. I didn't know how to extract this travel-companion floss from my teeth. In a blaze of thoughts I debated whether it would be better to lose a tooth in the children’s bathroom or the master bathroom. I chose the latter. I hurried through the doorway, past the pristinely sheeted bed, and looked in the mirror. The sight was worse than I anticipated. I had spinach in nearly every tooth crevice and those that were spared were bleeding profusely from the flosser. I looked like I needed to be institutionalized. After some swift maneuvering, the floss came out. My pride long gone, I went back and asked her for another flosser (because now I knew there was much more spinach to remove)...I continued to bleed, but that eventually subsided. I can still remember her grimacing face...she must have been disgusted. Oh well...just another day in the life. All of that to say, I floss semi-regularly now. I also learned that spinach pizza is best reserved for eating in the privacy of your own home.

Retro Dating. Well sort of.

Day 2 and what could be more exciting than blogging about books that I am currently reading?! Hold that yawn...I'm going to make this apply. Somehow.

Nathan and I are approaching 8 years together since we first started dating. When we were first getting to know each other we would read books together and discuss them. First was Life of Pi and then You Shall Know our Velocity. Oh we were very intellectual. Now that we have made our way through the seven-year-itch mark, without a single hive I should add, I thought we could resurrect some old traditions. So we have selected our first book choice in several years and it is......What is the What. It's another Dave Eggers selection, and I'm excited to visit this path again with Nathan.

Not that I'm totally ashamed to admit that I'm reading the following, but I do confess this with some reluctance: I am also halfway through The Happiness Project. I sort of love it and am flying through the pages. Guilty pleasure statement #1: I enjoy the self-help genre. It gives me the "things are gonna change, I can feel it" feeling.

Finally the most important and least read would be any of my 5 nursing textbooks. I have read about pleural effusion. That's it!

Happy reading everyone else!

yours,

Tiffany