Not again...

So the past few weeks I've been feeling really 'off', and week before last I was really dragging. That Thursday I felt like I was moving through a swimming pool- my limbs felt really heavy and it required a serious effort to do anything. I spent several days in bed, figuring that if I was that tired, I must need the rest, right? Over that weekend I felt worse, and was having some of what felt like atrial fibrillation episodes. Sunday at brunch after church, one of the ladies leaned over the table and said "You look like you don't feel well." I admitted that I didn't. She looked at me a bit sternly and said "I think you should go to the doctor tomorrow." Well, I'd been thinking about calling the doctor, and maybe depending on how I feel tomorrow... "No, you go to the doctor tomorrow. Promise me you'll go."

So Monday I called to make an appointment. The woman at the appointment desk said "You know, I don't feel good about this. I think I want you to talk to the triage nurse." Ok, so I talked to the triage nurse. And she said "You know, I don't feel good about this. I want you to go to ER." I was hesitant- was she sure? I would feel really stupid if it turned out to be nothing. "Better to feel stupid that to not go if there's a real problem" Ok. So I went.

And being as how I was not thinking so straight, I drove myself to the ER.

They were packed, as usual. I sat in the waiting room and dozed. I really wanted to lie down, but they didn't have benches, just chairs. And I waited. I don't know how long it took to get me in to see the triage nurse, because there was no clock in the waiting room and I don't wear a watch, but it was a long time. I felt really crummy and _really_ wanted to lie down and was a little nauseated when they finally called me in. I had to recite the whole thing to the nurse, and she pulled up my history and took my vitals, and then instead to sending me back out to the waiting room, she walked me back to a room. Ah, finally a table- I could lie down! I had to put on a gown, but then she gave me a blanket and I curled up and dozed off.

I wasn't comfy for very long though. Someone came in with a cart, glued a bunch of wires to me and ran an EKG, and took my vitals again, and left.

Finally a doctor came in with a chart, and said, "Well, you've had an MI." All I could say was "Shit."

He said that it didn't seem to be a big one and I wasn't really in a whole lot of pain (though I had to qualify that, since the fibro has really messed put my pain perception), but when he asked if I was feeling any pressure I had to admit that I felt like I had a large cat sitting on my chest. He decided to admit me for observation.

So they wheeled me into the cardiac unit, which appeared to be pretty full, and into a room. I had to drag my sandbagged limbs off of the gurney and onto the bed. They took another EKG and brought me a snack, as it was now 8pm (there was a clock in my room) and I hadn't eaten since breakfast. And then they glued more leads to me, plugged me in so they could watch me on the machines all night.

You know, a hospital is not a place to get any rest. It's noisy (especially the guy down the hall who was pissed off that he'd had a heart attack and wanted everyone to know it), they kept coming in to take my vitals (and at one point I had just dozed off when a nurse came in- to offer me a sleeping pill), and I couldn't figure out how to turn all of the lights off. I watch tv for awhile (gave that up as a losing proposition- nothing worth watching) then tried to get some sleep.

They did an echocardiogram in the morning (while Marla was visiting me), and a doctor (not the same one) came in and told told me that the bloodwork had come back and my potassium levels had cratered. Hmm. That may have triggered whatever happened, but as my heart had behaved itself all night, they were going to let me go. So I took the script for some potassium and went home.

And went back to bed. I went to my doctor the next day, and to church, but other than that I pretty much stayed in bed for a week. Was sooo tired. Still tired. Sleeping 11, 12 hours, and still sleepy. And stupid- I'm finding huge blanks in my memory. It's coming back, but there for a few days I was having a really hard time remembering anything, which is very annoying.

I'm already pretty careful with my diet, but my doctor said that given the stress I've been under, none of this surprised her. I've got to mellow out a bit. How, I don't yet know...

So that was the end of March. So much for going out like a lamb! But April is beginning to look up. And James will be here tomorrow. And- the big news is- the parenting trainer who is working with Lydia and David let Lydia spend Tuesday in her own home, with the babies. By herself. And today David has the day off, and they're bringing the babies home for the day again. They want to see how they do at home, without Cindi. Lydia is beyond happy about this. Things are beginning to look up there too. :-)

Now if only those goons in DC would pass a budget...

Play that funky music, white boy!

(A musician playing a cythara in the Stuttgart Psalter, c 830)

He needs more hair and some leather and studs, don't you think?

So I started another writing project the other night. For some background, Charlemagne had five wives. The first, with a Frankish woman named Himeltrude, was sort of legal and sort of not- there seems to have been some sort of informal Germanic marriage, but it hadn't gone through the church, so it was only quasi official. Then it came to pass shortly after Charles became king that he needed to make some diplomatic arrangements, so wife #1 was disposed of- forced into a convent so that Charles could marry again.

The second marriage was with the daughter of the Lombard king, Desiderius, who had been doing some spear shaking (and a bit of raiding and city capturing) towards the papal states, essentially threatening the pope himself. Charles, who was bound by an oath to protect the pope, married Desiderius' daughter in an attempt to neutralize the threat.

Except it didn't work. Desiderius continued his expansionist activity and soon it became obvious that Charles would have to go to war against his father-in-law. This was, in the family-relations sense, somewhat bad form. So Charles sent wife #2, a woman who name was possibly Gerberga or Gerperga, away. At that point details become muddy. Accounts vary considerably. She might have been sent to a convent in the Frankish lands (likely to Chelles, which had ties to the royal family- Charles' sister was the abbess). Or she might have been sent to a convent in Lombardy. Or she simply was sent home to Daddy.

(Wives # 3, 4, and 5 were Frankish noblewomen- Charles did not make another diplomatic matrimonial arrangement for himself.)

Desiderius lost the war with Charles, and he himself was sent to a monastery (Charles favorite way to dispose of inconvenient persons), specifically to the monastery at Corbie, another house with ties to the royal family (a later abbot, Adalhard, was Charles' cousin). His wife Ansa, and the rest of the household was also given unto the arms of the church. Corbie was not a double house, with both men and women, so Ansa and any other women in the party (and her daughter Gerberga, if she was with her family) went elsewhere, most likely to Chelles.

I found one account (the reference to I cannot relocate, annoyingly) that remarked that a few months after she was put away, Gerberga died in the convent, *in childbirth*.

Well now!

I've not found anywhere any suggestion at all that she had been unfaithful, so if it is the case that this happened, the child was Charles'. So what happened to it?

Well, obviously the child might have died. And that would be the end of that story. But if the child lived?

Charles had a son with Himeltrude, a boy who came to be known as Pepin the Hunchback. He was excluded from the inheritance, possibly because of the irregular nature of his parents' marriage, but he was at court, and there's some indication that he was put to work in the kitchens. This situation tells me that if a possible baby of Gerberga's was a son, he would have been sent to court to be raised, and since he would have been legitimate, would have been in the line of inheritance. But we have no record of any such boy.

So if there was a live child, it was a girl.

What happened to her? My best guess is that she would have been left at Chelles to be raised, and it was possible that they didn't even tell Charles about her existence. Why would they? Her mother having been put away, there was likely no emotional ties to her father, and she would have been somewhat tainted as a marriage prospect. So she might well have stayed there, been raised, and become a nun. It is possible that she herself never knew who her parents were. Or she might have known, and not had any options but to stay at Chelles.

This situation of course is ripe for a fictional account. :-)

I've only just started, and still in the initial plotting stage, and beginning to set up her situation, her history, and a taste of her emotional makeup. And I'm trying something I've never done before- writing in the first person. Oddly, it feels right. I think it is going to work. And just for a taste:
____
I don’t remember anything of my early childhood, only a blur of images. The sky seemed always to be pale and thin, and the wind bit as we walked from the chapel to the cloister. It was only as I was old enough to be schooled that I remember things distinctly– the sound of the bronze bells, the rough wool of my blanket in the dormitory and the cold hands of a sister pulling my gown over my head. Sometimes we had to break the ice in the basin before washing in the morning, and on Saturdays when I washed my limbs, my flesh rose in bumps like the skin of a plucked chicken.
Don’t look at yourself child!
Why can I not look, sister? It is my own body.
It is flesh, and the flesh is sinful. Only the soul can be pure.
She scrubbed at my knees until they were raw and the tears stung my eyes. I did not look at my knees to see if they were bleeding.
Was I happy? I don’t really remember. I hated Sundays, spending most of it kneeling through the long Mass and a sermon I could barely understand. Only a little less did I hate the Hours, up in the night and in the early morning as the first fingers of pink dawn crept above the horizon. I hated the grey porridge and hunks of brown bread. But what else was there? I knew only the life I had; I had no understanding or aspirations of the world outside the grey walls.
I was treated as well as any other child at Chelles; clothed, fed, taught my letters and Latin grammar. Sister Aethelberga told us stories from the Holy Scriptures, Sister Ansa beat us if we made a mistake in recitation. Occasionally the Abbess would pat my shoulder and slip me sweetmeats.
Ermengarde, You are well-born. Someday you might be great in God’s work.
Yes, Mother.
Somehow I doubted this, as I suspected that would require me to be better at Latin than I was. But these thoughts I kept to myself. I was too fond of the sweets to disappoint her.

___
It feels... bleak. Which is what I want at this point.


In other news, I'm not feeling well, which in a way isn't news, but there it is, I'm planning to call my doctor tomorrow.

David and Lydia don't have their babies back from the state yet. There's enough pain there to smear over half the state. At the last hearing the judge directed that they both have psychiatric exams. This is ok with them, but it took three weeks before they were even scheduled, and the appointments aren't until the end of April. They also have to meet with a parent trainer, where the babies are at David's mother's home. Lydia is a bit apprehensive still, but is beginning to feel more comfortable with the trainer.

At the moment they're having difficulties with David's mother. There are issues with visitation, which is particularly hard on Lydia. And apparently the girls are being fed more and more formula, supposedly because it is 'easier' for David's mother, who apparently hasn't got enough room in her freezer. She's also convinced that Lydia can't provide enough milk for twins. We are not agreeing with this- When Lydia is away from the girls she's pumping her milk and storing it in her freezer. She has a half-size chest freezer (about the size of a washer or dryer) that is half full of milk for her babies.

All of this is just killing me, mostly I think because there's really nothing I can actually do to help them. Lydia is trying to be strong, but she so aches to have her babies home that it is hard for her to keep the rest of her life on an even keel. And David is still so angry that he's having stomach problems. And there's nothing I can do. And it seems to be my mantra these days- "I don't know what to do..."

But I am happy at church. I haven't been able to get over whatever barrier it is that I can't get past to take communion, and I still occasionally have the urge to bolt. But that is becoming less frequent. So I'm taking the step and on April 10 will be formally received as a member.

I'm beginning to get back into sewing, and I'm working on getting my new SCA name and a badge registered. I'll really be Liutgard, which feels good.

And the violets are blooming! Spring is here!

I haz teh angry...

Ok, first the good stuff: Lydia had her babies, December 1. Anastasia Marie was born first, and was 4 lbs 1 oz. Ilyana Rose was 4 lbs 3 oz. They're beautiful, no problems except that they were small. And they are beautiful. Well, as beautiful as one might be when one looks like Winston Churchill. :-)

The not-so-good stuff is VERY not-so-good. I can't go into the whole mess here, but the thumbnail sketch that through a variety of things (including what appears to be some inappropriate collusion between two parties), David and Lydia lost custody of the girls. They were made wards of the court, and are now in foster care- specifically in the care of David's mom. We had to turn the girls over one Christmas day, from the hospital. They have not yet even been to their home.

I cannot express how heartsick the kids and I are about this. But after the initial shock and numbness, I've found myself dealing with some serious anger. Angry at the situation and the things that contributed to it. Angry at several people who I felt were very unfair. Angry at the two who I feel are playing dirty.

I don't like feeling angry- it makes me very uncomfortable. And I certainly don't think of myself as a violent person, yet I find myself wanting to strike out. I'm very protective of my friends and family, and here's something so devastating, that strikes at the very heart of my immediate family. I've joked about 'opening up a can of Molly Weasley Whup-Ass', and 'reaching for my can opener'... but it is only partly a joke.

I don't know how to deal with anger. I've spent most of my life suppressing it, feeling like I can't express it, until I explode- sometimes on the person who deserves it, but frequently not. At 46, I still don't know how to deal with anger in a healthy way. And I don't have the faintest idea how to change that.

It's the sort of thing that one would think can't be settled through one's faith. That presents me with some problems. I've been attending an Episcopal parish near home since May. I started going because James is so active in the ECUSA- I figure I'd better get used to it and feel more comfortable in church, or it will cause problems between us. I am feeling more comfortable- for years I could not stand being in church, the memories were so negative. But the services are different enough that I only occasionally have to grip the pew because the urge to bolt for the door is welling up.

The problem is, I'm still feeling... wobbly on issues of faith. I'm teetering on the edge of a militant agnosticism ('I don't know, and you don't either'), and as I sit during the prayers of the people and confession, I don't know if anyone hears me, or cares, or if saying 'I'm angry, and I feel it's wrong, and I want to stop, but I need help' is what I should say. I mean, I've always thought that true repentance requires an intention to stop doing whatever it is that you're repenting of. And I'm not sure that's what I'm doing. Especially when I'm angry at someone who is not likely to stop what they're doing, and probably intends to continue pissing me off. How do I forgive someone who knowingly hurts me and my loved ones?

So that is what I'm grappling with- me and my stomach lining against my anger. Here's to hoping I can resolve this soon. In the meantime, if anyone has any ideas for me, drop a line in the comments, or email me (address is in left column). I'd appreciate the input.

About 'partying'...

An Tir's Twelfth Night Coronation was last weekend, conveniently enough here in Eugene. I went, though I only made it for the Laurel meeting and the butt-numbing court. (Honestly, I think an hour or two break between last court and coronation is a good idea- especially for those of us who really can't go for six hours without food.) After court, James and I took off. Changed our clothes, got dinner at McMenamin's High Street Cafe, and saw a movie. ('The King's Speech'- and it was GOOD. Colin Firth richly deserves the Oscar that he's going to get.) And then we went back to our room, feeling rather Garbo-like ("I vant to be left alone.")

There's a lot of people I would have liked to have seen and visited with, and I was a dork and didn't make it down to the A&S room as I'd planned. I was tired and considering the past few weeks' stress, crashing really was not unexpected.

The strange thing was though, is one of my friends told me this week that she'd tried to find me in the evening after court, and after asking around, was told by several people that they 'didn't know where she was partying at'.

Huh?

This really has me thinking about events and what we expect is enjoyable. I didn't think that I had any sort of reputation for partying, and it occurs to me that that was why no one had any idea where I was at- precisely because I don't have a reputation for partying.

My idea of a nice evening at an event (mostly camping) is throwing a big dinner party (period food, natch), with plenty of food, some carefully chosen wine, and ypocras and maybe some sherry with the dessert course. Besides the usual group of friends, I like to invite new people, some simply grabbed earlier in the day, to mix things up a bit and expand my circle of friends. I've been told that invitations to my dinner parties are prized.

There's no 'partying' at my parties. no tequila shots, no boozewhacker and iced drinks, no 'tiki viking' or 'toga' themes, and no throwing up in the bushes. There is, however, stories, discussions on research and theories and ideals, and sometimes conversations about what we do as a Society, why we play, what we think about peerage, and what it means to us to play this game.

To me, this is a Good Time. What alcohol is consumed enhances the food and our enjoyment of it. It may be something of a 'lubricant' to the conversations, but the booze is not the point of the party.

Is this why people didn't know where I was? Because they couldn't imagine where I would be and who with, because I don't 'party' per se?

Made me think. And I thought the rest of you would be interested in what I think. (I may be overestimating myself in this, but hey...)

GOOOOOOO DUCKS!

<---- This of course should be self-explanatory, with the Civil War coming up and all. The Ducks are undefeated and if they beat the Beavers (AND THEY CAN!) they go to the BCS championship. And Eternal Glory and all that. ;-)

I didn't watch/listen to the game Friday. When I do, they lose. Not worth the risk.

I spent the week with David and Lydia and her Amazing Expanding Belly. The twins are getting pretty big and she is getting tired of being pregnant. She's into week 33 though, and getting close. And except for the fact that at the moment they're presenting breech, everything's cool. We keep telling them to turn over...

Their @%^&$@ roommate finally started moving his crap out. He left about a month ago but didn't start getting his stuff out until Saturday. David showed me... oh.my.god. The walls are absolutely filthy. But we have to get it clean so the baby stuff can be moved in there. Big job ahead though.

Dinner was nice- James was up and Stephen came over (something about 'Mom Food') and after dinner we played Dominoes. Stephen is Evil at board games. That is all I'll say about that. :-P

Last week I went to the 12:01 showing of the new Harry Potter film, and Wednesday I took David and Lydia (probably the last time they get out before the babies are here). I thought it was really good. The scenes right at the beginning were powerful- I was in tears before the title board came up. And I sobbed through the ending. Harry burying Dobby was too much. I knew it was going to happen (who didn't?) but it was still hard.

People watching is great though- there was a group of kids who came as the Potter Puppet Pals, in costumes made of craft felt. They were really well done. There was the usual assortment of kids in school uniforms, a girl who wanted a picture of herself with me (several, actually) and at the last moment pulled up her sleeve to expose her Dark Mark- I jumped back and whipped out my wand before I realized what I was doing. The resulting picture was great- I wish I'd had the presence of mind to ask them to send me a copy! There was also a girl in black leather with a mound of black hair who ran through the halls screaming "I killed Sirius Black! I killed Sirius Black! EEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEE!" just like Bellatrix. It was pretty cool. :-)

And the last film isn't out until July. ARRRGGGHHH!!!

A couple of notes on the economy-

I just read a very interesting blog post by David Friedman on the current economy and the differing approaches of the US and the UK (http://daviddfriedman.blogspot.com/2010/11/most-expensive-research-project-ever.html). I haven't decided how much I agree or disagree with, but I thought it would be interesting to post my remarks here:

An interesting observation. However, something I think we seem to be overlooking here (and which was not an issue during the Roosevelt Administration), is the vast increase in outsourcing. How does that affect (or not) the GDP? Also, the outsourcing and automation of many jobs that formerly supported a significant portion of the working population has changed not just the employment rate, but the nature of consumption. Why pay an American a decent wage when you can buy cheap crap from China? Something that I have noticed in the past decade is that we all want jobs that will support an upper middle income (or higher) lifestyle, but we don't want to pay the costs of goods and services that support the jobs that support that lifestyle. It becomes a downward spiral- the more we demand low prices, the more goods are imported and jobs are sent overseas. No jobs or lower-wage jobs increase the demand for lower prices of goods... I think it's the economic version of the saying "Everyone wants to get to heaven, but nobody wants to die".

Of course, I don't have any brilliant ideas for stopping that spiral, or reversing it. And it appears that no one in the Treasury Department or the Federal Reserve has any bright ideas either.

And soggy Autumn is upon us...

We had about two weeks of lovely weather, with sun and impossibly blue skies. and the leaves beginning to turn. Ainsworth Blvd was especially lovely- so many trees there were brilliant yellow or an orange-red. There is one that grows around a streetlight, so at night the whole tree is lit up. An oak down the street from there always has multi-colored leaves, mostly a brilliant red- it makes me think of an aging bawd, throwing open her clothes to show the ancient glories in all of their decay...

And now the rains are here in earnest. The leaves are about halfway down, and the streets and sidewalks are slick with their slime. I have to be careful even crossing the sidewalk between the car and the house. We've been having a lot of thunderstorms, and the sky is always dark grey. The sort of skies that make you think of depressing poetry. Dylan Thomas maybe, or Sylvia Plath.

I've had some good times though. I went down to Lydia's and spent a few days. Mostly cleaning, but we did go to her doctor appointment, and to the shower that the ladies at her dad's church threw for her. She got some very nice things, much of it with monkeys on them. I think we have a theme. :-) I found some cute fabric with monkeys on it several weeks back, and we made some buntings out of it. We also made some out of some polar fleece- it was striped like tiger stripes, only in two tones of pink. They came out really cute. I also have some flannel with tiny purple and pink flowers on it that will be made into several different things. We're kind of having fun making tiny clothes.

She's due January 15, but I suspect that we'll have little girls by Christmas. Lydia is very big already- at least as big as I was when he sister was born, and put together, the babies weigh as much as Annie did. Lydia is at about 29 weeks and we have a ways to go yet.

David doesn't have a job yet, but there is a good prospect, and we are all holding our collective breath.

Also in the news- I am no longer speaking to my father. Things have been rocky for some time- I was the last of the kids to be in contact with him, and I had been holding on mostly out of a sense of duty. I'm the oldest and all, the 'good girl', so this has been hard. He'd been rather nasty for some time, mostly about my political leanings. Condescending even. But a few weeks back, he said something on my Facebook page- in public- that went beyond condescending and into contempt. I'd been out for a few hours and came back to find that my page had sort of exploded. My siblings came out in my defense- even the brother who is quiet and never says anything to anyone. All of us kids had a Private Message conversation, and I 'unfriended' and blocked my dad. It was very hard, but I'd just come to the realization that I'm 45 years old, and I don't have to take this. He made my childhood a nightmare, and I don't have to let him do that to me as an adult.

Strangely, I feel really free.

In other news, I have become more active at church (St. Matthew's Episcopal)- I've been the lector twice, been helping in the kitchen and with potlucks, and have been going to the sewing circle on Tuesday morning. I'm getting to know other people a little better, and that is kind of cool. The parish is really small right now, but it's beginning to grow a bit- we ran out of bulletins last Sunday, which was a good thing.

I think it is time to go back to bed. I have to be up at 7:30 to get out the door for an event. I have a new gown to wear, and I'm taking my friend Judy with me. It should be a good time. :-)