goodbye for now, bananas

every march, the baron and the husband get impatient for the last frost to arrive, after which they can put out their seedlings and bring all manner of tropical plants up out of their basement.

the husband, you see, is a BIG fan of tropical plants. in their yard, in the warmer months, you can find ferns, pineapple plants, a coffee plant, pencil (and other types of) cactus, a papaya, and this one weird, allegedly psychotropic plant gifted to the husband by a couple who have since moved overseas. every fall, right around this time, the husband packs them all up into clay pots and drags them into the basement, where they will pass the next 4 months or so eking out an existence by the light of many sunlamps.

next to the cactus (which are plentiful, reader, plentiful), the plant the husband has the most of is banana. from two small corms given to him by his mother have grown a multitude of banana plants - the largest this year stretched 20 feet into the air. bananas, being warm weather things, can't stomach a maryland winter... so, up they come from ground, where the husband will cut them down to about 3 feet, wrap them in newspaper, and stash them in the basement. next spring, they'll be replanted, and - miraculously - will reach 20 feet again.

below, the husband shows the bananas who's boss.

howloween

last friday, the baron and the husband participated in their yearly ritual of dressing the dogs up in impossible adorable outfits, only to have those outfits ripped off by the dogs in protest. (apologies for the dusky photos.)

to wit, see dexter (in the skirt, as a princess) and tucker (in the jersey, as a basketball player). 'photo op' is a concept lost on them, and halloween proved no exception. these two refused to stay still; instead, they chased each other around the yard. dexter eventually tore the hem of her dress, and tucker lost his nba wristbands.



harlan showed the baron a marginally better time by staying still for the camera, though he was so grumpy in his costume (pumpkin) that he appears vaguely menacing and michael myers-esque in his photos:



baron, on the other hand, loved his costume. it turned out to be a little large for him, but he was glad to wear it around the house, especially if it meant alone time with the baron.



last is chester, who was forced into a lobster costume. the baron and the husband quickly discovered that cats don't actually like to be put into clothes. in the photo below, doesn't it look like the lobster is EATING jinxy?

it's a good day in america

the baron has to admit she went to bed last night at 10:22 pm. she couldn't take the punditry, and was sleepy, and was too nervous to believe the polls as they trickled in. hope had moved her before, TWICE before, and had come to nothing.

so.

she cuddled up with baron and was sleeping by 10:30.

but.

this morning, at just past 4:00, as the husband got up to let the dogs out, the baron bolted out of bed and went to the laptop.

reader, the headlines shocked her. and delighted her. and, unfortunately, surprised her. it's a good day in america.

(ps: now the baron and the husband and their brood will not have to expatriate, as they had previously threatened. phew.)

baron's big day, continued

reader, baron came through his eye surgery just fine, if not a little grumpy and a lot hungry.
he'll have the stitches removed next monday... at which point the vet will also draw blood to test for cushing's disease. the baron can't tell if cushing's is a manageable diagnosis, or if it's something to fear. she's trying to stay calm about it.

vote or die!*

the baron and the husband went to their neighborhood elementary school to vote this morning. they arrived at 7:30 and were dismayed to see that the line stretched out of the school, into the parking lot, and around the building. fortunately, they had coffee and enough conversation to last until the voting booths.

a sample:
'do you want to have dinner before the show tonight?'
'sure.'
'busboys and poets?'
'sure.'
'does mike want to come?'
'he's meeting some people at a bar on u street.'

and a little later:
'who's mike bringing to the show?'
'dunno. no one.'
'then who's he meeting at a bar on u street?'
'oh, carl and some other... people.'
'well... do they want to come to dinner?'
'oh, god, no - not those people.'

and a little later:
'i'll give you one dollar if you send an email to my mother that says, "ruth, you meant to vote for obama." '
'ha.'
'what? i'll give you a dollar!'
'i'll do it later, from my gmail account, ok?'
'whatever.'

and a little later:
(to the ukranian television news crew that appeared at the baron's voting location via taxi cab)
'hey, hey, can you not smoke that here?'

and a little later:
'mccain/palin all the wayyyyyyy!'

*ruth, you really DID mean to vote for obama today.

baron's big day

today, the baron's smallest dog is having surgery on his left eye (the removal of a mass on his lower eyelid). she is bothered by this, nervous about the anesthetic mostly. baron, the baron could tell, was nervous to be at the doctor's office. she tried her best to assuage his fear, promised to be back for him soon, promised that he was in good hands, and while he understood her tone, he didn't understand her words. he blinked at her, slowly, and wagged his tail in the exam room right up until the doctor put a nylon leash around his neck. then he pulled and pulled, pulled so much that the baron had to walk with them back to the operating suite, so baron would be tricked into thinking that the baron was going there too. she lied to him, to get him into that operating room, and - though he didn't understand any of her assurances - he understood the lie, because when he turned around to see her, she was behind the glass door, away from him, and that worried him. the baron could see his worry, there on his forehead, and in his body posture. she turned to leave, though she didn't want to, but she understood that staying at that door would only make things more difficult for the surgical staff.

she is thinking that things had better go good today, the surgery had better be a success. she really can't bear to imagine the alternative.

november 2, 2007, or fuck cancer

one year and one day ago, the baron got some rather bad news. she received this news around 9:30am eastern standard time and she was back in her car by 9:45, digesting the information. in the wake of this news - delivered to her by a VERY young-looking doctor and going something like "the biopsy found evidence of CANCER cells in your thyroid" - the baron sat in her car for a minute before deciding to drive to the husband's office. on the way there, she called the husband to say, 'i have CANCER, let's go to sticky fingers. i deserve a cinnamon roll.' she then called her mother (who, three hours behind in california, was sleeping) but spoke to her brother. he received the news quietly. she then called laura, who was getting ready for work. though the baron can't recall their conversation exactly, it probably went something like,

'dude, i have CANCER.'
'no you don't have CANCER.'
'dude, i do! my doctor said.'
'what?'
'i know! can you believe this?'
'what?'

that morning seems like a very long time ago - since then, the baron has been treated for THE CANCER (with the removal of her thyroid and a radioactive iodine pill), and she's started on thyroid hormone supplements. on the whole, she feels fine. there's barely a scar at her throat anymore, which is nice, considering this conversation shortly before the cutting:

surgeon: i usually try to make the incision in the folds of the patient's neck...
the baron: oh? good. it's less visible then?
surgeon: yes. can i see your neck?
the baron: (pulling down her turtleneck)
surgeon: oh, well. your neck is rather long, and you don't have any folds. you'll just have a scar.
the baron: nice.

there's just a little more to the baron's CANCER story. she'll have another round of body scans in february, just to make sure there's no more CANCER in her neck or her lymph nodes. then, she'll have regular check-ups every year - easy as pie. she makes light of it now, and maybe she shouldn't, because CANCER is kind of serious and deadly. while in the thick of it, she wondered if her experience would be a transformative one, if she would come out the other side an advocate for cancer research, if she would donate to the american cancer society, if she would actually join a thyroid CANCER support group.

below, a self portrait:



none of those things came to pass, reader. she hasn't joined any support group, there have been no donations to the american cancer society, and no, she hasn't become more feeling for the plight of others. sigh.