All posts in category family

Thank you, President Obama

The clock edges toward midnight. Fifteen more minutes and I can check Nick’s blood sugar. Hopefully the carbs from the pasta, pie, ice cream and eggnog will have been properly mitigated by the insulin being pumped into his body. Usually I try to encourage fewer carbs and earlier eating at night, increasing the odds of getting a relatively good night’s sleep. For all of us. Today’s his birthday, however, so when he poured more eggnog, had another piece of pie at 10 p.m., I just smiled.

Tomorrow’s Election Day, of course, and, as we step through our fifth year of dealing with our son’s Type 1 diabetes, I think about how personal the presidential election feels this time around. Of course, it’s always personal – I’m a woman, I have daughters, I’ve spent a few years on welfare, I’m drowning in student loans – but the threat of losing the small, huge promise of the Patient Protection and Affordable Health Care Act provokes a reaction so visceral that I am unsure I can remain civil around anyone who dismisses it. Because repealing “Obamacare” is a threat. A direct threat to my son and our ability to provide the medical supplies that keep him healthy and alive.

When he was diagnosed, doctors ordered us ambulanced from the local ER to Murray Field. A medical plane flew us to SFO, where another ambulance greeted us, transferred Nick to UCSF. He was that sick. Restoring his health took almost a week. Six days of learning about a disease I’d barely realized existed. Six days of transforming him from a fading, skeletal boy back into one who could walk out of the hospital and into a new life in which, while he would never be quite “normal” again, with the right supplies, he could live as though he was.

The cost of that life-saving intervention?

I don’t know.

See, we had Medi-Cal for the kids at the time, so the cost was covered by that much-maligned government program – the one thing I didn’t have to worry about in the thick of facing the fact that my son has a currently incurable disease was how I would pay for all the care it took to save his life.

I do know his insulin pump costs $3,600 and his regular supplies would run about $800 per month if we had to pay out-of-pocket. (That’s not counting all the glucose tablets and Starbursts we need to keep around.)

After his diagnosis, those regular supplies – insulins, syringes, glucometer, test strips and glucagon – were covered under another government program, California Children’s Services. The government did a fine job of keeping that safety net stretched taut beneath us.

Then, three years ago, I landed a better job with private insurance, so now we pay $20 in co-payments for each prescription – an increase in our expenses, but an improvement in our social status.

But even with the miracle of private insurance, I couldn’t rest easy. I still worried about what would happen if/when my project-based job ended, how Nick would ever have health care again with such a pre-existing condition.

When the Patient Protection and Affordable Health Care Act was signed into law, making it so insurance companies would be forbidden to exclude my son, regardless of the diabetes, my chest expanded. My shoulders settled. I breathed a little easier. What I see is my government doing something to protect people, people like my son, my whole family, others in the same boat. Obamacare ensures that Nick will be able to get the medical attention and supplies he’ll need. Which means he’ll be able to not only survive, but thrive, to be the strong, smart, helpful kid he’s always been – and have a chance to grow into the good man he’s meant to become.

The Republican Party, with Mitt Romney as their representative, wants to take that away. (They want to take a lot away.)

For my son and all the other folks out there who saw their medical options blossom with the passage of the Patient Protection and Affordable Health Care Act, I thank President Barack Obama. I plan to show that gratitude tomorrow, in the voting booth.

 

(Updated Tuesday, Nov. 6, 6:37 a.m. for style. As a writer, I wish I’d been more elegant. As a citizen, I realize elections – and countries – are about far more than single issues. As an individual, I love this country, I love my family and I hope to find myself celebrating the continued path forward for both this time tomorrow. Or sooner would be fine, too.)

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by Jennifer Savage on November 5, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in diabetes, family, politics

Posted by Jennifer Savage on November 5, 2012

http://outonthepeninsula.wordpress.com/2012/11/05/thank-you-president-obama/

An exercise in gratitude

One night last week, I found myself setting the alarm for 12:30 a.m., then 1:30, then 2:30, then 3:30, then 5:30 a.m. Nick’s blood sugar hovered in the 300s despite my continued dosages of insulin, refusing to drop into normal range until that last 5:30 check. Why does this tend to happen throughout the night instead of the day? I don’t know. I was too tired to ask, “Why?” at the time. I am often too tired to ask, “Why?” these days; I just want to figure out, “How?” How can I resolve his blood sugar problems? Why something isn’t working is only as relevant as how knowing the answer will help me fix it. I am a carpenter these days, not a philosopher.

(I wish I was a carpenter – what a lovely, practical skill to have.)

The following day I was, of course, exhausted. Sometimes rallying to face all that needs to be done between 6 a.m. and midnight challenges me more than I’d like to admit. In my daydreams, I waltz through the mornings, salsa through lunchtime, samba across the evening and tango into the night.

(I wish I knew all those dances – what an exquisite way to live.)

Reality finds me more often stumbling, tripping over my words and slumping at my desk. I confess, I felt a little sorry for myself. Life felt too heavy. I hadn’t even had a drink and still I just wanted to lie down on the nearest floor and say, “OK, I give.” But as always, in my stupid, brilliant, complicated, straightforward life, the good happenings continue to twist around the bad, impossible to separate or ignore. So even as I spend another night awake at 3:30 a.m. because I needed to check Nick’s blood sugar, which was high, again, and because while checking him, he complained that his pump kept beeping because the battery was low, so I had to go find a spare battery in the truck, where I keep some emergency supplies, and throughout all this, my poor old dog lies on the floor without getting up because her legs went out yesterday and she’s not getting past it despite my hopes that she might just be really, really worn out from walking to the beach, and now I am likely going to have to make the call to have a vet come out and end her life because that would be the right thing to do if she can’t walk (right?) and I’m really not ready for that because she’s so sweet and I didn’t pet her enough or walk her enough and fuck, I was trying to get to the counting-my-blessings part of this.

Right, blessings. Despite all the above and other, less tragic, bad news, in the last week, I’ve walked out from my house four times to watch the sun, all fiery orange and ringed with red, settle into the blue-black ocean. Each time, the fact that I can walk from my house to this experience stuns me as much as the gold glittering from the horizon to the sand as the sun balances on the edge of the world.

I am awed. And in this same span of time, I’m hiked out from my house twice to surf and once to play Frisbee with Bobby and Nick on an afternoon so clear, windless and balmy I’d longed to transport everyone I loved to the water’s edge so they, too, could bask in the beauty. We winged the Frisbee around like we’ve done a hundred times and I could see our lives together stretch back, stitched together by perfect moments like these. I remembered a similar afternoon years ago – seven? eight? – with Nick zipping across the low-tide shallows on a skimboard as Sandy galloped alongside.

I still have a job I love, one that pays enough to cover the bills and a little more, keeps my family in health benefits. I have at least a half-dozen people I believe I can tell anything to and will still be loved, despite sometimes saying and doing stupid things. I had lunch with one of these fabulous people, last Tuesday, sitting outside at Café Nooner, eating my favorite sandwich in the sunshine. I took two others surfing in Crescent City yesterday, the only place on the entire North Coast that wasn’t sunny, where the wind stayed onshore despite predictions of off-, and they graced me by being not only good sports about the weather, but genuinely having fun. Even with all the fighting my family does, I never feel unloved. My body holds up. My husband finds me beautiful. His garden bursts with flowers and veggies, the backyard a testament to his devotion. The calendar attests to good times to come.

I worry about the dog, about Nick, about our daughters. Please let Sandy not suffer. Please let the children be happy and healthy and outlive me. I make my to-do lists each day, hopeful that if I get everything checked off, life will proceed in the best possible way. I never quite get there. Some nights remain particularly long, some days still bring bad news. In the midst of it all, however, some joy bubbles up. Good things happen. Exhausted as I may be, I can never completely despair.

And for that, I am grateful.

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by Jennifer Savage on September 4, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in beach, beauty, diabetes, family, happiness, Humboldt, life, parenting

Posted by Jennifer Savage on September 4, 2012

http://outonthepeninsula.wordpress.com/2012/09/04/an-exercise-in-gratitude/

Parenting gets easier? Then why am I still freaking out?

It started when Chelsea turned 16 and people said how excited I must be for her to drive. We were in the thick of a challenging adolescence and at the time I worked at the Arcata Eye newspaper, which meant I saw every CHP collision report come through the fax machine. The knowledge that cars were death machines permeated my every work day. Facing the emotional wallop of raising an angry teenager left me raw and on edge nightly. The idea of my child behind the wheel was not exciting – it was horrifying. That so many people imagined otherwise made me realize how incomprehensible one person’s life can sometimes be to others. How even such a common experience as raising kids does not always translate to having something in common with other parents. That the greatest difference between having kids or not is the amount of fear that lives lodged in your brain, throat, heart, gut.

Of course, I tend to worry. Not everyone does. Some people are born with, or cultivate, this trust that God, the universe or some other benevolent force will “watch out” for their children. I assume they sleep well at night. I’ve considered turning to religion if it would help alleviate my insomnia.

Now that Kaylee’s 18 and graduated from high school, and Nick’s launching into his senior year, Bobby and I get a lot of, “Hey, you’re almost done!” Which I understand – and certainly, some things are easier. I am mostly confident that none of my children will stick keys into an electrical socket or choke on grapes if they’re not cut carefully into halves. I’m even mostly confident they’ll go off into the world and thrive. But this assumption that they’re grown and therefore I have less to worry about confuses me.

I do not feel less worried.

What I do feel is more helpless – my friend describes the shift as, “You spend all these years as their manager and then they fire you. The best you can hope for is to be hired as a consultant.” There’s an accompanying awareness that this is it. These years were the time I had to do things right and make up for things I did wrong. It’s too late to fix my parenting mistakes, which is so unfair because I finally have enough experience to raise children.

I would have lost my temper less, for example. So little sleep, so much stress, often translated into me snapping at the kids above and beyond what could have been called a “reasonable” amount. I don’t know where more sleep would’ve come from, but maybe I could have found ways to offset some of life’s seemingly relentless pressures.

Lack of money, for example. If I could redo things, this would be a big one. Not that I would’ve traded having jobs that allowed me to spend the most time with my kids, but I would have had a far better grasp on managing my money. I would have liked to be one of those people who managed to save a shocking amount of cash while working two waitressing jobs and never letting her kids go without. (I would still like to be one of those people who manages to save a shocking amount of cash.) You could’ve read about me in O magazine. I would’ve maintained a money tips website for several years, but decided to retire once all the kids were grown. Bobby and I would be planning our Costa Rican lifestyle about now.

(Note use of humor as a coping mechanism. I’m still trying to figure out the path connecting my daily actions to my dreams.)

The other, biggest, thing I’d fix is, I would’ve addressed and resolved the conflicts between Bobby and I sooner and more often. Becoming a mom, wife and adult simultaneously wasn’t easy; I was 20 when Chelsea was born, 21 when Bobby and I finally moved into the same place, 22 when we married. While I strongly reject all notions that only older, well-off women should have kids, I can’t deny being young and broke is inherently more challenging.

I was lucky – Bobby’s commitment to our family has never wavered – but being in love isn’t the same as being prepared. And I’m lousy at conflict, preferring to let things build up until something triggers a total freak out. I’d rather flee than fight. A lot of years were wasted in unnecessary unhappiness because I didn’t know how to fix what ailed us and was intimidated by the hard work and seeming impossibility of finding a solution. We still created many moments of joy with the children, but my dream of home always being a haven didn’t survive intact. I regret that. I know all families have their drama, but I wish I’d known how to spare mine from the amount of dysfunction I allowed to happen.

(This is the part where I note that if one compares dysfunction in families, we’re not too far off from the norm. I do not mean to imply otherwise. I’m only saying some things could’ve been better and I wish I’d been able and willing to make the changes then.)

Fortunately, none of the damage has been irreparable. Yet. But our children are always our children and with the pride and relief their independence brings comes whole new forms of heartache. The world may not be nice to them. In fact, I know it’s indifferent. Bad things happen all the time. But good stuff, too! I may not trust in the universe, but I muster faith that they’ll create their place in it. And hope the place they make brings them more happiness than sorrow.

I’m speaking in generalities now, which pains me as a writer even if some comfort is offered my mothering side.

Maybe I was wrong earlier. Maybe I’ll never have enough experience to have this raising kids thing figured out.

 

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by Jennifer Savage on August 9, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in confession, family, happiness, life, money, parenting, teenagers, writing

Posted by Jennifer Savage on August 9, 2012

http://outonthepeninsula.wordpress.com/2012/08/09/parenting-gets-easier-then-why-am-i-still-freaking-out/

surf session #24: Fourth of July family surf

Having a family is the very opposite of independence – or so it seems. All that responsibility for the lives and happiness of others. The obligation to put one’s own needs and interests aside at times. Sacrifice. Complication.

And yet, having a family has freed me, too. Although having small people dependent on me introduced me to an awareness of my own mortality, I am nonetheless far braver by having children than I would be otherwise. Left to my own, my inherent shyness and habitual people-pleasing may have preempted standing up for myself. Instead, I have insisted upon information and action from doctors, nurses, teachers and other figures of authority – nobody is going to mess with my kids without me understanding what exactly is going on and why interference is necessary. I’m not a jerk! But I do defend the interests of my children far more aggressively than my own. Of course, what’s happened over the years is, because my own success in life helps determine my family’s, I have stepped up, risen higher, tried to set a good example of how to assert one’s rights. Also, to ask for help when necessary – sometimes being brave has meant acknowledging vulnerability and trusting others.

With surfing, having a family means I prefer to dawn patrol because leaving the house is easier before everyone else wakes up and slows me down. Or on bad days, stops me. I would definitely surf much more if I lacked the other people factor. Or maybe I wouldn’t surf at all. I didn’t start till I was 29. I wanted to forever, growing up in Southern California, loving the ocean. But I was too insecure. Learning anything was terrible, a horrible awkward stage, and I couldn’t stand the discordant guitar notes, the stumbling over dance steps – too worried about how I looked from the outside, I gave up improving myself from the inside.

Until I had children. They teach you quickly that: 1.) there are far worse things in life than looking stupid; 2.) life is short, so do what matters. Parenting is so hard that learning to do anything else would seem a cakewalk in comparison. Also, a woman needs something to do lest she wind up losing herself completely in motherhood. So I followed that childhood dream and took to the water.

Thanks to their dad, all the kids played Little League. As a child, I would have died. To be up there, in front of everyone, all those people waiting for you to hit the ball? Nightmare. Even worse than striking out would be having to get back up and try again after already establishing yourself as a failure – at least, that’s how the young me would’ve viewed the situation. Of course, the reality is, everyone strikes out or flies out or gets tagged out sometimes, and the getting-back-up-there is part of the game. Players learn to roll with the punches, to keep trying. I would think about that as I paddled for bigger waves, especially after a particularly brutal wipeout. If my 10-year-old could survive the scariest pitcher in the league, if my 9-year-old could cope with being thrown in to pitch unexpectedly, if my 14-year-old could get back up after a slide that left her bruised and bloody, if my own kids could do all these things again and again and again, while grinning and having a good time, then I sure as hell could shake off kooking out and give surfing another go.

And give them the gift of learning to surf while they’re young, even when it meant waiting for later in the day and less waves for me. To see them share in the joy of riding along a pretty blue wave face, all one with the world, is a whole’nother kind of stoke. I’ll take that one, too.

So, yeah, they’re anchors, for better and worse. But they inspire more than anything. And so when Kaylee joined Bobby, Nick and me in the water for the first time in a year, the sloppy, mushy waves didn’t impede my happiness one bit.

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by Jennifer Savage on July 7, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in family, parenting, surf

Posted by Jennifer Savage on July 7, 2012

http://outonthepeninsula.wordpress.com/2012/07/07/surf-session-24-fourth-of-july-family-surf/

insomnia #20 (it’s 4:20, dudes!)

Yeah, 4:20 a.m. People keep recommending I take some pot tincture for my insomnia, but so far, I have failed to try that particular remedy. The other suggestions include melatonin and Ambien. The former helps on occasion; I have yet to try the latter. Any solution must be powerful enough to slow down the racing of my brain without impeding my ability to check Nick’s blood sugar and make necessary corrections – a tricky balance.

I woke at 3 a.m. into a state of worry, as if someone had yanked me out of bed and chucked me directly into a pit of fear. Despite all my white middle-class privilege, I still struggle to count my blessings in the wee hours, instead adding up all the ways in which I’ve failed or am about to fail or will probably fail in the future. Clearly my mind goes off the rails in these moments – if it stayed on the reality tracks, the list of successes achieved and obstacles overcome would not be so negligible. Instead, concerns reasonable and irrational twist together and tie my brain in knots. (Evidently affecting my ability to string together metaphors as well.)

I worry about my older daughter getting along 700 miles away. Moving into a neighborhood I’m not sure is safe enough. Having enough money to thrive instead of barely survive and all the tension that comes with living on the edge of financial ruin. Finding happiness. I worry about my younger daughter’s post-graduation life. Am I helpful enough, encouraging enough, as she prepares for the next chapter? Why haven’t I made more money, saved and scrimped to have more to offer her, offer all of them? She works so hard, has such talent. How can I help her choose the path that will reward her? I worry about my son, whose diabetes is, in some ways, the easiest problem to address. After all, we can test his blood sugar and follow clear directions to bring it down or raise it up. I wish I could test his ambition, be confident that the treatments his dad and I consider will have the desired results. I worry they don’t recognize how much they are loved, how good our family unit is despite the ever-present squabbling and difficult times. I worry they take for granted what they should value and value what we haven’t been able to provide. That all the years of baseball, softball, surfing and various camps attended on scholarship don’t add up enough to compensate for the bickering, the lack of travel, the nonexistence of college funds. That they will grow bitter. That they will think I’ve failed them. I worry I have failed them.

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by Jennifer Savage on April 17, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in family, insomnia, parenting

Posted by Jennifer Savage on April 17, 2012

http://outonthepeninsula.wordpress.com/2012/04/17/insomnia-20-its-420-dudes/

insomnia #19 (which is a lot like insomnia #18… and insomnia #17… and… )

On the upside, Nick’s blood sugar is 118 – a perfect 3 a.m. number. So that’s good. On the downside, I can’t get back to sleep. The dog was twitching in her sleep, nails scraping on the floor. I finally rolled out from under the covers, unable to bear the sound, crouched down next to her. For a moment I worried she was having a seizure. She’s old. Maybe she was dying right in front of me. The beginnings of panic bloomed. “Sandy!” I whispered, rubbing her side. “Wake up!” After a moment, she lifted her head, gave me a groggy look, then rolled to her side for a belly rub. Her legs stopped spasming. She’d been chasing rabbits in her sleep after all, not running into the afterlife. (more…)

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by Jennifer Savage on January 11, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in diabetes, dog, family, happiness, insomnia, life, lists, money, parenting, radio, resolutions, to do, writing

Posted by Jennifer Savage on January 11, 2012

http://outonthepeninsula.wordpress.com/2012/01/11/insomnia-19-which-is-a-lot-like-insomnia-18-and-insomnia-17-and/

Thanksgiving, Beach Friday, Saturday morning

I forgot to be especially grateful on Thanksgiving. For one, the lessons learned in CR’s Native American studies class stuck and so the “celebration” always tastes slightly off to me despite attempts to make it a simple moment of food, family and gratitude. For another, I worried more about who was going to be where and how to make it a lovely fun time with such a small portion of my people.

Love it.

However, as these things do, it all worked out. Bobby drove 50 miles round-trip in the morning to collect the girls while I put together a giant salad, veggie pot pie and crust for Nick’s mocha pecan filling. Nick helped clean the house. Sunshine streamed in through our many windows. Everyone returned to the smells of baking bread, carmelizing onions and wafting rosemary. Bobby put together butternut squash soup and the mocha pecan pie turned out to be the best one yet. K’s boyfriend and friend joined us later in the day for several rounds of Bananagrams interrupted only by texts from far away friends and family wishing us a happy day. After Chelsea and the teens left for other celebrations, Bobby, Nick and I left the warmth of the house for King Salmon, where we clambered around the rocks and watched waves smash through the harbor entrance, 12-foot high explosions barreling into the bay. We returned to home, then to the neighbor’s house for more pie – ours plus pumpkin and apple, coffee and tea. The night wrapped up next to the fire, mug of tea in hand, with several episodes of Trailer Park Boys, eliciting guffaws from the guys and giggles from me, and then I finally dove into 1Q84, a birthday gift I’ve been anxious to start reading. Not only did the prose pull me into the story from the start, but the book is amazingly pleasing to the touch, like high-end bedsheets or soft, warm skin.

Clearly, I have much to be especially grateful for.

The boy

This continued into “Beach” (not “Black”) Friday, when yet more sunshine demanded a walk over the dunes to the ocean. I plucked end-of-season huckleberries along the way. Sandy, our 13-year-old yellow lab mix, who has aged notably over the past year, grown wobbly, deaf and occasionally incontinent, nonetheless cavorts so happily along the shoreline that from far away, people still take her for a puppy.

True, a fair amount of argument over curfews and other rules took place between the teenage boy and those of us responsible for his safety, but at some point, we moved on to better conversation – and to a “leftovers” party, where music and champagne ushered in the evening. (One bottle of champagne was from 1970 and no, that doesn’t mean it was nicely aged. It tasted like sherry and I thought I might die from some sort of alcohol poisoning, even texted a few people goodbyes in case, but I awoke alive and without a hangover, and wow, am I thankful for that.)

This morning, my appreciation of life decreased slightly when Nick’s glucometer popped up 398. That’s a lousy way to start the day. However, his blood sugar check since confirms the insulin is working, he’s dropping to a more appropriate level and thank goodness we have all this technology and access to medical advice that allows us to keep the greatest diabetic threats at bay.

Also, the fog lingers around the house this morning, making for a perfect atmosphere in which to cozy up with my book in a nest of pillows, Earl Grey at hand, nothing but quiet for a while yet.

Thank you.

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by Jennifer Savage on November 26, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in beach, beauty, dog, family, happiness, holiday, Humboldt, life, parenting, party, teenagers

Posted by Jennifer Savage on November 26, 2011

http://outonthepeninsula.wordpress.com/2011/11/26/thanksgiving-beach-friday-saturday-morning/

Or perhaps a simple lobotomy would help

The throbbing in my head won’t let up. Partly, I’m experiencing ocean withdrawal. Partly, the teenage experience makes me want to flee from parenting in a way I haven’t felt since they were infants incessantly crying because teeth were coming in. Partly, I’m stunned that no matter how much I work, how much I make – so lucky in these times to be working at all – life insists on upping its costs. I’ve surfed once in two weeks, walked on the beach maybe twice. When I went outside to pull a weed that had smushed up against the window, I realized I haven’t been in my own lovely backyard in nearly a month. All this fine weather and I haven’t taken 10 minutes to sit on the deck with a glass of ice tea and marvel at all the world has provided me. Meanwhile arguing over chores and curfews keeps me so agitated I forget to do things like bring the new insurance card when I go to pick up insulin, fail to realize we’ve used up all the syringes. So fortunate to have insurance, but I fear (again) what that means for the diabetes coverage. Meanwhile the car desperately needs a tune-up from all the summer driving. It rattles as if it might fly apart when I hit one of the unavoidable potholes in Arcata. But I’m still recovering from all the expense of those summer travels – and random stupid costs like the bill I paid in cash, a rare occurrence, the one I can’t find the receipt for, also unusual, the one that of course now they’re saying they show no record of payment. So there’s another $100 evaporating into zilch. I add up everything that’s due, add up every scrap of income I can imagine after combing the shelves for books to sell, if we don’t have any extra expenses, we’ll possibly catch up. If I read enough parenting advise, meditate, remember my own tumultuous youth, I may find finally figure out how to channel that longed-for maternal grace. If I remember to kick myself away from the computer, breathe in the salt air at the side of the sea, haul myself out into the ocean more often, I may yet retain my sanity. If I don’t make any mistakes, if life doesn’t serve up any more surprises – ha! on both counts – it just might all work out.

Oh, it will all work out – I know it will. I think it will. But that sliver of belief missing between “know” and “think” is what makes relaxing about it all impossible.

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by Jennifer Savage on October 17, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in beach, diabetes, family, happiness, life, lists, money, parenting, surf, teenagers, to do, walk

Posted by Jennifer Savage on October 17, 2011

http://outonthepeninsula.wordpress.com/2011/10/17/or-perhaps-a-simple-lobotomy-would-help/

On the road again… and again… and again…

This has been The Summer of The Car! If you haven’t seen or heard from me much this summer, here’s why:

June 23-30: SoCal circuit for Bobby’s class reunion, followed by a work meeting in Stockton.

July 15-17: In the hills of SoHum while Nick was at Reggae. (Might not sound like a long drive, but once you leave Briceland Road and start heading up Elk Ridge, believe me, you are way out of town.)

August 12-16: SF-Oakland so the kids could attend the Outside Lands music festival.

August 18-22: Mammoth for a family reunion on my dad’s side.

August 25-30: Ventura by way of Santa Cruz (Nick went to the Atmosphere gig at the Civic Center) for the Surfrider California Chapters conference, to be followed by a couple days in Oxnard with two of my childhood girlfriends who are trekking up and over to see me.

(I missed the Portland writers’ workshop I’d signed up for, too frazzled and broke that first week of August to make yet another trek, especially in light of all the traveling scheduled to follow.)

The first week of September, I plan to alternate between lying on the forest floor hugging on to Humboldt and paddling around the ocean as close to home as possible. Then it’s off to Gustine the next weekend for the annual Portuguese festa, followed by a trip to Redding for work.

Hopefully I’ll squeeze in some writing, here, in between it all. Forgive the boring entry — a mere placeholder.

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by Jennifer Savage on August 27, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in family, life, money, travel

Posted by Jennifer Savage on August 27, 2011

http://outonthepeninsula.wordpress.com/2011/08/27/on-the-road-again-and-again-and-again/

Random gratitude, flagellation (self)

Here are things I am grateful for:

  • the willingness of my husband to always strive toward excellence and his support as I aim for the same. Also, he’s sexy.
  • the general good health of my children, even with Nick’s diabetes taken into consideration.
  • the cohesiveness of our admittedly imperfect family unit.
  • the sweetness of our (old!) dog and usefulness of our cats.
  • living at the beach in a house full of warmth and light.
  • food on the table.
  • my body working.
  • my brain working (despite occasional trip-ups indicating the end might be nearer than expected!).
  • man, I have great friends.
  • also, lots of books.
  • the big ol’ocean waiting outside my door and all the solitude/renewal it offers.
  • an amazing job helping to protect that ocean.
  • fun times on the radio and with the writerly folks.
  • that most of my biggest problems are self-inflicted and therefore, solvable.
Because sometimes I struggle to click my mind into place. I am easily tipped into worry when things go awry. Or rather, my bent towards perfectionism means I can never rest assured I’ve done enough, am enough. Intellectually, I know better. And I don’t panic! But certain challenges (hello, parenting! etc.) and mistakes (oops, totally forgot to account for that auto-debited student loan payment when figuring out the month’s budget) trigger, or rather reinforce, my sense of self as a complete and total loser.
OK, that’s an exaggeration. On a good day, I can enumerate my successes along with my failures. I know I’m a good mom and person and all that. But somedays, a certain weariness leaves me distraught that I can’t be better. I don’t pick up hitchhikers, which I am pretty sure makes me a bad person. I still can’t sew. If society collapsed, I have few skills that would enable us to survive in a lawless, wild land. My oldest daughter struggles to find her place  – clearly, I must have screwed up along the way. I see the ways in which I should change, all of which revolve around being less impulsive, less prone to saying YES all the time, less treating life as if it’s one giant party to embrace, less pursuit of happiness to counterbalance my despair at how screwed up the world is. I need to be less optimistic that things will work out. Pessimists must be better at saving money. I should be more worthy of this life I’m so privileged to lead.
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by Jennifer Savage on August 3, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in family, happiness, life, parenting, party, radio, reading, resolutions

Posted by Jennifer Savage on August 3, 2011

http://outonthepeninsula.wordpress.com/2011/08/03/random-gratitude-flagellation-self/

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