The Valley of the Sun

I descended upon The Valley of the Sun on Thursday, a little more than 48 hours before My Little Brother was scheduled to be married to his Fantastic Fiancé.

Although my flight outta The Emerald City left on time, I had trepidation about leaving. Not so much because of who I was leaving. Or because who I was going to see. It was more about who I was seated next to.

Because, let's face it, you guys, on a jumbo jet, your seat mates could be your lifeline. I mean, we're flying by the Cascade Range and over the Grand Canyon, and do pilots take mental health evaluations?  Jesus. What about that fella that stole a plane at SeaTac? It'll be fine. Maybe the pilot is Iron Maiden front man Bruce Dickinson. Heh. Randy'd be totally jealous. But Dickinson doesn't work for Alaska Airlines. Oh well.

Why is the grown woman next to me wearing glitter finger nail polish? And are they are all different but also seeming to match each finger on her opposite hand...? Oh lawd. This is my curse. I did nails in college and notice such things. Where's my oppressively thick Stephen King book?

Why doesn't her hair move very much? Her hair is past her shoulders. When my hair was long it moved all the time. She must be using a serious amount of hairspray, you guys. At least she, and her hair, aren't all perfumey and going to make me nauseous and want to vomit all over the place.

Wonder Woman Talisman

Wait a hot goddamn minute! Is the younger woman her daughter? Sister? Lover? Wife? You can never tell. Well, they clearly know each other, Doak, so be kind.

Oh Sweet Baby Jesus! She has glitter on her shoes! Where's my Wonder Woman Talisman? I bet she's really soul sisters with one of my favorite Paras, MR (You Glitter Queen, you!). Oh, well, I suppose I'll just look out the window. And read my oppressively thick Stephen King book. No ear buds or music so I can stay alert and aware. Because my seatmates may need to join #TeamAnderson and help the three of us bounce the fuck outta there pronto! You with me?

I had my new Vans on. The Boob Shoes. Because I needed something easy on-easy off getting through security. Also, just so ya know, the shoelaces say "Do It Yourself"...so these are totally on point for me and my family.

The Boob Shoes #Vans

And if I've got boobs on my shoes, she can have glitter on her shoes. It's all good. Just don't shed glitter on me, mkay? Because I'm not shedding my boobs onto you. 

I've descended upon The Valley of the Sun before. The last time was in the late nineties. When my husband and I were dating...and then when we lived in sin...we'd head south on Interstate 17 from Flagstaff to Phoenix for the day. It took about an hour-and-a-half back then...In my day...and because of the numerous mountains and valleys in Arizona, yes, it really was up hill both ways, you guys.

When I lived in Arizona, Phoenix was never a destination for an extended time. It was a stopping place between Flagstaff and Tucson for gas and a bathroom break when I'd head home for a long weekend. Phoenix was a place for concerts. Except that time we were so poor in December 1996 we couldn't go see Garbage open for The Smashing Pumpkins. That defined serious disappointment for me.

So, long story short (too, late, I know)...the passenger next to me was a cervical cancer survivor: she had chemo and radiation, but she never lost her hair...the lucky girl. I told her that when I shaved my head, my older son chose to shave his head...but that my younger son freaked out and ran and hid and we couldn't find him for about 10 minutes. It was scary...to have Mommy look so different. Oh! And the younger passenger was a math major. So, cancer + math = BFF on a 3 hour flight to Phoenix. #Winning

The cancer survivor was heading to The Valley of the Sun for time with her family. She was also going to Sedona. As an alumnus of Northern Arizona University, I recommended she take 89A from Sedona up to Flagstaff. She asked what Sedona was like. I told her that the Yavapai Indians consider Sedona a holy place...but times have changed and sometimes there are people who tape crystals to their foreheads and sit in front of Bell Rock, waiting for a vortex to open. That usually the Vortex Seekers were harmless, but it was a good idea to keep your distance and not interrupt the energy exchange between said Vortex Seeker and the Vortex Site...because you sure as shit do not want to get sucked into a Vortex. It could be like a Black Hole and we'd never see you again. Also, be proud of me, you guys, because I refrained from telling her about Blow Job Rock. No really, it's a thing. You're welcome.

The younger woman was a math major and looking at Grand Canyon University. She asked me what it was like to live in the desert. I told her that during the summer, it's like living in an oven, and you cannot get naked enough to cool off when it's over 100 degrees for over 100 days, but that with the A/C on, you can cool a room down to 72* and have the perception of being cool. I told her that wearing pantyhose in the desert is akin to wearing a scuba suit and trying to walk in water: ZERO FUN. And that, while 100 degrees for over 100 days is completely oppressive, your face will not actually melt off like that Nazi at the end of "Raiders." She was like 16 and did not get my cultural reference, you guys. She said, "But it's a dry heat, right?" And since she's lived her entire life in Klamath Falls, Oregon, and really had no idea WTAF a "dry heat" is...I simply said, "Yes. It's a dry heat," and left it at that.

And, yes, the two women knew each other because they met on the plane from Medford, OR to Seattle. Then they happened to sit next to each other on the flight from Seattle to Phoenix. Sometimes life just works like that. Why they chose to fly Medford-Seattle-Phoenix and not Medford-Portland-Phoenix wasn't discussed. And, really, it wasn't important. My seatmates were delightful and it was a great way to descend upon The Valley of the Sun.

I landed just before lunch and the plan was for The Kid to pick me up at the airport. And so he did. Here we are.

Me and My Little Brother. He's super adorable.

Upon My Little Brother picking me up at the airport, we drove 30 minutes all the way the hell out to East Mesa because he needed up some photo booth thing for the reception. Then we drove 30 minutes back to Phoenix because I was starving. And it was hot. Not melt your face off hot. That shit usually goes down in July. But it was hot for this #PNWWoman.

We ended up eating a delicious vegan lunch at a restaurant called Green New American. An old friend who lives in The Valley of the Sun said this place was delicious. And since The Kid knows his food because he spent a lot of his college career waiting tables, this place was on point and tasted nothing like sticks and leaves. French fries covered in vegan ranch dressing, vegan cheese, and red hot sauce? With a "burger"? Sure. Why not? #WhenInRome

I'm thankful we had the time together, just me and My Little Brother, alone. We had some pretty rich discussions about things related to his wedding: Our Parents, members of the Egyptian Cohort who were also descending upon the Valley of the Sun, my husband and our kids, and life in general. When I asked him if he was happy, he said yes. And I truly believe in my heart that he is.

Since his Beautiful Bride was in clinic until after dinner, and needed to manage the Egyptian Cohort, The Kid and I made a plan to have dinner with just Our Parents. Really it was for me to get eyes on them and for The Kid and I to have time alone with Our Folks. And, it was during this time I learned more about My Parents and their capabilities as senior citizens...and how scary it can be to age.

The last time I had eyes on My Parents, it was in the spring of 2016. It was after My Cancer Adventure...and about six weeks before my husband was diagnosed with his own cancer. And when I last saw them, it was in Tucson. So, seeing them in Phoenix...not in their natural environment...and out of their comfort zone...combined with the myriad emotions that come up during weddings...it was bound to be eye opening for me.

Before My Little Brother and I arrived at the Airbnb my Future Sister-In-Law arranged for My Parents stay at for the weekend...well let's just say that may or may not be a blog post for another time. At this point, I'll simply say that teaching people who are not tech savvy to use an electronic keypad to unlock the front door didn't go over well...my Dad's flip-phone ran out of minutes...and the "helpful neighbor across the street who seemed nice" because he let My Dad use his phone to call My Little Brother...and then My Dad repeated the keypad code to My Little Brother and the neighbor ended up with the code for the keypad...which is essentially the keys to the house...yeah....

So, my entire family is very thankful the owner of the Airbnb was incredibly compassionate, came over and disengaged the electronic keypad, and gave My Senior Citizen Parents a plain old key to get in and out of her rental property. My Little Brother the Public Defender diplomatically pointed out to Our Folks that for all we know, the "nice neighbor" could be the neighborhood meth dealer and my Dad just accidentally gave the keys to the house to him. #Whoops

In a way, I left my family in the Pacific Northwest with all of it's health issues...to go to the Desert Southwest to manage my family with all of it's health issues. It was setting up to be quite a fun-stressful-supportive-crazy-once-in-a-lifetime experience in the Valley of the Sun.

And I missed my husband all weekend.

I think perhaps...

I think perhaps, the best thing I did for myself was getting far the fuck away from my male housemates, physically, geographically, mentally, and spiritually for four full nights last week.

It's made this nasty GI bug that has impacted all four of us significantly more tolerable.

While in Phoenix I had no idea that my family would, within 36 hours of my return, be welcoming me home with what some folks call "the stomach flu...."

I've been up to my eyeballs in bodily fluids, including my own, starting with my older son waking up twice in the wee hours of Tuesday morning with vomiting. In a positive spin, he made it all the way down the hall and into the toilet, both times. He's come a long way.

Typically I'm the parent who deals with puking, while my husband is the parent who deals with Kids in the Night (that's got the potential to be a teen horror movie, so I'm claiming it now!). However, my husband, being a very kind man, dealt with the older boy in the night...knowing I'd be home dealing with the day shift. Because the older one always gets hit harder.

When I was in Phoenix, I spent all day Friday in bed. I was unable to keep down any food or water. I ran no temperature. Maybe I had something...but it felt more like a hangover...so I'm rolling with that self-assessment. It was secretly kind of nice...just the no obligation thing...not the puking thing.

I think perhaps I know myself pretty well...and am humble enough to say I'm still learning about myself and my life.

While in Phoenix, I had the opportunity to learn about how my relationships with each of my parents have changed. For most of my life, I battled with my mother. For reasons I can only speculate on, my dad appears to be angry at me. I think perhaps he's incredibly frustrated with his situation.

Never in our wildest dreams do we anticipate our life turning out as it does. I never thought I'd be a college instructor...or the mom of a child with disabilities...or a yogi...a breast cancer survivor...a tonsil cancer caregiver.... Similarly, I think perhaps my dad never anticipated that his retirement would be about caring for his wife in her rapid decline. Her brain is atrophying...she has very little color in her face...she's lost weight compared to the last time I saw her at the end of March 2016.

She's become quite happy...or at least she appears to be. I took my parents and My Little Brother to dinner on Thursday night in The Valley of the Sun. We went to some #GoddamnFancyPantsPlacePlace in Scottsdale called Postino. It was delicious. The Kid knows his food. And points to him for picking a place that accommodates his veganism and my need for real cheese. #Duh

Anyway, after dinner, we four made a stop at Safeway because the Airbnb my folks were staying at didn't have any food in the fridge...because that's how Airbnbs work. Incidentally, the Airbnb arrangements were made by the Beautiful Bride. Needless to say, The Newlyweds learned a lot and My Folks will not be staying at an Airbnb again.

So, naturally there was a huge discussion about who should go in the grocery store, make decisions about what people were going to eat, and be quick about it. #FuckThatNoise #ImOnVacation So, go Dad, go! You take your boy. I'll stay in the car with mom. Bro, gimme your keys so we can lock ourselves in. My ringer is on in case Dad needs to ask Mom questions. But you text me. Do not hand him your phone and let him call because then we will never leave Safeway, dude, you know what I'm sayin? Take your time. Trust me when I tell you he needs the mental health break. Dividing and conquering is how to parent The Parents. It's all good. It's why I flew solo.

As my mom and I were sitting in the car, even though she asked me at least three times how old my boys are, or what grade they are in, we had a delightful and relaxed conversation. I patiently answered her questions. I also explained that The Boys were not here for many reasons, including school, expense, sports, and stress. She completely understood. I told her that they enjoy things like Living Room Soccer, Hallway Baseball, and World Wrestling Federation: Living Room Edition. We had a good, and much needed laugh together.

So she appears happy. My dad...not so much....

While at the wedding reception of My Little Brother and his Beautiful Bride, I gave myself opportunities to have conversations with folks who are my parents' ages, people I know they consider close family friends. These people have been a part of my family as long as I can remember. Apparently, whenever my dad brings up my mom's health, and specifically her brain health, to my mom...my mom gets pissed and doesn't want to talk about it. And that's completely understandable. Denial is their coping mechanism. Alternatively, they are incredibly private people.

In my research and teaching of the health of aging...hopefully we make it there, right? Anyway, the research shows that strategically, it's best to not argue with them. In fact, it can just get you in trouble. I think perhaps my dad needs to develop some strategies to help himself best help her.

To help them both, I've printed the information in the "printer friendly" version from above link and will send it down to them. Because #JesusKnows that had I chosen to print the page, my dad would've become overwhelmed and thrown it away. The Internet is such a trend.

My dad is a prideful man and appears to be completely satisfied with his "ignorance is bliss" mentality towards the fact that he's not on the Internet...no, really, I wish I was making this piece up. I distinctly recall living in Flagstaff, attending NAU, 23+ years ago, having a Math T/A require we have an e-mail...? WTF is this email nonsense? And who in the goddmamn does that T/A think he is requiring such shenanigans? Seriously, you guys. Is he really that important? Yes. Yes he is. #MathProfRockStar

I recall my dad calling the Internet "trendy"...he said it was a soup of the day. #JesusDad #IThinkPerhapsHeDoesntKnowWhatAHashtagIs #GodLoveHim #WhatElseCanYaDo And now, the Internet and the Information Age is just how the world works. And no, my dad's got no #GoddamnClue about Amazon. Netflix? Prolly not...Maybe a DVD Player...? But I'd bet money the VCR still blinks 12:00. I know for a fact it's a VHS and not Beta.

If you haven't jumped on the Web...well, as my dad said, he's on a stage coach and everyone else is driving a car. I think perhaps a better analogy is he's chosen to remain with the Flintstones, and damn near everyone else is like the Jetsons! Bless his heart.

Anyway, I've also printed a picture of me, My Little Brother, and our folks, the night before The Kid got married in an elaborate ceremony (more on that to come). In typing this, and putting some pieces together in my head, I recognize this could be one of the last pictures the four of us take while my parents, my mom in particular, is coherent. I'm not intending to sound cold...it's just reality, you guys.

My Little Brother, Mom, Me, Dad. The night before The Kid got hitched.

Today is Friday and it's the first day my older son went to school since Monday. My younger son had a horrible night and didn't sleep...because of the GI bug. My husband drove my older son to school, and went to work...but ended up canceling classes and came home. I'll leave soon to pick up my older son, and make a couple of stops on the way...including getting a card for my parents, and a stop at the Post Office to mail the card, the info on dementia care-giving, and the picture of the four of us. Hopefully the picture will distract her, jog her memory, and my dad can keep the paperwork on the down low. We'll see.... It may just end up in the trash. In my heart, I know I've tried my best and set boundaries.

Ultimately, at the end of the day, to my dad, it doesn't matter that I'm a college Health instructor, and I research and I teach about topics such as aging. It doesn't matter to him that I have years of experience caring for my son, whom I love very deeply and who happens to have myriad neurological disorders, struggle to simply get through the day sometimes...and that he needs a pretty significant daily dose of anti-seizure medications to stay healthy. That doesn't matter to my dad. Like I said, he's got a lot of pride. From his perspective, I don't have a clue what I'm talking about because, the bottom line for him is: I am a child. I will always be a child. I will never be an adult. In. His. Eyes.

I think perhaps this has something to do with the fact that he's never seen me parent. I've never traveled with my children to Arizona. The last time my parents were in my home in Washington State, my 13-year-old son was ten months. You read that correctly. Ten months old. And, no, they've never even met my 10-year-old. It's horribly unfortunate and quite disappointing that my kids do not know...will never know...my folks.

But, I'm allowed to be a selfish bitch, and if you don't have the courage, the capacity, the ability, to deal with me, my husband, our kids, and our numerous health issues, of which I'm quite outspoken, then you don't deserve us. No matter our connection prior to those numerous health issues. You don't get us dad, and mom. My Little Brother, and his Beautiful Bride: they get us. He came up during My Cancer Adventure. And in the space of 10 months, they came up to visit us TWICE. They get us. Just like I told every guest at their reception when I made an awesomely witty speech and toasted them. They. Get. Us.

Except when they got married. Then they only got me live and in person. But, they still get us as a family. Because that's what family does.

They get it.

On a slightly different note...and bringing us full circle back to "the stomach flu"...it's my blog, so I think perhaps I'll get on my soapbox now...

I think perhaps...actually I know people that say "the stomach flu" make me want to poke out my goddamn eyes.

There is no "stomach flu" people.

The flu, or influenza, is a respiratory infection. It hits you in the lungs. Not the gut.

So, with kids who have parents who smoke, those kids are at an increased risk for influenza and other respiratory impairments, like asthma and bronchitis, as well as ear infections...because they are inhaling secondhand smoke.

And while I recognize that folks have the best of intentions when they say "the stomach flu" it really tends to be a pet peeve of many health care professionals I know. So, please, use the correct terms. If you have "GI issues" and are dealing with barfing and hoping to make it to the toilet before you have liquid come out of your ass, then you're more than likely dealing with Norovirus. Alternately, you could also be dealing with Ebola, but that usually involves hemorrhaging. Like, bleeding out of your ass. And, Ebola hasn't yet made it to America. Hopefully it doesn't.

Also, you can feel free to watch this nifty 60 second video that the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention made about the flu. And refrain from whatever your stance is on vaccines. #ScienceWorks

Peace out, dudes.

Thanks for reading.

And wash your hands.

#MaRa
Ringleader
Anderson Family Circus