Just a small fracture around the edges.

The neurologist's office just called.  They saw something on Sarge's MRI.  He has to have another with contrast, ASAP.  He's going on Thursday, when I have my migraine appointment, so we can go together. 

He's telling me it's fine, most likely just a nasal cyst he's had for years.

That's probably it. 

Right?

In the nicky noo-nah.

Sam, not me, obviously. 

My darling, clementine.

The beautiful thing about having a migraine for six days is that when it's gone, you are so intensely grateful for everything about your life.  This morning when I woke up with no pain, it was like a revelation, like seeing Heaven with my physical eyes after existing in Hell for so long.  I felt amazing.

It was a cloudless day.  The sunshine streamed into our living room in blinding rays; we don't bother with heavy curtains or blinds.  I only have sheers on the windows, privacy be damned.  Jeff  jokes that I am solar powered and I am; I live on sunlight.  That makes the migraines so much more painful; I am deprived of my primary element and I miss it when I am forced into the darkness.  But this morning Sam and I rolled around on the living room floor, laughing at each other, letting the sunlight sear through our clothes and into our skins.  It felt incredible.  I felt alive for the first time in a week.

Yesterday I went to Wal-Mart because we needed formula (and if you want to experience a head trip, go to Wal-Mart with a migraine; if anything was designed to wig an already taxed nervous system, it is Wal-Mart) and spied a box of clementines.  They called my name; I couldn't ignore them and so I brough them home.  I ate six of them yesterday, unable to help myself.  I credit them for my miraculous recovery.  They were so juicy and good against my tongue.  Each one tasted like a burst of full summer; in each segment I could taste the heat of July, the smell of sun-warmed earth, the green of new plants lifting their heads toward the sun and hot nights under the full moon.  I looked out at my garden as I ate, lying fallow under weeds and frost, blasted by this arctic air we've been getting.  I dreamed about the coming spring when eventually just the right April day would occur, warm enough to bring the baby to the neighbor's, rent the rototiller from the place down the street and plow my strip of garden fresh again.  I will plant green beans, peas, tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, peppers, sunflowers and maybe corn and wild strawberries as well.  Too much for me to handle, certainly, but I'll do it anyway, like I always do.  I'll remember last year when I planted with hope, not knowing what my harvest would be.  And I'll think about this year and how the harvest is already so abundant, even before the planting has begun. 

These are the sweetest, juciest, orange clementine days.

Bloom and grow, forever.

I picked up a comfort read from my shelf the other day, wanting a book that I wouldn't have to focus too hard on yet would still enjoy.  My head was spasming in ten minute intervals and staring at the computer screen was making everything worse.  A smooth yellow page seemed soothing and a good story would take me away from my head and into a different self.  I decided I could be strong as Harry Crewe and settled into bed with a big glass of water.

Which is when I found it, just peeking over the top edge of my book.  It was a petrol coupon, issued to members of the military posted in Germany only, redeemable at any Esso station off base.  It was marked expired as of September 2004.  I stared at it blankly for a second, wondering where on earth I'd gotten it.  And then I remembered: Beth gave it to me.

It was my first solo trip to Germany, back when she'd still drive the two hours to Frankfurt airport to pick me up, back before I learned how to use the ICE train and felt like a real citizen of the world.  Sarge was stable for the first time in our marriage and I was able to leave him for a week to go visit Beth.  Beth was all alone because my brother was in Iraq, where he had been since February of that year. 

She was still living in the downstairs apartment of the house they lived in their entire stay in Germany.  It was dark and slightly damp and I remember it being very chilly.  And there were spiders, very big spiders.  Beth hates spiders and these guys were all legs. They loved to come out at night and creep around the bathroom; a nasty surprise for anyone who had to pee in the middle of the night (both of us).  They weren't very good climbers so Beth trapped them in wastebaskets and waited for them to die.  When I arrived, she'd had one trapped for five days and it was still grimly hanging on to life.  Every once in a while she'd go by the wastebasket and kick it, shouting "You dead yet, Sanka?"  which we found hysterically funny.  Eventually I put Sanka out of his misery with a flip-flop and thereby became the designated spider-killer.

I got lucky with the weather that trip.  The sky was a cloudless blue and the air was cool but not cold.  I think it was 65 most days and deliciously cold at night--perfect for walking and sleeping.  The first few days we went everywhere; shopping in Schweinfurt, the Residency in Wurzburg, a tiny little town off the map with an absurd flock of white ducks and the most beautiful stone bridge.  On the way home from that little town we got lost and Beth decided to take what she thought was a shortcut.  We wound up on a dirt road that quickly made itself known as a tractor path through some farmer's field!  It had been raining the week before and we nearly found ourselves stuck in the mud.  Her old BMW was a workhorse though, and pulled itself out.  By the time we made it to the other side of the field we were hysterical with laughter and we knew where we were.  We called it "adventure driving".

Toward the end of the trip the weather turned cold and rainy, as the autumn and winter so often is in Germany.  Beth asked if it would be okay for us to stay in one day.  A sigh of relief exploded out of me as I agreed and we spent a whole day sleeping late, playing SpongeBob the video game, eating junk food and watching TV.  It was incredible fun.  We had a friend over for dinner (because I adopted some of Beth's friends and made them mine) and just chillaxed, as we called it.  That was the day I felt like more than a friend and more than family.  I felt like something special.

Back in my bedroom at home, I tucked the expired Esso coupon in the back of my book to remind me another day of blue skies, dead spiders, laughter, and the bonds of sisterhood.

Your daily dose of Sam

I love this picture of us.

I bought that froggy shirt while visiting Beth, Josh & Co. in Germany, as we waited for Sam to arrive.  It is incredibly good to see him wearing it now!

Designer duds from Uncle Bobby, designer shoes from Aunt Joanna and Uncle Pat.  Look at my little stud!

This outfit is from Gramma W.  The sly, come hither look came naturally.

Angry eyebrows!  (But check out those amazing green eyes.)

Fooling around at breakfast.  Sheik Sam is in da house!

My Dad, the gentleman.

I started college early.  I was a sixteen year old senior in high school when a local community college began offering to let seniors take college courses at night for a ridiculously reduced rate.  I'd recieve full credit.  My parents asked me if I'd like to try it out and eager for more reasons to overachieve, I said yes.  I couldn't drive yet, too young, so twice a week my father and I would stroll out to his little car and drive thirty minutes to campus.  It was autumn and dark and my father was not willing to risk his teenaged daughter's safety on a strange new campus, community college though it was.  So he walked me to my class each night, my arm tucked safely in the crook of his elbow.  He carried my books for me too.  Some day it made me roll my eyes.  I was SIXTEEN.  Practically GROWN UP.  I would be fine.  Truthfully, it was dark and cold on that campus and I was really glad to have my dad backing me up.  He walked me right to the door of my classroom.

During class Dad hung out in the library, a few buildings away.  There were mostly older women in my night class and they thought it was spectacular that Dad took such good care of me.  I became their pet.  The professor liked me too.  He was a tiny man; I remember specualting that he must be part dwarf; not the achondraplasia kind, the mythical kind.  He looked exactly like I imagined Prince Caspian's tutor to have looked, right down to the goatee and the sparkling blue eyes. 

At the end of class my father would be waiting outside the door, smiling gently.  He'd carry my books and we'd laugh about the mysterious way the lights along the sidewalk always flickered when he walked by.  I hung back once to see if it was just him and it was.  (Maybe my dad is Dumbledore with his putter-outer?)  The head start in college was nice but thing that stands out the most to me is those walks and drives back and forth with my father.  It was time when I had him just to myself, time when I was at a vulnerable age and I knew I could tell him anything.  And I did.  Those rides were always over too soon and I was always looking forward to the next one. 

I've always known I have an extraordinary father but it's taken me years to realize how rare he really is.  Tonight I hope very much that I am even half the parent he was.

Happy New Year!

I hope everyone had a lovely celebration last night.  Me, I decided to do it up right with a migraine so bad I had to call Sarge at 4 AM to come home from the all-night youth event he was staffing.  If I could have stood the car ride, I'd have gone to the hospital.  As it was, the ambient light from the street leaking around my room darkening shades was enough to make me want to throw up everything I'd ever eaten.  It's 10:58 AM and I've only just crawled out of bed, feeling as though someone has taken a baseball bat to every part of my body.

Here's to a 2009 without migraines.