peach plum pear shop

Thursday, January 31

ghost toasties

I have been OBSESSED with this song for the past month-ish.  It's one of those "infinite repeat" songs that I'll probably look back on and say, "that was so January 2013."  So, here's to you, "ghosts" by On an On.



Speaking of which, good riddance, January.  You're the worst month ever anyways (though February isn't too far behind), and I'm ready for you to be over.

On the other hand, I'll be 27 in a week and a day, which is completely creepy and disgusting.  I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up (or maybe I do, but I don't know how to get there).

But, I was featured (or more accurately, my jewelry) in an article on the examiner promoting the popularity of emerald green this season!  See, I told you guys green was on the rise.  Here's the article, and my "Sip of Absinthe" earrings (available on Etsy).



A giant thanks to Jessica Barst of Bespangled Jewelry for the feature and love!


In other news, I had an interesting conversation with a scientist (!) today that my doctor referred me to about a new device that works on top of the skin to stimulate blood flow and reduce pain WITHOUT any medicine at all!  I'm a good candidate for it with my issues with adhesions and interstitial cystitis and autoimmune crap, so more on this soon.

I haven't uploaded my monster mash of music onto my new laptop yet, but I have a pretty lovely playlist going tonight of purchased music that auto-downloaded when I installed itunes, so I'll share, in case you're looking for something new, or just lovely in general.  I have my songs on shuffle, but these literally came on one after another, and I was seriously impressed.  Some of these are a few (or more) years old, but go you, itunes.  You know my heart.

1. On an On - Ghosts
2. Panda Bear - Comfy in Nautica
3. Sigur Ros - Hoppipolla
4. Vitamin String Quartet - Marching Bands of Manhattan (Death Cab for Cutie cover)
5. Blair - Wolfboy
6. Peter Bjorn & John - I Want You!
7. Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes - Brother
8. Wilco - I Am Trying To Break Your Heart
9. Kate Nash - We Get On
10. Nick Glider - Hot Child in the City (!)

Wednesday, January 23

ouch

i took my sleepy time medicine, but i can't sleep.  i feel horrrrrrrible.


i knew that going out to the show the other day might mean almost a week of rest and aches, but i really didn't think/was hoping it wouldn't be like this.

my right side hurts like hell.  the side i just had surgery on.  and if i tell anyone, they ask, "but the adhesions are gone.  what do you think is hurting?  do you think it's surgery pain?"

and my honest opinion?

yeah, sure, some of this is surgery pain, but mostly, i'm sure another adhesion has grown back.  they can grow back in a week, easily.

with having all my autoimmune diseases, it's hard to really know the difference between "ouch, this hurts really badly" and "out, one of my organs is in danger."  because the pain is the same.

usually you vomit and all that if it's trapping your intestine, and since that hasn't happened yet, i'm not worried, but it's really uncomfortable.

plus, my lupus is flaring.

lupus flares are different for everyone.  for me, they feel like i just ran eight marathons on arthritic legs and have the flu.


sleep is the best, and ive done a lot of it lately, just not during good times.

hoping for sunshine in terms of my health, or at least a reprieve.  please?

Sunday, January 20

King of Carrot Flowers

Tonight, with the company (and help) of ladies Rachel and Kathryn and sir Nick, I had the rare privelige of seeing Jeff Mangum, the frontman of (now defunct) Neutral Milk Hotel.  Live.

And my God, I am just.  Ah.  What?  Huh?  Wow.  Wow, wow, wow.

truly & utterly SPEECHLESS!  So much win.

But because I'm me and I can carry on an animated conversation with the giant pile of shoes awaiting organization in my closet in front of me, I wanted to share my thoughts on the evening (and the eleven-ish years leading up to it)...

It's the story of how I became a fan of a particular music that changed my life, shaped my soul, and forever settled in my heart.


Summer of 2002, I was sixteen, and just starting to explore music beyond the monotonous loop of the bubblegummy lameness known as pop radio's top 40.  I was past the elementary school era of lovely 90's music (including Ace of Base, Spice Girls, and Alannis Morisette).  As any younger sibling, I idolozed my brother, and had added Smashing Pumpkins, Green Day's "Dookie" album, Spacehog, and old-school Nirvana into my muddled life playlist.  And of course, my parents had brought me up with some of life's essential music; the music from their day, and I was really starting to delve into all of the Beetles albums, which was a good place to start.  I had begun to branch out a bit beyond this to a few newer bands and artists (newer to me, at least), like Ben Kweller and Sloan, and Rachel had recently burned me a Travis album.  Like everyone else, I dug Coldplay, who was new on the scene back then too.  Sloan (from Canada) provided a further soundtrack to summer.  Basically, the groundwork was there... I just needed a spark.  And, as it turned out, The List.

One night in particular, prior to owning my first car (Mildred, my old school 2000 red Taurus - but with a spoiler, you guys), my parents let me take the Volvo up to Starbucks for a few hours to meet my friend KC (where we likely drank cringeworthy frappuccinos).  It was another whimsical summer night the evening I was gifted the fortuitous The List.

I had burned a new CD specifically for driving, and I am almost positive it included the aforementioned Ben Kweller, Sloan, Coldplay, Travis (compliments of Rach), Something Corporate, Guster and a few other little-known indie bands and pop punk bands (the latter of which I'm too ashamed to type, because they may just be in the vein of New Found Glory, ooof).  We were in between children and adults, and my music reflected this to a T.

After Kathryn pulled up in her new black Jetta (which she drove all through college, and was ultimately our vehicle for a whole new brand of college shenanigans in our years to come at TCU).  She parked slightly crooked next to my wonky-ass crooked car (in a total "Look what I can do!" sixteen year-old fashion), but we marveled at our parking jobs just the same.  And of course, we ordered our frappuccinos.  

Years later, I worked at Starbucks for three years during college as a part-time job, and I can honestly tell you that every single barista HATES making frappuccinos.  During the summer, everyone orders them, and your arm gets sore from shaking all the frozen crap into a cup, and with those little strawberry bitchcake teenagers, you've always "shorted" them on whipped cream or chocolate chips, and all you want to do is sprinkle arsenic in their drink and sweetly hand them a straw.  Aside from existing as a pain in the ass to make, they're above all just so generic.  So very radio top 40.

But at this point, I was still half a baby myself, and eagerly grabbed my Mocha Coconut Frappuccino, (the seasonal flavor that summer).

We parked ourselves with as much conviction as we'd parked our cars at the only open table inside, fixed our hair from the quick but despicably hot and sticky journey inside (Texas in July is truly wretched), and began catching up on life that week.

I mentioned that I had begun to immerse myself more and more in indie-rock music, and explained a bit about the genre to KC.  I went on to discuss what I loved about it (its inexplicable flaws and lovely oddities), and pulled Death Cab for Cutie's "The Photo Album" out of my hawaiian print Roxy purse.  I'd illegally downloaded prior to our small adventure that evening with WinAmp in those pre-iTunes days.

And then a funny thing happened: a full bearded (before it was cool) college-aged guy in a slightly tight, faded blue thrift store tee began glancing over at our table.

At first, I felt I was imagining it, but as I kept talking.  KC was jamming to Shakira, I was looking for those hidden gems that musically just envelop you, and ultimately, it tracted the dude's attention enough to saunter those Converse-clad feet over.

KC made a quick trip to the bathroom at the same time, and I was face-to-face with a pre-dawn era hipster.  He was beautiful and strange and lovely in his own right.  He was totally a college dude, and I knew he just had to be in a band.  He had that tall, skinny scruffy vibe.  An enigma in his own mysterious right.  He was one of those dudes that probably lived in Seattle, then Portland, and landed in Austin.

At any rate.

"Heyyy, I heard you listing a few badass tunes.  What else are you into?"

KC emerged from the bathroom and started to head back to our table, then stopped in her tracks and quarked her brow.  I glanced at her in a "hell yes this dude" way, and she ordered a second drink to allow us some extra time.  Bless her. 

He was such an enigma, and our entire conversation in memory is more of a feeling.  A destination to behold, with a musical landscape ahead that was so exciting and unknown that I couldn't even make out all the shapes yet.  He couldn't contain himself and began spouting off music that I "simply had to check out."  He was so enthusiastic and surprisingly kind.  And of course one of those shy dudes who was such a tall skinny early aughts enigma. 

"Let me go out to my car and grab a piece of paper, because there are too many to remember, and you need a list."

And as it turned out, I did.

That list changed my life.

KC faked a phone call on her cell.  Bless her.  Cell phone ringtones weren't a thing back then, but if they had been, hers would have been one of those terribly unrecognizable midis of something like "Shake your ass, but WATCH yourself."  Which wouldn't have been half bad, really.

Anyway. I followed the strangely attractive, enticingly hip dude (I'll be damned if I can remember his name) outside the store, and he rustled through the back seat of his car until he finds a small pad of paper, biting the cap off the pen from a pen borrowed from a barista, chewing it slightly in the corner of his mouth where an American Spirit probably existed.  Maybe even a joint.  I suppressed a shiver in all that coolness.

And so I hardly noticed the 97 degree temperatures at 10 PM or the crickets that plagued all the buzzy Texan stores night, because all I could focus on was watching him as he wrote down a myriad of bands and artists just for me.

After about three minutes of silence, he quickly read back over the list, and handed it to me with a quirky, crooked smile.  "I think you'll dig some of these."


He left after that, with a cute close-mouthed bashful grin, and I never saw him again.

To be clear, I checked out each and every artist he recommended, particularly the ones he underlined and dubbed as "you'll definitely love them" groups.  And I would go on to love many of them, not only due to his utterly adorable delivery.  I'd be lying if I said that list I'd thrown it away; it's hiding in a shoebox collaged with Romeo + Juliet grainy computer pics from a Shakespeare project my freshman year of HS.

I'll always hold onto that last, because it made me love music in ways I never knew possible.

Truth be told, not all the bands were wonderful.  But all of the ones I didn't immediately adore were eventual conduits to a pipeline of bands I'd eventually love, even to this day.

At the very top of the list was none other than Neutral Milk Hotel.  

That Dude was so adorably passionate and honest about the music he loved that I'd had an internal mini-swoon whilst chatting music with him about this one.  "You'll love it.  If you love these others, you'll adore Neutral."

This was nothing compared to the major swoon to come in unwrapping that band's onion layers and documenting my adoration on my "slice of The Onion," aka a blog hosted by KnowYourOnion.com with all my friends.  And indeed, Neutral Milk Hotel, that "soft silly music is (indeed) meaningful/magical." The history wrapped in honesty and passion and coming of age was the perfect band at sixteen.  And since you never really feel older than sixteen or eighteen in your heart anyway, it's still one of my faves.  I remember savoring each song I could find of the now-defunct band; I knew I'd been gifted something extraordinary from the kind bearded stranger.  Most definitely "The King of Carrot Flowers."

I was hooked from the first listen of King of Carrot Flowers pt.1.  Then came Holland 1945, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, Two-headed Boy (pts 1 and 2), Naomi, A Baby for Pree, Song Against Sex, Ghost, Oh Comely... I was head over Reef flip flops, in MySpace Top Eight l o v e with this odd band that sparked my heart.  

That was really the beginning of my discovery of good music.  I didn't particularly care much for some of the other bands on that list (Drive like Jehu, Shellac, Slint, etc)... they undoubtedly had their own fan base, and I respected that, but that hardcore just style wasn't (and never will be me).  Seems as though That Dude liked a strange mix as well, which was par for the course.

Throughout the years, I've fallen in love with so much music that I felt compelled to major in Radio-Television-Film in college.  That translated to becoming music manager for a couple of years at TCU's radio station, and co-hosted The Cassette Deck with Rach, our own little indie, quirky on-air show featuring a new theme each week.

When I graduated, the first major company I interviewed with was for my dream job in the music industry in Austin.  And while I didn't land it (3 levels of interviews still made me a teeny proud), I mention it now to drive home this whole notion that music is my everything.  It inspires me and completes me, and if you cut open my heart, you'd probably find a tiny metronome beating inside.

To the Dude who ignited the spark, a heartfelt thank you.



So.

Fast forward eleven years to tonight.


Since I'm still only four days post-op I'm still puffy and unable to drive and on medicine to control the pain.  However, I'm blessed to have fiercely loyal and compassionate friends who trekked out to pick me up and take me home from the show, which was in the complete opposite direction of their respective residences.  So sweet, and much appreciated.  After all these years, I'm so thankful we're still close.

We arrived at the Majestic Theatre in Dallas and scoped out the place.  I hadn't been there since high school, when Jeff & Julie (my brother and sister-in-law) and I saw a musical.  I don't remember much about it, other than the fact that people sang about laundry, and there were a lot of pastel colors, and failure all the way around.

So I contemplated over which souvenir(s) to snag at the merch table (seemingly my downfall at every show), and ultimately settled on a simple black tee with the infamous silver aeroplane over the sea.

If you haven't ever listened to Neutral Milk Hotel, I'm more than happy to burn you a CD of my favorite songs to ease you into the brilliance of Jeff Mangum.  I'm always up for/in "Hey, I'll make you a playlist mode."  For many, his music is an acquired taste, like inexplicable coffee or fine wine.  In The Aeroplane Over the Sea remains one of the select few albums that garnered the coveted 10/10 on Pitchfork (though apparently, it was a couple points shy upon first listen/review). 

The point is, the essence and reason we Neutral Milk Hotel fans are so in love with the music is because it's so honest, poignant, heartfelt, warm, and raw.  After a few listens, it encapsulates you, head to toe.  Or at least it does me.  Jeff speaks to you on an honest level, and after listening to him play tonight, I can attest to the fact that he is equally kind and warm in person.

During his performance, he actually thanked US multiple times for coming, and frequently remarked in awe that his music still has a place in today's world (said, of course, in his own humble words).  

He started the show with "Oh Comely," and it was clear that his voice had only improved over the years, and only sounded that much more delicately perfect since the track was recorded and released on "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea" in 1998.  K-Daniel gripped my arm when he started with "Oh Comely," which I'm almost positive is her favorite.

The rest of the playlist went a little something like this:

King of Carrot Flowers pts 1, 2, and 3
Gardenhead/Leave Me Alone
Engine (side note: this isn't on either major album, but I've always been a big fan)
Holland, 1945
I Love the Living You (roky erickson cover)
Song Against Sex
In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
Naomi
Ghost


When he returned to stage for an encore to play "two-headed boy, pt.2," I instinctively clutched my heart, as this is my absolute favorite of all of his brilliant works (and that really says something, because there are so very many).  Unblinkingly, I was so moved that I probably could have remained planted in my seat throughout the entire night, until the sun rose, replaying the lyrics in my mind and soul.  So much damn swoon.  

To the brilliant music that guides my life, a heartfelt thank you.  And a massive thank you to all the babies who made tonight happen.

to rach & kdaniel for picking me up/taking me home.
to nick for fun banter and quirky photos.
to the audience for not being too obnoxious.
to everyone for singing along when jeff asked us to in songs like aeroplane & ghost & carrot flowers.
and to jeff mangum, who donated a large portion of his proceeds to a worthy cause, and whose music has made my heart love music in a way I never knew possible until eleven years ago.


Saturday, January 19

i carry your heart






(couldn't resist retyping and posting a particularly poignant snippet of a poem i love to pieces)

Friday, January 18

fresh computers, sutures, and starts.

January means fresh starts.  I've hidden all my old blogs from view and am wiping the slate clean with this new one: http://peachplumpearlove.blogspot.com



So, what to expect?  A little of everything, with a bit of the usual snark and skepticism sprinkled in (per usual).

I've missed  blogging terribly, but it was impractical after the unfortunate and untimely death of my macbook pro.  I purchased that laptop in fall 2011, and in May 2012, while watching the movie Twister (? why?) and fighting a raging fever, I leaned over to grab some water so I could sling back some advil.  And of course, in my fever haze, I knocked the glass over, and the contents spilled exactly into the side of my closed laptop (which wasn't even particularly close by), which was propped up against the wall, charging.  Since it was the side containing all the ports, I knew the chances of resurrection were slim.

At that point, I grabbed the computer and flipped it the other way, attempting to dump out all the water inside.  I threw real-people clothes on to take the computer up to the Apple store, and my (now ex) boyfriend decided to turn it on (without asking me), just to see if the trip was necessary.  While the water was still inside.  I was furious, but still kicking myself, because after all, I was the one who essentially knifed my computer via aqua in the first place.

Here's an important tip for all you hip mac users: don't buy the warranty for your laptop.  It covers essentially nothing.  I love Apple products to death, but that's a load of BS.  

So in the end, the damages estimate was $1,250.  The computer itself was over $2000 when I originally purchased it seven months earlier.  Naturally, I weeped big fat mascara tears all over the counter, because I was already jobless, recovering from a hysterectomy, and swimming in a pool of debt ten thousand times larger than that lovely glass of water.

I've been computer-less since then, and surviving basically via iphone 4 and first gen ipad (which crashes several times a day).  This made uploading new jewelry on Etsy a rare event, as neither of said devices allows uploading pictures.

However, over Christmas, I received a glorious new Nikon camera with a fabulous lens that kicks my trusty little iphone camera's ass, so things were starting to head in the right direction (I hadn't had a nice camera in a few years, which is necessary in jewelry picture land).  Santa knew what was up.

A week and a half ago, after a million and one surgeries, I found my sickly self back in the emergency room at the hospital where I had my last three surgeries in October and December.

Dehydrated, vomiting, and in torturous pain, I was admitted.  I was so dehydrated in the beginning that the nurses had to try three different areas to try and collect blood and put in an IV.  

I'm going to try to keep this health story short, but I will explain more about adhesions soon, because they are the culprit of much of my horrendous health issues.  The bottom line is this: I have a sucky immune system which overacts and attacks itself and heals incorrectly.  The overcompensation of healing creates adhesions, which are fibrous bands stick organs together like gluey rubber bands.  I don't have much left in my stomach (organ-wise) for the adhesions to attach to, but they decided to camp out on my intestine (at/on/near/around the stump where my appendix used to be), and during my last surgery (which was a mere two weeks after the surgery before THAT one), my doc was unable to excise all of the adhesions.  

During my post-op appointment following my December 22nd surgery, my doctor and I discussed the grim reality of the next month: a probable intestine resection.  Since the adhesions keep growing in that same place, and at an astronomical rate (in a mere week), he contacted a few other surgeons, and a few days into my hospital visit, I met with Dr. Ayoola.  We discussed several options and complications, and after much thinking, worrying, praying, and talking, I came to the decision that the resection was my only shot.

I was scared out of my mind.

Up to that point, I'd had sixteen surgeries.  I've had a knee osteotomy in which my tibia bone cut and propped up with cadaver bone.  I've my appendix and gallbladder out.  I've had a total hysterectomy.  I'm a surgery pro, and usually don't even get nervous about surgeries until about an hour before, or even right before they wheel me back.

But after listening to all the complications, risks, long recovery, etc etc, that crap scared the bejesus out of me.

Apparently, while the part of your intestine that is cut out and stitched back together is healing, you have to have a tube in your nose/throat that goes down to your stomach and removes all the crap out before it can really digest so that your intestines have a chance to heal calmly and cleanly.  But the tube stays in for days.  While you're awake.  And it's a less than pleasant experience.

I really had no choice, though.  So over the course of eight timed hours, I forcibly drank a GALLON (no joke, one gallon) of a medicine cleverly named "Go Lightly."  Only it's probably spelled something like "go-litly" in an attempt to still sound medicine-y, and I can personally attest to the fact that that crap lives up to its name.

You see, unless it's a dire emergency, doctors always want your stomach clean before hand for any type of surgery, so that if any intestine or bowel is accidentally perforated during surgery, you won't get sepsis or dysentery or something and die, Oregon trail-style.

At any rate, by the eighth torturous hour, and after my nighttime cocktail of medicines and IV injections, I attempted to sleep, with a heavy heart, pleading with God for everything to go smoothly, for this to be my last operation for a long while, and for the surgeon and surgical team to perform to the best of their abilities.

Right before the anesthesiologists (for some reason, there were two) put me under, I started to freak. the. hell. out.  I was on the table.  The nurses were wrapping me in warm blankets (the OR is usually about 50 degrees), and I was on the verge of tears, which has never happened in my entire life.  I verbalized just how severely terrified I was, just in case the unattractive, petrified expression of sheer terror wasn't enough.  I heard one of the anesthesiologists say, "push propophyl" (sp?).  Usually, docs give you a drug called Versed while they're wheeling you into the OR that makes you feel drunk/high/like you've taken a thousand ambien and are floating on a cloud of happy.  They gave me the Versed at the same time as the anesthesia this time, and assured me that in thirty seconds, I'd be asleep.  So, per usual, I stared at the enormous silver light shining down on my body, and my ears started ringing and everything got hazy, and I was out.

I woke up feeling sore in my throat (they tube your throat during surgery to breathe for you), and in my groggy state, I was already worried already about the 3-4 day dreaded nose/throat tube.

Then the recovery nurse told me that they didn't have to resect my intestines after all.  

If I hadn't been so sore or groggy, I would have been weeping tears of joy.  

I have no idea how it happened, but the adhesions on my intestine were gone, or had migrated to the side of my stomach wall.

Dr. Ayoola carefully excised the adhesions and the extra material from the accelular grafts and amniotic grafts that didn't take during the last three surgeries**, and there was no need for any resection.
** to be clear, the accelular grafts actually did help two areas, and Dr. Dulemba - my regular surgeon - did an excellent job, but for whatever reason, my stupid right side was rejecting everything like you would the kid with a looney tunes tie and bad breath at a middle school dance in 1999 (true story).

Anyway, I needed a win, and I can't even begin to explain how INCREDIBLY thankful I am that I didn't have to go through that.  It was nothing short of a miracle.  This kind of stuff doesn't just happen.  It was a pure miracle.

I had so many friends rooting for me, and without getting sappy and misty-eyed, I'll just say this: I'm blessed and thankful.

Yes, 2012 was a roller coaster  I moved in with my boyfriend.  We adopted a wonderful puppy.  I had a total hysterectomy.  I joined Etsy Fort Worth.  I was diagnosed with Lupus, Raynaud's, Sjogren's, Fibromyalgia, and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (on top of already having Endometriosis, Interstitial Cystitis, and adhesion-related problems).  I worked my first shows selling jewelry.  I had four surgeries.  I went through a bad break-up involving lame emotional/verbal abuse. I reconciled with my brother and became close with him again.  I moved back with my parents temporarily.  I fell into big medical debt.  Lots of ups/downs.

But throughout the ups and downs, my friends and family wrapped their arms around me physically and emotionally with prayers, good vibes, positive thoughts, and above all, immense love.  

Sometimes falling hard gives people the chance to show unconditional love and support, which ultimately helps everyone grow.  I know that sounds so after-school special and all, but seriously.  I have some pretty fabulous friends and fam.

And speaking of friends family, I arrived home yesterday to a gorgeous bouquet of flowers from Rachel and Bonnie, a slew of messages and well wishes on my phone, and an early (and very generous) birthday present from my parents: a brand spankin' new ThinkPad laptop :)