Chapter 7, Ojai, 2014

I AM VERY GOOD AT THIS

I don’t want to reach out to anyone to talk about my fear of Carolyn’s treatment plan. Instead I want to stay so busy that I don’t have even one second to think. I am very good at this. My day starts at 4:40 am with a wake-up alert from my iPhone on the nightstand. I put on my black swimsuit, some old sweatpants, and a fuzzy jacket that’s perfect for the cool early mornings in Ojai. I let the dog out – Dolly, a feisty one-year-old Pekingese who still sleeps in a crate in the kitchen. I brush my teeth, comb my long, unruly blonde hair, and grab my keys. I meet Chris in the driveway, and we drive down the road to our local “mom and pop” coffee shop. Every morning, we are greeted by the same cast of characters - Jon, the owner/barista who greets us quite charmingly in an Australian accent. Fred, a retired sailor, grunts hello in between inhales and exhales of his Camel cigarette. Peter, a hilarious television writer who has already devoured half the newspaper before our arrival, often shares a headline or two. Highly caffeinated, we arrive for the 5:30 am opening of the local athletic club pool alongside the twelve or so other townsfolk up before the sun, ready to exercise. For an hour we swim with the Ojai Masters Swim Team – around two thousand meters in distance. Swimming is the perfect sport for me. It’s dark and cold, which I strangely prefer. My Scandinavian ancestry may be to blame. Swimming is a team sport that requires very few conversations because swimmers are underwater most of the time. I am with people, but I don’t have to dig deep into conversation or, more importantly, focus on the situation in the forefront of my mind. There’s no time for that. There is only time to swim. “You have ten seconds to rest in between sets,” says Coach Rick. Rick has been coaching the team for almost thirty years in Ojai. He is serious about our workouts and our performance as individual athletes. Rumor has it that in the past he trained Olympians. Ten seconds of rest doesn’t allow for much personal reflection. At five minutes until seven, I exit the pool. I shower in the locker room and dry off in the oversized sauna. Chris meets me in the echo-filled lobby for the short drive home. I enter the house. Everyone is still sleeping. Dolly barks, and I open the back door to the yard.

I make a beeline to the kitchen, where I pack snacks for the kids, cook breakfast, and prepare food for the dog. The kids are up! Their sleepy bodies maneuver to the orange bar stools at the kitchen island, and they eat silently while they slowly wake up. I brush Matson’s hair with the brush from my swim bag. My husband, Dines, appears. He is dressed and smiling as he enters the kitchen singing.

“Good morning, good morning, good morning to you! The day is beginning. There’s so much to do. Good morning, good morning, good morning to you.” He kisses each child on the head, and the act provokes their first smiles of the day. Dines drives the kids to school, grabbing Matson’s dinosaur snack box. I quickly dry my hair and dress. Chris has, in the meantime, retrieved Carolyn, and I make her breakfast – an egg sunny-side up, some fruit, and a Brazilian cheese ball I bought this week from Whole Foods. I typically ask her about how she slept or how she feels. She shrugs most mornings and sighs. I tell her my plan for the day, and I head for my home accessory studio. I load my truck for a home staging installation, or I pull furnishings for an upcoming design job the next day. Sometimes, after breakfast, Carolyn sits with me in my design studio and watches. Often Chris takes her on a walk, and I am alone. I work until 2pm. I can barely force myself to swallow three bites of lunch before rushing to school to pick up the kids. I like “pick up time”. I have a brief moment to close my eyes under the shade of one of the trees that cover the one hundred and fifty acre campus. I am “mom taxi” from 2:30-5. Or I am “Carolyn taxi” if she is home and has needs. I run to the store between kid activity stops – my daughter’s riding lessons, Matson’s tennis lessons, piano… I cook dinner. In all honesty, I no longer care about the carbohydrate content or the organic element of these meals. It’s enough that food gets cooked and people get fed. I help with homework – Matson is organizing his third grade research project on Chumash Indians. Fliss is working on her fifth grade Excel math sheets. I make sure everyone is bathed and in bed. The entire household, including Dines is sound asleep by 9pm. Now I do client paperwork or research brain cancer. My computer busy work normally lasts until just after midnight. In four to five hours the day begins again. I take five milligrams of Melatonin to sleep and Carolyn’s Bio K because I am constipated. This can’t be my permanent schedule, but in the state of things, it is how I survive.