heidi schatze: September 2012

Tonight I got a sneak peek at the dazzling 'wicked' displays set up for day one of tomorrow's monthly four day sale at Sweet Salvage in Phoenix.

I could tell you it was by exclusive gilded invitation.

But I'd be lying.

For the first time ever, Sweet Salvage held a design preview party. Open to the first 50 registrants.

Which means that when the email came in, I threw myself at the computer, shoved $20 into their virtual cash box as fast as my feral fingers could type, and wept with joy to see that I was #21.

Delighted knowing that I would be able to gaze upon their perfectly adorned exhibits before they are pillaged by frenzied shoppers.

This is how it works.

Each month, the third weekend, starting Thursday, Sweet Salvage is open. The items being sold are finds. Finds like dressers, house numbers, old iron church door handles, busts, vintage books, chandeliers. You know...finds. Sweet finds.

Some have been restored. Some have been freshly painted. Most are in their original splendor. Which is why the prices are so surprisingly affordable.

The space is divided up into sections where different designers/pickers/people-I-want-to-be-when-I-grow-up make displays showcasing their finds. A display that goes along with the theme set by Sweet Salvage for that month.

This month, wicked.

The line outside the building on Sweet Thursdays is reminiscent of Black Friday.

You can only plan so much, because you never know what you'll stumble upon.

I didn't know until tonight that I wanted a monkey candelabra.

Tonight, after two glasses of wine, I chatted up Scott, one of the space holders. He has a normal 8-5, but is a picker for fun. He finds treasures at the junk yard, craigslist, and now through his network of people that know that he's the guy that might buy their random stuff.

He mostly deals with metals. And pulled the copper house fountain below off of death row at the junkyard.

Photos don't quite capture it's haunting magical mysteriousness.

And just so you know a little more about me.

Without wine, discussing things in a casual back-and-forth exchange is called a conversation.

After two glasses of wine, it turns into 'chatting up' which is me barraging someone with questions...with my wide-eyed huge smile listening face...likely sweating a bit.

If you live in the area, let's meet there. Tomorrow. And a month from tomorrow.

If you don't live here, please plan to visit on Sweet weekend so I can take you.

Here is their website again so you can double check the dates.

And sit and watch the photos from last month stream by.

While I go grab some water and ibuprofen from all this chatting so I can bring my A-game tomorrow.

Last week, on the top of my grateful list was our new air compressor.

Complete with a nail gun. That makes a 'CaWoosh!' every time you blast a nail through a baseboard into our wall.

Anthony got it to put up the new baseboards in our house.

We have a list of projects going right now because we grew a wild hair a few weeks ago and decided to try and sell our house.

Everything is still shoved in the middle of each room for the new wall color that just went on. Carpet is ripped up in certain areas so that I had better access to painting trim. The garage is full of drying white doors.

I promise that I will fill you in more about the house chaos soon.

But, let's get back to the air.

Last Thursday, Anthony, the Mr. to my Schatze, went to the doctor after a night of mild chest pain and weirdness. Then he went to a work meeting before heading off to get some chest X-rays.

He was home from the X-rays for about 10 minutes before they called him back.

Me: Was that the Dr?
Mr.: <No answer>
Me: What did they say?!
Mr: <Walks over and picks up Roldy>
Me: <thinking: you don't make it a point to go pick up the super cute dog unless some shit is about to go down.>

Mr: It was the X-ray place. They said that I need to come and pick up the results right away and go straight to the emergency room.

That is when I forgot how the whole air thing worked. I started doing the shallow breathing that you do when you are trying to stifle tears.

I drove him to the X-rays and then the emergency room. On the way I switched it to his station, suddenly feeling bad for making him listen to so much Pitbull and Nicki Minaj in the past because I wanted it on my station.

Our 'planned' future started flashing before my eyes and my breaths became shorter. New house...new travels...so much on our to-do list.

When we got to the emergency room we learned of the partially collapsed right lung and he was immediately given an oxygen tank and a giant wheel chair. We waited with the older crowd in the emergency room and I started to lose it. Bawling and apologizing for it.

I pulled myself together again for a few seconds, but lost it again when Anthony leaned over, rubbed my leg, and asked 'Are you doing OK?' My husband with a collapsed lung was comforting me. Talk about feeling like a tool. I cried some more. Still failing at a good deep breath.

I mentally scolded myself about not being strong and almost had it together. Until, that is, we had to walk back to our little curtained section of the emergency room. I quickly realized that the elderly and visibly-in-poor-health crowd in the ER were mainly focused on Anthony.

Chatty Old Man that I heard talking about the 1930's: You are too young and fit to be here!

Heavy-set man being wheeled past us in the hallway: <reaching across and touching Anthony's arm> Good luck my friend. You are going to be OK.

I lost it again.

The Dr. showed us the X-ray depicting Anthony's deep breath and pointed out how the right lung wasn't fully filling the chest.

Dr: The lung is about 60% collapsed.
Me: Excuse me. Six, Zero?
Dr: Six. Zero.
Dr: <to Anthony> Did they give you something for the pain.
Anthony: They offered, but I don't really need it. It just feels weird.
Me: <screaming in my head: Take the damn morphine!>

Somewhere around this point I learned that I was wasting my time trying to 'man up'. Realized that it was going to be our friends and loved ones that would be MY oxygen tank.

Loving texts from my mom and sisters poured in, and my sister Lorri talked me through calling Anthony's parents calmly. I tried to pass it off onto Anthony saying that they would feel better hearing his voice. Yes, I knowingly pushed my one-lungish husband to talk on the phone:

Mr: <holding the phone I just handed him, breathing through the oxygen mask> The nurse is coming back in a second. I am waiting to die.
Me: What?! That shit is not funny! I am in no condition for your bullshit jokes!
Mr: I said that I am waiting to DIAL.

I ended up making the call and quickly felt surrounded in love. I felt my family's love from afar, my in-laws love in each hard squeeze and Jen's love as she somehow took care of all the things I needed taken care that I didn't even know about.

We even learned to breathe a little deeper from the crazy arrested guy shouting in the curtained off room across from us. F-bombs, farts, inappropriate comments. He was the whole package. And Anthony and I shared a nice little moment together enjoying the shit storm. I am pretty sure they eventually sedated him.

Before even leaving the ER, Anthony had a hole in his side with a tube shoved in to suction out the air and keep his right lung inflated.

He took the pain killers then.

The chest tube stayed in for 3 more days. 3 more days in the hospital. With Anthony left wondering how a collapsed lung can be just a mild ache, but the process to fix it can be excruciating.

Me left wondering why I have notoriously impeded people from supporting me because I didn't want to inconvenience them or be a burden. Not realizing how great it feels to call someone at 1 AM just to cry on the phone knowing full well that I woke them up. Most of us want to help each other. I do. It all felt so good. All the calls, visitors, texts with friends to help pass the time.

Oh, and just so you know, I had to ease into this acceptance thing.

Anthony's Mom: Can we bring dinner over to the house for when you two get home from the hospital?
Me: Oh, you don't have to that. Thanks though, that's so nice.

WTF, is right. I realized the error of my ways about 2 hours later and asked if I could change my mind. I was happy to have something not rotten in the fridge and she was excitedly meal planning. I can't believe I just about missed the boat on that one. I'm crazy.

But, I really do love giving. So, when I went home that first night thinking that I would sleep better there for a few hours (wrong) I laid awake thinking about what I could give my husband. I wanted it to be something that showed that I love more than he will ever know, something that would hopefully make him smile, something that might make him forget that he married a woman that can't keep her shit together in an emergency situation.

I pulled out a glass dollar store jar from the cupboard and decided that night that I was going to give him a breath of fresh air, or rather, a jar of it. Initially I was going to fill it with a list of things that I could do that might be a breath of fresh air for him. But, the more I thought about it, at 3 AM that first morning, I decided it needed to be empty of craft clutter and just full of air. That way, I can see it and evaluate at that moment what is most important.

Sometimes it will be:

I am going to stop being ridiculously uptight about how he installs the baseboards.
I am going to leave the Real Housewives for a time that he is not home so he doesn't throw up a little.
I am going to actually try and remember to take out the garbage and recyclables. Not just say I will.

Other days it might be:

I am going to be honest about how I am feeling before I let it build and flip out over something not related.

What I am most excited about in the next few weeks is:

Hey Mr. Schatze, I just finished reading the instruction manual for the air compressor and nail gun! After I put on some closed toe work shoes and my safety goggles, will you go over the proper operations with me?