Long Hollow

There's Something About May...

Maybe I'm paranoid, but I think May doesn't like me.

Tuesday was Tom's 55th birthday. I've barely been home the past week and looked forward to having some time off yesterday afternoon to write a post here about how grateful I am for each of those 55 years... especially the 30 I've shared with him...

Instead, I spent most of the afternoon doubled up in pain on the couch until I drove myself to the emergency room, where I spent the rest of the evening.

I was sure it was a gall bladder attack. It hit right after eating one of my veggie omelettes that I drown in picante sauce, and the only other time I've had pain like that (other than labor for each one of my kids) is after eating a spicy Thai salad several years ago. My friends with experience told me then that it sounded like a gall bladder rebellion.

Not life threatening, so when it subsided a bit, I just called and made an appointment for today with my doctor and tried to get comfortable on the couch.

But I couldn't. When it didn't go away after a few hours, and even felt like it was getting worse again, I thought I better get a second opinion, or I guess third, if you count Google, and off to the ER I went, in such a rush I didn't even grab a book.

To put it into perspective, I think it's been over thirty years since I went to an emergency room for myself. Who has time for that? I didn't even go when I thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest two years ago. 

In May.

Ah, May. Why don't you like me?

Shingles had attacked me the previous May. Or maybe that year it was the super duper urinary tract infection... only the second one I've had in my life... and shingles was the year before.

At any rate, last May I held my breath all month, wondering what disease or affliction would hit me out of the blue. Surprise... I made it through with no surprises! I thought the May curse was broken. 

I guess it wasn't.

On the up side, my internal organs passed all of yesterday's tests with flying colors. An hour after the morphine shot, my pain went away and hasn't returned. I'm flummoxed but relieved! I think the doctor was flummoxed, too. He called it a stomach virus, gave me a prescription for nausea medicine (which I didn't and still don't need) and released me to my dear friends Mary Kay and Joe. (I couldn't drive myself home because of the morphine.)

Also on the up side, these random May afflictions remind me to not take my health for granted... or anything for granted, really, because things can change in a split second, can't they? So maybe May is just being a good friend, keeping me humble and on my toes. And grateful when things go right.

After all, a month that celebrates mothers, welcomed my husband into the world, and gives us beautiful flowers can't be too bad, can it?

(I'll still be glad when June arrives.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ten Years Ago...

He noticed it when he used the rowing machine at the gym where he worked. A consistent pain or pressure that would start up after a few minutes and go away when he stopped rowing. Perhaps a pulled muscle? He was in the middle of building our new home, after all, and stretching and working those muscles to their limit.

But when the pain popped up again while working on the car one April morning ten years ago, he decided he should have it looked into. He'd read enough about heart attacks to hear that tiny warning voice whispering in his ear.

Our doctor's office said don't bother coming in, call an ambulance and get to the hospital right away.

We didn't call an ambulance. By then the pain had gone away, so we took time to shower and eat lunch before heading out the door. We had enough experience with hospitals to know we'd be there awhile. 

After hours and hours and test after test - he passed the stress test with flying colors - they declared his heart fine and sent us home. But come see me in two weeks, the cardiologist told him.

He did, and he told her how he could get that feeling back in his chest after just so many minutes on that rowing machine even though running on the treadmill did nothing.

So she scheduled an arteriogram which revealed an artery in the circumflex was 95% blocked, in a spot that doesn't show up on EKGs and stress tests. 

They popped in a stent and two days later he was back at work.

Thank you, God, for good cardiologists and modern medicine and stubborn husbands who listen to their bodies and aren't afraid to speak up.

Thank you, God, for these past ten years with my sweet husband. I pray we have at least ten more, but just in case, I'll try my best not to take a single one of them for granted.

Happy Anniversary, Tom!! Thank you for taking care of yourself!

 

"Lullaby" (Dixie Chicks)

They didn't have you where I come from
Never knew the best was yet to come
Life began when I saw your face
And I hear your laugh like a serenade

How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough, is forever enough
How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough
Cause I'm never, never giving you up

I slip in bed when you're asleep
To hold you close and feel your breath on me
Tomorrow there'll be so much to do
So tonight I'll drift in a dream with you

How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough, is forever enough
How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough
Cause I'm never, never giving you up

As you wander through this troubled world
In search of all things beautiful
You can close your eyes when you're miles away
And hear my voice like a serenade

How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough, is forever enough
How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough
Cause I'm never, never giving you up

How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough, is forever enough
How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough
Cause I'm never, never giving you up
Is forever enough
Cause I'm never, never giving you up

 

The Great U2 Mystery

Yesterday morning, I was all set to listen to U2 while I ran on the treadmill. I've kept their Achtung, Baby! down there for several years for when the U2 running mood hits me. (I also keep some Ted Nugent, John Mellencamp, and Dixie Chicks handy - my running moods are pretty eclectic!)

(It's kind of funny... I didn't appreciate U2 until I approached my fifties. That seems so strange to me because I love their music now... to me, it's so passionate and energizing.) 

Anyway, that's what I needed yesterday morning, but when I opened the case, it was empty!

I searched through the loose cds piled on the shelf - no luck. I looked through the other cds upstairs. No luck. 

I scratched my head. Why did my U2 cds keep disappearing?  My absolute favorite one - The Best of 1990-2000 - went missing years ago. I keep the case, still hoping it will turn up someday, maybe under a couch cushion or someone's bed, perhaps. 

But now Achtung, too? What was going on? Was this some personal vendetta against me and U2?

I called Tom, texted all of my kids, in hopes that someone saw something, spotted it somewhere, remembered removing it from the player...

No luck.

Thank goodness I still had Joshua Tree to appease my U2 running mood, but the whole time I ran I wondered about Achtung and the great U2 CD Mystery...

When Tom came home later that evening, it only took him a couple of minutes to find it, of course. Show-off. Someone (possibly even me) had placed it in a clear cd case. It was sitting right there on the shelf near the others.

I would be mad at him if I wasn't so grateful. (Thank you, baby! Now can you find the other one?)

The Privilege of a Lifetime

"The privilege of a lifetime is to be yourself."

 ~ Joseph Campbell

 

A big pot of chicken soup is simmering on the stove. From where I sit across the room I can hear the little bubbles playing on the surface and the aroma is making my stomach growl.

I made it for myself, because I'm sick. I don't cook often these days, and when I do, it's usually to whip up some favorite of one of my kids or my husband, although he's gotten quite good at cooking whatever he wants himself.

You see, there are tons of other things I'd rather do with my time besides cook. That's just me, the way I am, and I'm okay with it. Thank goodness my husband is, too.

I thought about this as I chopped up vegetables for the soup earlier, because BlogHer's latest question for their Life Well Lived Getting Happy series is: How do you practice self-acceptance and find unconditional love for yourself? (Part 2 of the question is: How does practicing love first help you attract more love and happiness in your life?)

Well, not cooking if I don't feel like it is one way I practice self-acceptance.

I spent years trying on cooking and crafting and gardening and sewing, and while I enjoyed each one to a certain extent, none of them fit me exactly right. 

Today I'm cooking because I care about myself. I want to get well.

It took years to shed the 'Mommy-Martyr' mentality that made me think everyone else's needs were more important than my own. It's still a trick mirror though... one big incentive to take care of myself is so I can take care of those I love who depend on me. To be healthy if they need me or to just set a good example.

When I eat right, when I run, when I make sure I get enough sleep or play my drums or take time to read or write or take photos or laugh with friends or go dancing with my husband... it's for them as much as it is for myself.

 

Turning 50 was a huge turning point in my self-attitude, like standing before a mirror, evaluating where I'd been, where I still wanted to go and whether or not I was heading in the right direction to get there. Trying to figure out what fit and what should be tossed. I was able to recognize and appreciate the strengths that got me this far, as well as the quirks that make me unique.

Love your neighbor as yourself. ~ Mark 12:31

I forgave myself mistakes made along the way, accepted myself as human, flaws and all, and by doing so, discovered how easy it is to do the same for other people. The key to loving your imperfect neighbor "as yourself" is first loving your imperfect self.

How do you start? Ponder this...

 Where there is no love, put love and there will be love.

~ St. John of the Cross

 

 

So how do you practice self-acceptance and find unconditional love for yourself?

And how does practicing love first help you attract more love and happiness in your life?

Leave your answer here, but also at the main post on BlogHer where you can see other answers. And be sure to enter the sweepstakes for a chance at a Kindle Fire and $50 Amazon Gift Card HERE.

"We interrupt our regularly scheduled program..."

 

 

 

Just when I saw a glimpse of light at the end of my "to-do tunnel", someone had the gall to iron all of the energy out of my body and replace it with mucus.

"Life is a series of surprises, and would not be worth keeping if it were not."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I agree with Emerson, but this is the kind of surprise I could do without.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going back to bed.

(Thanks for listening. I left my five bucks by the door.)

 

Under Attack

It seemed like a good idea at the time, getting off the main road and taking the path along the creek for a bit on my morning walk.

The problem is that path is little more than a deer trail in many places, making it necessary to duck and zigzag around mountain cedar branches. 

Well, normally that by itself isn't a problem, but at this time of year, and right now in epic proportions, the branches of the male ashe juniper (aka cedar tree) is bursting with these little cones full of cedar pollen. It's not unusual to see a huge puff of smoke billow from a tree at the slightest touch of a breeze... not actually fire smoke, but a cloud of pollen. 

It didn't even occur to me that when you walk through them and knock them out of your way, the pollen clings to you as if you were an oversized bumble bee.

Consequently, a few hours later when my allergy meds had worn off, the pollen hitching a ride on me went into full attack mode on my nose, throat and eyes.

But in the height of my sneezing and clawing of itchy eyes, I was grateful for one thing. Well, one thing besides my stockpile of antihistamines and nose sprays and eye drops...

 

...that during my walk, when the thought occurred to me that if knocked one of the branches hard with a stick, I might finally be able to capture one of those billowing pollen clouds in my camera, right up close, I immediately tossed that thought away, realizing the suicidal potential of such a stunt.

I'm relieved to know that, even for me, a photograph isn't worth "Death by Stupidity and Pollen".

(For more about the mountain cedars, click HERE and HERE.)

Returning to Me

With the birth of my first child, my ego, dreams, and most other aspects of Me as I knew Me sloughed off like a snake skin, forgotten. I was a Mother now! That tiny little being depended on me and by golly, that's all that mattered.

Within a few years, I had two more little beings depending on me. Throughout my thirties and most of my forties, I was just Mom. Busy, practical and unselfish.

Oh, I toyed with my old dreams. Took a few classes at the community college. Had some essays published. Met my girlfriends for dinner and a movie every once in a while. Worked some part-time jobs.

For years I held onto enough ego to battle my body over the same 15 pounds, but when semi-daily walks with my dogs, periodic lifting of light weights and eating healthy-ish didn't make a difference, I finally gave up and accepted my body as it was.

I was way too mature and sensible to care that the varicose veins on my right leg were so bad a new friend asked if I'd been in a car wreck, thinking they were horrible scars. I cringed a bit myself when I looked at them, but I hated to be so vain and selfish as to undergo the pain and expense of surgery. There were so many other things we needed.

Then my oldest son left for college.

Oh, my heart ached! For days I would suddenly burst into tears over the pain; it hurt so badly! One day I realized my tears weren't falling just because I missed my son; that's what triggered them, but my tears fell because I could suddenly feel Life, as I knew it, changing. Soon, my two youngest would follow their big brother out of the nest.

I would always be a mother, but I knew the end of my days as Mom was just a few years away. It made me feel...old. And I wondered, if I'm not Mom anymore, what will I be? Who will I be?

Some might call what happened next a case of the MidLife Crazies. I just call it Returning to Me.

You can be anything you want to be. I had told my kids that over and over because I believed it, and now was my chance to act on it. I would be Me. The best Me possible, for as long as possible. I wasn't ready to be old.

I took bits from each of my previous selves: the spoiled youngest child, the tomboy, the homecoming queen, the scholar, the thinker, the independent woman, the dancer, the newlywed, the mother, the daughter, friend, the volunteer, the writer, the photographer, and even, thanks to my husband, the wanna-be drummer.

Dusting off my dreams, I signed up for college classes, one per semester. Over the next few years, I started a blog and began teaching myself digital photography. I wrote a screenplay, polished up one book, and started another.

I reconnected with friends, other women who were going through the same changes I was experiencing, including friends I'd known since childhood, before any of us were wives or mothers. They helped me rediscover the Me I was back then.

I made my own health a priority, scheduling time every day for a workout. I began running again for the first time in years. Part of my motivation was ego, I admit, but I knew others still depended on me; I needed to be in the best shape possible so I could take care of them. Heart disease runs in my family. I wanted to be a good example to my kids, who carry the same genes.

My hair was thinning at an alarming rate, so I educated myself about nutrition and made huge changes in my diet. It didn't have any affect on my hair, but between those changes and my stepped-up physical work-outs, I finally dropped those 15 pounds I'd given up on. What a great surprise!

With my ego fully out of the closet, I treated myself to varicose vein surgery for my 47th birthday, deciding I was too young to wear nothing but ankle-length dresses the rest of my life.

All of these changes acted as defensive armor just in the nick of time, preparing me for the assault of menopause. I've experienced a few hot flashes, but not the mood swings, weight gain, severe sweats, or disrupted sleep some of my friends complain about.

My kids have all flown the nest now; but instead of crying, I feel like I'm flying with them.

The people at Pfizer are interested in helping all of us find our wings and keep flying through these strange, trying, wonderful midlife years and hope to accomplish that through their "Return to You" program, a program aimed at helping women return to their best selves.

Have YOU had a Return to You moment? Please share it with me in the comments; I'd love to hear your story!

Visit the Pfizer Return to You page on BlogHer.com for more blogger stories and prepare to be inspired!

Hair, or the lack thereof

Not wanting to be seen by anyone I knew, I ducked into a store quite a distance from our house, heading straight for the product I sought. I had been eyeing it for years, but until this moment, couldn't rouse the courage to actually buy it. 

Tucking the box under my arm so the name wasn't obvious, I grabbed a few more items to further hide it and headed to check-out, trying to act nonchalant about my purchase...

Tom was cutting my hair. He would touch a section with scissors and then pull back, comb another section, let it fall. I sensed his frustration. "What is it?"

"Your hair just keeps getting thinner and thinner! But don't worry," he added, seeing the forlorn look on my face, "I'll love you and think you're beautiful even if you're completely bald." 

Sigh.

My grandmother wore her hair short, in soft curls maintained with regular perms and a nightly hair-rolling ritual. When she combed the curls out, spreading them across her scalp, it helped disguise the fact that she was slowly but surely going bald.

The illusion of thickness. That's what it's all about when you're dealt thin, and thinner-by-the-minute, hair. 

I always had baby fine hair, but didn't realize I'd inherited Grandmother's thinning-hair gene until ten years ago or so. I wish I'd inherited her ample bosom, or at least her gardening and sewing skills, along with it.

As my hair continued to thin - and to require shorter and shorter cuts - I began researching the problem, refusing to just give in and start wearing my hair in Grandmother's curls.

I tried an internal solution... eating healthier (lots of Omega 3), exercising (increased circulation to the scalp) and adding supplements like Flaxseed Oil, Vitamin E and Biotin that were rumored to help. I ultimately dropped 15 pounds I had given up on losing, but didn't notice a change in my hair at all.

I voiced my concerns to my doctor. At my request, he checked my thyroid function (twice!) but everything was normal. He just blamed menopause - I was in the beginning phases of peri-menopause at the time.

I'm sure menopause is a big factor, but the thing is, I remember way back when I was pregnant and taking prenatal vitamins that I never got the noticeable hair and nail growth most women experience. I suspected there was something blocking the absorption of whatever made them grow, but had no idea how to find out what it was.

Hitting that dead end, I focused instead on the illusion of thickness. I refused to perm my hair or roll it up each night on tiny rollers like Grandmother, but through my research discovered other tricks, like

1) Getting highlights in three slightly different tones for the illusion of depth

2) A "modified bob" cut with just the right amount of layers. Too many and it lies flat. Too few and, well, it lies flat.

3) An angled side part, so at least you don't have to see how wide it's getting and how much scalp is showing.

4) Tucking it behind your ears (unless you're skilled with a round brush and a can of hairspray, which I'm not.)

5) Volumizers and products made specifically for thin hair

I found a hairstylist who understood thin hair, but he didn't come cheap. Feeling guilty over the expense, I "broke up" with him and played the field for a year or so with other talented hairdressers, but could never find another one who just knew what to do with my hair.

So I've returned to Michael. I'll cut corners with cheap makeup and thrift store clothing... perhaps sell one of my children... but I'm going to stick with him as long as possible.

Just kidding about the children, of course.

Ah, vanity. Some people fight aging with Botox injections, breast implants or tummy tucks. I can ignore my wrinkles, can live with my small breasts and my "mommy" roll - the pain and expense of surgery just aren't worth it for me. But I'd prefer not to see my scalp when I look in the mirror.

My friend Ann called a few weeks ago to tell me about a shop in Galveston that has beautiful wigs. She knows I expect to get one eventually. Ann has luscious thick hair. I know it annoys her when I voice envy, but she tolerates it, reminding me how thick hair presents its own problems, like taking forever to dry. I believe she'd share hers with me if she could.

But a wig is a last resort. Just thinking of wearing one makes my head feel hot and itchy. I don't want to give in without grabbing every last straw and that's why I visited an internist yesterday. She discovered my gynecologist didn't run a full thyroid test, so she ordered one plus some other blood tests.   

Turns out, they're all normal. I'm grateful to be healthy, of course, but it means whatever is causing my hair to thin will remain a mystery. It could simply be genetics; it could be working thirteen years in a hard hat; it could be three pregnancies, medications I've taken, or just menopause. It could be all of them or none of them, as far as anyone knows, it seems.

I guess next time I visit Ann in Galveston, I'll run over to that wig shop and have a look. Maybe try some on. I wonder if they have any that are highlighted in three tones of blonde, cut in a modified bob and styled behind the ears? No long flowing manes for me - when and if the time comes, I don't think I want anyone to know and that would be a dead giveaway. 

Well, maybe one long blonde one, just for fun. Because blabbermouth that I am, I'll tell everyone I'm wearing a wig anyway.

In the meantime, I'm following one of the internist's suggestions...

Not wanting to be seen by anyone I knew, I ducked into a store quite a distance from our house, heading straight for the product I sought. I had been eyeing it for years, but until this moment, couldn't rouse the courage to actually buy it. 

Did you guess? I'm trying Rogaine.

Oh, I hate to even say it. It feels like I'm in one of those before and after commercials with the men smiling into a mirror, admiring themselves. It sounds so desperate and last resort-ish.

But between yesterday and today I decided, why the heck should I be ashamed or try to hide it? I am desperate. I am down to last resorts. And obviously there are other desperate women trying to figure out what to do about their own thinning hair so I might as well share my experience and perhaps help someone else. I only wish I'd started it sooner. 

I know I'll never have hair like Ann's (I never did!) but this should at least stop the thinning and perhaps even help a little grow back.

Wish me luck and I'll keep you posted!

(If you have thinning hair, share your success and failure stories with me. I'm still open to suggestions!)

Tenacity

"Take care of your body. It’s the only place you have to live."

~JIm Rohn
American motivational speaker, 20th century

 

I didn't feel like running yesterday morning. Too many things to do before work and not enough sleep the night before. Skipping one day won't matter...

I ignored that voice. It's true my world doesn't stop turning if I skip one morning workout - there are some days I actually don't have time - and on those days I forgive myself and just get back to it the next day.

But yesterday, I knew I had time.  So I agreed to a compromise: I could stop after two miles, and if I felt like walking a little, that was okay. But I had to go at least two miles. No negotiation on that point.

(I've learned the key is tricking myself - I knew once I started, I'd feel much better and keep going. I fall for it every time!)

Sure enough, within the first few seconds, I felt pretty good. Instead of increasing my speed every five minutes like I normally do, I revved it up a notch every four. And at the two mile mark, I didn't even consider stopping.

You've probably already guess that I run on a treadmill. Our road is caliche, a combination of big rocks and gravel. It only took one skinned knee and where-the-heck-did-that-rock-come-from-did-I-break-anything? incident to convince me to move indoors. 

Anyway, yesterday morning I thought I couldn't run at all and ended up completing three miles in 31 minutes 

You might not think that's great, especially you runners out there. But when I remember all the times I couldn't run because of my asthma - all the medicine I've taken, all the trips to the emergency room, that whole winter semester of tennis in 8th grade when Ms. Clark wouldn't even let me go outside with the rest of the class because she feared the cold would trigger an asthma attack and I had to practice volleying against the wall alone all period - well, I think running three miles in 31 minutes at 52 years old is pretty damn good.

I started running in high school. Not the kind you do as a kid, for fun, but the kind you don't really want to do but do anyway because you know it's good for you.

Or because, like me, you want to lose weight. (I had to take a lot of prednisone for my asthma - and if you've taken prednisone, you know it makes you crave cheesecake! And Doritos and Roadrunner steak sandwiches and Wendy's Frosties...)

My asthma flared at first , but before too long, I stopped needing my inhaler. As much, anyway.

I didn't actually run-run. I wasn't on the track team or anything. I just ran-jogged around my half-mile block every morning before school. Afterwards, I'd jump rope for a few minutes, and finish up with some sit-ups and stretches.

But then during my first semester in college, thinking of myself as a runner, I signed up for "Aerobics" (Dr. Cooper's version, not Dance.) We learned all about cardiovascular fitness and kept track of our "daily aerobic points", aiming at a minimum of 40 each day.(Cooper's book, Aerobics, assigned points for different activities, depending on their aerobic benefit.)

At intervals during the semester, we took timed 1 1/2 mile runs around the top of the University of Houston's Hofheinz Pavilion to measure our progress. 

Despite all those half-mile morning jogs leading up to my first timed 1 1/2 mile circuit, I thought I would die before I finished. I couldn't even run the whole way, but had to stop and walk a few times! I finished in something like 15 minutes and 20 seconds.

How humbling and eye-opening.

Fast forward through a semester of night runs and jump rope sessions. I'm running my last 1 1/2 miles around the top of Hofheinz Pavilion. I'm kind of nervous, but this time I'm able to keep running, running, running the whole way, finishing in 12 minutes and 40 seconds.

I know from TG's high school cross-country meets that for an 18-year-old, this still isn't a great time, but it was almost three minutes faster than two months before! High-five!

Okay, and I know I'll never be able to run 1 1/2 miles in less than 13 minutes again, but I did finish it in 15 minutes and 45 seconds one morning recently... and then kept on running for another 1 1/2 miles. Another high-five!

 

“Fitness is a journey, not a destination. It must be continued for the rest of your life.”

- Dr. Kenneth Cooper

I continued running after that semester, working up to 3 miles. But one night I didn't have time to run 3 miles. I didn't want to run less, so I just didn't run at all. (How's that for logic??)

Before I knew it, weeks of no running had passed. I dropped out of school, started working shiftwork, got married, had babies. 

Every once in awhile during those next few years, I'd lace up my shoes and try running again, or bicycling, or swimming. Then I'd reach a point I couldn't or wouldn't maintain, or something else in my life would take precedence.

Until four years ago, when I realized what a terrible friend I had been to someone who depended solely on me: My body.

I walked with the dogs in the mornings, but otherwise put my own health last on my priority list, behind the people I loved - ironically, the very ones who depended on me to take care of them, who needed me to be healthy, who I wanted to be healthy! And just look at the example I'd been giving them! 

Instead of being selfish, I realized taking care of myself was actually a way to show my love to those who depended on me! And that's what keeps me going every morning now, even more than the desire to fit into my favorite jeans or be able to go out dancing or whatever else I want to do in the time I have left on this earth. 

Although those are pretty good motivators, I admit.

Because there are so many dreams I'm still working on as time allows. My writing, my photography, my college degree ...even playing my drums, although I have no illusion of ever really being good. But I intend to keep playing them as long as I can hold those drumsticks.

I also run out of gratitude, with every step giving thanks for my legs, my lungs, my heart. Gifts we too often take for granted or even abuse, like spoiled children with expensive toys. I run for my friends and family who can't.

When I started running again, I cut myself some slack - I didn't want to hurt myself! But I was still firm and refused to let myself quit. I'm in it for the long run, literally. And that determination flows over into the other areas of my life.

I just wish I'd had this much determination and flexibility when I was 18 - this vision of the "long run," of ebb-and-flow-but-don't-stop. Time isn't gracious. Over the years, just as I found a rhythm, making progress on one dream or another, something would pop up and I'd have to set it on a shelf. I gave up way too fast. But at least I have it now, this bullheadedness. This tenacity.

 As long as I'm breathing, my dreams won't stay long on the shelf. 

And I'll keep lacing up my shoes.

"Anything is possible.

You can be told that you have a 90-percent chance or a 50-percent chance or a 1-percent chance, but you have to believe, and you have to fight."

 
~Lance Armstrong

Face in the Mirror

Face in the mirror

You are the face I recognize, the face I know, the face I greet each morning,

Yes, the face I love, despite the lines and scars and spots.

You and I have traveled together, collected mementoes of Life.

Your eye-crinkles and mouth-creases... reminders of laughter and reasons to smile.

Deep lines between your brows... etched during late nights worrying about the kids.

Tiny scars on your forehead... souvenirs of chicken pox at 10 and 30, and shingles at 50.

Dark spots... kisses of Galveston sunshine.

Remember?

I do.

My life. 

My face.

 

This morning, the face staring back at me in the mirror sported a few pimples amidst her wrinkles, scars and spots. That's not really fair, is it?

My grandmother swore by Oil of Olay. She had beautiful skin. I don't remember her ever having any pimples, but the one time I tried the lotion, my face broke out something awful. Now I'm afraid of anything labeled "Oil of Olay"!

My mother has beautiful skin, too. She used the Clinique ritual for awhile - I tried it, but I think it was just too much work for me. It probably broke me out, too.

I remember lots of pimples back then, when I was a teenager. I tried everything. No luck.

Until finally, I asked our family doctor what to do. "Stop putting all that crap on your face," he told me. "Just use Ivory soap and be done with it."

He was right. Ivory soap worked! Until a few years ago when I noticed my cheeks felt like sandpaper.

Dang menopause.

Obviously, I needed a moisturizer, but I was scared, remembering the Oil of Olay situation as well as one experiment with an eye cream, guaranteed to "minimize the appearance of fine lines" - it actually poofed up the skin around my eyes. I looked like I'd been stung by a bee! That's how it got rid of the lines!

I'd rather have the lines.

The key words to watch for (I realized afterwards) were  "the appearance of"... Very important! 

Even with this in mind, I eventually succumbed to advertisements for L'Oreal's Revitalift products. I'm happy to report that my face didn't break out and my eyes didn't poof up like marshmallows. In fact, nothing much happened except my cheeks no longer felt like sandpaper. 

In other words, I still have my wrinkles, but that's okay. I'll do what I can to keep from accumulating more, but I earned the ones I have. They're me. 

I don't think I'll ever be bothered enough by my wrinkles to try Botox or surgery (I don't like pain)... but I have friends who've delved into those treatments, so I'm not passing judgement. 

So imagine my surprise one day last week when I looked in the mirror and noticed the lines between my brows were missing. Where did my furrows go?

The only thing I could attribute it to was three nights in a row of solid 7+ hours of sleep. Who could have guessed? Sleep - truly the best anti-aging tool we have, and it's free! But how many of us take advantage of it? I know I don't!

For instance, here I am typing at the computer way past my bedtime.

Furrows and dark circles are guaranteed for tomorrow! (I just hope the pimples are gone.)

But what about you? If you have a face you've grown old with, do you love it? Hate it? What do you do to take care of it?

 

 

 

 

Osteo-what?

A few years ago, aware of menopause creeping ever closer, eager to rob me of bone mass and play all its other little tricks on me, I moved nutrition and exercise higher on my priority list.

The Real Age test revealed what I was missing nutrition-wise. I signed up for every health/hair/exercise/nutrition- related e-newsletter I could find, added vitamins to my morning arsenol, increased colorful, raw fruits and vegetables, watched portion sizes and cut back on fat, salt, sugar and anything processed or unpronounceable.

I was already working out, but I extended my cardio workouts because I have damaged lungs from asthma and one of those heart disease genes (and also the tiniest hope that increased circulation to my scalp would whip my lazy hair follicles back in shape.)

(No luck on that point so far.)

To build up bone mass, I increased the amount of free weight I lifted - gradually so I didn't pull anything and set myself back - popped Tums like candy and increased my Vitamin D. 

I did everything on that checklist, but still, following my latest bone density scan, the phone rang...

"Mrs. Shallue, you have slight osteopenia in the top bone of your left hip."

Huh? What? My bones? No way - I've never even broken anything!

"Nothing to worry about - it's very slight."

The nurse went down the "prevent and improve" checklist, but I was already doing everything and have been doing everything for years... even before my last bone density scan which was normal. How the heck did this happen?

The only suggestion she had for me: Increase my Vitamin D. My blood test revealed it was on the low end of normal; I had plenty of wiggle room to double what I was already taking.

So Women out there, listen up... Make sure you're taking your calcium and your Vitamin D. Grab those free weights and build those bones so they'll be strong enough to carry you for a long, long time. If you're over 50 and you haven't already done so, go get a bone density scan and have someone check your Vitamin D levels. And (gulp) say NO to that second third <sigh> okay, that second glass of wine. Or second margarita. Or second scotch and water.

For my part, I've increased my D and decreased my W so that I can still be dancing twenty years from now. I really, really want you to join me on the dance floor.

So get moving!

 

 

 

 

Spring Fever Frenzy and Sweet! #1

Frenzy is my word of the week, (where's my copy of Pearl Jam's song Just Breathe?) so please forgive me if this post seems a little harried and unorganized. If it jumps around a bit, it's just a reflection of my life right now, hopscotching from one project to the next in haphazard order.

Tom and I have two Major Events coming up this month - another Shake Russell home concert and Daniel's graduation - just the kind of matches we need to light fires under our butts and get us moving on projects we should have tackled months ago.

Why, oh why do we procrastinate?

You would be amazed by how much Tom and I can ignore around our house - he always has half a dozen projects in various stages going on simultaneously and after almost 30 years together, I've learned to ignore random tools and pieces of equipment left lying in odd places. 

One reason I ignore it all is because, if he dares say anything about my own piles of unorganized junk or projects-in-progress, I have ammunition. We've learned to be very accepting of each other's idiosyncrasies.

When Major Events appear on the calendar, though, that helps us see our home from a visitor's point of view and YIKES, our priorities shift. I haven't even gotten to the 'cleaning' part - for some reason, I've got it in my head I need to sort through boxes, clean up my office-to-be, my closet, cabinets... 

It's not that I think anyone will care, but I have to use this rare fever while I have it.

So, what I didn't do this past weekend: 

• Work on my book.
• Dance, play ping-pong or my drums.
• Load Photoshop Elements on my computer. (I'm hesitating because, from experience with my computer, I know it won't be as easy as clicking a few buttons. I need a chunk of time to work on this.)
• Finalize the name for my new venture. If I get any chunks of time, this is what I've been spending them on. Even though I work for a naming company, I had no idea it would take me this long to pick one. I'm really afraid I'm overthinking it. I've narrowed it down to three, though, and now have to figure out how to register it. There are so many things involved in starting a business - yikes!
• Attend my friend Jacque's college graduation Saturday morning. I fully intended to - I got up early, showered, dressed and was ready to head out the door, but stopped to double check directions to where I thought it was being held Turns out, it was on a totally different highway than she told me in her graduation-eve excitement, much farther than I realized. I should have googled it the night before and gotten up earlier. There was no way I could make it there in time.

What I did accomplish, outside of the normal routine:

• Unloaded a ton of stuff at Goodwill. I was going to stop after the graduation ceremony, anyway. Tom and I had already loaded up my car with bags and boxes of things to donate.
• Treated myself to a pedicure and manicure. Unusual for someone in a frenzy, I know, but the salon is next door to Goodwill. I'm 52, but I can count the number of pedicures I've had in my life on one hand - I think this was number 5 - and this was only the second manicure I've ever had. The other one was part of a spa day gift from Tom in honor of my 30th birthday. (What is wrong with me?)
• Promised myself I won't wait another year for a pedicure, or another 22 years for a manicure.
• Made a few baby steps of progress on starting my business. No, I didn't finalize the name, but I made progress. That's what I have to focus on.
• Sorted through several boxes of stuff and weeded out more stuff to give away. I'm a hoarder collector, but I'm started to have pity on my kids when they have to go through my things later. (Of course, if Tom's still around, it'll be easy on them. He'll just dump it all or burn it.)
• Paid bills and made a dent in the laundry. (No explanation needed here - these things never wait patiently.) 

Tom spent most of Saturday on a Habitat-for-Humanity type project. It's not HFH, but a similar program his company partners with a few times a year. He loves using his carpentry skills to help people.

On his way home he picked up a new (to us) elliptical trainer and stationary bike he found on Craig's List. We have our own little gym again, for less than the cost of a gym membership. Yay, Tom! 

He's putting his Craig's List truck to good use!

On the Today Show this week, I found out about something that apparently everyone else already knows about - 1000 Awesome Things.

How did I miss this? Especially as a blogger? (If you, like me, have had your head in the ground lately and haven't heard about this, click on that link above and take a look - but then come back!)

Actually, what I want to know, is why didn't I think of this myself?

Even though I didn't, I'm going to blatantly steal borrow Neil Pasricha's premise and start looking on the bright side of things every day. Considering my current frenzied state, I think it will do me some good.

I also want to set a good example for my kids and prove to them that no matter how bad things get in a day, it's possible to find one little "sweet!" moment. I honestly believe that.

I apologize in advance because this means I might have two posts in a single day right here on Long Hollow, plus another one on Confessions. I forgive you if you don't always read them or comment, but I would like to hear about your "sweet!" moments too, if you have the time to share them. From here on out, I'll write them as separate posts and keep them in the Sweet! category so I can go back and remember little rays of sunshine on those dark days.

 So here we go with Sweet #1 (drumroll please)...

... Getting an email from my son just to say he loves me - and to tell me he has no cavities. When your grown children take charge of their lives, it can be so hard to let go, especially in those health care areas. After years of intensive, organized, methodical mothering and worrying over their health - doctor and dentist check-ups, prescriptions, etc. - you watch them fly out of the nest to other regions with unknown doctors and dentists and you can only pray they continue to take care of themselves. 

It took the suspicion of a cavity, but he did it. Sweet!

 

 

 

Dang it! I'm a couch potato after all! Are you?

 

Despite sweating at least an hour almost every day, running, jumping rope, lifting free weights, stretching  ... despite trying to strengthen my heart, lungs, bones and maintain my flexibility in my fight against the villainous side effects of menopause ... I found out I'm losing anyway, because the rest of the day I sit on my bohunkus in front of a computer.

And when I say "the rest of the day", I really mean the rest of the day.

For my steady-paycheck job, I sit in front of a computer for hours and hours. And after clocking out, I settle in again in front of the screen to write, edit photography, check emails, pay bills....

My life revolves around sitting in front of the computer.

And now I find out it's killing me!

In an article for Men's Life, Maria Masters says I could even be labeled a couch potato by some doctors: "New evidence suggests, in fact, that the more hours a day you sit, the greater your likelihood of dying an earlier death regardless of how much you exercise or how lean you are." 

But hallelujah, there's something I can do about it without quitting my desk job(s) and trying to find one as a bicycle messenger or fire fighter or lumberjack.

Apparently, just taking small breaks helps counter the effects ...  even little things like standing up when I'm on the phone can help. The important thing is to get up and do something at least every hour.

It's not as easy as it sounds, though, at least not for me. It's like I'm under a spell, frozen to my chair, and it's a major effort to unfold myself, even to go to the bathroom! My husband says he falls under the same spell at work.

But I'm not sweating every morning just to have all the benefits evaporate because of an otherwise sedentary lifestyle. Now I keep an eye on that little computer clock. Every hour I stand up, face the window, jog in place, do some stretches, and every two hours or so I head outside for a brisk two-minute walk. My legs are so grateful for that stretch! And getting outside in the fresh air is a wonderful mental break, as well.  Better than a fourth (or is it my fifth?) cup of coffee. 

So if you're like me, stuck behind a computer screen ALL DAY LONG, get up and get moving for your health's sake! If I haven't convinced you, be sure to read the article yourself (click HERE) as well as THIS ONE.

Because I care about you and want you to stick around for a long, long time. 

Zippity-Do-Dah (my birthday, part 1)

I wanted to be Tarzan when I was little.

I'd sit in the livingroom on Saturday afternoons watching Johnny Weismuller swing from tree to tree on those vines, and then poof! I was in that jungle myself, way up in a tree, grabbing hold of a vine and swinging high above the ground to the next limb. A green blur surrounded me and the wind whistled in my ear...

And then there were the dreams of flying through my neighborhood - not too high, not too fast, just soaring above the treetops.

Well, imagine a combination of the two, and that's what riding the zipline felt like to me yesterday; there was that stepping off into nothing feeling and that swinging feeling (holding onto a lanyard instead of a vine) and that soaring feeling as I glided above the treetops.

I confess I was a little nervous at first. Thank goodness they make you zip on a practice line before they let you go hundreds of feet in the air, because I failed and had to do it again.

Sure, I looked like I knew what I was doing...

...but when it was time to brake, even though I knew I was supposed to press down flathanded on the cable behind me, I clamped down instead, gripping it, and that's a big NO-NO! If I did that up on the real zipline, going 30 mph, my arm would be ripped out and left dangling from the cable, or fall to the ground to be some coyote or vulture's dinner...

Ugh.

Lesson learned. I didn't forget again! (Classroom humiliation really works! That's also how I learned to read the word "something" in first grade, but that's another story...)

Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself...

My wonderful birthday-day started by sleeping beyond sunrise. Yes, I took the day off from work. What better reason could there be but to celebrate life, or more specifically, celebrate another year of your life? Tom took it off, too, just to make me happy.

Then there was coffee - not just any coffee, but some freshly brewed Texas Pecan that my friend Bo sent me. It was leftover from their coffee house that unfortunately couldn't compete with a nearby Starbucks. I was so bummed when I heard it was closing before I even had a chance to visit, so he offered a bit of his leftover "stock" - coincidentally, it arrived just before my birthday!

While I fed the dogs and sipped on my cup of Texas Pecan on the back deck, Tom whipped up a delicious heart-attack breakfast of fried eggs and sausage. Yum!

Thus fortified, we headed off to to Wimberley Zipline Adventures, almost two hours away, where we were issued our helmets, harnesses, lanyards, pulleys, water bottles and "brakes" (leather gloves) and sent over to the practice line, where I failed. 

Okay, I'm all caught up.

After we all (finally) passed the practice zipline, we piled into four-wheel drive trucks for a trip up the hill. Then on foot we climbed and climbed and climbed up to the first platform. You start at the highest spot, of course, then criss-cross the valley/ravine along 8 different lines almost to the bottom.

In between, our guide Andrew filled us in on local history and information on native plants that we didn't know (his great-grandfather was Buck Winn, an artist who bought the property back in the 1930's and pretty much established Wimberley as an artist colony.) 

I'll explain the rest through photos...

This is taking off (it isn't me, but you get the idea.)

This is me...

Notice the look of concentration as I press the cable flat-handed... "Don't grip! Don't grip!"

Ah, good job, Barbara.

Tom's turn. He's a natural. (show-off!)

He was coming in fast!

We had to take a few posed shots...

Just some random shots to give you an idea of what the heck we were doing!

Look, I'm smiling now! Nothin' to it...

This is FUN!

One of our great guides, Andrew (all of them were wonderful and made it a lot of fun!)

So guess what we did next?

The answer and more tomorrow in "Birthday, Part 2"!

(thanks to my friend Debbie for the idea of "Zippity" in the title, by the way!)

Intersections and Good Rules

Every intersection in the road of life is an opportunity to make a decision.

 ~ Duke Ellington

"So you decided to leave in the morning?" Tom asked when he arrived home from work yesterday evening and I was still sitting at the computer.

"I don't know! I'm still trying to decide!"

He rolled his eyes.

I was heading to my mom's to see my sister Brenda and help my parents move furniture and whatever else needed to be done to prepare for her release from the hospital in a few days. I hoped to stay long enough to help them with the transition from hospital to home care following her hip surgery, so didn't plan to head out until this morning. More time with Tom, less traffic plus daylight driving. A no-brainer.

And then my friend Mark's brother died. Trey's memorial/celebration of life was scheduled for last night. I wanted so bad to be there for him, but realized it would be early evening before I could even get away from my house, making for a late evening arrival, possibly hitting two cities' worth of Friday night traffic jams. Tom couldn't go with me, and of course, he had concerns about me driving that late at night, worried about me getting tired.

It really wasn't practical to go.  Mark had already told me he understood if I couldn't make it.

But still...

Then my oldest son called, telling me he might stop by the house on his way into town - he and his girlfriend are running the Capital 10K on Sunday, but they would be staying in South Austin. He probably wouldn't come by ... but he might, and that's usually all this mother's heart needs to stay put, just that slim chance of laying eyes on him for a moment.

But still ... 

... Mark and Trey had been like little brothers to me. I'd take them on picnics out to the San Jacinto Monument ... I'd take Trey to the skateboard park, and while he zipped around on the concrete hills, I'd wait in my car, reading. I'd invite Mark to tag along with me to Galveston, when his older brother Chris, my boyfriend, had better things to do. 

Even after Chris and I broke up, Tom and I kept in touch with Mark and Trey. They came to our engagement party with their mom ... we took Trey camping ... Mark brought his dad to our house in Lago Vista shortly before his death. Once or twice a year I'd get phone calls from both Mark and Chris.

The last time I saw Mark and Trey was at Chris's funeral several years ago.

Since then, they had also lost their mother. She and I had remained very close - I knew she'd want me to be there for Mark now.

What to do? What to do?

And then I read it ... one of the quotes I keep taped near my computer:

If we are ever in doubt about what to do,
it is a good rule to ask ourselves what we shall wish on the morrow that we had done.

~ John Lubbock

Within an hour I was packed and on the road.

I arrived at the gathering a little before 11pm; the look on Mark's face when he saw me, and the hug he gave me, would have erased any lingering doubts. But I didn't have any once my suitcase was out - I knew if I didn't go, it would be a gnat of regret, bugging me forever.

But there's more...

The memorial/celebration was just that, a celebration of life - mostly Mark's friends and high school classmates reminiscing, laughing, and even dancing, and then meeting at I-Hop for a late night/early morning breakfast.

So it was very, very late by the time I pulled into my parents' driveway. Their empty driveway. Huh? Where could they be? A flash of guilt leftover from high school crossed my mind - surely they weren't out looking for me!

I told them I didn't know what time I'd be in ... I have my own key and Mama said she'd just leave the light on for me ... I'll be 52 in a couple of weeks, for goodness' sake!

I checked my phone, tucked deep in my purse. Sure enough, there was a voice message from my mom...

"Don't worry when you see the empty driveway - Brenda had a bad reaction to Ambien and we had to go to the hospital to calm her down. She's okay, but where are you, little girl? You should be home by now!"

Always a mom. Sigh...

I let myself in and they arrived home a few minutes later. After hugs and a quick catch-up (Brenda had called them, saying there were strange people in her room and that she had been kidnapped!), we all said goodnight.

Early this morning, my phone rang. It was Brenda...

"Barbara, I'm being held captive."

Oh, crap.

"You're just having a reaction to Ambien, Brenda. Mama and Daddy were up there last night, remember? You're okay. You're in the hospital."

"No, that's just what these people told them. I don't know where they have me. I just wanted to tell you I love you and I'm sorry it came to this. I have to go."

Click.

Oh, crap. Oh, crap.

I tried calling her back and couldn't get through.

Oh, crap.

I threw on my clothes; I wasn't even going to take the time to shower ... I needed to get up there, fast. Mama was still asleep, worn out from the night's adventure. Daddy was worried about Brenda, but didn't want to leave Mama.

Before I could leave, she called again.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, I think, but I'll be better when family is here." She sounded so scared, so confused.

"I'm on my way."

Thank goodness, by the time I got there she was back to herself, and laughed about how it was a good thing she didn't know the numbers to the CIA or FBI (or Jack Bauer), or she would have called and reported her kidnapping to them, too!

And I thought, yeah, and it's a good thing I came in last night so I can be here for my sister this morning, and give my mom and dad a break.

No regrets.

(Update: Brenda has been released from the hospital several days earlier than expected. Maybe they were worried the FBI would be responding to a phone call or something... Nah, not really. She was just doing really good and now she's settled in here at my parents' house. Thanks to her church, she has a wheelchair, walker and potty chair to use until she's recovered. She has prescriptions for pain medicine, a blood thinner and antibiotics .. but no more Ambien! Please keep her and my parents in your prayers!)

 

Mom, first and foremost

Tommy's cough was back, worse than before, poor baby.

No preschool for him tomorrow; that meant one of us would have to stay home with him, give him nebulizer treatments every four hours. Probably take him back to the doctor. I hoped he wouldn't need another round of Prednisone.

"I took off work last time," Tom reminded me. True. And he was just months into a new job after finally graduating from college. 

I, on the other hand, had three weeks of vacation to use for the year, my reward for working twelve hour shifts through two and a half pregnancies while Tom earned his degree. We wouldn't be going anywhere for vacation this year because Tom, as a newbie, only had one week coming to him, and I was due to deliver smack dab in the middle of July. 

I dialed my supervisor's number, then cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear while adding medicine to the nebulizer's plastic cup. "David, I need a day of emergency vacation tomorrow. Tommy's sick again."

Tommy coughed and coughed from the living room, waiting for me. I knew it would be a long night, waking every four hours, perhaps even every two to give him the treatments if he didn't respond to it. 

"Um, I've been instructed to tell you that you can't take anymore emergency vacation days."

"What? By who?"

"Sam."

Sam. David's boss. That bastard! Just a few weeks ago he was telling me about his son's battle with asthma. His son was Tommy's age. He, of all people, should understand. 

There had been cutbacks lately and forced overtime, and now they were worried about manpower and coverage. But Sam was just a male chauvinist control freak bastard, anyway.

And my baby was sick. And geez, tomorrow was Friday! I just needed off one day. Tom could take over Saturday.

I felt my heart beating faster, my face flushing. 

"I'm sorry, Barbara. I don't have a choice."

"I know, David. I don't blame you. But I am taking off tomorrow."

I hung up and immediately dialed the plant's main number, punching the numbers hard and fast. "Dave Loveday, please." The plant supervisor. Head honcho. I wasn't messing around anymore - my baby depended on me.  

A few clicks and then, "Dave Loveday here." 

"Hi Dave. It's Barbara." I poured out my conversation with David to him, shared with him how sick Tommy had been the past few months, how he was struggling to breathe now, how worried I was about him. "You know, I earned those three weeks of vacation and we have an emergency vacation policy in place for situations such as this. If the plant is short-handed, that's someone else's responsibility, not mine. I have done my job out there, but being a mother is my most important job. So right now I'm thinking I need to either call a lawyer or a psychiatrist. Which do you think, Dave?"

"Oh, Barbara, you just stay home and take care of that baby! Don't you worry about a thing out here!"

"Thanks, Dave." Damn right.

 

This is my contribution to The Red Dress Club's RememeRed. This week's assignment was, when meeting someone for the first time, describe a scene from your life that would help show the person your true self. It was tough trying to think of something I haven't already written about (I'm not even sure I haven't written about this before!) and I am barely slipping this one in under the deadline. Click on the image above to see the other contributions.

 

 

Waiting

I settled into cubicle #14 to wait. In my bag I had two books, a spiral notebook with plenty of blank pages, the local newspaper, a bottle of water, some peanuts, walnuts, almonds and a granola bar.

I have experience waiting...

...I think the first time was soon after we were married; he broke his ankle riding a motorcycle through the Sam Houston National Forest with friends. He broke it bad enough to need surgery and a 2 inch screw, and started his second semester of college on crutches.

Or it might have been that trip to the emergency room when he sliced his thumb open on the table saw bad enough that it took 50 stitches to close it up. We were still in the house in League City, so it was during our Pre-Kid Era, as well. (A group of Jehovah's Witnesses startled him as he was ripping boards on the saw in the garage with the door open.)

Then there was the first hernia surgery, the car accident, the ulcer surgery, two more hernias, the heart attack scare, the arteriogram and subsequent stent insertion... um, I think that's all.

And that's just Tom. I'm not even going to mention the hours spent in doctors' offices and emergency rooms for my three asthmatic, active kids.

So when I headed downtown Friday to wait as Tom had surgery on a deviated septum, I went prepared.

I have plenty of practice, waiting.

He drove himself. Daniel took the car to his nearby apartment and drove it back here for us yesterday. I'll shuttle him back downtown tomorrow.

We did it that way because I needed to take TG to work - she hasn't driven since the incident with the Suzuki Samurai last winter, and hasn't had time to practice driving Tom's car. The Suzuki is still out of commission; Tom's putting it back together piece by piece as he finds the parts. I didn't want her first day driving after a year to be one where I was miles and miles away. 

Why is everything so complicated?

He was still in surgery when I arrived, but they wheeled him into #14 with me within 40 minutes, and then I was on duty, watching his oxygen levels blink on the monitor above him (BREATHE!) and keeping his cup full of ice and water to soothe his sore throat.

In between talking to Tom (he was very alert and not in much pain at all) and ordering him to breathe, I glanced around.

It was a total coincidence, but exactly a year ago on that day, I sat in a curtained cubby waiting with TG after the same surgery with the same doctor. Tom had opted for a different surgical center so he could have it on a Friday and I was grateful. Instead of curtains all around, making me privy to everyone else's snorts, coughs, conversations, cries, you name it ... and vice-versa ... this one had three solid walls and one glass one, with a cute dog-cat-picket-fence-themed wallpaper border brightening up the tan walls. Much more privacy.

The nurse's station was directly in front of us, and I enjoyed watching them bustle about in their navy blue scrubs, thinking, I should have been a nurse. I'd love having a job that kept me busy, kept me moving, where I knew I was helping people and perhaps best of all, I didn't have to decide what to wear in the morning.

I never even considered it when I was younger - I had spent too much time in doctor's offices and emergency rooms with my own asthma, and I hated the smell, hated the fluorescent lighting, hated not having any windows. Little did I know I'd eventually spend hours and hours in both places with my kids, and with all of my family's health issues, I ended up a nurse of sorts, anyway.

Before I knew it, they were going over post-op instructions with me and helping him sit up on the edge of the bed. I barely had time to read the local newspaper, much less dive into the books I brought, and they were kicking us out! I think my granola bar is still in my purse.

Maybe it's all the practice he's had...maybe it's because he's so stubborn...but if it weren't for all the noise Tom makes trying to breathe (he has plastic stents in both nostrils, after all), it would be easy for me to forget he even had surgery. He doesn't complain, doesn't want to be waited on, remembers his medicine all on his own.

Miraculously, his nose doesn't hurt, just his throat, which is ruby red from the endotracheal tube. But he's been up moving around, walking the dogs, changing light bulbs - he even fixed a pot roast for dinner last night while I was at the grocery store.

So thank you all for your prayers. I can vouch that they worked. Please stay tuned for next time!

Oh, yeah...I had my camera with me, too, of course. Cute feet, huh?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, it's you again, Monday...

It's not a good idea to stay up late, late, late Sunday night working at the computer when you need to get up early, early, early Monday morning for work.

So now you know how my Monday started...with bloodshot eyes and plenty of yawns and scrambling to be on time.

When will I learn?

I wasn't even working on my book or any other kind of writing. I'm trying to "redecorate" my blog but I'm getting very, very frustrated. I've already spent more time on it than I really wanted to, or could afford to, but I've designed a new banner that I love and I'm bound and determined to finish what I've started. Eventually. I need to learn when to give up and call it a night, though, that's for sure.

All things considered (bloodshot eyes and yawns) it wasn't a bad Monday...for me, anyway. The puppies and I (and my camera, safe and sound at home again) took a walk in an un-wintery balmy breeze under a blue gray swirly sky. Max is still limping, but not bad. Belle is still bouncy Belle.

Then I ran 3 miles on the treadmill in just over 30 minutes (good riddance, cheesecake!) and got to spend most of my work day researching and writing about autism.

I received a few sweet comments on yesterday's blog post, including one from Suldog pointing me in the direction of his blogger friend, Running in the Yard Next Door, who posted something about Advent yesterday, too, only much better than mine. (Read it HERE.)

Tom, on the other hand, although his back was enough better to go to the office, got hit by a bad headache mid-morning that stubbornly held on until this evening, all through a day of meetings. I had already planned to grill pork chops, but then had to eat alone because I didn't want to wake him. (I was supposed to grill them last night, but had a full day of running around with TG and ended up eating my first yummy Black Bean Burger at Dirty Martin's, while Tom made due at home with frozen taquitos, poor guy.)

And also today, I got a phone call from someone dear to me who was being bombarded by one thing after another on a day when he couldn't afford the time or mental effort to deal with anything extra. Isn't that the way it goes, though? That's when you learn to take baby steps and breathe and not look at the big picture because it's just too damn overwhelming. On the up side, you learn you can deal with just about anything, and you really, really appreciate those days when everything is easy-peasy. (And dear one, those days will come, more often than days like today, I promise!)

I spent a lot of time praying today...

I also thought about this past weekend, when I did something I love to do but rarely get the chance... Swing. As in up and down, back and forth, on an actual playground swing.

We passed near these on one of our walks through the old neighborhood, and Daniel and I couldn't resist; we jumped right on. Besides being just plain fun, swinging is great exercise; I think I had really skinny legs up until I quit swinging regularly, around age 10.

Perhaps just coincidence. But perhaps not. 

Anyway, I try to make up for lost time when I come across a sturdy swing set... there's something about flying up into the air, back and forth, that is so relaxing...you can feel those troubles just dropping to the ground below, like so many marbles out of a kid's pocket...

"How do you like to go up in a swing, up in the air so blue?

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing ever a child 22-year-old-man or 51-year-old-woman can do!"

~from The Swing, by Robert Louis Stevenson (slightly modified)

Did you notice the smiles? You just can't help but smile when you're flying through the air on a swing...

Hope you made it through Monday with a smile or two intact!

 

 

 

 

"But I'm too young to have a cataract!"...

"Oh, this is a 'young woman's cataract', not an 'old person's cataract'," my cute couldn't-be-out-of-his-thirties-probably-not-even-wearing-readers-yet optometrist told me during my routine eye exam yesterday, right after he dropped that "C" word on me. Not the worst "C" word, it's true, but it was still a shock.

"I've never heard of a 'young woman's cataract'." 

"Well, that's not really its name - I just made that up. I should copyright it!" He was pleased with himself. "But, it's pretty common. Really, it's not a big deal." I guess he could see I was the type to blow things out of proportion and panic.

Common, huh? I read More magazine plus several blogs that deal with women's midlife issues and I've never heard that cataracts might come visiting this early. Then again, those heart palpitations that came knocking in June (get it?) took me by surprise, too. Maybe I'm skimming over those articles and paying too much attention to the ones about hair and wrinkles. 

The good news is my cataract is teensy-tiny, too small to affect my vision (yet). It's way too early for surgery. In fact, Dr. Cute is mostly just guessing it's a cataract right now after comparing my Optomap images over the past four years. A shadow cast on my lens has doubled in size, typical of the subcapsular type he suspects. 

When my vision becomes so blurry that I feel like I'm walking through a Monet painting or a London fog, that means it's ripe and ready to be plucked out of there; if it continues growing at this same rate, for my 55th birthday, I'll be having cataract surgery!! I was hoping for a trip to Italy or Greece, but whatever. Vision is a wonderful gift, too, and as far as surgeries go, it's one of the easiest.

So what can I blame for this? There's got to be something!

Dr. Cute mentioned a few things, but I wanted something specific to blame, so I went to my friend Google for more information. Some of the culprits include: diabetes (no); high farsightedness (yes); diuretics and tranquilizers (no and no); smoking (a few weeks in 7th grade shouldn't count); pollution (I grew up on the Houston Ship Channel... 'nuff said.); heavy alcohol consumption (I wouldn't call it heavy!); lead exposure (not that I'm aware of, but then again, I grew up on the Houston Ship Channel); eating a lot of salt (no); and possibly hormone replacement therapy (no); using steroids over a long period of time, especially combining oral and inhaled steroids (yes - I've had asthma all of my life!); and finally, the two I think are really to blame... being a sun worshiper and not wearing my sunglasses like I should. Heck, I never wore sunglasses in high school. For some reason they messed with my vision or made me queasy or something. I always wear them now - I can't stand not to - but the damage was done years ago, I'm sure.

The good news is a diet high in antioxidants like I've been on for the past few years might forestall cataract development. Maybe I've slowed it down!

Ironically, August was Cataract Awareness Month. Besides wearing sunglasses and not smoking, the American Academy of Opthalmology recommends getting a baseline exam if you're over 40; younger if your family has a history of early cataracts.

So listen up, you 40-year-olds 30-year-olds 20-year-olds teenagers, start taking care of your eyes now! Don't smoke! Eat healthy, especially plenty of antioxidants!

And please, please, please learn from my mistake... wear sunglasses! 

 

 

 

 

 

Divas and Sunshine - Just What the Doctor Ordered

I've been packing a lot into my life lately, both by choice and necessity. I've been skimping on sleep at a time when I need to be getting more, stressing over finances, kids and property/neighbor issues.

But there are times when skimping on sleep is exactly the right thing to do - especially if it's a Deer Park Diva weekend at Rae's house (and a chance to spend a few hours with Mama and Daddy before heading back home again.)

Over thirty years ago I shared a building, teachers, pep rallies and prom memories with some wonderful women. Only I didn't realize back then just how wonderful they were. It's stretching it to say I even knew some of them.

I'm not sure how it's happened, whether through reunions, Facebook or just a mutual longing to be connected, but over the past few years we've all reached out to each other.

It's not stretching it to say we've become a life support system for each other, holding each other up in those times when it's impossible to stand alone. Laughing, crying, and dancing with each other through the tears of both.

In these days when our lives are changing, when we don't know what the next day will bring to us by way of our children, our parents, or our own aging bodies, the consistency we find with each other is a balm to our spirits, and in turn, a physical boost far outweighing any damage done by skimping on sleep. These women are fighters... survivors who keep on smiling... who teach me to smile...

Thanks again to Rae and my Divas for a beautiful weekend... my tapestry, inside and out, continues to grow richer and stronger, thanks to you.

Another year, another day by Rae's pool, soaking up the sun, love and laughter, and celebrating a birthday...

Spending hours and hours with these long-time friends is a great stress-reliever for me. What about you? Do you have any routines or rituals that keep you healthy, mentally and physically? Go to my Review page and tell me in the comments section. You'll be entered in the random drawing for a $100 Visa gift card next week! Click here to find out more.

 

 

Body Image Issues?

It seems all of my life I've been comparing myself to other girls or women; specifically, comparing body parts. Back in 5th grade, I envied the way my friend Candy's long, thin legs fit into her jeans. My legs were short and my thighs were chunky - definitely not the look I wanted!

Then Donna moved in across the street from me. Donna, the thirteen-year-old with the eighteen-year-old body and long blonde hair. Donna who was oblivious to the mob of drooling boys following her through the halls on her first day of school. Yeah, she made me feel good about myself. Uh-huh.

By the way, I discovered fad diets in middle school. Coincidence? I think not.

It got worse in high school with the arrival of hormonal pudgies. My legs were still too short, my thighs too fat, my stomach too poochy, my boobs too small. And then, suddenly, too big. Just as bad!

My boyfriend kept the famous poster of Farrah Fawcett on his wall; for some reason, I didn't feel comfortable wearing halter tops or anything showing my midriff.

I discovered diet pills in high school. Coincidence? Again, I think not.

By the time I hit my twenties, my metabolism was a mess, barely alive! It took pregnancy and breastfeeding to finally get it back on track. I haven't been on an actual "diet" since then for fear of tripping it up again, like it's a runner who finally hit her stride and is going for the gold.

I'm finally coming to appreciate my body now that I'm in my fifties. I see my poochy belly and remember that it held my three babies safe and snug, close to me. My now-too-small-again boobs nourished them: how can I hold a grudge? My legs are still short, my thighs hang onto cellulite like a security blanket, but they get me around, and I'm grateful.

I've learned to look at my body as a friend to love, not an enemy to be conquered. I try to treat it with respect - I want to keep it around as long as possible!

This is the beginning of a new post,"My Body, My Friend", about body image on my Review page. "New Post" means new chance to comment and have yet another shot at the $100 Visa gift card (courtesy of BlogHer and Crystal Light) that I'll randomly select from all of the comments at the end of the month. To enter, go to the post (click here) and answer this question in the comments:

What kind of body image issues, if any, have you struggled with? Do you still struggle with them? And if you haven't ever struggled with any, please share the secret! (You only have to answer the first one, but I'm really nosy.)

You can comment here, too, if you want to, but these comments aren't eligible for the drawing. Good luck!

 

 

 

Marriage Tip #5 (thank you, Dr. Oz)

Since I'm a good wife and mother, I subscribe to Men's Health Today emails. That way I can forward them to Tom and my boys, nagging virtually when I can't do it in person.

Sometimes I read the articles, but often I don't have time, and that's what happened today. But the title and blurb sounded beneficial... "Dr. Oz's 25 Greatest Health Tips"... so I hit forward and off it went.

Within seconds, I received this email from Tom:

Re: Dr. Oz's 25 Greatest Health Tips

So there -

Dr. Oz Tip #5

Don't Pamper Your Bad Back
Even if you're hunched over in agony, taking to your bed will only  make a bad back worse. The latest research shows that bed rest    weakens back muscles and prolongs the suffering. Married men may  suffer more than single men because of all the pampering. I used to  love milking the care from Lisa, but the best solution is to get up,  take a pain reliever, and be a soldier.

Men's Health tip: Perform the Ultimate Upper-Body Workout to  strengthen your back and broaden your shoulders.

"So there." That's what my husband wrote. Not "thank you for caring enough to send this to me, I love you, too," but "So there."

Geez.

So this is what I wrote him back.

"Love it! Perfect timing! Okay, no more pampering from me, soldier boy."

Because I'll do anything for my honey in the name of love, including neglecting him if necessary.

By the way, apparently Dr. Oz knows what he's talking about. Tom went to work today (which includes driving a small, standard convertible an hour each way) and stopped by the grocery store on his way home, and now he looks almost normal when he walks, plus his moaning and groaning is cut at least in half! Maybe Dr. Oz threw his back out bowling at some time, too.

On Frankie, the Dogs and my Heart

 

I didn't sleep much last night. My eyes popped open at 1am and Frankie was on my mind, of course. But I woke with the memory of his closed eyes and my own words... "There were no marks on Frankie. No blood."

I remembered his time-stiffened body, the dogs greeting us on the porch... they had obviously been sitting with him for a long while, perhaps guarding his body from vultures or other scavengers. It occurred to me he could have died of natural causes; we had no idea how old he was. Maybe he died up by the truck and Max carried him down to the porch to protect his body until we got home. Or perhaps Frankie ventured down himself, knowing his time was at hand and wanting to be closer to us.

The thing is, he was lying there beside a mattress, blanket and toys that had been ripped and mutilated by a bored, energetic, teething puppy, yet he was virtually untouched. 

Racked with remorse over my earlier anger, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed outside to apologize for jumping to conclusions. Belle wiggled and wagged over to me for some petting; Max rolled onto his side, allowing me to scratch his belly. Apology accepted.

We're still not sure what happened to Frankie. We'll never know, but that's okay. It's highly likely one or both of the dogs contributed to his death in some way, but when I think about Frankie's strange behavior of late (I mentioned to Kendall that I thought he might be deaf)... his little eyes closed as in sleep... and little or no evidence of violence around him, I realize it's a distinct possibility that he just died of old age. He was pretty persnickety, after all.

At any rate, as several dear friends and the Girl reminded me today, he had a good, happy life with us, and I'm grateful for the time we were given with him. I have an image of him walking in a wildflower-filled meadow, chirping/chatting with Ruthie. I believe he never stopped mourning or searching for her (remember all of those house inspections?) Now his search is over.

I've been overwhelmed by the words of sorrow and sympathy expressed to me over the death of my goofy little guinea, by the blessings and well-wishes sent to me via Facebook, email, phone, my blog... I am so blessed. The words have been a big hug that eased my heart. Thank you so much.

One friend shared the beautiful story of losing her beloved dog to a pack of pitbulls... she described feeling the same punch in the gut I felt when I first spotted Frankie and knew he was gone. But she also shared a vision she had of her puppy in heaven, before the throne of God, and how that vision comforted her. It also comforted me.

Another friend shared this quote, which is so true...

"Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is to learn to swim." (Thanks, Lynn.)

 

This evening Tom and I took the dogs for a walk. It was gray and Houston humid. It was also quiet - although Frankie hasn't walk with us in over a week, today the silence, the absence of his constant chattering, was deafening. There was just the clumping of our footsteps, the panting of the dogs and the birds calling to each other. Tom and I were lost in our own thoughts: he searched for fossils; I searched for great photo ops. But my heart just wasn't in it... there were no new flowers and I didn't want another photo of the dogs rough-housing. Not today.

I finally spotted this deer print in the mud. It reminded me of how fleeting life is... here, then gone in a blink, with just a tiny imprint left behind.

 

My heart... it passed the EKG and I must have answered the doctor's questions with the right answers because he believes my heart palpitation was something called a SVT, or Supraventricular Tachycardia, basically an electrical short circuit in my heart that causes it to pound and race. Because my beats were regular and I experienced no other symptoms, like dizziness or chest pain, he called it "benign". I might have some or all of this mixed up a bit, but the impression I got was not to be too worried. 

But then, it's all guesswork - other things have to be ruled out, so tonight I'm wired... I'm wearing a Holter monitor for 24 hours and next week I'll return for an echocardiogram to take a look at my valves.

 (The hospital is near my son Daniel's apartment, so I took him to lunch, and of course, had him take a glamorous picture of me "wired"...)

 

Thank you all again for all of your prayers, blessings, words of comfort and sympathy, and well-wishes. They truly have been a blessing to me today.

Heart beats. Heart POUNDS.

It started in my dream, the boom, boom, booming in my chest. Before the Dream Me could finish googling 'heart pounding' and 'anxiety attack', it shook me awake and I realized it was real, not a dream... my heart was actually pounding so hard, so fast and furiously, that it woke me from a sound sleep at 1AM.

I lay there feeling like a Mexican jumping bean was trapped in my chest, wondering what I should do. Apparently the Dream Me suspected an anxiety attack, but I actually felt less stressed and anxious than usual. We'd spent the day and evening relaxing with friends, celebrating their daughter's high school graduation. Nevertheless, I took some deep breaths, hoping to slow the thumping. No luck.

Instead, the pressure of each beat shoving against my rib cage was increasing, expanding, pushing up into my throat. My heart was trying to run away! Any minute now it would blast right out of my mouth and that would be that.

 A childhood prayer came to mind... 

Now I lay me down to sleep.
 I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
 If I should die before I wake,
  I pray the Lord my soul to take. 

I felt Tom stir beside me. "In case I die tonight, I love you," I told him. 

"Hmmm?"

"My heart is pounding. Feel it." 

He put his hand on my chest. Bent his ear to my back. Took my wrist. "It's going so fast I can't count your pulse!" Not good... and especially when you consider my "normal" pulse is so low the nurse reset the 'low' alarm point on the monitor before my colonoscopy... it kept beeping and annoying everyone. 

I sat up. I laid back down. Turned to my side. Rolled onto my back. It didn't matter - the pounding continued, separate from the rest of my body. 

Tom gave me two aspirin. I chewed some Tums. We discussed what we should do - should we wake our friends to find out how to get to the nearest emergency room? It was the logical thing to do, of course, and yet... ah, man, it hadn't been that long since I'd spent 24 hours in the hospital with "my dear one"... I really, really hated the idea of sitting in another waiting room for hours. Even as I thought it, though, I realized how silly it was to be thinking that way when I feared my heart was on the verge of exploding.

And yet I still hesitated. I thought of my dream. "Google it," I told Tom, so he sat at the computer and read off possible causes to me - too much caffeine (none since before noon and less than normal), asthma medication (none since that morning), smoking (not since 1978)... 

Nothing applied to me. And I was already taking all of the preventative measures it suggested! What the heck was going on?

I didn't want to die in my friend's daughter's bed. That just wouldn't be cool. As much as I dreaded stepping foot in another hospital, I knew it was the smartest thing to do. But before I could rise to dress, I noticed a change. My heart had left my throat. Slipped back into my chest where it belonged. The beats were softer, slower. "It's over," I told Tom.

He turned off the computer and crawled back into bed. Somehow, I fell back asleep and didn't wake again until sunlight warmed my face.

I drank de-caf that morning. Skipped my asthma inhaler. My heart had become a stranger to me, a crazy stranger, and I wasn't sure how to treat it. I didn't want to set it off again.

But since that morning, it's been its old self... slow and steady. I've had coffee (although I've cut back)... used my albuterol inhaler for my asthma... pushed myself on the elliptical trainer for 30 minutes yesterday and jumped rope today. Nothing. I'd think it had all been a dream if Tom didn't vouch for it.

From what I've read, I don't think this is a life-threatening issue, despite the scariness of it all. I think it falls under "heart palpitations" and might be related to low blood pressure (my normal is 90/60) or a valve problem.

I'm not taking any chances, though; next week I'm seeing a cardiologist. I'll keep you posted...

 

Loose Ends, Apologies and Clarifications

I owe my kids an apology. I implied in XOXO Nina Barbara that they were slackers in the Mother's Day department. I didn't intend to, but nonetheless, reading back over it now, I understand why my sweet Tommy slipped a pressed flower into the card he sent me with a note explaining "I couldn't let Nicole out-do me, so here's a flower."

It's a pretty little flower, but the gesture was totally unnecessary; he, Daniel and the Girl chipped in for something I've been yearning for ... another pair of Chaco sandals. I splurged on a pair in Gruene two years ago (our anniversary served as the excuse that time) and have practically worn them out. Chaco Flips don't look like anything special, but they fit and support these old aching feet of mine perfectly ... and match my wardrobe! If you have plantar fasciitis, you need to try a pair. Trust me.

Thank you, sweet kids!

I also felt, after writing yesterday's post  about the hospital time warp, that I should mention all of the wonderful caretakers we met there ... the nurse who scrounged up a pair of scrubs pants to make my dear one more comfortable ... the emergency room doctor who thought outside the box when test results weren't fitting together ... the admitting surgeon who did all he could to avoid surgery, covered all the bases and seemed reluctant to let us go without knowing for sure what it was ... the "mother nurse" who came by to visit, to answer questions and put my dear one at ease about the potential surgery and ended up inspiring both of us with her story: she suffered a stroke several years ago - wasn't supposed to even be able to walk again - and decided life was too short to not go after a passion. She took a class in making jewelry and started a business.  Scrambling for a name for her new business, the perfect one hit her: MySCAL (My Second Chance at Life). She wore an example - a beautiful fused glass pin. 

Some other loose ends ...

*At the Texas Music Awards in Marshall last weekend the Shake Russell Trio won Vocal Group of the Year. I still believe Shake should have also won Entertainer of the Year, but I'm happy the group was at least recognized. Click here to see all of the recipients.

*My sister sent me this link about Guinea Fowl after my last post about Frankie and his strange behavior. If you're a Frankie fan, you should read it. It turns out, they mate for life and can die of broken hearts. Poor Frankie.

*Don't forget BlogHer has these fantastic give-aways where, just by commenting on a post, you're entered into a random drawing for hundreds of dollars in gift cards. I have one on my reviews/contest blog right now! Click here and tell me who in your life is the yin to your yang for a chance at a $100 Visa gift card. The contest ends June 3.

*As if taking care of my family, working, blogging, writing a book and practicing my drums weren't enough to fill my spare time, I've joined a Flickr group - "The Blog Camp 365 in 2010 Project."

What that means is I'm taking photographs, playing around with the editing, and uploading one to the group page every day. Oh, and I'm looking at everyone else's photos, commenting on them and learning tons and tons about photography while I'm at it. I'm trying to figure out how to add a link to my "One-A-Days" on this blog, but for some reason, I just haven't had time to do it yet. Keep an eye out for it, but in the meantime, I'll just post a few of mine here ... 

  

 

*The latest edition of my missionary friend Jeannie's newsletter arrived this week. In it she writes "...without electricity I eat cold food, take cold showers, have no internet or TV - in short, nothing in my house works but my cell phone, which I keep charged up, just in case. I also shower at night if I have electricity, to avoid a possible cold shower in the morning if there's no power. I've learned to do things at a slower pace and to adjust to a life with uncertainty." She goes on to say "... we're in what's called a false winter here. That means the weather is acting like the rainy season, even though it's a month early. Farmers have to decide whether to plant now or at the traditional time. They're both risky, but they have to make a decision. Many are out of food provisions for the year and an early start means they will have food sooner, if the rain keeps on. If it doesn't, the newly sprouted corn will dry up and die and they will lose this year's crop..."

I've tried getting her to convert her newsletter into a blog format, but she has too many she needs to mail it to. Plus, she's kinda busy ... So I'm trying to figure out a way to post her newsletter on my blog, just to help get the word out about her work. Keep an eye out for it, too!

*And last but not least, I spotted this on the news this week - a 94-year-old woman earned her college degree. That means there's still hope for me!

     

Slip Slidin'

"You know the nearer your destination, the more you're slip slidin' away." - Paul Simon

Ah, that's how it feels this week, just slipping and sliding, doing my best to stay on my feet. I'm standing at the door of another weekend wondering how the heck I got here. Piles of junk, papers and boxes greet me everywhere I look - it's been a go, go, go week with no time to stop, sort and put-away.

Hospitals will do that to you. Unless you work there, a hospital is a time warp. One minute you're worried about your dear one, praying, heart pounding, zipping down the highway with lightning flashing all around you, racing the minutes on the dashboard LED clock ... and the next minute you're both shuffled aside to uncomfortable chairs with an apology and a promise. 

Hours pass. "Emergency" becomes anti-climatic. You stare at a television screen, sound muted. Doubts gather... It's probably nothing. Why did we come? ...  but you bat them away like they're annoying insects.

You stare at the other time warp travelers. Try to guess why they're here. Smile at the white-haired lady in the wheelchair who is obviously in pain but giggling with her daughter and acting silly with ice packs. Try to avert your eyes from the woman in the short skirt who forgot to put on underwear. Hold the door for the mother of twin toddlers trying to maneuver them and a wheelchair out of the restroom, then listen to her story of mold, landlords, the Housing Authority, and more as the toddlers scurry around munching on crackers and sipping Pedialyte.

Your turn finally comes and even though the clock still seems stuck in slow-mo, things are happening - questions, tests, results. In between you chit-chat, doze on a hard plastic chair or watch television programs you'd never take time to watch at home, specifically ones about Paul McCartney in Russia and the 1938 Rhode Island hurricane. You wonder why it's so cold that you're still shivering despite your jeans, two jackets and blanket. And you pray.

Our prayers were answered - the problem resolved with no surgery - and we got to go home not quite 24 hours after we arrived (feeling a bit like freed prisoners by then. Thank you so much to everyone for their prayers!)

Finally back home, you realize immediately that the world has gone on without you and once again, you're playing catch-up. However, you don't forget to be grateful, don't forget that it could have been much worse and you could still be stuck in that time warp, staring unseeing at television programs you never knew existed, shivering, dozing for minutes at a time, worrying and praying.

A long, long, very long Monday

This first post after the weekend was supposed to be all about rocking out with our friends to the music of Kansas/Foreigner/Styx. That will have to wait because, true to its nature, my Monday didn't go as I planned. 

To honor a privacy pact I made with a very dear person, all I can say is, for me, Monday ended and Tuesday started in a hospital emergency room. My dear one is still undiagnosed but finally resting, so I zipped home to shower and pay some bills and now I'm headed back up there, putting the rest of my life on hold for a bit - I hope for just a short bit.

Please join me in praying for a quick diagnosis and healing that doesn't require surgery. Thank you!

Grateful for #53

Tom turned 53 today. If you've read much of my blog, you know I never take birthdays for granted, but I'm especially grateful for each one of his we get to celebrate. I've spent too many hours sitting in hospital waiting rooms praying for him ... come too close to losing him too many times. I know there are dozens of close calls I'm not even aware of, times I'm sure his angels kept him from falling off the roof or wrecking the backhoe, the motorcycle, the car ... 

And then there's his heart, the time bomb in his chest that he inherited from his grandpa. The grandpa who died of a heart attack at 56. The father of Tom's aunts who died from heart attacks before their 50th birthdays.

When we were in our twenties, 56 seemed so old.

I'm grateful Tom listens to his body and doesn't hesitate in seeing a doctor when something is wrong. We wouldn't be celebrating his birthday today if he hadn't insisted ten years ago that the pain in his chest was more than just a pulled muscle, even though a stress test and EKG said otherwise. Hallelujah! his wonderful cardiologist listened to him and ordered an arteriogram. She saved his life! An arterial blockage hid in the one spot a stress test couldn't find it. They popped in a stent and sent him on his way - with plenty of prescriptions and requirements for yearly blood work and check-ups, of course.

I support his efforts to take care of himself ... to eat right and exercise. I buy the things he should be eating, not ice cream or cookies. I make sure we have plenty of raw fruits and vegetables on hand.

What I wish I could do better is help him with stress. He worries, and not without reason, over finances, retirement, our kids, our cars, our land, our house. Mostly over finances.

So I wasn't surprised when I asked him what he wanted for his birthday and he said: "Don't get me anything. Just pay off the credit cards." 

I'm trying. I've made progress. Substantial progress. But it's a constant tug between needs, wants and finances, a battle we're intimately familiar with - we've been a mostly one-income family since soon after we married, when he quit work to go to college. We just switched places after our youngest was born. 

Now that we're Empty Nesters, I've doubled my "paid" hours. The catch is, without a college degree, my pay ... and my choices ... are limited. I try to make up for both - the pay and the fulfillment - with my writing. Blogging brings in a little bit of money; my play and my book, not so much ... yet. I joke that they're our retirement plan - once they're finished, I'll make a million dollars and we can both retire. But the only way that can happen is if I write, and the trick there is finding time to write. Between the 'paid' job and life, there's not much time left without dipping into my sleep, and when I skimp on sleep ... well, I'm back where I started, full circle: Tom worries. About me.

But I haven't given up. If being broke and juggling finances for years has taught me anything, it's to be creative and frugal. Being frugal just gets so tiring. But Tom's worth it. 

I feel bad that I won't be able to give him what he asked for this year, but I'll do my best for #54. I have a feeling he'll be asking for the same thing, anyway. 

(If anyone has any time-saving, juggling, management ideas, send them on! I've probably already tried them, but you never know!)

Happy 53rd birthday, sweet Tom!

 
 

I Will Not Think About Food Today

I will not think about food today.

I will not think about the crunchy, dry-roasted peanuts I always have mid-morning ... or the healthy salmon salad and triscuits I'd probably have for lunch ... the Sweet 'n Salty Almond granola bar ... the sweet Clementine oranges ... the almonds  ... the banana ... the slice of cheese ... the steak, chicken or pork chops Tom would grill for dinner ...

That's what was already running through my head on my morning walk with the critters. I tried hard to switch my brain over to my surroundings - to the sunlight stretching from one horizon to the next over my head, leaving the Hollow bathed in soft light ... to the clear blue sky above, tattooed with a half moon ... to the new reddish-orange wildflowers joining the ranks of the yellows, whites and purples ... 

I've probably said it before, perhaps even in another season, but right now, today, this is my favorite time of year. Cool mornings that require a light jacket and warm afternoons that remind you of beaches. Clear skies, sunshine, soft breezes.

But even in the midst of this beauty, my stomach already started grumbling and my mind turned back to food and what I won't be able to eat today.

I'm not good with not eating. I eat all day long, every two or three hours. I keep a bag of almonds with me because when my hunger pangs hit, they hit hard. I feel sick. I need to eat right then, and that's all I can think about.

No, I'm not looking forward to today, this day of preparation before my Happy 50th Birthday Colonoscopy. The test itself doesn't worry me. I'm grateful for this technology, for the chance to catch a potential problem. It's this not eating bit and the "internal cleansing" that I dread with every pore of my being.

Today, when thoughts of food pop into my head and my stomach feels like it's turning on itself, I'll try to think instead of all the people in the world, way too many, who never have enough to eat, who would be grateful for the broth I'll be having for lunch, and I'll say a prayer for them.

Tonight, when I'm catching up on all of my bathroom reading, wink-wink, I'll also spend some time thinking and praying for my friends who are at this minute fighting colon cancer; I'll give thanks for the advances in medicine that help catch and treat cancer before it gets a good toehold, and for our health insurance that makes it affordable.

I'll also give thanks for friends who are helping me laugh about the whole thing. Mary reminded me about Dave Barry's classic, "A Journey into My Colon - and Yours" and Kim shared the clip below. Think of me as you're laughing ... (and if you're over 50 but haven't had your colonoscopy yet, schedule it now!!)

Have I mentioned that I'm hungry?

Sunday Morning

Right outside of my window this morning, like they staged it just for me: Max and Belle playing together. They had (what was left of) the Green Squeaky Fish. Belle would roll on her back with the fish in her mouth, Max would play-nip at her, then grab a piece of the toy and pull. He'd eventually win it, but then (joy to this mother's heart!) set it down for her to pick up, and the game would begin again.

I was so relieved to see them playing! Yesterday Tom and I spent the entire day outside ...hoeing, cleaning, working on projects ... but except for the two walks we took, Max spent the day in his doghouse. Belle stayed near us, bored most of the time because we wouldn't let her play with the trash bags or empty engine oil containers or power cords. Poor puppy. 

Speaking of working on projects, I think I've discovered the perfect Whole-Body workout! Hoeing! I finally started my big Landscaping Project yesterday, which meant a few hours of hoeing, raking and more hoeing, and this morning every muscle in my body is sore, including my hands!

Of course, I followed all of that hoeing with moving rocks, which meant lots of bending, squatting and lifting. And I spent Friday afternoon trudging up and down our little hill, dragging trimmed juniper branches down to the burn pile below our house. (Belle thought that was great fun! She helped by biting the ends of the branches, even clambering around inside at times.) So perhaps it was a combination of all of these that has me aching. All I know is, my usual workouts are obviously not challenging enough!

What a great feeling, making progress on these projects that have been gnawing at me for so long. None of them are completed - I didn't get to scratch anything off of a list - but at least we got started. Tom called me a Slave-driver, and I'm pretty proud of that, considering he's a bit of a workaholic.

Today we're off to a slower start - we went to early Mass and now I'm catching up here on the computer while he's sprawled on the couch behind me reading the newspaper. We're both moaning and groaning with every movement we make (you should have seen us kneeling and trying to genuflect at church - we looked about forty years older than we are!) but we still plan to get back to work right after lunch. 

I can feel it now, and I'm not just talking about sore muscles - we've gotten so close! We can't lose the momentum ... gotta keep going and finish! 

Where's my whip?

Prayers for Joel

Last spring I had headaches - they were there when I woke up, backed away like wild animals from fire when pain meds kicked in, but then came charging back with teeth bared when the meds wore off. They were there for days and days - I can't remember how long now - but they were bad enough that I took my aching head to the doctor...wanting him to make the pain go away...wanting him to say it was something simple...afraid that it wouldn't be.

He sent me for an MRI. I was relieved; I was scared. Relieved that if it was something serious, we would know and it could be treated. Scared that it would be something serious.

Despite telling myself not to worry, it was hard for me to believe the MRI would find nothing - I'm a worst-case scenario kind of person.

But I was lucky...the MRI tested negative. My headaches eventually went away. They were just caused by a shingles - an annoying and painful virus, but nothing life-threatening.

My friend Joel had headaches - I believe much worse headaches than mine. Like me, he went to the doctor. Like me, he was sent for an MRI. Like me, I bet those same fears and thoughts that I had were running through his mind. He was probably telling himself he was being silly to worry - it was probably nothing.

But it was something. And his headaches haven't gone away. Today he sees a neurosurgeon.

Please join me in praying for Joel...praying that his headaches - and the reason for his headaches - will soon be a distant memory for him as mine are for me. Join me in praying that he heals and is healthy for many, many years to come.

Fixing Old Boo-Boos...and Contemplating Bigger Issues

Was it a basketball or soccer ball? We're not sure. It could have been either. Or both.

What we do know is...sometime within the past 5 years or so, Kendall got banged on the nose hard enough to break it. But she has always been so tough, so immune to the bumps and bruises that go with the game(s), that she probably didn't even mention it to me when it happened.

However, I did realize awhile back that the bump on her nose (the one she inherited from me) looked a little...different. And she said it was tender. Finally, the allergy doctor mentioned she had a deviated septum - she hadn't even realized she was mostly only breathing through one side of her nose.

So tomorrow morning we'll be leaving the house while it's still dark ...she's going to have surgery so she can breathe with her whole nose for the first time in years.

 Unfortunately, we didn't know to ask the right questions when we first met with the surgeon...and he didn't mention to us until last night that this surgery won't do anything to repair the sore bump. Insurance considers even the repair of a broken nose elective "cosmetic" surgery; he got tired of dealing with them and quit performing that type of surgery. If you are aware of this in advance, you can arrange to have a plastic surgeon work his magic at the same time...if you can afford it. But we also just found this out last night and it has to be more than two days in advance. Granted...cosmetic surgery is way out of our budget right now, but I would at least like to have known all the options.

So, here we are headed into this surgery feeling a little frustrated. Frustrated that we weren't given all the information up front (too often these days it seems you have to become your own expert at everything!) Frustrated that insurance companies have gotten so stingy and full of red-tape that doctors have given up dealing with them.

Thank God that when Tom had his accident more than a decade ago...when the steering wheel split his face - his nose - down the middle...our insurance treated his nose injury as a medical treatment and not "elective" cosmetic surgery...he had an amazing plastic surgeon stitch his face back together...within a week, the scar was barely visible!

Granted, Kendall's injury isn't as traumatic as Tom's by a longshot, but an injury is an injury, and elective is elective. Tom could have survived with just a regular surgeon patching his nose back together, and I would love him just as much if he had a huge purple scar running down his face, but, again, thank God our insurance treated it as a medical problem rather than an elective procedure or a luxury.

Yes, I know our insurance industry has some big problems. But then I stop to think...what would our experience be like if we didn't have this system? She could have had this surgery within a week or two of her initial visit with the surgeon (we waited until Christmas break so she wouldn't miss any school)...and 90% of our costs tomorrow will be covered. In countries with national healthcare programs, we wouldn't have been able to choose the surgeon (our allergy doctor recommended this one from personal experience) and the wait for a non-emergency surgery like this...well, who knows if she could have even gotten it? (I'm basing this on a 20/20 program about healthcare from 2007.)

So I'll zip up my frustration for now and be grateful she's going to be able to breathe through both nostrils in a few days. But I realize I need to get more informed on this whole healthcare issue...with more current information and sources; if there's anything I can do to help the current system improve, I'll do it. It's flawed...no doubt about that...but it's still amazing...still a blessing that I take way too much for granted.

Please keep my little girl in your prayers tomorrow as she undergoes this surgery...no matter how minor, it's still a scary thing for a mom...

Sweet Kisses and Skipping

Christmas is the season of joy, but it's easy to let that joy get buried by to-do lists, exhaustion and financial stress.

Yesterday I re-discovered a sure-fire way to bust that joy back out of the rubble...skipping!

I really have no idea why the notion to skip entered my brain, but there I was on our morning walk, returning from the bend, and something inside of me said SKIP! So I skipped.

Do you remember that scene when little boy Forrest Gump is running from the bullies ("Run, Forrest, run!") and his leg braces come loose and get left in the dust behind him? That's how it felt when I skipped...the to-do lists and the stress and the worries just broke loose and got left behind...once again, I was ten years old. At least for a little while, anyway.

I'm sure anyone looking on would have thought, That is one crazy lady! There I was, this fifty-year old woman skipping along the dirt road, with a guinea fowl and a giant German Shepherd trotting along beside me.

But it was FUN! Joyful! It made the gray sky disappear, made my heart feel lighter and brought a smile to my face! I skipped again this morning and plan to do it every morning from here on out, as long as I am physically able. (It's also great exercise!)

I told Tom he should try it at work when he's feeling frustrated, but he pointed out that it might land him on the "lay-off" list, and I guess he's right. They would think he had flipped. Perhaps there are times when skipping wouldn't help, after all...

Max enjoys my skipping, but I think Frankie's a little annoyed: he doesn't have as much time to snack on our walks anymore (I can move pretty fast!)

I can tell Max still misses Charly, so every morning I linger after he eats to cuddle him. He gives me hugs (he wraps his leg around my leg) and "sweet" kisses...little nibbles on my arm which sometimes result in tiny blood blisters, but he's at least trying to be gentle!

I know he must be lonely - Frankie is a chatterbox, but Max knows he can't even give Frankie "sweet" kisses, much less play with him. I don't see us getting a puppy any time soon, but then, we never know what's going to wander up out of the woods and adopt us. God might have another surprise visitor out there waiting right now for the right time to make an appearance. I'd rather let him pick out our puppy...or whatever...anyway. He always knows just what we need.

Shakin' Things Up

I headed off for my walk before the sun even kissed the tops of the trees in the hollow today. The full moon started the magic of the morning...when I emerged from the bedroom, I was greeted with moonlight that splashed across the back deck and reached into the house through the French doors.  I hurried to the doors to catch a glimpse of it, but it hid from me behind the roof line, just out of my line of vision. It was already cold in the house, so I decided against stepping outside for a better view.

It was when the horizon turned pink above the treeline that I decided to change up my routine: mornings are now for writing, evenings for working out. By the time I get home from work in the evenings, my brain is tired, my creativity has long given up on me and curled up somewhere for a nap. And once it's asleep, it's hard to wake back up, believe me!

So instead of my work-out, I headed out for a walk with the critters earlier than normal. They were all excited, invigorated by the cooler weather. Even Frankie came with us!

As we walked the sunlight steadily worked its way down into the hollow. It was actually cool enough to see my breath wisping away from me. Along the way a vulture swooped low twice and each time Frankie scurried for cover in the trees, making a high-pitched squeal and trill...different enough from his usual chatterings and chirpings that it caught my attention. I'm glad I know his distress call now.

By the time I plopped down in front of the computer, my brain was refreshed from the fresh, brisk air, the sunshine and the singing of the little creek, and in that next hour I spent with my great-great grandfather, the words came a little easier than they had been lately and I was able to move him further along in his journey.

Unfortunately, my body isn't going to like this new routine. It's had way too much time to dread the upcoming work-out and think up excuses...like needing to finish a blog post started earlier today. How could I fall for that?

But I'm onto its tricks now - time to sweat! I hope there's something good on TV...

Pop! and a Belated Halloween Visitor

POP! That's the sound Tom's ankle made yesterday as we prepared to cross Jollyville Road for the car show. No exciting story...just a matter of stepping wrong on the angled curb.

 "Pop!" was followed by a curse word mingled with a groan and instead of crossing the street, we sat down on the curb to evaluate the situation. The car show disappeared from my mind...I was trying to figure out how to get Tom back to the car...parked half a mile away.

But, of course, he refused to miss the car show and I knew it would be a waste of time to argue with him. We walked a little, rested a little while eating Rudy's melt-in-your-mouth BBQ, then walked a little more - about three hours more - before he decided he should get his ankle home, elevated, and iced down.

Tom has had, among other injuries, a broken ankle (the other one), a broken foot (the same one), and a bruised thigh (much more serious than it sounds, apparently.) He was comparing this injury to the worst of them on our way home...that's how bad it hurt. Mostly he lamented that he had the next week off - he had lots of work planned around the house and hated to waste his days off with an injury!

Thanks to the University of Texas football game on television last night, he spent several hours with his foot propped up. We both still figured it would be a rainbow-colored swollen mess this morning, but surprisingly  he was able to limp in and out of church, up and down the stairs, and in and out of the house to the grill where he's smoking some ribs. It takes a lot to keep this guy down! What a relief to both of us!! (I really don't mind taking over his 'chores' like feeding the dogs at night if I need to...it's relaxing to sit on the porch gazing at the stars and listening to the night... but it takes up time I could use doing something else!)

Speaking of the grill...he found a new visitor, very appropriate for the Halloween season, hiding inside the cabinet. I don't think this one will stick around long, though, so I snapped a picture while I had the chance.

First here are some pictures from the car show. I found more old trucks I like and Tom found a Ford GT he could be happy with. Ken, from Colvin Automotive, noticed my Nikon and offered to take my picture sitting inside the Ford GT. (It's fun to dream every once in a while!) So I took a picture of Ken and K.C. Colvin, owner of the business. Ken spent a lot of time talking to me, Tom, and our friend Dean about engines, but I admit that after awhile, I lost interest. I'm not at the car shows for the big, pretty engines. For me, it's about art - color and design. And I found art aplenty at this show...

This green truck caught my eye...

Tom's pick, a Ford GT...

But I got to sit inside one...

K.C. Colvin and Ken of Colvin Automotive...

Guys love an engine....

But I love the art and creativity...

Our visitor!

 

A Week of My Favorite Things...

...birthdays, seeing my kids (2 out of 3, anyway), beautiful sunsets, yellow and purple flowers, sunshine, ping-pong, Dirty Dancing and sore muscles...

Yes, sore muscles. I've been wanting to rev up my work-out, but couldn't afford a personal trainer. Thanks to Self.com, I started a new, more intense, work-out this week, and for the first time in two years, I'm SORE! I'm even thinking about climbing into our jacuzzi tub tonight - we've had it four years but I've never even been in it! I've never had the time. But I think I'm going to make the time tonight!

Birthdays...Of course, Daniel turned 21 on Tuesday. But October 13 is a very popular day for birthdays. I also sent out wishes to my beautiful Montana sister-in-law Kim and two young cousins, Ashley and Kayce, and my blogging friend Pete, a minister in South Africa (I recommend his blog, Rock in the Grass  - he writes very interesting, thought-provoking posts.) 

Today is my precious niece/goddaughter Nicole's 5th birthday. I'm a terrible aunt/godmother, though - her card isn't getting in the mail until tomorrow and I didn't even call. Obviously, I need to slow down. (Happy Birthday, Nicole!)

Tomorrow would have been my oldest brother Buster's 62nd birthday. I have started to write so much about that, but my words get jumbled up and I just delete them...It's just hard for me to imagine I'm now almost the same age my mother was when he died.

Wednesday morning I stepped out of my house into a summer morning in Houston...well, not really, but the humidity was thick and steamy and the mosquitoes attacked so fiercely that if I had closed my eyes, I could have imagined I was back in LaPorte.

This morning had all the appearances of a crisp Central Texas fall...the sky was crystal blue, no clouds...but it was still hot, humid, and the mosquitoes were worse than yesterday! They didn't ruin my walk, though - I let the sunshine wash over my skin while I admired the flowers blooming all along the road. There are mostly yellow patches, but I'm happy to report my purple flowers are popping up at the bend in the road...lots and lots of little colonies. I'm not surprised they held on through the drought.

Frankie even joined us again this morning. True, my walks are much more peaceful without him and his chattering, but I enjoy his company. I wonder why he's been reluctant to join us and what changed? Funny little bird.

This morning was my Saturday - it's going to be a busy weekend, so I took advantage of Tom being home and slept in until 8am! It felt so good!

The down side of sleeping that late was I didn't have time for my new work-out before leaving the house, so I had to fit it in tonight, which put me in a quandary - I'm such a creature of routine, and in the mornings I just watch the Today Show - no thinking required. Tonight I had to decide what to watch while I exercised. My choice? Dirty Dancing. I had been intending to watch it ever since the death of Patrick Swayze but, of course, never had time. I tell you what...it's a pretty good movie to watch when you're working out. I had that elliptical moving during the scene of Baby and Johnny after their first dance...sigh...

But...before that, Tom challenged me to a "game" of ping-pong. I use the word game lightly, because we don't keep score and our main incentive is to keep the ball in play so that we don't have to go chase it down and pick it up. We're getting old and have to take care of our backs! But it's so much fun playing out on the porch...Stoney LaRue singing to us through the speakers...playing off the house and cedar posts or whatever...dodging dogs and guineas that want attention until you step on them.

Yes, it's been a good week that will continue into a good weekend. I get to meet up with some wonderful friends...another mini-high school reunion on Friday and Saturday nights with Brad and Byron, plus some, and a gathering at our house Saturday to watch the University of Texas kick some Oklahoma University butt...good thing I rested up this morning!

Now, exuse me...I'm off to get acquainted with my jacuzzi tub and ease these aching old muscles...

More favorites...a beautiful sunset...me and my baby boy...

Running in Circles

A father's birthday celebration. A sick child. I was in limbo.

The critters were fed, bills were paid, I was showered and dressed, ready to hit the road to Pasadena, but I just couldn't go out the door. Although the child is technically an adult, not living at home and there was really nothing I could do, for some reason I just couldn't move a step farther away from her. Just in case she needed me.

My parents supported my decision not to come for the celebration. They probably would have even chastised me if I showed up there: they've always been the same kind of parents...on stand-by for us, 24-7.

The good news is my baby's fever broke - her cough, sore throat and asthma are all much better. Tamiflu and Prednisone - wonder drugs!

I've been craving a day at home to make a dent in this  mess, and one had been handed to me. But I took a look around and immediately felt stressed - where do I start? There was no way I could get it all done - cleaning AND organizing - so in the end I chose organizing. Dirt I can overlook (up to a certain point), but having things out of place, piled up, waiting to be returned to their proper spot, or, worse yet, still waiting for a proper spot...oh, someone hand me a paper bag! I'm hyperventilating again!

It was still a matter of focusing in one area and I chose my desk. After several hours of work, I'm happy to report that most of the piles are gone, files are returned to the file cabinet and others are shredded. It feels pretty good. Someone walking in my house wouldn't notice a damn thing different, but I feel like a teeny bit of weight is lifted off my shoulders.

Besides swimming through paperwork today, Tom and I took the dogs for a walk (Frankie still won't come with us. What's going on?) We climbed to the top of the hill near the curve, where a gazillionaire had started preparing to build his underground house, then just stopped. We haven't been up there in months - since before the triple digit temperatures - but nothing has changed. Such a mystery! It was a gray day, but the temperatures are down in the 50's - perfect for a walk on a country road to the top of a hill with a wonderful view of the hollow.

Charly climbed the hill with us. I'm starting to think he's got a few more years left!

Besides checking on my baby's condition via cell phone (wonderful inventions - how did parents survive long-distance relationships before?) and celebrating my dad's birthday vicariously over the phone, I  worked on my book, moved the laundry around, and practiced folding fitted sheets (thanks to a how-to video my friend Kim posted on Facebook. I'm hoping one day I'll be able to fold them without having to watch the video!)

That still doesn't seem like much for a whole day at home, though, does it?

Oh, I also caught up on some of my emails and came across this cartoon from my high school yearbook teacher - it's perfect for forgetful, always-running-in-circles-and-never-getting-anywhere procrastinators like me (thanks, Bob!) Happy Saturday!

Hitting the Jackpot!

Aside from holidays, it's a rare day when I get to see all three of my kids. That's one of the down sides of this Empty Nest thing. And even holidays aren't a given anymore.

But today is one of those rare, treasured days! I spent the whole day with Kendall, battling early morning Austin traffic to snatch her from her dorm and hop from one doctor's office to another. First the talkative Nose doctor (I'm too lazy to look up the official term - we've just been calling him the Nose doctor) who entertained us with exciting stories of his Alaskan moose-hunting trips while inspecting Kendall's deviated septum with a long scope. He even let me take a look!

Next, we dashed down the highway to the Allergy doctor's office for our flu shots, shared veggie enchiladas and jalapeno ranch dip at Chuey's, and stocked up on healthy food for her at HEB.  We had just enough time to drop the goods off at her dorm (I finally got to meet her roommate) and make it to her cardiologist appointment. She's a pediatric cardiologist - a few years ago when Kendall was playing soccer and running cross-country and there were so many news reports of teenage athletes dropping dead from undiagnosed heart problems, I remembered Kendall's heart murmur diagnosis from her toddler days. (My mother helped me remember!) We had been told it wasn't something to be concerned about, but nevertheless, I knew my mother and I would both rest a lot easier if we had it checked out. The doctor noticed some "abnormalities" but nothing serious - not enough to restrict her activities. Yet...she wanted to see Kendall again. So back we went today to an examining room filled with children's books and Tonka trucks and walls lapped with painted blue waves and chicks and bunnies dotting the examining table. We watched her heart beating strongly on a monitor, (thank you, Lord - what an amazing miracle of machinery!), blood pumping in electric red and blue. Brandon, the technician, gave her a souvenir photograph of it to pin on her wall. The doctor says there has been no change from three years ago...but wants to see her again in three more years. She gets to lay on the bunny and chick table again when she's twenty-one! I hope she lets me go with her so once again I can watch her heart pulsing on the screen, listen to the 'swoosh-swoosh' and remember the first time I heard that wonderful sound of her heart beating, back when it was still housed within my body.

Before heading home, we stopped by Daniel's apartment, delivering goodies from the grocery store and some "mom advice" (nagging) which he takes very sweetly and patiently. Kendall was coming home for the night - it's our high school Homecoming game - but Daniel decided to stay on campus. He'll get to see Tommy tomorrow. So I got my Daniel hug and kiss and headed home with Kendall.

Now Tommy is less than thirty minutes away. Soon he'll be walking through the door, a sight for my sore Mama eyes. I can't even remember the last time I saw him! Seeing the kids head off to college is pretty tough, but at least you still have those long breaks when they're back home and you can fall back into the rut of irritating each other. But once they graduate and have their own place...that's really tough. You're happy for them, of course, and you don't really want them to move back home, but still...you can't help thinking back to when they were around all the time.

We take so much for granted...noses and hearts, kids and days spent together...

Those little things you take for granted...

Charly's face, hopeful and questioning, peered at me through the French doors, his white fur glowing in the soft light of dawn. He hadn't done that in ages - obviously, he took our morning walks for granted as much as I did. But this was going on three days! Please, Mom?

"Don't worry - we're going this morning. Just give me a few minutes..."

That was yesterday morning, when I was thinking, "Is this what a bear feels like, crawling from his cave after months of hibernation, blinking in the sunlight and thinking, perhaps, one more day in the cave would be nice?"

 But, no...maybe I was a little wobbly (I lagged behind Charly when we finally hit the road) but I'd had enough of lying around. It was nice being able to just shut a door in my mind to all of the things that needed to be done while I was sick, but once that door opened, I couldn't make it close again, couldn't make the images go away - the empty refrigerator, piles of laundry, piles of paperwork, lists of phone calls, the meager paycheck-yet-to-come from missing two days...

Tom did a great job keeping up with dishes, cooking, taking care of the critters and me, but, bless his heart, between work and his daily commute to the other side of Austin, he only has a few hours of free time in the evening to get anything done.

Besides...SURPRISE! TG realized she moves into her dorm TONIGHT, not Saturday! So yesterday was very, very full - work, shopping, packing, laundry, phone calls...and today will be the same - more shopping, more laundry, work (to help pay for all of this), more packing, and then...MOVE-IN! I'm grateful I started feeling more like a human than a slug.

Being sick is the pits - it always reminds me what a wimp I am! I don't know how other people manage it...I know there are people out there that deal with illness every day, knowing it's not just going to go away with some antibiotics, and that the strongest meds out there don't even dull the knife of pain some people live with all the time.

I missed out on a lot growing up with my asthma...picture days, slumber parties, real Christmas trees (I spent Christmas Day night in the emergency room the one year my parents gave in to my pleas.) And my first experience on an airplane was flying home after a long bus ride to St. Louis on an 8th grade church choir trip - long because we stopped at emergency rooms along the way to keep me breathing. Sorry Don, Patti, Denise, David, and every one else on that bus...

Because of my experience I don't take my lungs or even breathing for granted...most of the time, anyway - I remember too well that suffocating feeling. It still comes around to remind me every so often, but now there are preventative medicines available, which I'm sure I DO take for granted.

Just like my bladder - one of those workers you just expect to do their job without as much as a "nice job" or a "thank-you." Instead of giving them breaks, you give them more to do, make their jobs tougher. Not anymore. A cranberry pill will be joining my morning arsenal - calcium supplements, Vitamin D, etc.

Of course, nothing is certain in life, right? Sometimes, things happen beyond our control and despite our best efforts.  My asthma...some types of cancer...it seems our parts can have flaws and weaknesses, just like our personalities.

Josh, one of my son Daniel's friends since childhood, had just returned from spring break last year, ready to finish his spring semester of college. Next thing he knew, he was in the emergency room hearing that his kidneys had shut down. It turns out kidney disease had been lurking quietly in his body, deciding to make a surprise appearance without knocking first...like a home invader robbing Josh of his health, that I'm sure (being a kid) he had taken for granted. He had to withdraw from school (which he obviously DIDN'T take for granted - he was doing great) and return home.

It's tough enough hearing about someone my age dealing with a major health problem - I still feel we are way too young, and it always surprises me to find out we're not! But to hear that this kid that I've watched grow up, from the hyper little scout in my Wolf Cub den to a talented, award-winning actor and trombone player in high school, is now on dialysis three times a week, keeping his fingers crossed, PRAYING for a kidney transplant this fall so he can return to school for the 2010 spring semester ...well, it just breaks my heart.

Now he's facing another battle...all the issues involved with a transplant. Like money. He hasn't had insurance for years. Medicare and Medicaid will cover the cost of the transplant itself, but there are many other costs involved. His family has teamed up with the Children's Organ Transplant Association  in the hopes of raising another $40,000 that will be needed (to read more about Josh or to donate, check out his COTA website here.)

The good news is Josh's mom recently found out she's a blood type and tissue match - if she passes the other health screenings, she'll be able to donate a kidney to save her son's life.

That's just another reason not to take my health or any of the parts, thereof, for granted. I might need them someday to help one of my own kids - three things I don't ever want to take for granted even when they're driving me crazy, not doing what I think they should be doing.

Speaking of...I better get moving on the rest of my day...shopping, work, laundry, packing, moving...

Betrayal! (or...This isn't What I Ordered!)

It was supposed to be a taste of the next course in our life - Empty Nest. But if this is what it tastes like, can I send it back?

Not really, but...COME ON! TG was gone for the past few days - which means ALL the kids were gone...Tom and I had the house all to ourselves...and wouldn't you know? We both felt like crap-ola! His was a headache that wouldn't go away. Mine was the first bladder infection I've had in close to thirty years - and only the second in my life. That first one is why I switched from soda to water. I NEVER wanted to go through that again.

This one hit me out of the blue Sunday evening...seemed to back away yesterday morning... then hit me again yesterday afternoon with all guns blazing.  I think I'm on the "up" side now - I just returned from the doctor and my first antibiotic is in my tummy, hopefully waging war on that nasty infection...just in time for Kendall to be home in a few hours.

I have to admit, it was kind of cozy just cuddling (and groaning) in bed, watching crime dramas together - not my first pick, but there wasn't a big selection. I dozed as much as possible anyway.

But it wouldn't have been my first pick of an evening home alone with my sweetie. And I'm wondering what the heck is going on with my body! I rarely get sick, yet I've had to make two non-checkup trips like this to a doctor's office just since I turned fifty! I'm guessing there will be more surprises coming my way.

I just hope I start feeling better fast so I can enjoy the next few days with Kendall before we drop her at her dorm and our plate of Empty Nest really arrives. I hope the real thing tastes better than this sample.

Man on a (30 year) Mission

I'm happy to report that Tom's back seems much better today - at least that's what he's telling me. But knowing how stubborn he is, I wouldn't be surprised if it's still hurtin' like hell, but he just refuses to baby it any longer...not when he's in the mood to "get something done around here." It worries me, but I'm used to it  - he ignores pain all the time!  Mementoes of my life are taped in a scrapbook...his are collected throughout parts of his body, from his cliff-climbing (and falling) Coast Guard days in Alaska...his dirt-biking (screw in the broken ankle) days in Houston...and the grand doozy head-on collision (ribs, ankle, hip, face) here in Lago Vista. The fact is, if he wasn't bull-headed enough to ignore the pain, we wouldn't be sitting in this mostly-finished dream house...our thirty-year project. 

Now, I'm not saying he doesn't take breaks. He's spent plenty of afternoons snoozing on the couch or the hammock...or hidden away in our bedroom watching old "Leave It To Beaver" re-runs. It took me years before I figured out those were the times his brain was so busy designing, planning, figuring out the next project that his body just had to take a break. 

And once he gets it figured out...watch out! He is a working machine...hardly taking a break or getting enough rest until he gets enough of the job done that he sees it's going to work out or look just as good as he envisioned it. By then, his brain has seized upon another project idea (we have an endless supply here)...which grows larger and larger until it requires some full-time thinking in the hammock itself.

The latest project is a ceiling above the downstairs patio. From the very beginning, when he first built the upstairs deck along the entire back of the house, he had the idea to use old fenceboards for the ceiling underneath...and sure enough, two years ago he spotted exactly what he needed: an old wooden fence, FREE, on Craig's List. Yes, that was two years ago...which means for over two years I've tried to ignore this huge pile of old fence sections because other projects were more important. A bit of a challenge, considering I've had to move them out of the way at least three times to make way for other projects and parties.

A few weeks ago we (as in 'I') decided it was time to clean up the backside of the property...figure out what we were going to do with leftover construction materials - what to save, what to trash. Not a very exciting project, I admit, but something that needed to be done. I just couldn't take it any more!

It was hot - the beginning of the 100+ degree afternoons - and soon Tom was upstairs snoozing on the couch.  

And sure enough, the next day he had forgotten all about the "trash or treasure" clean-up - he was measuring, cutting and hammering all day long. 100 degrees by 9am? So what! Drink more water...Aching neck, shoulders and back? Live with it! He was a man on a mission.

And let me tell you, that ceiling is looking good! Just like he envisioned it. The clean-up can wait a little longer, I guess. It helps just knowing I won't ever have to move that pile of boards again!

Sidetracked

Tom stood in the doorway, bent over, hands on his knees.

"Did you almost faint or something?"

He shook his head, smiling. Or was it a grimace? "My back. Here...help me." He put a hand on my shoulder and pushed until (groaning the whole way) he was standing up straight. He hobbled back over to the bed and, groaning loudly again, stretched out flat. (Sigh of relief.)

Well, so much for our Friday night plans - a birthday party and music in the woods. And all it took was working a screwdriver in just the right "wrong" position a little too long to weaken some important muscle (or disc? Hope not!), and then just the right "wrong" movement a few hours later to throw it into a tizzy.

Poor Tom...this was going to be a weekend to get things done. He always has several projects going at once, plus all the surprise attacks that pop up...the most recent is a search for the least-expensive new carburetor he can find for the Suzuki Samurai so it can pass the emissions inspection. Despite his aching back, he set his alarm to wake him up early this morning, determined to "get things done" (I kept snoozing)...but a few hours sitting at the computer already did him in: he's back in bed. I keep asking what I can do to help - I've even offered to clean the jacuzzi tub for him to soak in for a while to soothe those muscles. He just says leave him alone and quit bothering him. Such a sweetheart. So I'm biting my tongue and leaving him alone to groan in peace and solitude (although I still think soaking in the tub would help.)

I'm having a great weekend so far, though! I've been tackling to-do lists...sticking to my work-outs...catching up with laundry and Facebook. What a surprise to sign on there last night and discover a video of myself as a baby, being held, bounced and kissed by my grandmother and mother (and a glimpse of my thirty-three-year-old dad in the background.) My cousin digitalized her parents' old family movies and is generously sharing clips of them...such priceless memories and images, frozen in time in a way that photographs just can't deliver. Thank you Aunt Mavis and Uncle Charles for recording them, and Charlene for preserving and sharing them! It's given me new incentive to dig out our old VHS tapes and finally transfer them to DVD - a summer project I planned to tackle two summers ago that somehow slipped off of my to-do list (well, more likely got pushed off by more urgent duties!)  

   Last night I also took advantage of having Daniel home to get my funny movie fix - we watched "Bowfinger" with Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy. It's full of talented people and lots of laughs and has probably the funniest movie ending I've ever seen. I've lost count of how many times I've seen it, but it still makes me cry with laughter. Of course, I love silly movies. Keep that in mind...

But now break-time is over...Kendall and I are headed into town to shop for dorm things. Summer is almost over, once again...

The Real Women's Liberation

It's a busy, busy night that followed a busy, busy day - I'm finally winning in my battle with procrastination - and I didn't plan on posting anything tonight, but I came across an article by Meredith Maran in the October 2008 edition of More magazine (yes, I'm a little behind on my reading) that was just too good not to share.

At first, I thought I would preface this post with a warning to men, but on second thought, I think they might be interested, too - if they have anything to do with middle-aged women, that is.  But I'm mainly posting it for women my age who now know what "perimenopausal" means...those of you who are suffering through hot flashes, etc. and perhaps thinking it's only going to get worse when Queen Menopause herself arrives.

Well, according to the article ("The Reward for Perimenopause? Menopause!") - you're wrong! It gets better! In fact, the last sentence is..."Contrary to popular opinion, menopause is a gift to women."

I hear you laughing!  You're probably rolling your eyes, too...Yes, it seems a tad overly optimistic, but just read the article and see for yourself... (click here.)

Uncertain Skies...Reminders of a Year in the Life

"Barbara Inez...just what have you been up to? I mean I've already been gone a week and I'm sure a lot has happened..."  "...Barb, I hope you get your tail in gear and get up here to see me. It's just beautiful..."  "I've always loved that song "You've got a friend" by Carol King and it fits us perfectly..." 

I found these words last week in a yellow and orange scrapbook filled with ticket stubs, letters, newspaper clippings and other relics of 1977. They're from Ann to me, from Utah to Texas, 32 years ago. 

So much has happened recently that reminds me of those years. There was Kendall's high school graduation and eighteenth birthday, and then this morning Daniel moved into his first apartment. I didn't move into mine until 1978, but events in 1977 pushed me in that direction.

This morning's sky held gray clouds that hinted at rain, but also patches of sunshine-filled blue...just the right balance of uncertainty and hopefulness for Daniel's move-in day and the beginning of a new chapter in his life...living off campus with his own bedroom and a roommate who's future also hinges on how this semester goes. 

 Sunshine prevailed - no rain fell to ruin his furniture and clothes packed tight in the back of the truck. We need the rain, but I was grateful for sunshine today. I hope it portends a semester with a happy, sunshine-y ending. I keep hoping my kids learn from my college mistakes - I want them to hang on, bounce back, keep trying.

As if moving Daniel into an apartment wasn't enough, today we bought a brand new car!! Specifically an apple red Hyundai Elantra. It's the first new car I've owned in almost twenty years...the first compact car in more than twenty. I admit - it's scary. But we couldn't afford to NOT take advantage of the government's Cash for Clunkers program. We doubled our money on our old black truck after abusing it for five years...AND we have a full warranty. It was our early anniversary gift to each other - for me, a new car...for Tom, freedom from working on my car.

But it also reminded me of 1977...the year of my first new car - a Toyota Celica GT Liftback - and Bad Company's "Burning Sky" on 8-Track.

1977 was my first real 8 to 5 job...Stephen King books...Star Wars...Ted Nugent...Bad Company...Kiss...Eagles...South Padre on the 4th of July with Ann, Jena and Carey...a week with Ann at Utah State when I found out my parents were getting divorced...a feeling that I was lost, falling, drowning.

1977 was University of Houston... scholarships and chemical engineering...and days driving to Galveston, sitting on the seawall , too overwhelmed by the thoughts swirling in my head to worry about school...

1977 was an intense year  - one of more highs and lows than any other in my life. It was almost my last...

It seems ironically appropriate...almost too coincidental, as if it was written this way for a movie...that the autumn night I returned my Homecoming Queen crown was a night I decided there was nothing in my life worth living for. It wasn't a conscious, premeditated thought...the idea had never even crossed my mind before! Rather, it was an impulsive, depression-fueled-by-alcohol action, followed by "Oh, my gosh, what have I done?" In that instant when it was almost too late, I realized that no matter how bad I thought things were, I wanted to live.

I guess that's all God needed - I had turned my back on him a year or two before, but he hadn't forgotten me. He sent angels to watch over me and rescue me that night, and later, my sister's tears washed the remaining dark clouds from my brain - the ones I had let slip in to distort reality. It broke my heart to know I had hurt her and the rest of my family. I'm ashamed now to admit I let such piddly little obstacles break my spirit. I'd like to say I was much stronger than that. But I had forgotten the source of my strength, and when my other moorings were broken, I floundered.

Looking through the scrapbook reminds me how weak I really am, by myself. I shared my experience with my kids years ago, hoping it would be a reminder to them that no matter how bad things get, as long as you're breathing you have hope...you have a chance to change things...and that no matter how badly you screw up, God is standing by, ready to pick you back up if you just ask.

On the practical side, I've also warned them not to drink when they're depressed. I think everyone has up days and down days - that's just normal. It's human. But alcohol magnifies those dark clouds - it keeps you from seeing that there is still blue sky peeking from behind, and that soon the clouds will pass on by. I still have those days myself, but instead of trying to drink my sorrows away, I write my sorrows...pray my sorrows...love my sorrows away.

Back in 1977 I felt like all my friends had scattered and I was all alone. But looking through the scrapbook I see nothing but familiar faces and names...faces and names that for the most part are still a part of my life.

Ann, of course...we still write each other (only it's in e-mails or Facebook messages), talk on the phone, dance, even wrap houses. Mark, my boyfriend's little brother, who I felt was MY little brother. Tamara...another constant friend who had a birthday this week. My sister Brenda, whose tears woke me up. My parents, who taught me about unconditional love. They worked things out and remarried after four years - another example that you should never give up. Randy, who has popped in and out of my life over the years...a friend who helped me remember there were good things about my 1977 self...things worth dusting off and protecting. I have him to thank for encouraging me to stubbornly stay in school and turn back to writing.

   They have all faced much, MUCH bigger challenges, setbacks, obstacles, disappointments, sorrows than I ever have ...yet they haven't been broken. Every day they inspire me.

I shared my story just in case it helps someone else who feels like they have screwed up too bad or too often to ever make it right, or that they don't have anyone who cares about them so "it doesn't really matter..." I thank God every day that I'm still here...I look at all the blessings I've been given - my husband, my kids, my family and friends...and today, a new car! We may never realize what our lives mean in the whole grand scheme of things - we can only trust that they do mean something, and try to do our best with what we are given... We have to make sure our lives make a difference somehow.  Never, ever think it's too late. Never, ever take them for granted.

A Gift of the Mosquito Man?

    The Mosquito Man...the Pied Piper of my childhood. Why, oh why, was it so much fun to ride our bikes behind him, lost in the dense poisonous fog he sprayed throughout the neighborhood to kill the mosquitoes?

    But there's no doubt it was one of the highlights of summer...just the words "Mosquito Man" caught our attention, sent us searching and listening for the distinctive hissing sound as much as the dinging bell of the other favorite visitor, the Popsicle Man.

    Sometime in the late 60's or early 70's someone realized the spray was toxic to humans as well as to mosquitoes, and as a result, the Mosquito Man only paid visits to the neighborhood late at night, when little children were supposed to be tucked into bed and there was less danger of a fan club trailing along behind his truck.

    But the damage was done. Millions of us inhaled the toxins and I'm sure many, like me, are now wondering what effect it had or will have on us. That's why a recent article in the Schafer Autism Report (which I read for my job) caught my eye: "Study Singles Out Pesticide in Parkinson's Report."

    My older sister Brenda has Parkinson's, another reason why this article caught my eye. It says genetics can play a part, but environmental factors can, too. And we share both. We are sisters, growing up in the same house, the same neighborhood, near the same chemical plants and sprayed by the same mosquito man.

    The article also says scientists have actually pinpointed a specific chemical that is related to Parkinson's and that perhaps, at some point in the near future, individuals at high risk could be tested and given drugs to protect their brains.

    God bless scientists! And Mosquito Man, wherever you are, I forgive you. It really was fun.

photo courtesy of my 'brother' Don Barrett, who found it somewhere in cyberspace I'm guessing...and who also used to follow the 'skeeter man'...

 

Meet My New Trainer, Ted

    Maybe it was because of all that "Kendall's-birthday" cheesecake I ate this week...or maybe because my friend Liane popped in this morning after her workout at the new Snap Fitness in town, sharing some tips and motivation...whatever the reason, I felt it was time to pump up my workout today. I usually listen to either U2 or the Dixie Chicks when I hit the treadmill on Saturdays, if I've missed "Rick Steves' Europe" (during the week I just watch the news), but I think all of them are too easy on me. I need someone to motivate me, yell at me, get my heart and legs moving. Who better for that job than Ted Nugent?

    Yes, I like Ted Nugent - his music anyway. Specifically the first two or three albums he released in the late '70's. I realize Ted is a controversial character...and he can be incredibly crude and chauvinistic.  And his lyrics...well, I can't understand half of them and the other half I just try to tune out (although I think they're pretty mild compared to some of the songs I hear playing these days - before I change stations!)

    But he can play that guitar...I'm swept away just listening to the way he makes it dance with the pulsing beat of the drums ...by the end of "Stranglehold", I'm breathless! After 30 years, it's still one of my favorite songs. To see a video of him playing it on You Tube from one of his 1977 concerts, click here. Talk about a flashback! But I think I prefer just listening to the CD. Guess that means I'm old!

    (A random, unrelated side note, because I hear it playing on Kendall's radio right now - my all time favorite song is "Last Kiss" - both versions...first by J. Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers in 1964 and then the version I hear right now, by Pearl Jam in 2006. It's such a haunting, sad song - I have no idea why I've always loved it so much, even as a 5-year-old!) 

    Anyway...back to my work-out this morning. Ted started me out on "Stranglehold" - a great warm-up song. Next, he turned it up a notch with "Stormtroopin'" but then really got me moving me with "Just What the Doctor Ordered," making me keep up the pace all the way through "Queen of the Forest." 

   I haven't pushed myself that hard in months! Thank you, Ted. You're hired! (U2 and the Dixie Chicks...I'm afraid it's back to the van with you.)

A Lesson from Charly

    The weatherman told me this morning it would be another 100+ day, so as soon as the sunlight brushed the hilltops, I stepped outside and called the boys for our walk. Frankie was ready, but Max and Charly were no where to be seen. They'd had the same idea as me, apparently...Walk early, before the hollow becomes a convection oven! 

    At my call, though, Max came pounding up the hill from the direction of the pond and pranced around the porch, excited about going for a walk. Charly ambled up a minute or two later, breathing hard by the time he got to the house. I worried that he wouldn't be up for another walk, but he just kept plodding along, up the path to the road.

    My morning walks aren't related to exercise at all, anymore...they're about feeling fresh air on my skin, letting my mind wander, offering up prayers that I've promised and spending time with 'the boys'. I know my days with Charly are numbered, and the number is getting pretty small. I just stroll along at his pace, now, which suits me just fine. I can admire the hills around me, watch the sunlight slip slowly deeper and deeper into the hollow, look for fossils and talk to him. Every once in a while, I see his hind legs give out on him, but he always catches himself and keeps on moving. If he spots or smells something interesting up ahead, he'll even push himself into a little run. And to mark something, he can still lift that hind leg and balance on the other three. Not for very long, and he's a little wobbly, but he can do it, by golly. It's like he realizes he's old and knows that one of these days he's not going to be able to do any of these things, so he refuses to quit until he has to.

    What more inspiring way could I start my day than with this old-man dog who is determined to live life to the fullest and keep doing the things he loves as long as his legs will hold him? 

    

Endings...Beginnings

    Well, it wasn't the ending we hoped for, but finishing up second in the State soccer tournament (for the third time) is pretty dang good. I like blue, but red is still one of my favorite colors.

    Saturday everything fell into place - the rainclouds that had delayed earlier games moved out of the way, and the girls were pumped up; they worked together like a well-oiled machine for the 3-0 win. But Sunday, a bad call against us early in the game dampened the girls' spirit more than the thunderstorm that caused a 30 minute delay. The other team won, 1-0, for the blue ribbon.

    It was still a wonderful weekend. The first game, scheduled for early Saturday morning, was canceled, which meant more time hanging out at my childhood home with my parents, and a long walk around the old neighborhood with Tom. Since the state tournament was held in Houston, my parents (and brother, niece, sister, and brother-in-law) were able to watch Kendall play.

    And Saturday night, we had a great time getting really acquainted, in person, with new/old friends that I've been "talking" to on Facebook. I first knew Robert in 7th grade - one of those brief junior high romances, the kind where you're drawn to someone, but really too shy to get to know them and find out why.  His wife Shari and I share a high school memory...from different perspectives - the night I was crowned Homecoming Queen, she was a member of the Homecoming Court, representing the sophomore class. Two years later, she was crowned Homecoming Queen herself.

    But I never really KNEW them until the last few weeks, or maybe months (I've lost track of the time), since we started writing to each other. Life continues to be full of wonderful surprises, like finding new friends in people you've 'known' for years and years. They are such an interesting, impressive, loving couple with funny quirks and fascinating stories. It was amazing how much we had in common.

    Writing to someone and talking to someone face-to-face are two totally separate things, and I admit I was a little nervous about our "date". Thankfully, they were, too. And no telling what Tom was expecting - he doesn't 'Facebook'; he just rolls his eyes about all the time I spend catching up with friends on there. He had probably tuned me out about Robert and Shari a long time ago. But we all had such agreat time, and the staff at Mamacita's Restaurant had to pretty much turn out the lights to get us to leave.

    Overall, it was a weekend of endings and beginnings - the final chapter of Kendall's Cosmos' soccer days, but I hope just the first of many good memories with Robert and Shari.

What Fifty SHOULD Be

    Chasing dreams, making them come true...Sacrificing your time, traveling to another country to make a real difference in someone's life...That's what two of my fellow 50-year-olds are doing right now. Me, on the other hand...well, I'm living vicariously through them thanks to Facebook and blog pictures and postings because I've spent way too many days this past month sitting in doctors' offices, filling out pages and pages of forms, being poked, prodded, scanned and dilated from one end to the other, some routinely and some not. It's just a vicious coincidence that my headaches and shingles appeared right in the middle of all of my regularly scheduled (way in advance) appointments and check-ups.

    Today I sat in a darkened "dilation" area (a dead-end hallway lined with comfortable chairs on one side and a flat-screen TV on the other), waiting for the ophthalmologist to determine whether or not the shingles had damaged my retina, and thinking about how doctors seem to be getting younger, how all of the waiting rooms, stacks of magazines and polite receptionists are blurring together, and how grateful I am that there is nothing seriously wrong with me - I realize there are people who deal with this on a daily basis for months, even years. 

    My diagnoses so far include:  excellent, normal, and A-Typical. My headaches are still a bit of a mystery, but the physical therapist and I are both convinced they are related to the shingles, which seem to be packing up their bags, preparing to move out. I'm keeping my fingers crossed we're right. Goodbye, good riddance, and PLEASE don't come back!

    Now, back to the 50-year-olds who are accomplishing more than filling out tons of paperwork about their families' medical histories...

    Richard, one of my screenplay classmates, is in Cannes, France. Even as I type this, he is over there hobnobbing with distributors and other movie-type people, trying to sell four films to foreign markets, while learning as much as he can in preparation for selling his own screenplay (Saving The Farm.) I knew I should have gotten his autograph before our last class!

    Meanwhile, Scott, a friend from high school, just arrived in Bayaha, Haiti as part of group of volunteers donating their time to help the poverty-stricken village. Scott even attended a water drilling school a few weeks ago run by Living Water International, an organization that helps bring water to villages in third world countries.

    This is what 50 should be about - dreams, sacrifice, helping others, discovering talents and gifts and passions, using them wisely, being the best you can be, inspiring others along the way. I guess we just have to learn to do all of that in between doctor's visits.

    Now watch this to learn more about the Bayaha, Haiti Project...

Cosmos (kŏz'məs, -mŏs', -mōs') n.: a complete, orderly, harmonious system.

    

    Kendall's soccer team clinched the title of STYSA Western Division champs yesterday. My soccer mom days are winding down, but they're going out in style at the State tournament this coming weekend!

    The Western Division tournament this past weekend was like the fireworks before the grand finale. The games scheduled for Saturday were rained out and stacked one after another on Sunday...but on a field closer to us. A cool, dry breeze shoved the rain away, making it a perfect day to be outside, whether you were running up and down the field, fighting for the ball, or sitting on the sidelines, biting your tongue at bad calls. Then one of the teams missed their first game - knocking them out of the tournament, and giving Kendall's team a break in between their two other games. It couldn't have been any better!

    The timing is perfect: Kendall and I are both pretty tired of spending whole weekends at soccer fields, or driving to and from soccer fields. It's still going to be a bittersweet ending, though. This is her fifth year with the Cosmos - ten seasons with many of the same girls, growing together out of puberty into young women, and with Coach David and his wife Coach Christine, who both bubble over with soccer enthusiasm. When Kendall first started with them, their youngest son was just a toddler. Now he's yelling advice and criticism from the sidelines!

    I'm grateful to David and Christine for hanging in there despite the raging hormones, attitude, tempers, egos and tears. David made those girls mad, and made them laugh. He made them see they were tough and classy. He made them proud of themselves. There were years he thought about quitting, seasons when he seemed to care more than the girls and wondered if he was wasting his time, but when the next season rolled around and he saw how many girls were returning, he always got fired up again and determined that THIS would be the best season, ever. And it usually was.

    This season is no exception. State...here come the Cosmos!