Long Hollow

The Simple Things are the Sweetest

Dawn is waking to rain and thunder this morning. She must have pulled the covers back over her head because the Hollow is still dark outside my window, except for occasional flashes of lightning.

On a normal morning, the puppies and I would already be out on the dirt road, saying hello to the new day. Instead, they're snoozing in the laundry room, warm and dry and happy, and I'm playing catch-up on posting my sweet!s.

Rain is sweet during a drought, but especially when you were able to spend hours the day before feeling the sunshine on your skin.

Weeks...well, maybe months ago, Tom trimmed branches from the trees lining the creek. I told him I'd drag them to a burn pile, and I finally kept my word yesterday morning after my walk. I had a few free hours and was already coated in mosquito spray.

Even though the morning was warming up fast, the shade softened the heat. Wildflowers dotted the woods and a field of Mexican hats grew beside the burn pile. Birds chatted in the trees and the running creek sang to me as I cleared the creek and paths of fallen branches.

Sweat soaked my head and torso, tickling my nose, and bits of leaves and bark freckled my arms, but it felt good using my muscles to gather the branches, drag them uphill, and throw them on the growing pile. I've always loved repetitive work like that, when my thoughts are free to fly where they will.

The higher the pile grew, the younger I felt. I gave thanks for the morning, the sunshine, the flowers, the creek, the sweat...but mostly for the ability to do the job. When you're 54, you don't take that for granted.

 

And now for more sweet! moments from the past week...

 

Monday: friends sending you links to potential jobs; the anticipation of a weekend at the beach with girlfriends, even if it's still months away; a photoshoot with a fun family; wading in a lake on a hot day; fawns

Tuesday: relishing a soft summer morning with your puppies before a busy day at work; daily talks with your mom 

Wednesday: phone conversations with your mother-in-law; your mother-in-law winning $1000 on a $1 scratch-off lottery ticket; word that one of your photos will be featured in HuffPost 50 

Thursday: hearing a friend's voice for the first time in a year; dinner, lots of popcorn, and a Matthew McConaughy movie with girlfriends 

Friday: finally using a certificate for a massage your son gave you for Christmas; catching up with a dear friend; getting your client's photos to her on time and hearing that she liked them; old red trucks; your dad NOT having to go to the hospital 

Saturday: a road trip with your kids to spend Father's Day with your dad; your mom appearing stronger than the last time you saw her; hearing that your three Beach Yoga photos will soon grace the wall of a summer rental home belonging to a friend in Greece

Sunday: having the coffee ready and the newspaper on the table for your dad when he wakes up; hamburgers and cheesecake in honor of the father of your children; hearing that a friend was baptized this morning; green metallic beetles with orange legs

Monday: bouquets of mountain pinks dotting a hillside; a green heron posing for photos; sweating from physical labor; your little creek and nearby paths finally cleared of fallen trimmed branches; a few hours with, and a hug from, your baby girl; email and Facebook that can connect you to friends on the other side of the world

Tuesday: rain during a drought; unexpected time to post your Sweet!s of the Week; the moment storm clouds break to reveal blue sky 

I didn't quite finish this before the storm drifted past, with little patches of blue sky peeking down, reminding me to get the dogs out of the laundry room. I cut the walk short, though, and we stuck to the muddy road because I forgot to douse myself with mosquito spray. 

Mosquito spray is definitely a sweet! around here this summer. It's the simple things, right?

I hope you're remembering to notice the sweet, simple blessings in your life. Share them with me here and make them doubly sweet!

"I'm just a simple guy, I live from day to day. 
A ray of sunshine melts my frown and blows my blues away." 

~Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, and John Bonham, "Out On The Tiles" (Led Zeppelin)

 

Five Things...

 

1.

Monday evening I went wading in Lake Travis. I had my camera and was shooting a fun multi-generational family while they ran and played and laughed. I took way too many photos and couldn't help editing as many as possible to share with them, to help them remember the fun they had that day with their parents/grandparents and sister/aunt visiting from Guatamala. You can see a lot of the photos in "Generations".

2.

I saw the movie "Mud" last night with some friends. I hadn't heard much about it, but it stars Matthew McConaughey, and one of my friends is madly in love with him. So I see a lot of Matthew movies.

In my opinion, this is one of his best. I enjoyed the movie so much that I wish it was based on a book so I could read it. 

3.

For Christmas my oldest gave me and Tom gift certificates for massages. 

But between working weekends at the winery and weekdays subbing in the schools as much as possible, I didn't have time for a massage.

Until today. I figured I should take advantage of this unemployed time off, even though I'd rather be working.

Oh, it felt so good! Sitting at this computer typing and editing photos takes its toll on my neck and back, and you can only imagine what staying on your feet for six or seven hours in a restaurant will do to you.

Thank you, Tommy!

If you live anywhere near Austin, or plan to visit, I recommend making an appointment with Ruth Ann Blackwell! 

4.

INSECT WARNING!

Tom called me down to the laundry room earlier this week. When he does that, I know to bring my camera. Look who decided to visit us.

Since tarantulas aren't any help when it comes to laundry - in fact, they can be a downright hindrance - Tom escorted it back outside.

 

By the way, the herding above didn't work. It went skittering into the shelves. That's when I left and I'm not sure how Tom ended up catching it.

(At least I think he caught it....)

The other night this toad decided to visit us upstairs. Isn't he handsome? I mean, for a toad?

 

We can't figure out how these critters are getting inside, but I'd rather have a tarantula and a toad than those little mice who took such a liking to us. Ugh.

 

5.

Today is Flag Day, commemorating the day the American flag was adopted in 1777. 

I swear I recently took a photo of the little faded flag flying on my parents' porch to post, but it's lost in a maze of files in my computer.

It's just one of those small ones on a wooden stick . They have it tucked into the metal porch supports and keep it up all year. I like that.

So instead of the flag, and since by the time I publish this it won't be Flag Day anymore, here's an old red Ford truck I spotted today. Not quite Old Glory, but an American icon at least.

Hope you have a wonderful weekend!

 

Five Things on Friday

1.

Whew! I made it through May without a major random health issue.

Why is that surprising? Read "There's Something About May" to get the full story, but suffice it to say that I get a little paranoid beginning on May Day because in four of the past five Mays I've suffered from some weird, random illness or pain. 

Shingles...heart palpitations...

You'd be nervous, too!

I'm grateful I got a break this year.

2.

photo from HERE, courtesy of Natural Bridge Wildlife Ranch

On May 10, twins Wasswa and Nakato were born in New Braunfels, Texas. They are the only living set of giraffe twins, and only the second documented case in the U.S.

They were born at the Natural Bridge Wildlife Ranch, which isn't that far from me, so...

Why haven't I gone to see those precious babies yet?

To see them in all their (digital) cuteness, go HERE or HERE.

3.

I've been spending a lot of time filling out job applications, trying to match my eclectic work experience to each position. It's creative writing (nonfiction - I'm not making anything up!) but not the kind I'd like to be working on.

 

4.

Speaking of trying to find a job, I've taken a vow: I won't visit my hair stylist or buy any wine until I have a steady paycheck. 

(That should be enough incentive to keep me searching, don't you think?)

5. 

I've been attacked...by poison ivy. I'm careful to wear long pants on my morning walks through the woods, so I'm suspecting a sneak attack via Belle, aka Cuddle Puppy.

It's itchy and ugly, but it won't make me stop Belle from snuggling up against me, or from my morning walks through the woods, where the Mountain Pinks are now blooming...

 

 

Linking up with A Rural Journal's Random 5 Friday

 

God, Grant Me The Serenity...

Through the window, I see my brother-in-law's SUV pull up in front of the house. Several younger men gather to help maneuver my mother down from her seat and into the waiting wheelchair.

For a moment exhaustion pinches her face from the three-hour road trip and constant struggle to breathe, but then I see that familiar smile bloom wide, right to the edge of joyful laughter, so contagious that everyone around her smiles, too.

She said she wouldn't miss her grandson's wedding, and by golly, she made it.

I sigh in relief. Maybe she didn't have doubts about her attendance, but I sure did. Eight months ago, for reasons that still haven't been clearly diagnosed, her muscle strength and balance disappeared. Walking was already a challenge because of her asthma, but now she couldn't even stand without support.

At first she fought it, believing she just needed to push herself to build up her strength. She accepted the wheelchair as a temporary accessory, but if you turned your back for a second, she would jump up and try to walk. Upon waking in the morning, she would automatically head down the long hallway, alone and unassisted, to the bathroom.

Consequently, she fell. A lot. I witnessed a few of the falls myself, including one in the middle of the night when she took my dad down on top of her in the bathroom (he tried to stop her fall) and we subsequently spent the night in the emergency room.

I'm not sure how many other falls there were. She and Daddy tried to keep them secret.

"Mama, stop trying to walk without help. You don't want to miss the wedding, do you?" 

She didn't. But it still took a few reminders before she started behaving and playing it safe, using the wheelchair to go down the hall and letting Daddy hover nearby when she needed to stand.

It's been a tough transition for all of us. Mama has always been the caregiver, so strong she makes the Steel Magnolias look like a bunch of wilting lilies. She's the Serenity Prayer and "where there's a will, there's a way" all rolled up in one, put into action. When something needed to be done, she just did it, without any whining or woe-is-me-ing. 

She spent sleepless nights nursing us through the usual and not-so-usual childhood illnesses and injuries...encephalitis, whooping cough, dislocated hips. Later, in her forties, Mama maneuvered my quadriplegic brother's six-foot-frame in and out of his wheelchair, despite her petite size. And just a few years ago, in her late 70's, she took care of my older sister following her hip surgery. 

 

Mama was with me to welcome my firstborn into the world, watched him while I worked and his dad went to school, and attended every special event of his life. There was no way in hell she'd miss his wedding, even if it meant relying on others for a change and accepting life in a wheelchair...at least for a little while. 

God, grant me the serenity...

 

In honor of Mother's Day, Generation Fabulous asked us to talk about that other fabulous generation - our mothers. Whether we like it or not, and whether we knew them or not, our mothers helped shape us into the women we are today. I realize I'm blessed with an amazing mother and the chance to know her through the eyes of an adult, and I'm happy I got to share a little bit about her with you. To read more mom stories, go HERE.

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I Blame LinkedIn

Instead of exercising this morning before heading to work, I made the mistake of clicking on my LinkedIn profile when I got on the computer to pay some bills. By the time I finished updating it, I was scrambling to make it to work on time.

So as soon as I stepped in the door this evening after work, I changed into my work-out clothes, determined to keep up my routine. But I was starving. First I would eat, then I would work out.

But I couldn't work out right after eating, could I? So I cleaned off my desk and sat down to finish paying bills until enough time had passed that I wouldn't puke when I jumped rope.

Money on my brain, or rather the lack thereof, I couldn't resist clicking on the email from LinkedIn telling me about jobs I might like. 

Well, I didn't like any of those, but I kept clicking and found one that actually did appeal to me and matched my experience and skills. So I clicked on "apply", which took me to a window requesting my resume.

Uh-oh. Updating my resume had been on my to-do list...or I should say, it's been ignored on my to-do list. It immediately moved up in priority.

I spent the next thirty minutes...hour...who knows how long, tidying it up to match the job, then finished applying.

Time to work out. No, it was late. I would just pay bills and get in bed early so I could wake up early enough to work out.

Oh, but first, I needed to print out one of my critique group member's submission for the next meeting in case I got called to substitute teach in the morning. I like to do my critiques during my long break periods. Too cheap to use new paper, I decided to clean out my file cabinet and find some paper I could recycle.

So I headed into the bedroom where the file cabinet is and noticed the basket of towels on the bed waiting to be folded. I remembered I had clothes in the washer and dryer, so I turned on "Dancing with the Stars" for ten minutes while I folded, then moved the loads around downstairs.

But instead of folding the next basket of clothes I pulled from the dryer (just Tom's work clothes - wrinkling wouldn't hurt them) I thought I better get back to paying bills.

Back on the computer, a quick glance at Facebook reminded me I wanted to submit one of my blog posts to BlogHer's Voices of the Year.

I'm getting very audacious in my old age! Perhaps I've read this enough times to believe it:

"Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers, why not gather your own bouquet?"

- from P.S. I Love You on my bathroom wall

 

But which post should I submit? I started scrolling through my posts until I came to The Artist. That would do. I filled in the nomination page then shared my audaciousness on the GenerationFabulous Facebook page, which is full of supportive women, but I've been neglectful of my own support for them lately, so I spent some time reading over a few posts and voting for their submissions as well. 

Finally! Time to pay those bills. Except, gosh, couldn't this whole crazy scenario make a great blog post? Especially if I mention the Painted Bunting I spotted out the bathroom window while I was flossing my teeth, in between eating dinner and sitting down to pay bills the first time? The one I captured in my camera when I left mid-floss to sneak out the back door and creep up on via the side porch?

And that's why I never seem to get anything done. I blame it all on LinkedIn. Now excuse me, but I really need to finish flossing, pay those bills and get in bed.

Oh, but first...

 

Oh, my aching back...

So yesterday, I get home from work and Tom tells me he needs my help, which makes me happy, because he rarely accepts help on his projects. That's the artist in him, I think.

Anyway, he needed my help lifting a heavy rock he'd found on one of his scavenger hunts through the countryside in his little Suzuki Samurai. (His latest project is building a stone driveway, just like the stone terrace down by our little pond and our front walkway...only multiplied by like a zillion because it's a long driveway! Crazy man.)

So I changed clothes and we headed off in the Suzuki, ultimately driving off the road into a wooded area. This huge flat rock rested about twenty feet away. As a team, we lifted it and carried it to the Suzuki. On the way, I felt a tug in my back, but we were almost there, so I just kept going and tried not to make any sudden moves or twists.

I forgot about it until this morning, when after one small movement I felt this TWANG where the tug used to be, followed by pain so intense it took my breath away for a minute.  So I called the man with tons of back pain experience  - Tom - and he reminded me we have an inversion table. 

I'm happy to say that after ibuprofen, ten minutes on the inversion table, ten minutes on a heating pad, thirty minutes of light jogging on the treadmill, and some careful stretching, I was able to go to work. 

Well, after I removed the mouse from the back floorboard of my car and tossed it into the woods, that is. 

And after I heard that one of my dear friends lost her mother unexpectedly yesterday morning. (Please keep her and her family in your prayers!)

 

 

The rest of the day wasn't so bad. I had a request to purchase some photos, a positive reply to a writing job application I submitted, one of my posts was featured on the front page of GenerationFabulous.com, and I met a lovely couple at work who immigrated to Austin from Russia twenty years ago but still have fabulous accents. Oh, and I had an optimistic email reply for another potential job.

Tonight my back is still a little achy, but it's just a good reminder that my body doesn't like surprises. I need to work out every day, and I've been slipping lately. It's the only body I have and I need to take care of it. 

I hope you all had a wonderful day. (To my blog friends...I've been very neglectful but I hope you forgive me. Once I get these to-do lists under control again, I'll be making the rounds. I miss you! Thank you for coming by to see me, anyway!)

I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read and all the friends I want to see. 

~John Burroughs

Sigh.

~me

 

 

Hard Times Require Furious Dancing

(photo by Deborah Barrett)

I love dancing.

Nevermind the therapeutic benefits, both mental and physical. When I hear certain beats and rhythms, I really can't sit still. If nothing else, my toe will be dancing.

What I love almost as much as dancing is getting others out on the dance floor with me, getting them to forget about what other people think and just get lost in the music and the movement. The smiles on their faces make my heart soar.

But dancing is therapeutic, no doubt about it. Along with writing, photography, spending time with friends, and pounding on my drums, it's one of my favorites. (Sometimes I wonder why I need so much therapy...)

Alas, between working weekends and traveling to see my parents'so much, my dancing nights have dwindled over the past year. Consequently, my stress levels have risen. So this past weekend, I talked a bunch of friends into joining me on the dance floor.

It was a blast!

That was sweet!, but having a friend think of me when she saw a copy of "Hard Times Require Furious Dancing" by Alice Walker in a shop, and take the time to send me the photo of it...well, that was just as sweet! (Thank you again, Debbie!)

Here are a few other sweet! moments from the past week...

 

Monday: bird-watching and bird-listening; managing to put off a trip to the grocery store; taking care of dusty but important things on your to-do list; a day at home with your husband, even if you're busy with your own projects

Tuesday: waking early enough to write and exercise before work; another mallard sighting; redbud trees blooming longer than usual; meeting other photographers; helping a friend celebrate her birthday

Wednesday: waking early enough two days in a row to write and exercise before work; sleeping through a hailstorm when you're exhausted; finishing a book that's driving you crazy wanting to know how it ends

Thursday: time to weed through your untended, overgrown email inbox; your husband caring enough about a wounded snake to put it in a terrarium so it can die in peace; walking the streets of Venice again, at least in your memory and words and photos

Friday: traffic working with you on an early morning road trip; splashes of bluebonnets lining a highway; time to chat with your dad, even if it's in a hospital waiting room; your mom breezing through her nuclear stress test with no problems; getting together with friends and spending hours on a dance floor; good bands

Saturday: sleeping in; biscuits and bacon for breakfast, thanks to your dad; a yard decorated with pink and purple flowers; hanging out with your parents all day; a hug from, and chance to visit with, your sister; a former co-worker contacting you for a potential new job

Sunday: sleeping in, Day 2; a walk around your old neighborhood on a brisk sunshine-filled day; new houses going up in an old neighborhood; a field of tiny yellow flowers; stopping along a highway to capture bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes with your camera; wiggly puppies welcoming you home

Monday: getting to work in a library with a view of Texas hills and blue skies

 

I hope all of you had a week filled with therapeutic, sweet! moments, too! 

“the world has changed: it did not change without your prayers without your faith without your determination to believe in liberation and kindness; without your dancing through the years that had no beat.”

~ Alice Walker, "Hard Times Require Furious Dancing: New Poems"

On Breathing

 

I'm playing catch up.

I knew when I signed up for the Scintilla Project, a two-week writing commitment, that it would be a challenge to write something every day.

I accept that there are going to be some days I just won't have time to write, especially since I usually have to roll a prompt around in my brain for a bit before I decide how to answer it.

I'm going to try my best to respond to each one, even if it means posting two on one day. But I'm going to cut myself some slack and not stress about it if I don't.

It's more important to breathe...

 

Scintilla Project Day 4:

Being trapped in a confined environment can turn an ordinary experience into a powder keg. Write about a thing that happened to you while you were using transportation; anything from your first school bus ride, to a train or plane, to being in the backseat of the car on a family road trip.

We tossed our bags into the cargo space of the charter bus idling in the church parking lot, said our goodbyes to our parents, and boarded the charter bus, excited about our week-long journey to St. Louis. Thirty or forty of us, barely teenagers, members of the youth choir, setting out on a summer adventure...with a few adult chaperones, of course.

I was excited about traveling through the midwest, the heart of the United States. I couldn't wait to see Dorothy's Kansas, Tom Sawyer's Mississippi River, and that huge Gateway Arch. 

But before we even got out of Texas, my pubescent hormones and tree pollen teamed up to spoil my trip. It started as a tightness in my chest that climbed higher, squeezing my air passages until all I focused on during that long drive through the night to Joplin was breathing.

I sat on the arm rest of a chair, gripping the rail above my head, pulling as I struggled to breathe in, drifting into an uneasy sleep as I exhaled. I remember a dream-like stop at a random emergency room. Maybe two. Instead of sharing a motel room with my friends, I bunked with Mrs. Eaton, the pianist, so she could keep an eye on me.

No giggling, no gossip, no flipping through television stations for me, just sitting on a toilet in a steamy bathroom so I could continue breathing. 

The only thing I toured in St. Louis was the mall across the street from our hotel, and the airport, where I at least experienced the excitement of my first airplane ride, all alone and feeling very grown-up, back to Houston, where my mother drove me straight to my allergist at the very moment my friends were probably gazing out of the Mississippi River from the top of the Arch.

 

And that story leads directly in to my next...

 

Scintilla Project Day 3:

Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. Write about a time you taught someone a lesson you didn't want to teach.

 

The wheezing. The coughing. The chest retractions. I knew the sounds and symptoms. Antihistamines, albuterol, corticosteriods, and other asthma and allergy medications overflowed a large basket on the kitchen counter. Beside it three nebulizer masks air dried, waiting for the next round. Two nebulizers were in position on end tables, taking the place of whatever decorative knick-knacks I'd once had there, before I had three kids with asthma.

The boys were easy. I'd slip on their masks and flip the switches on the nebulizers. They'd nestle on the couch with a picture book or a toy, or ask me to turn up the volume on the television so they could hear it over the hum of the motors, and then they'd do their best to see through the mist. At three and five, they were antsy about having to stay still so long, but they understood it was necessary.

TG was another story. She developed asthma before she was a year old. The nebulizer mask was confining, uncomfortable, and very scary to her at first. She didn't understand that it would save her life, but I did, so when it was time for her treatment, I figured out a way to secure her on my lap with one arm and a leg wrapped across her little body to keep her from flailing loose, while the other hand held the mask securely in place so the medicine could reach her lungs. I ignored her tears. I dodged her kicks and attempts to bite me, instead tightening my hold on her. Tough love because I loved her so much.

Over time, she quit fighting me during her treatments, realizing they actually helped. Over more time, they all got so much better they no longer needed inhalers very often, much less nebulizer treatments. 

And then they became teenagers, needing that tough love for entirely different reasons. But that's another story.

 

Tree pollen, you don't scare us anymore!

 

 

 

Divulging My (not-so-secret fitness and health) Secrets

 

"I think in terms of the day's resolutions, not the year's."  ~Henry Moore

 

I recently came across a photo of myself taken on one of my girls' weekends in Port Aransas several years ago. I was standing by the rail of the ferry crossing to the island, flanked by two friends.

But at first glance, I didn't even recognize myself in the photo. Soon after it was taken, I started on a journey to get healthy. Not to lose weight, because I felt I'd already tried everything I could, diet- and exercise-wise, to lose those last fifteen pounds, but no luck. I was resigned to my weight. It wasn't that much, after all. I just wanted to be healthy and fit inside as I headed toward my fiftieth birthday.

I never expected that those changes I made in my life would melt the pounds away and make me feel healthier and more energetic than I'd ever, ever felt before. Seeing that photo made me realize what a huge difference our every day choices can make.

And it all started with a Lenten Promise.

I've never been one to go the "giving up" route during Lent. I know me too well. Why set myself up for failure?

Instead, I preferred to add beneficial things that I could continue beyond Lent, like saying the Rosary every morning when I walk the dogs or doing something nice for someone every day.

But that year I got it in my head to give up sugar as the first step of my journey to better health.

I quit adding it to my coffee and vowed not to eat any store-bought sweets...except for dark chocolate. I didn't like dark chocolate at the time, but I had heard it was sort of healthy, so if the Smarties leftover from Halloween or the Chips Ahoy cookies I knew were in the pantry starting calling my name, I allowed myself a piece of dark chocolate to pacify my sweet tooth. 

I also allowed myself homemade treats of any kind when they were offered - in moderation, of course. (They're made with love, so it's probably a sin to turn them down, right?) 

But it surprised me how hard it was to pass that candy bowl without grabbing something. It had become a habit. I started praying for the strength to stick with my Lenten promise, and that's when I finally "got" the giving-up thing: it's about realizing your own limitations and weaknesses, and learning to rely on God's strength instead of your own. 

By the end of Lent, the candy bowl no longer tempted me and I could easily pass up store-bought goodies. My taste buds had come back to life and my sweet tooth was satisfied by a handful of grapes or strawberries. 

(Alas, along the way I developed a love for dark chocolate. Now I look forward to two pieces in the evening.)

That first step led to others, taken one at a time. Along the way I continually educated myself on health and fitness so that perimenopause was pretty much a breeze for me (and those around me!)

I've decided to share my journey with others. Perhaps the steps I took aren't the right ones for everyone, but on the other hand, they might be; at the very least, I hope to inspire others to know they're never too old to make positive changes in their health and their life.

But there's too much to include in one blog post. Maybe I'll create a series...or even an e-book. I'll keep you posted. 

Meanwhile, what changes have you made in your life that resulted in more than you hoped for?

(The spam folder is still swallowing comments, so don't worry if yours seems to just disappear. I'll retrieve it as soon as possible. Thanks!)

  

Empty Spaces, Cedar Fever, and a Handful of Stones

There's a big empty space in my living room now. My middle son came home this weekend and helped me pack up the memories and cart the tree downstairs to its place in the storage room. (Daniel also helped Tom cut and carry firewood. We love it when he comes home!)

Usually my rocking chair sits in that empty space the rest of the year, the old wooden one we bought at Sears in my first pregnancy...the one I spent hours in, rocking my babies in the middle of the night. As we do every year, we moved it into my library/office to make room for the tree.

 I'm thinking of keeping it there; I need a place to sit and read, and I love rocking in it, even if I don't have a baby to soothe to sleep. 

Rocking is good for the soul at any age, don't you think? And I didn't rock nearly enough when the chair sat in the living room.

 

 

 

Actually, I feel like I have a big empty space in my head right now, too, thanks to a blossoming case of Cedar Fever... or maybe it's from the antihistimines I'm taking to combat it.

It's mating season for Ashe Junipers, commonly called mountain cedars, and we're surrounded by them; the slightest breeze makes pollen explode from the trees in huge clouds that drift straight to your nose and eyes, making you sneeze and wheeze and want to scratch your eyes out.

Alas, these warm winter days I love makes the pollen even more amorous! 

I blame my antihistimine/Cedar Fever brain fog that I haven't posted this handful of small stones yet...

#19: The sun drops behind the hills, splashing salsa on a blue-corn-tortilla-sky.

# 20: Spending time with old friends helps patch the worn spots on the fabric of your soul.

# 21: Under the moon's eye, even the road whispers.

# 22: Treetops, drizzled with sunlight. 

#22.5 Fresh blooms, budding trees, and the smell of new-mown grass, wrapped in the trill of bird song, a gift of spring in the middle of winter.

 

 

I took the above photo this morning...our typical path right smack dab in the middle of those dang cedars. But as miserable as they make me, and as much as everyone curses them, I love them, if only for the splashes of green they offer when everything else has gone gray and dormant. 

Have you picked up any small stones lately? Please share!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mastering the Fine Art of Procrastination

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

It's all John Lubbock's fault that my Christmas decorations still languish in boxes piled in the middle of the living room.

Instead of spending Friday writing, cleaning, decorating, and all of the other "ing"s I've neglected, I jumped in my car and drove across town to have lunch with my brother's high school girlfriend because I decided I would regret not seeing her more than I would regret not freeing those poor decorations.

Vickie  had always been really sweet to me and I hadn't seen her in almost 40 years. We recently connected on Facebook after she stopped by to see my parents, and I couldn't pass up the chance to see her in person.

And then John's words were all the encouragement I needed Saturday to spend the day in old Georgetown, shopping resale and antique stores with friends, and then heading to a friend's Christmas party that night, where I caught up with people I rarely get to see and danced to awesome live music.

Sunday was full with church and work. I didn't even need John to talk me into just watching a movie with Tom and the middle son, who came home for a quick visit (mostly to do laundry, but that's okay with me!) last night instead of scratching things off of a list.

So here I am on Monday again, but wouldn't you know, I picked up a cold somewhere in all my running around over the past couple of weeks, so today, I'm taking it slow and easy, minute to minute.

First I slept late, then took a long walk with the puppies, bundled up against the brisk breeze. Winter came back to see us last night and is sticking around today, with highs in the 40's, even with full sunshine. The last few days have been warm and gray, and I'm relishing this change despite my stuffy head and chest.

So today the decorations might make it out of the box...but they might not. I might work on Christmas cards, or my book, or photographs, or laundry...or I might just head off on another walk with the puppies, or curl up with a book and a cup of hot tea on the couch, or doze off, watching an old movie. 

I guess I need to ask myself what I "shall wish on the morrow" that I had done. But whatever I do today, I refuse to stress about anything. The sun is shining and it's a glorious day.

And here are a few sweet! moments from the past week:

 

Monday: remembering the day you became a mother; celebrating your oldest son's birthday with Mexican food and margaritas; catching up on email - almost;  Christmas lights twinkling in a city park

Tuesday: a safe road trip to your parents' house; a sweet friend dropping in to visit, bringing Subway sandwiches; the view from the 30th floor in the Houston Medical Center on a stormy day; friends thinking of you for photography gigs

Wednesday: nurses who care about their patients and doctors who make house calls; getting a Post of the Week from Hilary at the Smitten Image; a call from your son

Thursday: your dad taking his blood sugar and blood pressure and meds first thing in the morning without you nagging him; neighbors who rake your parents' yard without being asked; arriving home after a few days away; an afternoon walk with your puppies

 

 

Friday: seeing a dear friend's face for the first time in almost 40 years; blowing off to-do's to watch a movie with your sweetie

 

 

Saturday: spending the day with friends exploring resale and antique shops; Reuben sandwiches; finding an old picnic basket marked $3; dancing with new and old...er, I mean, longtime...friends to the music of Andrew Venson, Soulman Sam Evans, and company; word from your oldest that he survived the half marathon obstacle course he ran that morning

 

 

(I love old picnic baskets!!!)

 

Sunday: kneeling to pray between your husband and son; French onion soup when you're sick with a cold; steaks hot off the grill, courtesy of your son

Monday: sleeping in when you're sick, a walk with your puppies on a glorious winter day, and a wide open, unscheduled day ahead of you

Belle is leaping through the grass!

 

Here's to a week full of good health and sweet! moments for all of us!

 

My Village

Summer and autumn traded places while I was gone. The purple flowers have faded, and the splashes of gold have moved from the blossoms that used to line the road up to the trees.

It's amazing the change a few days can make.

 

“Friends show their love in times of trouble.” ~ Euripes

I drove home from my parents Friday afternoon. I was scheduled to work Saturday and Sunday... plus I missed Tom, the puppies, my bed, my dirt road, the sound and smell of the woods...

Still, it was tough leaving, especially after spending the previous night in the Emergency Room. Mama fell in the bathroom around 1 in the morning, whacking her head hard enough on the floor to bring up an instant bruise, huge and purple as a plum.

Hallelujah, she passed the catscan, X-rays, blood and urine tests, and I drove us all home just as the sun rose red on the horizon. While they slept, I got her prescriptions filled and gathered my things, then before leaving, sat with Mama to fill out and submit applications for Medicare Part D, which covers prescriptions. I found out from the pharmacist that Daddy hasn't been getting a lot of his meds filled. When I asked Daddy about it, he said they were too expensive.

(Of course, Daddy doesn't think they're necessary, anyway, and that not taking them has nothing to do with the recent blockage in his carotid artery. I disagree.)

Anyway, by the time I crawled into my own bed Friday evening, I had somehow been up for 36 hours, running on nervous energy and a few cups of coffee, my mind in a whirl, wondering and worrying about leaving Mama and Daddy there alone. 

It helped knowing my sweet sons were heading the opposite way in the morning, planning to spend the weekend with their grandparents. Tommy took my dad grocery shopping. (I had gone to the store several times, but only bought them healthy stuff, considering Daddy's diabetic and all. I didn't ask what they bought this time.)

And what a relief when my friend Rae called letting me know she had picked up Whataburgers for the whole crew Saturday evening, and again on Sunday, when another longtime friend Debbie and her mom dropped in on them with KFC. Debbie just lives around the corner from my parents and has urged them to call if they need anything at all.

My sister Brenda and her husband will also pick up groceries and run other errands as needed, and Brenda is working on filling out the Veteran's Administration Compensation forms. Plus home health care started today with a visit from a nurse.

Mama and Daddy's neighbors Hector and Estella have also stressed to call them or knock on their door if they need anything at all, and they've been dropping food off for my parents for years now.

Sigh. Such a relief!

It's still tough being so far away. We've tried for years to get them to move closer, and have now started trying to persuade them to move in with us, but no luck, and I don't anticipate them changing their minds.

So knowing all of these wonderful people are close, holding hands around them, ready to catch them if they fall...well, there are really no words to express how much that means to me and the peace of mind it gives. 

It's beyond sweet!, that's for sure.

Best friends are those who make your problems their problems so you don't have to go through them alone.

~ unknown 

I hope I'm that kind of friend.

And now for a few sweet!s from the past week... 

 

Sunday: the full moon keeping you company on an evening drive to Houston; seeing your Daddy back home after a major surgery; your son letting you know he made it home safely, too; an email asking to share your photos of a Futuro Home

Monday: making progress on editing the photos from your latest photo shoot; plumbing fixes that are easy and inexpensive; taking care of things for your parents; a late afternoon walk around your old block

Tuesday: word from your relatives and friends on the east coast that they made it through Hurricane Sandy relatively okay; more progress on photo editing; sweet neighbors; hearing that your dad doesn't need cataract surgery yet

Wednesday: happy photography customers; running for the first time in two weeks; knowing exactly what to get your mom for an early birthday present; trick-or-treaters; a call from your son

Thursday: the smiling faces of friends dropping by to see you and your parents; finally getting your dad to follow his morning medication regimen; home health nurses; online bill paying from anywhere; watching Ellen with your mom; hearing your parents kiss goodnight 

Friday: angels who protect and cushion your mom when she falls so she isn't seriously injured; being there for your parents in an emergency; "character" patients you can listen to when you have to spend the night in the Emergency Room; staying wide awake for 36 hours so you can finish up tasks for your parents and still safely drive home, despite huge traffic jams; the autumn sun setting in the Texas Hill Country

Saturday: time for a walk with your husband and puppies before heading to work; friends who voluntarily drop in and bring food to your parents; sons who want to spend the weekend with their grandparents

Sunday: worshiping with your husband; working within view of a vineyard in the Texas Hill Country on an autumn day

Monday: sleeping in; a long morning walk with your puppies and your camera; finding one Mexican hat blooming near your pond, reluctant to let go of summer; a haircut and color by awesome Michael

 

 

Hope your coming week is full of sweet! moments!

P.S. Tom's youngest brother John has spent the last 2 days in Intensive Care with asthma. According to the last report, he was off the ventilator and able to breathe again, and on the verge of leaving ICU for a regular room.

Great news! But please keep him in your prayers. Besides being a great brother and brother-in-law, husband, dad to four, and godfather to TG, he's an awesome Phoenix policeman. Click HERE to see how he coaxed a confession from a murderer several years ago.

P.S.S. In case I don't get a chance to post this tomorrow...GO VOTE!

 

A Week of Blessings

This is the way I remember it:

Tom and I were driving down the highway, headed to Houston's Methodist Hospital for the first time, because Daddy was about to have surgery for an abdominal aneurism. I was pregnant with my first baby and worried about Daddy.  I was praying, praying, praying...

...and then I was crying, crying, crying, because Bread's Everything I Own came on the radio. I was afraid my baby would never know its grandfather. I was afraid I wouldn't have my Daddy to hug and laugh with anymore.

"Is there someone you know,
you're loving them so,
but taking them all for granted.
You may lose them one day,
someone takes them away,
and they don't hear the words you long to say."

I was afraid.

But Daddy made it through that surgery, hallelujah, and the next and the next and the next... you name a surgery on the body's cardiovascular system and he's had it at least once, with a few strokes and seizures in between. I've lost count.

He always bounces back, strong and vigorous, and except for all of the scars, you'd never know he's had so much go wrong inside. 

This latest was his fourth carotid artery surgery - he's had two on each side. I wonder if that's a record?

His mini-stroke on his birthday weekend was from a slight blockage in the left carotid, but in the follow-up arteriogram this past Tuesday, the doctors saw that his right carotid was about 95% blocked and required immediate surgery. The left one could wait.

During the actual surgery they discovered it was closer to 98% blocked, plus the old graft had weakened and an aneurism had developed. A ticking time bomb in my Daddy's neck.

I'm happy to report the doctors were able to diffuse the bomb. Daddy made it through yet another surgery, just fine, this past Thursday. I spent several days there, taking over his role as my mom's caregiver, making sure she was able to be at his side every day.

I tell you, there's nothing sweeter than helping your mom stand up to give your dad a kiss in his hospital bed, seeing the love shining in their eyes as they lean in for that touch and to say 'I love you' one more time.

I'll be headed back again to Houston this evening, after a big photography job my sweet friend Darla got for me. I also needed to come home to do laundry (I only went prepared for two nights), pay bills, and check on my baby girl who came down with pneumonia this week.

There were a few stressful, tearful, hurt and even angry hours when plans I thought I had in place for when I was gone crumbled. But I should have remembered the message on the penny in my pocket: "In God We Trust". Everything worked out, thanks to my sister, my niece, my parents' neighbors, and my son.

Yes, that same little boy who grew inside of me on my first trip to Methodist hospital, who perhaps sensed my tears and worry, not only got to spend lots of time with my mom and dad, but he headed down a highway himself yesterday from Austin to be there for his grandparents and ease my mind. 

Life is full of sweet blessings.

Here are a few others I noticed over the past week.

 

Monday: managing to miss the traffic jams in both Austin and Houston; arriving at your parents' house, safe and sound

Tuesday: helping your mom and dad; meeting interesting, kind people in the hospital; prayers from your friends; sleeping with your mom

Wednesday: helpful, caring people; laughter in a hospital; nurses 

Thursday: watching your parents kiss before your dad heads into surgery; eating omelettes with your mom after a long night sleeping in a chair; gospel singers serenading the ICU waiting room; a familiar, friendly face sitting beside you, lending support; your dad making it through surgery just fine; your baby girl who has pneumonia finally getting in to see a doctor and getting a prescription

Friday: seeing your dad sitting up in a chair beside his ICU bed, eating soup, and then getting released to a regular room; people who step in to help care for your parents when you have to leave, who understand caring for loved ones is a privelege and blessing, not a burden; a cup of hot coffee on a cold, late night drive 

Saturday: your metal roof bathed in moonlight and a wiggly puppy greeting you on the rock path leading to your front door after too many stressful days away; snuggling into the warmth of your sleeping husband; knowing your mom and dad are okay even though you aren't there taking care of them; your son stepping in to help care for his grandparents; your zoom lens back on your camera, good as new; bringing groceries to your sick baby girl and seeing with your own eyes that she's okay; reassurance from a nurse friend that your dad's hallucinations are normal after surgery; cyclops cookies, courtesy of your husband and middle son

Sunday: crisp, clean autumn mornings; attending Mass with your husband and son; your whole church praying for your dad

 

Thanks so much to all of you who lifted my Daddy in prayer this past week. Please continue to think of him and my mom as we deal with the next fews days and the transition back home. Also, please keep my baby girl in your prayers that she heals up from this bout of pneumonia.

I hope that even if you're going through tough, stressful times, you're still able to notice the sweet!s all around you. They're there, I promise.

Weren't we talking about thinning hair? (The Rogaine Verdict)

 

It's been over a year since I slipped into Target and bought my first box of Rogaine, wishing I was wearing a disguise, fearing someone I knew would see me and know (gasp!) that I had thinning hair!

Ha! Like it wasn't obvious just by looking at me? We can be so silly, can't we?

I wrote about buying that first box, and the reasons why, in Hair, or the Lack Thereof, and promised I would keep you posted on the results.

Well, over the past year I've bought several more boxes of minoxidil, both brand name (Rogaine) and generic from different stores. It doesn't bother me at all anymore to grab a box off the shelf and toss it in my shopping basket. 

I've waited to give you a report, though, because minoxidil takes time. I wanted to be sure. But a year is long enough, so here it is, my verdict on minoxidil, aka Rogaine...

(Drumroll, please...)

It works. It really does. 

At least, for me, it works. And it's so cheap and easy... even if you're buying the name brand! Why didn't I try it before?

Now, granted, my hair is still thin and baby fine. Minoxidil won't change the kind of hair you have; it only stimulates growth. But I can see, per square inch of my scalp, there are definitely more hairs growing.

How do I know? When I part my hair, I no longer see a huge amount of scalp. I just see a normal part. I have also watched lots of little baby hairs grow into adult hairs over the past year. It's pretty dang exciting!

I'm really not sure what I was so embarrassed about now. Thinning hair is such a common problem for both men and women. I had a huge response to my first post on Vibrant Nation. There are so many companies and products out there trying to make money off of this problem without delivering results. We deserve better than that.

So why is there such a stigma over using minoxidil?

Per my doctor's suggestion, I totally skipped the women's version and went straight for the men's extra-strength. If you're pregnant or breast-feeding, that's a no-no. But most women experiencing thinning hair are entering perimenopause, and those warnings don't apply. The only other warning for women is about facial hair, which worried me a little, but I haven't experienced that at all. 

FYI, the solution works better than foam for women. The dropper provides more accurate measurement and better distribution on the scalp. I learned that the hard way.

You should also not apply minoxidil if you're having your hair colored that day. Again, another hard lesson. It will sting like your head is on fire! (In all fairness, the instructions tell you that... but I had forgotten!) 

You have to apply the solution twice a day, once in the morning and once at night, but it only takes a few seconds. The directions say to apply it a couple of hours before going to bed, but I usually do it right before snuggling with Tom, and he hasn't grown any extra hair on his shoulder.

Because you massage it into your scalp with your fingers, I always, always, always wash my hands thoroughly after applying it. You're supposed to wait four hours after application before shampooing, so I often wait to apply it after my shower in the morning, and I've noticed it seems to add body to my hair.

One of the most common side effects is itching of the scalp. I didn't experience that until recently, after months of use. I'm pretty sure it was because I forgot that warning about using it on the day you were getting your hair colored...

Sigh.

So, do I now have a head full of lush hair, thanks to minoxidil? 

No.

But I do have hair covering my scalp, and I know there are some of you out there who will know... that's enough.

P.S. I wasn't paid anything by anyone for this post.  

 

 

 

 

 

The Art of Relaxation

One September about twelve years ago I made a phone call to a previously unknown-to-me condominium complex in Port Aransas, Texas, and reserved a three bedroom condo on the 5th floor.

I needed to escape.

Not a permanent escape, of course. Just a few days all to myself, where I didn't have to cook anything, clean anything, be anywhere at a certain time, make any phone calls, settle any arguments, attend any meetings...

I could just take care of myself and no one else.

And my body literally ached, mentally and physically, for the beach. For the lounging, the reading, the song of the surf and birds, the sun on my body.

A few margaritas sounded good, too.

So I rounded up some friends who needed a short escape just as much as I did (I couldn't afford that place by myself!) and we spent a glorious weekend on the coast.

Our condo overlooked the beach on one side and the bay on the other. I lucked out because some of the women relaxed by cooking and a few others by cleaning, so they got their dream weekend and I got mine!

(You can tell by the way I'm dressed... I'm the old lady in the middle... I really needed a Mommy break!)

I've gone back every fall except one, with mostly the same women, give or take ten or twenty. (It caught on, as you can imagine.) 

Days of unscheduled time at the beach with dear friends, a good book, my camera, and a cocktail or two. That's my answer to BlogHer's Life Well Lived "Get Happy" Question of the Week...

What are your favorite relaxation techniques?

And what benefits do you see from practicing them?

Oh, I forgot to mention the benefits...

They're too numerous to count, but they include sanity, serenity, deeper friendships...

...Just one big <sigh> that lasts almost a whole year. (Two trips a year would be perfect. Maybe three to play it safe.)

So now tell me, because I'm nosy, what are your favorite relaxation techniques and what benefits do you see from practicing them?

(After sharing, visit the main post on BlogHer (here) and don't forget to enter the current Life Well Lived Sweepstakes! (here))

 

Thinking of another Memorial Day Weekend (plus my Sweet!s of My Week)

A day with our kids and other families, swimming in a cold river, eating fresh pineapple, grilling burgers... a night spent laughing and dancing to Johnny Dee and the Rocket '88s... and then a phone call early on that Tuesday morning afterwards that made me realize how much I had been taking for granted and how quickly life can change directions.

That Tuesday was fourteen years ago today. Tom left for work, expecting it to be like any other day, but it wasn't.  He didn't expect the other car to come into his lane, didn't expect to spend a week in the hospital or the summer trying to heal and recover instead of building our home. He didn't expect to live with pain for the next fourteen years.

But that's what happened, whether he expected it or not. And the thing is, we got through it. We built our home... not that summer, but there were other summers, and I'm grateful for that. We've spent more days swimming in cold water with family and friends, and evenings laughing and dancing. I don't think a day goes by when Tom isn't in some degree of pain, but somehow he moves on and doesn't let it stop him from doing what he needs, or wants, to do.

(I took notes and turned them into an essay as therapy... click "In the Aftermath of a Car Crash" if you want to read more about it.)

It wasn't the last unexpected detour in our road we've encountered, and I'm sure there are more waiting for us. I can't say I'm grateful it happened. I'd love to tell you something positive that came from it, but honestly, I haven't been able to see that ray of light yet. Perhaps it's shining where I can't see it. I can only hope so.

But I'm still grateful, period, that whatever roadblock is in front of us now, we're approaching it together.

Life is just too short for grudges and regrets that burn holes in your heart, for dwelling on the past or the future so long that you miss your today.

It's too short not to pursue your passion even if you only have a few seconds free each day to do it.

Too short to sit back and wait for things to happen, or for someone else to do it, or to make excuses.

Too short not to love with your whole heart, leaving no room for pride or selfishness, always trying to understand, listen, forgive, and ask forgiveness.

Too short not to take care of yourself and those you love.

Life is just too short, period, and too wonderful to take for granted.

(I've spared you the most graphic images of Tom. His face was split open. You're welcome.)

And now for a few sweet! moments of my week...

Sunday: chunks of time for writing; sitting in a dark theater, laughing at Dark Shadows with 2/3 of your kids, flashing back to watching the series with your dad; theater popcorn, courtesy of your son; giving my time for a friend

Monday: being asked to critique a high schooler's short story; friends pulling together to support another friend; a framed photo of you and your daughter from more than a decade ago sitting on your desk while you work, a belated Mother's Day gift from your baby girl

Tuesday: a songbird greeting you first thing in the morning; a day with your daughter, running errands, grocery shopping, meeting her new roommates; a funny movie with friends; popcorn for dinner twice in one week

Wednesday: Texas farmland and wide open spaces; supporting a dear friend as she says goodbye to her mother; catching up with long-time friends; your husband taking care of a mama mouse and her babies that he found in the garage, rather than put them outside where they'd surely be eaten by a snake 

(but now what do we do with them???)

Thursday: working out for the first time in a week; hours free to work on your book; two walks with your dogs in one day; friends who send you links to freelance jobs; not having to drive anywhere all day! 

Friday: turtles and yellow-crowned night heron sightings, even if you forgot to bring your zoom lens on your morning walk (do you spot it up there in the drying-up pong?); your puppy pouncing through the tall grass after lizards; scratching things off your to-do list; a call from your sister; sigh-evoking engagement photos of your son and his love; your baby girl home for the weekend

Saturday: having your husband by your side, through good days and bad days

Share your sweet moments with me! I think sharing makes them sweeter.

I hope your coming week is full of sweet, magical moments and that you remember not to take a single one for granted!

This world, after all our science and sciences, is still a miracle; wonderful, inscrutable, magical and more, to whosoever will think of it.

~Thomas Carlyle

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...