Keep Writing!

Jan. 26, 2015

Quite often my journal entries end up being much longer than I thought they would be when I sat down to write. The thing about writing is that you have to think to do it. As I write about something for which I’m grateful, a certain thought process unfolds, wherein I realize the blessing is not one thing in isolation, rather it’s a component of a conversation God is trying to have with me, a revelation of His hand in my life. The blessings wouldn’t be visible if I didn’t sit down and take stock; the conversation would be inaudible if I didn’t notice one little blessing. Today’s blessing is one such example.

I talked on the phone this afternoon with a writing buddy who moved away a couple of years ago. We haven’t visited in several months, and our catching up always includes some musings about writing. She told me she’s writing her memoir, and I told her about my gratitude journal and gave her the link, with instructions to start at the first post in order to understand the reasons for my ramblings. She texted later in the day, “Dropped everything – so swept up in your blog. Keep writing!”

Our conversation came on the heels of a months-long string of Mama-said days. I got beat down during the stress of the holidays and didn’t write, in part because I didn’t have the time, and in part because when I’m using my limited energy to keep my head above churning waves, it’s hard to see things to be grateful for. After Friend’s comment today, I went back and read my first – and subsequent – posts to read through her eyes and see what might have swept her up. I’m not sure what that might have been, but for me, reading my own words threw cold water on my pity party.

My gratitude today is three-fold:

1. For the uplift of connecting with a friend
2. For the subsequent nudge to go back and read my own journal, the purpose of which I myself stated is a daily exercise of recognizing blessings and to help me remember during the times when the clouds obscure my vision that I am blessed.
3. For God’s roundabout way of giving me a hand up and out of the winter-blues-bad-mood-funk I’m in

Starry, Starry Night

Oct. 15, 2014

Today I'm grateful for childhood memories of Yellowstone, homemade chili and stars. 

I remember my family's camping trips, many of them to Yellowstone, and some of my memories bubbled to the surface as we drove those roads again with Daughter, Son-In-Law and Grandson. Grandson is 5, and as five-year-olds do, he talks incessantly, usually nonsense. He pokes, squirms, laughs, then instantly turns to sulking when he doesn't get his way. That reminded me of three little girls squirming on the back seat of my dad's Oldsmobile as the miles stretched endlessly on, with my dad crossly threatening that he would pull off the road and spank me if I didn't stop giggling. He kept his word on more than one occasion, and I would cry, my bottom stinging, only to start giggling again as soon as the car was back in motion. My sisters have both independently recorded the same memory, so I'm pretty sure it really happened as I remember it. On this trip, the realization came to me that I must have been about 5 when my own annoying behavior caused some aggravation on family vacations. I never thought spankings would be a memory for which I'm grateful, but somehow, I am.

Daughter wanted a family portrait from this trip, so today, even though it was cloudy, we set up a portrait on the cabin deck and down on the river bank. Yesterday was sunny and would have been a perfect portrait day, but we had so much we wanted to see in the park that we got home too late to do a portrait.

Despite the clouds, the air was still today - until the moment we wrapped up, then the wind came up and blustered the rest of the day. I'm grateful that we got to take a family picture for Daughter. After my parents died, one of my sisters went through all of my dad's slides and made a digital selection of representative photos. I treasure more than words can express the ones of our trips to Yellowstone, many of them probably taken in the exact spots we have taken pictures the last few days. I know what this family photo will someday mean to Daughter and Grandson, and perhaps to others in the family tree who haven't yet been born. 

I also felt a sense of personal history when we drove the road around Quake Lake, as my family was in the great Yellowstone earthquake of Aug. 17, 1959. I was not quite 3 years old, and my family was in a camper when the quake hit at about 11:30 p.m.; the 7.5-magnitude quake triggered a landslide that sent 80 million tons of rock crashing down on sleeping campers at a Forest Service campsite just west of Yellowstone. About 28 people were killed, either crushed under the rock or drowned in the Madison River. I never realized until this trip how grateful I am that we were protected. The 50-year-old dead trees rising out of the depths of the six-mile-long lake are an eerie reminder of how blessed we were.

We put chili ingredients in the crock pot this morning before leaving on our day's adventure and came home to the most wonderful aroma. Even the next-door neighbor's dogs apparently knew something was cooking and were on the doorstep the minute our truck pulled up. I'm grateful for the blessing of food and for how delicious it tastes after a long day of exploring nature. After dinner we played games, and I'm grateful for the bonds that are formed when families play together.

The day ended with a gathering on the porch to look at the stars. This is the only night of our stay that the skies have been completely clear. It's been so long since I’ve seen stars like that, I was awe-struck. We saw the Milky Way stretch across the entire sky. Grandson saw for the first time the Big and Little Dipper, but the stars were so dense that Husby and S-I-L couldn’t find Orion. There we were with the expanse of endless stars like tiny holes punched in a perfectly clear blue-black sky letting heaven shine through; silhouettes of pines against that sky; the river shushing by, and night-birds calling … heaven on earth. I'm filled with gratitude for that breathtaking experience.

What Comes Around

Sept. 28, 2014

One Christmas when I was stressing about not being able to get everything done (one Christmas? Just one???) a pragmatic friend said, “Don’t worry about it! Christmas will come again next year.”

Today I’m grateful for the good things that do keep coming around. Coming-Around might be a second chance to improve on that Christmas that wasn’t quite as meaningful as I’d have liked it to be. It can ease the sadness at seeing something I enjoy end because I know it will come again. In a world of so much uncertainty, it really is a gift to know that some things are givens!

Like hummingbirds, for example. Earlier in the summer, I bemoaned the fact that despite my diligence in putting out fresh nectar every three days, I never saw a hummingbird. The day I saw two for an extended period, I wrote about my smile. Not long after that, the hummers seemed to have found a home in our back yard. They perched in the trees near the back door, and we learned to recognize their chirps. A male with a bright orange neck would hover and eat at one feeder, then perch atop the shepherd’s hook for 10 minutes at a time, apparently defending his turf, as he would shoo and peck at any other hummer that tried to feed there. Three “regulars” were constantly at one or both feeders, and they had a captive audience in me and Husby because we couldn’t pry ourselves from the window – which was a good portion of the day for about two weeks. 

Hanging out in our trees

Guarding his food

I did some reading and learned that hummers start migrating south as early as mid-July. By mid-September, they are feeding constantly to build up their body weight to endure the long trip south – as far as Central America or Panama. Well, we were happy to supply our little entertainers with fuel for their trip, and then just as we got in the habit of looking out the windows to see their antics, they were gone. I suppose they got as fat as they needed to be and departed for longer days, warmer weather and more bugs to eat. I had so enjoyed watching them that I felt let down when they up and disappeared. But guess what? Hummingbirds come back in mid-March. Every year. Hasta la vista, little birds, and I’ll have the nectar out for you in March!

A perching feeder encourages hummers to stay awhile

Love his iridescent green back

Guess what else? Just as the hummingbird window closed, autumn knocked on the door. Even though it will be a while before we see any leaves turn here in Texas, the days are noticeably shorter, and fall (and ragweed, unfortunately) is in the air. I love Fall and all things associated with it (except ragweed) – warm gold and red colors, cool nights, crisp apples, pumpkin cookies (which I won’t be eating this year, and I don’t how I’ll bear it), and wearing sweaters.

One thing does make me sad – really, really sad – about autumn, though: the end of pool time. When a cool front came through early this week with low humidity and nighttime temps in the low 60s, I feared that last Saturday’s pool time was the last one for this season, and that’s a big deal because the water keeps Freddie at bay. The pool temp dropped to 76° and never got above 81° this week, but I got in every day, and each time I gave thanks that I had one more! And I have something to look forward to, right? Hummingbirds, summer and pool time will come again!

Smile for today: 

Resident lizard sunning on a yellow pepper in our herb garden

Por Favor

Sept. 10, 2014

Darling Por Favor and me at Daughter's wedding, 2004

My mom passed away on Sept. 11, 2005, three months after suffering a major stroke and deciding she didn’t want to live without her full faculties. She refused to eat or drink, and I frequently saw her spit pills into her hand after nurses left the room. Her kidneys finally failed on a Friday night, and with an advance directive not to employ extraordinary measures to save her life, my sisters and I could do little but sit with her as she began her departure from this life. We didn't take our eyes off her all Friday night, thinking morning would dawn without our mother. But Saturday morning came and the day wore on … and on and on. The staff moved us to a private room where the minutes and hours ticked excruciatingly slowly away. They gave Mom morphine and assured us she wouldn’t feel any discomfort, but as her lungs filled with fluid, her rattled breath panicked and upset us. The nurse assured us again that she didn’t feel anything, but as her breathing became more difficult, she opened her eyes and looked at us with what I was sure was panic. I was horrified that she might not have wanted this after all, but it was too late, so we prayed that she would be able to go quickly. But the clocked ticked away, and as it approached midnight, all three of us sisters prayed to ourselves, without the others knowing until the next day, that she would go before Saturday turned to Sunday. Please, oh please, Mom, don’t leave us on September 11. Not on that day. But she held on until about 3:00 a.m. 

Her passing wasn’t peaceful; I had no idea that when kidneys fail, all the body systems gradually shut down and finally the lungs fill with fluid, essentially drowning the person. My sisters and I were exhausted, distressed, and so, so sad to see our sweet mom finally lying still and to realize that after all this, she was gone. And so Sept. 11, a day associated with terrorism and the way horrifically evil men turned the world on its ear and plunged us into warfare that can't be fought in ways previously known, now was also the day we watched our sweet mother suffer and pass away. And I am haunted still, when I remember her eyes, about whether we did the right thing. 

On every anniversary of the terrorist attacks in 2001, you can’t turn on the radio or television without hearing remembrances, tributes, and interviews with first responders and survivors. It’s all anyone talks about on that day, and all of that just makes the memory of my mom’s passing agonizingly painful. I dread it and wish I could just not wake up in the morning on that day every year. So this year, I decided to plan ahead and make this year’s anniversary a celebration rather than a day I dread. Tomorrow I’m going to do things Mom loved; we’ll go to the temple with Daughter in the morning, and if it’s not raining in the afternoon, we’ll stroll through the rose garden at the Fort Worth Botanic Garden. I’ll eat some fresh raspberries, a big serving of vegetables, and maybe try to find just a bite of English Toffee.

Mom had her first stroke early in June, and a few days later while in the hospital she had a bad one. After she was stabilized but wasn’t making definable progress, the hospital had to release her to a nursing facility. Although she had extreme difficulty speaking, it was clear that if she’d had the capacity, she would have refused to go. I flew from Fort Worth to Salt Lake City the day before the hospital released her, and my sisters and I scrambled to find a facility to take her right away. I stayed at the care center with her for two weeks with the intent of giving my sisters a rest, since they would have the burden after I left. My younger sister still came every day after work and stayed until we put Mom to bed at about 10:00 p.m. - she said she didn't want to miss any time with Mom. My older sister still came on weekends. At the end of each long day I would go back to Mom’s house to sleep before I returned to the care center at 7:00 a.m. to be with her for breakfast. But they get up really early at the center and she was usually back in her room from breakfast – which she didn’t eat – by the time I got there. I stayed with her all day because she had nightmares and was terrified of being left alone. And as most such facilities are, this one was horribly understaffed and wasn't attentive to Mom's needs. I encouraged her through her therapy sessions, and for the time I was there, it seemed she was actually trying a little bit. But by the time I had to leave, her kidneys had begun to fail because she refused to eat or drink enough water. I was reluctant to leave, but my sisters insisted that Mom wasn’t doing better or worse, and there was no point in my staying. We decided I would return when Mom’s Medicare payments ran out in September when we would need to decide on a long-term plan. Feeling helpless at home, I began working on a crocheted afghan for Mom’s bed. The blankets supplied by the center were old and drab, so I made a pretty butter-yellow afghan in a lacy pattern. I took it with me when I returned on Sept. 9. I arrived at the care center in early afternoon; Mom had refused lunch, so we asked her if she wanted to go for a stroll around the grounds, as it was a beautiful fall day. She didn’t care; we took her anyway. I believe she knew why I had come back, and she did not intend to stay at the care center long-term. She was listless and refused dinner, but we sat with her in the dining room and put her to bed about 7:00 p.m., covered with her new yellow afghan. At about 8:15 the center called each of us to say that Mom’s kidneys had failed and that we should come immediately.

She was wrapped in the afghan to keep warm when we arrived, and it stayed with her each time we were transferred as her condition changed. It made me sad that she hadn’t had her bright blanket all summer to cheer her and to remind her that I loved her, and then a few hours later, it covered her lifeless form. I don't know if she was ever even aware that I had brought her a hand-made-with-love new blanket. I regretted that I hadn’t stayed all summer instead of just two weeks.

I brought the afghan back home with me, but it wasn't something that had sentimental value because it had kept her warm and cheered her during a hard time; rather, it had been nothing more than a death blanket, and the sight of it made me shudder. Besides, I chose the color for her room; it didn’t fit anywhere in my house. So it has been in the cedar chest for nine years. I’ve vowed a number of times to take it to a care center here and ask if there is a resident who needs a cheerful yellow blanket for her bed. I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it, but in my new commitment to Lighten Up, perhaps I can celebrate Mom this year by giving her blanket to someone who has some time to enjoy it.

Today’s smile: Mom’s nickname – Por Favor. When my older sister and I were taking Spanish classes in school, we would say something like, “Pass the salt, Por Favor.” My mom was so adorable – she’d mis-hear things, and on this one, she finally said, “Oh! I thought you were saying, ‘Pass the salt, Cora Dear.’” How I love her - and miss her!

I Can Do Hard Things

Sept. 7, 2014

Last night while talking about Grandson #1's quirks and challenges, Daughter expressed her frustration at his high intellect but utter laziness. He'll try something and then stop in frustration, saying, "I can't; it's hard." Daughter isn't having any of that; her response is,"You can do hard things!" 

He's blessed to have a mother who makes that a mantra. It struck me when my daughter uttered that mantra last night that no one ever said to me, "You can do hard things." No one really needed to because I've always driven myself. I try a lot of things, but I've never broken through to expert status in any pursuit because I give up when the going gets tough and move on to something new (easier because you start at beginner level each time). Piano, writing, photography, sewing - all intermediate-level hobbies. I work hard, climbing and climbing, but when the air gets thin, I decide hiking isn't for me and I never quite experience the euphoria of reaching the summit. I ask myself, is it because my brain can't sort information when I get to the level that requires more processing? Or is it that I don't have the physical and mental energy to persist at the more complicated levels?

Now this epiphany startles me because I'm a perfectionist, and perfectionists generally aren't quitters - are they? I do recognize that I also abhor losing, and if I can't be as good as the best (perfect), then I just won't play any more. True competitors - and winners, eventually - enjoy the competition, which spurs them on to beat their opponent (or obstacle). What I do is get all tied up in knots about doing whatever I'm doing in the best, most perfect way possible, and I literally wear myself out. Epiphanhy! There's a subtle but significant difference between competitors and perfectionists; methinks competitors drew the healthier straw on this one.

As I watch Grandson running in circles, talking incessantly, analyzing and figuring out things well beyond his age level, it's sometimes like looking in a mirror. I don't have the outward appearance of energy that he exhibits, obviously, but I suspect the excessive brain firing that makes him Perpetual Motion causes my brain fog and fatigue. Huh? Well, although no one has ever described me as energetic much less hyper, I share with him social awkwardness, I was intellectually ahead of my peers in early elementary school, and then there's that gnawing element of giving up when something poses a challenge. And I've had a lot of years for that excessive firing to wear out my body systems and make me foggy and fatigued. My son has many of the same attributes, but there wasn't as much information readily available to parents about ADD/ADHD 30+ years ago, and I admit I wasn't as on top of parenting as Daughter is. 

I'm not crazy in my linking spectrum disorders to chronic ailments like fibro and chronic fatigue. While researching methylation (Fibro Doc #3 believes faulty methylation caused high homocysteine levels, which likely contributed to the stroke in my eye earlier this year), I ran across the work of Dr. Amy Yasko, who believes that most of the complicated, chronic illnesses and disorders that seem to be on the rise today stem from a flaw in a major biochemical pathway called the Methylation Cycle. We're talking Parkinson's, Fibromyalgia, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, IBS, Chron's Disease and Autism, to name a few seemingly unrelated conditions. She says:

A combination of genetic weaknesses, metal toxicities, infections, and other factors can lead to a negative cascade of neurological events.

Yasko also says that if a child has Autism or other spectrum disorders, he or she likely has a mother or close relative with that or other conditions mentioned above, implying that these are genetically inherited disorders. Autism has been accepted as an inherited condition for some time, but Yasko claims that a whole array of ailments are related and have in common digestive problems. She further claims that when supplements are given to "make up" for deficiencies in the genetic pathway, the symptoms clear, whether it's Autism or one of the other named conditions. Yasko's skeptics call her a quack, but it appears that prestigious institutions like Duke University are pursing research along her line of thought. A collaborative study conducted by 13 institutions around the world published just last month identifies the CHD8 gene mutation responsible for Autism. Interestingly, the study also found that the defective gene causes "issues with sleep disturbance and gastrointestinal problems."

But if Autism and other disorders are genetic, what is making the mutation present itself so abundantly now? Why are we now seeing so many hyper, uncontrollable children? Why are so many people complaining of severe digestive problems, debilitating fatigue and unexplainable widespread pain? Industrialization is likely the blanket "other factors" Yasko mentions above. A big emphatic disclaimer here: I am not a tree-hugging-save-Mother-Earth environmentalist in any form or fashion! I'm the daughter of Depression-era parents who saved and conserved and cared for everything in their possession, so I'm not a wasteful consumer, but I do firmly believe that the earth was created to sustain humans (who are indeed obligated to be good stewards) and that the earth also evolves to do that. However, I acknowledge that an ever-increasing number of cars on the road spew ever more toxins into the air; that more people means more sewage, including chemicals from drugs that we take to combat the effects of a sedentary lifestyle and a processed-food, hormone- and antibiotic-laden diet; and that technology and labor-saving devices have actually served to complicate our lives by deluding us into thinking that we can cram more and more into 24 hours. 

Now, Yasko has a whole complicated and expensive protocol of gene testing and nutritional supplementation based on where in the genetic chain the defect lies. My doctor, who obviously doesn't follow Yakso's protocol, clearly does buy into the methylation theory and is having me take three supplements (which are among those Yasko recommends) to lower my homocysteine - and my level dropped to a healthy range within four months of starting the supplements (Vitamin B-12 injections, SAMe, 5-MTHF). Critics of integrative medicine say the homocysteine link to heart disease and stroke is unfounded, but my gut tells me they're wrong - just like they're wrong about using statins to lower cholesterol. (Another post for another day!)

Whether or not gene testing and targeted supplementation is the key to beating today's chronic ailments I don't know. I do know that what I suffer is very real, that Grandson's behaviors are not blown out of proportion by his weary mother, and I do believe there is a  genetic link between the two. It makes sense to me that in certain people, a genetically flawed methylation pathway combined with environmental toxins can lead to unexplainable conditions. Well, only unexplainable to "mainstream" medical folks who don't have the guts or drive or whatever to break out of their medical-school mindset and find some meaningful answers of their own. End of soapbox. For today. What I do wonder, though, is if a genetic mutation is a factor in someone's inability to stick with difficult tasks, does it make a meaningful difference if someone tells us we can do hard things? For sure, it makes a difference that Someone believes in us and encourages instead of condemning us :-)

Today's smile: Husby. 

He's my smile every day because he's constant, steady, completely honest, loyal, hardworking, generous, and good. (Handsome, too, no?) And he unfalteringly and uncomplainingly  stands by, helps, and loves a woman who is grouchy, temperamental and unable to get out and do things a lot of the time. He didn't do anything special today that he doesn't do every day to make me smile, but it's a good day to acknowledge my gratitude for this wonderful man who makes the bed every morning and turns it down for me at night - seriously! - and who my Heavenly Father put right in my path before I thought I was ready to be married, but who is the best thing that ever happened to me. 

Digest this ...

Aug. 19, 2014

We're quickly discovering that to learn Tai Chi is to learn intimately how the body works and moves, including how to eat and live. Every move - every hand and foot position in relation to other body parts - creates balance and strength. Sifu D is patient enough to show us how slightly moving a foot or hand increases stability, or how moving from the hips moves the rest of the body without excess effort. He takes each person's individual condition into consideration as he prepares a class and incorporates acupressure points or moves that will help each person. I was getting dizzy when bending down from the hips and then raising hands overhead; he gave me alternative moves that don't drop the head below the knees and also showed me some acupressure points and other moves that help normalize blood pressure. We visited after class about a friend I told about the class who said he planned to come to today's seated class. As we talked about my friend's health issues, the conversation turned to diet, particularly acid/pH balance. I know all about acidosis and have been working to raise my pH for some time. My current fibro doctor finally said to forget about the pH until we get Candida and mercury toxicity under control. Sifu wasn't very familiar with Candida and said he would ask his Master for some direction. 

As soon as we got to class this morning, Sifu had some info from his Master about acupressure points for low BP and diet suggestions, particularly combining foods. I've heard of it, but I couldn't remember what it is. Basically, it's not combining foods that have different digestive requirements. Proteins require intense amounts of acid to break down, while starches require an alkaline digestive medium.  The theory is that when starches and proteins are eaten together, the acid and alkaline neutralize each other, and the food passes into the body undigested. Fruit is mechanically digested in the stomach, but chemical digestion doesn't take place until it reaches the last stages of the small intestine, so if eaten with or after a meal, it sits on top of the other undigested food and starts to rot, as it's not being digested. All of that causes bloating and gas and an unhealthy digestive tract. Sifu said that people with a healthy digestive system don't have to worry as much about combining foods, but anyone with a lot of gas, bloating, and known digestive issues (including Candida) can benefit from combining foods.

I came home from class and do what I do: Google and read. I looked up "Combining Foods" and the most coherent, sensible article I found was Mercola.com. I've read all kinds of excoriating articles about Dr. Joseph Mercola - the usual quackwatch stuff. But every time I search an alternative-medicine topic, I wind up at his site and find information that doesn't sound fringe or weird at all. Since the Candida Diet hasn't done much for me, nor have antifungal drugs, I've been doing some things to improve gut health, namely adding some resistant starch and beefier probiotics. I'll give food combining a go and see how I feel.

Today's smile: 

 
A thank-you note handwritten by Grandson #1, all 5 years of him. He has a good Mommy teaching him to do such things :-)

Plot Twist!

Aug. 1, 2014

Doctors say I have fibromyalgia. Once it became my constant, though unwelcome, companion, a friend suggested I give it a name, with the idea that a pet name is less clinical and “whiney” sounding than the medical term. So until I can arrange a divorce or at least a separation, my mate is "Freddie." 

In the course of a seven-year journey, I have become convinced that fibromyalgia is not a condition as such, but a name concocted for a collection of symptoms that the medical community has been forced to recognize as real, but for which no one can agree on a cause, much less a cure. After having worn myself out chasing the magic bullet, I have further come to believe that peace, if not a cure, comes from positive energy – from uplifting thoughts, from gratitude, from association with people we love. One of those people reminded me just this week:

·      My condition does not define me – in other words, I have fibromyalgia (plug in any condition here) – I am not fibromyalgia. I also have fingernails; I am not a fingernail.

·      I do not win or lose – I win or learn.

·      When something goes wrong in my life, just yell, “Plot twist!” and move on.

So this gratitude journal begins because of insights that came all at once this week, thanks to tender mercies from God (little discoveries or feelings that let me know He's aware of me), to my friend who shared inspired thoughts, and to a professor and mentor at college who encouraged me to write about Freddie. At my first Tai Chi class this week, we began with deep-breathing relaxation, which at one point included thinking of something for which we are grateful, which makes us smile. I’ve been thinking every day since that moment of things that make me smile. Those smiles should be recorded – for my own memory when it’s hard to see the sun – and perhaps to lift others who suffer. And along the way, I’ll attempt to tell what I’ve learned about fibromyalgia from doctors and my own research.

Today’s smile:
Watching a Cardinal Couple – literally, a bright red male and a brown female with a red beak – courting in my back yard. They started on the fence, then flew one at a time to the crepe myrtle tree, where they sat side-by-side on a branch for quite a while before flying out of the yard together. But they came back again and again while I was in the pool (another thing to be grateful for!). How can you not love that?!