interruptions

On depression and the magic of cupcake papers.

2012-01-24T15:59:00.000-08:00

What is so magical about these little cupcake liners? Maybe it's that they look like little sunshines. Or that cupcakes usually mean some fun is around the corner. All I know is that as I've been fighting my way back uphill out of depression-land, seeing them made me smile.

I know I'm hard on myself--I don't "do" enough, whatever it is. You know: work out/eat salads/cut out chocolate/contribute to life... And I find that I can't seem to forgive myself for having Fibromyalgia and being "less than" because of that too.

BUT--tonight is a fun and special night. Granddaughter Cassidy turned 12 yesterday, and tonight her mommy, my eldest daughter, is bringing dinner over and we're having cupcakes for Cassidy's birthday. Candie's making her awesome 90 gazillion calories per serving macaroni and cheese, and I'm making a salad--and the all-important cupcakes.

If you're not familiar with depression, it has the talent of robbing a person of their interest in life, their desire to do the things they'd usually enjoy, so couple that with the lack of energy and the body pain of Fibro and life can become a struggle. So it surprised me when I found myself smiling over such a simple little thing as cupcake papers with their crinkly little sides. It was a lovely little gift.

It's good for all of us to look for the happy little positive things of life, they called it "intentional happiness" in my pain management class. All I know is I had to put a picture of them on my blog and see if they make you smile too.

Under the heading "Things i've never thought of."

2012-01-24T15:24:00.000-08:00

Hubby had to change out the toilet. This was on the box.

Huh. Good to know.

January in my little corner of California.

2012-01-12T20:42:00.000-08:00

Last week I went for a walk in the neighborhood. I saw gorgeous citrus growing,

but there were still plenty of red leaves that hadn't yet fallen

and roses in bloom!

And not even two weeks after Christmas.

Oh well.

2012-01-11T13:29:00.000-08:00

I tried. I really did. I tried to clear myself of Cymbalta and live a more naturally medicated life. But today, somehow fittingly on the 11th anniversary of the death of my mother, I embraced the fact that it isn't working. Maybe some would say I didn't give the 5 HTP a long enough chance, or that I lack the strength of character to somehow "tough it out." But they don't have to live in my head and my body.

The moments I've been able to step back and observe and assess myself, I've seen signs that point to the return of depression: lack of interest in things I'd normally be interested in, daily anxiety about every little thing of life, more difficulty than the usual "not a morning person" experiences getting going with the day, feeling chronically overwhelmed. And there's enough "chronic" in fibromyalgia to contend with. All these things have increased over the past few weeks. My trainer at the gym says I've remained more stiff off the Cymbalta, so apparently it really does do some good for the physical aspects of fibromyalgia. At any rate, my experiment has come to an end. I survived the withdrawals only to be unable to survive the absence of the drug in my system. But, "quality of life" being what it is, I choose to once again embrace my need for Better Living Through Pharmaceuticals.

Hopefully I will soon feel more hopeful and less anxious. I mean seriously, I have been anxious about eating, about cooking, about shopping, about every ridiculously small thing! Even my fatigue seems more pronounced to me, which (again) makes me anxious. *Sigh*

Time to move on and get some help for those synapses!

Trying to leave Overwhelmed Lane.

2011-12-18T14:16:00.000-08:00

borrowed from LOL Zombie
http://lolzombie.com/2551/get-er-done-with-jesus/

What did I used to tell my kids when they needed to do a project that seemed overwhelming? Break it down.

Like I mentioned in my last post, I'm feeling mired in the Land of Too Much Information, stalled out on Overwhelmed Lane. What did I do yesterday? Let myself hunker down to picnic on aforementioned lane. What did I do today? Assessed my options, which seemed to me to be 1) let myself run screaming into the night, or 2) follow my own advice. Being chronically fatigued and inherently lazy made option 1, while appealing, seem like much too much effort, so I chose option 2.

Faced with too many supplements and medications at too many different times, I made myself a chart. I suppose I could take a page from my preschool teacher daughter and make a sticker chart where for every time I got the right pills taken at the proper time I get to put on a sticker of my choice. (This worked well to potty-train said preschool teacher daughter as well.) But instead I stuck with making the chart in pretty colors, something like this:

So now all I need to do is get about a half-dozen more of those old-lady-weekly-pill-holders, fill it, and I'm set! Oh, and then remember to take them!

Skimmer's Recap: Sometimes it's just baby steps, yunno?

Life on Overwhelmed Lane.

2011-12-17T17:42:00.000-08:00

I'm currently feeling overwhelmed by Too Much Information on health.

In the past couple of months there have been belly issues and gall bladder issues and fatigue issues and I've read and talked to doctors and talked to my naturopath and I'm traveling in the Land of TMI and seem to be stuck in Overwhelmed Lane. GAAA!!

The doctors have said various things like Just Exercise More and I Can Only Treat What the Numbers Say and the naturopath says Think About Acid/Alkaline and Take Two More New Things and by the way you can't take those together and this needs to be before you eat and these need to be this many hours away from food and other vitamins. The naturopath also says You Should Juice and that simply opens up a whole new realm of where do I put another appliance/ one more thing to learn about/ one more thing to clean and GAAAAAA!!!

I'm thinking it's much less work to just be unhealthy. Maybe not as enjoyable in the long run, but easier.

Writing Exercises.

2011-12-09T16:10:00.000-08:00

I get the Writer's Digest newsletters in my email because I'm a wannabe-writer. Sometimes I even read them.

Along with their 12 Days of Christmas sale they had a 12-Day Plan of Simple Writing Exercises. I thought that since I have felt very much like Winnie-the-Pooh as "a Bear of Very Little Brain," I might use this as a way to both amuse myself and possibly write some posts on my neglected blog. So please "Bear" with me. (Pause for long groan.) See, I've amused myself already!!

Day 1:
Write 10 potential book titles of books you'd like to write.

Hmmm.

1- For years I've secretly (in my head) been writing "Ode to a Dysfunctional Life." It's just my life, really. But now I have to think of nine others...

2- "Keeping the Fun in Dysfunction" could be a sister title.

3- "Behind the Shower Curtain." Who are we really when we're stripped down to just our real selves and multiple scented bath products?

4- "The Body in the Tub" First line: "She hadn't expected to see a body when she pulled back the shower curtain that morning." A murder mystery--or is it?

5- "Bark First, Ask Questions Later-- Possibly Useless Things I've Learned From My Dogs."

6- "Fatigue in the Fast Lane." Me feeling like the biggest underachiever ever in a fast moving society.

7- "When Children Amuse." I think I could fill this one just off the stuff my Facebook friends' kids and grandkids say, and of course my own.

8- "Control is But an Illusion"

And I'm out of ideas.

Thoughts for numbers 9 and 10??

Gall bladder surgery proves effective distraction from Fibromyalgia.

2011-12-07T14:58:00.001-08:00

I don't think I'd recommend it, but overall, emergencies involving gall bladders and gall stones and surgery prove quite effective in taking one's mind off other concerns. First there's the amazing pain, then there are the good drugs to rid you of the amazing pain. Then there's the "eeewww" factor of having four slits in the belly, and the fact that you now feel like you've been mule-kicked repeatedly in the torso. All good distractions.

It was suggested to eat a low fat diet for the month after the surgery and allow my body to adjust to the fact that it's missing the gall bladder, previous fat monitor and cholesterol collector. (That's what the Child Surgeon said the stones are made of, cholesterol. How gross is that?) My very kind oldest daughter offered to bring dinner one night: chicken and rice soup for me, and her rich, homemade, eternally yummy macaroni and cheese for the rest of the family. I will not discuss here my jealous and petty thoughts about all that. I am choosing to be The Better Person.

My appetite has suffered with this event, and that takes a lot, so I was grateful for the easily digestible and tasty soup--aaaall week. Yup, I ate soup and saltines for a week. Not too surprisingly I've lost a few pounds. Too bad "a few pounds" on me is like bailing the ocean with a teaspoon, but I'll take it.

And when did I start even thinking about My Friend Fibro again? Not till I slowed down on the Really Good Drugs. I know there are multiple things at work here. The trauma of the surgery and the anesthetic come into play too, so my pain and fatigue is at the moment many-faceted. Some people have said they were ready to get up and get on with life right after surgery while others said they were exhausted for months. Guess there's no single outcome.

Okay, I'm boring even myself here. I'm done.

Skimmer's Recap: Want to forget your current chronic pain? Try a bigger, more acute pain. It worked well for me.

Things to do instead of shop on Black Friday.

2011-11-28T13:36:00.001-08:00

Who knew that all the Thanksgiving feast loveliness would end in a Friday run to emergency? Too much creamy-goodness for my gall bladder, apparently.

I'd only recently found out I had a gallstone--it had shown up in a routine x-ray my doctor had done. She and I had agreed that since it was giving me no trouble we wouldn't do anything about it. But now at least I knew where my gall bladder was, something I'd never given much thought to before. But Friday evening that bit of information became quite useful. Yup, that there's my gall bladder where that pain is!

Who needs Black Friday shopping when they can visit the emergency room instead? Dear hubby took me after I'd made a couple of calls to the advice nurses. The pain was reminiscent of labor, but to my knowledge, no baby was forthcoming. (Thankfully. I'd like to leave that kind of thing for the younger folk.)

By the time we arrived at the emergency room the pain had lessened, and I was begging quietly to just go home. But no, a couple of tests later and they had decided to keep me, and two very eager young surgeons visited me with their intentions to remove the offending organ on Saturday morning.

God bless intravenous drugs, everything after placing that cute little cap over my hair was a fog until I was back in a regular hospital room. My nurses were all great, and my baby-surgeons seemed pleased with their handiwork. (Well done, boys.)

And here it is, Monday. Got to sleep in my own bed without the distractions of various alarms going off in the night or doctors walking in at 5:30 to talk to my roommate, flipping on all the room lights. Finally got a shower too. (I knew you'd want to know that.)

How did you spend your Thanksgiving weekend?? Hopefully more traditionally. :-)

The As-Finished-As-It's-Gonna-Get Puzzle.

2011-11-21T13:17:00.000-08:00

Round puzzles are tricky. The pieces are shaped strangely. Hubby-Dearest finished off the blue section for me in minutes--guess his brain works differently than mine, but then he's one of those sheet metal layout kind of guys who gets that spatially relative stuff.

The funny bit is, there's a piece missing. So it's as finished as it's ever going to get.

We have a kitty who thinks puzzle pieces are the bomb to play with. She even took some back into the bedroom with her. Did she steal the missing piece? Or is it that the puzzle came from a friend's father's house who must have gotten it second hand since the Christmas tag on the box has someone else's names on it entirely?

A Facebook friend said if you look at it really quickly it could be a WWII bomber or large winged creature. Made me giggle.

I'm good with the imperfection. It reminds me that nothing is perfect, this side of heaven. Our health is flawed. Puzzle pieces go missing. I need to keep my sense of humor and see the flaw as a large winged creature, since I get way too frustrated when I see these things as Interruptions rather than life.

More on Cymbalta Withdrawals.

2011-11-20T12:46:00.001-08:00

In light of my previous post, "Cymbalta Withdrawal Is the B Word," I thought I'd post a link to an article I came across. It's always SO good to know I'm not the only crazy person out there!

"Cymbalta Discontinuation Syndrome." Look! It even has a name! An interesting fact in this post written by Christina Lasich, MD, is she has found antihistamines (such as the over the counter Benadryl) to be helpful with withdrawal symptoms. Maybe being sleepy is a good thing when your mood dictates ripping someone's head off due to the mood-swings of the withdrawal...

Sharing is our friend.

2011-11-12T12:01:00.000-08:00

i'm trying to catch up on some blog reading today. It's an enjoyable pastime, though i'm not getting much done that truly NEEDS to be done this way! But i wanted to share a couple of things from other blogs that i thought you might enjoy.

First: Gorgeous fall photos by Betina at B-Happy, a blogging mom and photographer who has dealt with infertility and adoption and then surprise fertility. She has a knack for capturing a moment whether it's fall's leaves or the antics of her kids. And she has a way of expressing things that makes me smile.

Second: A borrowed idea from SouleMama about savoring a moment from the week over at Sperlygirl. The quote from SouleMama that explains this idea:

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

i love the idea of finding a way to mark time by the good things. i wonder what way i could do that? They've used photography to capture a moment to remember from their week, but my photography runs more to quickly snapped shots of my dogs being cute--on my iPhone. i tend to be a journaling sort, or a crafty sort. Perhaps a crafty journal?

i need to find a way to be more hopeful. i need to capture good moments to review, rather than only remembering if it was a good week or a bad week in fibro-world, or how i fell short of the things i thought i should have gotten done.

Seriously, follow the links and go see the photos. i think it's stealing if i put them directly in my blog, and i don't want the blog-police to come and take me away to blog-prison, though if it's a prison made of words i might like that.

How would you mark the moment? Thoughts? Ideas??

Skimmer's Recap: Just follow the links and look at the pictures. That's the good stuff anyway!

Crafty Goodness.

2011-11-09T09:38:00.000-08:00

Clutch Purse on Interweave.com

"Crafty Goodness" is the name of a folder on my computer desktop. In it resides directions for knitwear patterns, how to dye your own yarn, ideas for multi-media art pieces, weaving, stuff like that. Like I mentioned before, I'm kind of a "Jack of all crafts and Master of none." Crafting is just....GOOD. And even if I never do all the projects living within that folder, they exist there in that magical land to welcome me when I open their door. An escape for my imagination to a land with unlimited artsy supplies and space to do them, where I can dream and plan... Exploring the different ways to create makes me happy.

Where do you escape?

Things i'm learning from a jigsaw puzzle.

2011-11-05T12:36:00.000-07:00

I've been on a bit of a jigsaw puzzle thing lately. When my brain is not working adequately in more fruitful directions, working on a puzzle keeps it busy and out of trouble.

I've been working on this round puzzle. Notice how I've done all the "fun" bits, all the parts with recognizable shapes like flowers and buildings.

This left me with all these shades of blue pieces, nearly indestinguishable. Blecch.

Notice the big blank spot below, waiting to be filled with those same-y same-y looking pieces.

But I just keep hacking away at it,

piece by piece.

Need I actually speak the comparison to life? The fun bits are important too, and they go fast. We can be left with all the boring filler same-y same-y bits. They're important too. At the moment in this puzzle I feel stuck with the blue bits that are hard to figure out. But if I keep slogging along, eventually the whole thing will come together.

Wonder if I should have done a better job of balancing out the boring bits and the fun bits? You know, done some of the blue while there was still some of the colorful bit left to work?

I feel stalled out on the puzzle. Also feeling a bit stalled out on my Pursuit of Health as the removal of Cymbalta does seem to have left me with some agitation and anxiety even after nearly 8 weeks, along with a loss of word and creative mojo. This doesn't feel as clearcut as the decision to quit the Fentanyl. With that I KNEW it was causing more harm than good. With the Cymbalta, I'm less sure.

Cymbalta Withdrawal is the B Word.

2011-10-22T11:21:00.000-07:00

Wow. The things they do not tell you.

Take this, they say. It will improve your life! And maybe it does for a time before your body gets used to it and you end up with only the side effects and not the benefits. What then?

If you watch television at all, you've no doubt seen the commercials for Cymbalta, one of the wonder drugs of the 21st century. Their tag line: "Depression hurts." As does Fibromyalgia, one of the uses for Cymbalta. Quite honestly, I've dealt with depression over the years, so when I got clocked upside the head with Fibro it did cause some pretty depressed feelings. Chronic pain can drag you down no matter how Pollyanna you want to be.

Apparently, Cymbalta works with the central nervous system to reduce the pain of Fibromyalgia. My doctor and I decided to try it out. And soon I actually felt a difference, a lowered perception of pain at least. One thing about a person who hurts 24/7 is that they're willing to try most anything, (as I realized about myself during the "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" Fentanyl era) with little thought to the aftermath. Common to most of the people I attended Pain Management class with, I would like something to just take the pain away! But we don't always go in with enough information to be clear on what the medication might take away along with the pain. Sometimes we lose more than we gain--like the ability to feel life or deeply enjoy things--and the withdrawals can be a b****!

Today, for example, I see that people from Georgia, Virginia, Texas, and Brussels Hoofdstedelijk Gewest (I couldn't tell you where that last one is, let alone pronounce it) have visited my post on "FENTANYL: the Withdrawal Experiment." How many of the people who've started out innocently and trustingly enough on a plan to reduce their pain levels have found they are now in the pit as they try to pull back out of the pain medication fog? And I'm by no means saying we didn't NEED the help or even benefit from the medication, but boy howdy, we need help getting off!

Common withdrawal symptoms from Cymbalta that I've read on message boards online etc:

headaches
intestinal upsets, bloating
brain zaps (electrical feeling/sounding jolts that go through your brain and body)
dizziness
nausea/vomiting
"irritability"

And that's just to name the main few. I put irritability in quotes, because would you call Jack the Ripper "just a guy with poor social skills"?

What I personally experienced:

loss of words (it's taken me weeks to write this post)
PAIN and muscle fatigue
brain zaps
intestinal upsets
minor dizziness
DON'T LOOK AT ME WITH THAT TONE!!
Oh, really? You don't like what I made for dinner? WELL YOU CAN JUST BLEEPING BUY A NEW SLAVE!! *sob*
Um, "irritability."

I'm now 5 weeks off the Cymbalta. Still experiencing extra pain and muscle fatigue. Brain zaps are gone. I followed advice from Cymbalta withdrawal online boards (such as cymbaltawithdrawal.com and depressionforums) to take extra Omega 3s and drink lots of chamomile tea, and within 3 days the brain zaps were over. The extra dizziness is gone. The words are coming back and I can actually string a few together now to make a complete sentence. The intestinal upsets resolved within the first 2 weeks.

While it has improved, I'm still working on the irritability. Has my true self merely come forward and I am really an impatient, screaming lunatic? I really really hope not. As does my family.

Picture of me withdrawing from Cymbalta.

No, not standing above, the one at the bottom.

Skimmer's Recap: Cymbalta withdrawals are not for the weak. Or for our families.

Isn’t he lovely?

2011-10-14T09:29:00.000-07:00

Who knew, when that bouncing baby boy came to us before Christmas in 1988, he’d be with us 23 years later?

When we began as foster parents back then, we had no thoughts of keeping any children. But what do you do when 3 years later the child you've been loving and feeding is now free for adoption, and you can't imagine someone else coming to collect him and his things and driving away? Keep him, of course.

He has the sweetest most compassionate heart. He knows every movie ever made in the past 20 years, and every video game sold. I can't even imagine my life without him.

It just had to be said. (Especially since I took this really great photo of him after a wedding.)

Friends Don't Let Friends Buy La-Z-Boy.

2011-10-01T12:22:00.000-07:00

Lousy La-Z-Boy

Dear La-Z-Boy:

With dreams of reclining comfort, we set out to purchase couches from you. No more low-cost disposable couches from Levitz, no more build-it-yourself from Ikea, we were going to Do It Right and buy grown-up furniture. Wads of money in hand (since your product does not come cheap) we set out for your Pleasanton store.

After much sitting and reclining, we decided on a couch and loveseat so new they weren't even in stores yet. Their lines were clean and pleasing, and we were assured they were practically identical to a chair we tried in store. Looking forward to many long years of happy lounging, I special ordered a sturdy fabric of chocolatey-brown loveliness and waited excitedly.

We repainted and scrubbed and organized in anticipation, and finally, two months later, they arrived. And just 2 short months after that, the cushions were breaking down and the mechanisms squawked and swayed. The previously fluffy back cushions were flat and the fabric hung loosely, the seat cushions were flattening uncomfortably. Hopefully a one time "mistake" at the factory, perhaps workers who decided to start their weekend drinking early?

Many emails and phone calls and photos and a service call later, you agreed to replace our couches with a different model. Back to the store we went--the store, I might add, that decided they would no longer carry the Braxton model we had purchased, due to its low quality.

Torn between the desire to have the fabric color of my choice or having somewhere comfortable to sit sooner rather than later, we decided to pick something readily available in your warehouse. So only 3 months after delivery of our first couches, we were sitting pretty on some different caramel-colored goodness. And we all lived happily ever after, right?

Wrong. We've had these couches for less than a year, 7 brief months to be exact. One entire seat cushion has needed replacing. The cable pull that releases the foot rest where my hubby sits broke off. His end of the couch slopes to the back corner. The back cushion in the same seat has flattened more than the rest of them.

Service calls take anywhere from 1 to 2 months to happen, parts take another 2 weeks to the more likely 8 weeks to receive, and not till those parts are received do you set up a visit to do the repair.

I've welcomed a variety of La-Z-Boy service technicians into my home. They've all been lovely people, but I don't want to meet the entire staff of the La-Z-Boy service department. I just want my thousands of dollars worth of couches to do their job and last longer than their much less expensive Ikea counterparts.

Yesterday I sent photos of the end of the couch where I sit and the end of the couch where my husband sits, to show the obvious difference between them. Your technician's advice was that we should "rotate" where we sit and not always sit the same place. Perhaps if the product you've designed for seating cannot be used for sitting, you should rename it "magazine rest" or "decorative flat area."

My friend Linda tells me that she and her hubby have the best La-Z-Boy recliners ever. Now this is beginning to feel personal. Have we somehow offended the La-Z-Boy gods? Could I perhaps sacrifice a young chair and break the curse? If you can help me please let me know.

Beleaguered in the Bay Area,
me.

Skimmer's recap: Having hoped that throwing large amounts of money at the La-Z-Boy gods was sacrifice enough to get a sturdy, working couch, julie begins to feel desperate. And don't even get her started on why she trusted someone who can't even spell "Lazy" correctly.

Wow! Where have i been??

2011-08-25T10:21:00.000-07:00

Can't believe it's been a month since i've written anything on here. It's as if i vomited up all that information about my Travels in Fibro Land and just ran out of words.

i've been reading lately more than writing, and finished out the summer with a week of Grandma Camp, otherwise known as having the grandgirls over for the week to shop and sew and eat out and just have fun. Guess the supplements and the gym and all have helped, i didn't collapse till day 5!

Books i've read lately: "Heaven Is For Real" by Todd Burpo, co-written by a lovely lady author i met at Mount Hermon, Lynn Vincent. It's (as its subtitle states) "A Little Boy's Astounding Story of His Trip to Heaven and Back." 4 year old Colton's appendix bursts, leading to emergency surgery. Parentally speaking, it's horrifying with all the chance of losing a child and the second guessing of "why didn't we know/why did we wait" questions his family goes through. But as Colton begins dropping bits of information regarding his visit to heaven during his surgery, the bigger picture starts coming into focus as his small town pastor dad and teacher mom begin to try to put together Colton's story. Pretty quick reading, pretty interesting reading. Made me feel better about heaven. i mean, as a Christian i know i should look forward to heaven, but it's just another big unknown to me, and i'm fearful of the unknown. Streets of gold don't compel me, i'm not that into metal. But now i'm curious to see if it's all Colton says.

i've also read the first 2 Sullivan Crisp books by Nancy Rue and Stephen Arterburn and have 1 more to go. Arterburn is part of New Life Ministries, a group of Christian counselors who do workshops and answer calls on their radio show and just generally try to help people to move forward in positive ways in their lives, a theme i am a particular fan of. The first book, "Healing Stones" deals with the subject of when families and marriages fall apart. Sullivan Crisp is the quirky therapist who helps her figure out what healing really looks like in the situation with all its complexities. The second book is "Healing Waters." In this novel Sully the therapist is doing some dealing of his own while helping Lucia, a self-consciously overweight woman, deal with her past and present. Other interesting subjects in this novel are the "prosperity gospel" pseudo-Christian belief system as well as a lost baby and a failing marriage. Both kept me turning the pages--what the heck, it's like free therapy!

What have you been doing lately? What are you reading?

Skimmer's Recap: julie gives herself therapy through grandchildren and books.

Fibromyalgia and Me: A Semi-Concise Retrospective, Part 3 of 3.

2011-06-25T18:05:00.000-07:00

Year 6. 2010.

I've been blogging about my Fibromyalgia and the rest of my life now for a few years. Oddly there are quite a few people who find me by Googling "how long does it take to withdraw from Fentanyl?" I pray for them, knowing the awful depths withdrawal can drag you. Some of them write me to say “the doctor never told me what this would be like” and I try to encourage them that yes, it’s awful, but you can make it through this.

I know I am still relying too much on ibuprofen and Vicodin--I'm afraid to be in pain. And the Cymbalta I use for the Fibromyalgia seems to no longer help with the pain and all I'm having of it are the side-effects.

I spend the last half of the year clearing my body and brain of any extra medications: the Cymbalta is reduced to the lowest dose (with the blessings of my doctor) and I'm no longer taking my everyday dose of allergy medication since I feel foggy in the brain already. I figure I'll deal with the allergies as they come, and enjoy the clearer head I'll have without the pills. I pretty much quit taking the ibuprofen as it seems to begin eating a hole in my belly after a time. The Vicodin I will use when I really need it. No more preventative pain medications, just "as needed."

Year 7. 2011.

I can read books again!! After collecting books and books since I love to read and simply haven't had the concentration to do so, I'm working my way through the book piles. This is a happy thing.
I also decide that in a year the same amount of days will have passed no matter what I do with them, so what if I step out with a small amount of faith and choose to do something positive for myself with those days?

In mid-February I pull out the business card of a Naturopathic Doctor, given me by a friend a couple of years ago, and make the call. Set up an appointment. And the same week I get an appointment at the gym to talk with a trainer to help me exercise right and not cause flares or injuries that I know would just make me whine and quit. My Get-Well money is in play now.

It's June now. I'm taking steps toward a healthier, less whiney me. Sure, I get frustrated that things aren't moving faster. I still hurt, but it's generally lower, midrange, on the pain scale, the one where 10 means "please hospitalize me or at least shoot me with rhinoceros tranquilizer darts."
I try to deep breathe, I try to still my mind. I wake up better in the morning, but truth is, I'll never be a true morning person. I still find putting any sort of dinner on the table a pain in the arse since I’m not a big fan of cooking, but not in the same “can’t lift my arms” sort of way.

It may be slow, but it is after all a process, something Merriam-Webster defines this way:
     Process
     1 a: progress, advance b: something going on: proceeding
     2 a (1): a natural phenomenon marked by gradual changes that lead toward a particular result     (2): a continuing natural or biological activity or function

So the fact that it is indeed something continuous, something that moves forward, is a happy thing, even if it isn’t instant. Fact is, I’m tired of this pain, tired of this fatigue, tired of this body. I can choose to stay the same, or I can choose to move forward.

I mean, why NOT me?

Skimmer's Recap: Fibromyalgia, while not my favorite companion, has taught me things. And baby steps are still steps.

Fibromyalgia and Me: A Semi-Concise Retrospective, Part 2 of 3.

2011-06-24T17:41:00.000-07:00

Year 3. 2007

I file for disability. I'm turned down. I file again. I can't quite figure out how to do life since my body has turned against me. More pain. I feel weak. I annoy my family by whining and feeling sorry for myself. Grocery shopping seems impossible, putting any sort of meal on the table insurmountable. I try countless supplements. I research more and more. Maybe I can find some secret answer being hidden from me.

I'm obsessed.

Year 4. 2008.

Turned down for disability again. I feel gutted. I know I don't look different—no casts, no missing limbs--but I feel so very different from the person I was a few years ago. My only recourse is to get a lawyer to represent me, someone who knows the system, someone who can take my side in this. If I can't manage two different appointments or events outside the home in a week, how will I ever work again?

My doctor sends me to a 5 week class for Chronic PainManagement. I attend 4 days per week, some days so exhausted by the end of the class that I have to buy coffee to hopefully stay awake for the drive home. We are an odd mix: woman with migraines, men with back surgeries, another woman with Fibromyalgia, another with a neck injury, etc. etc. We are taught to meditate, to do relaxation exercises, to do gentle stretching, to speak only of positive things. We are told not to get involved in each other's lives, yet we do. The few of us with a sense of humor sustain each other in secret moments. We are corrected like small stupid children as they teach these things. This gets in the way of learning. Yet, I learn things.

My husband's dog gets very very sick in the midst of this and dies. We are both devastated. I consider giving up on the class (I only have 1 week left) but those in charge let me take a week off and return to finish.

My pain management doctor tries to kill me with many different heavy opiates. My husband says, "For somebody as stoned as you are, you should be having more fun." I decide to get myself clear of the final one, Fentanyl. The withdrawals are pretty much Satan incarnate.

Year 5. 2009.
The lawyer wins my case. All I have to do is feel humiliated in front of a judge and several others as I listen to them try to invalidate my experience. But I now have disability benefits, a small amount, since I worked part time when I last worked. But it's something, maybe I can use this for my Get-Well money. And clothes, I will surely need some new clothes to get well. And the occasional pedicure.

I am in a full flare of Fibromyalgia total body pain, fatigue, and confused head, when someone decides to fill me in on the “fact” that “if you only ate this way you would be fine.” She also tells me that “at least” I don’t have cancer or diabetes. I look at her and say, “The good thing about Fibromyalgia? You don’t die from it.” She smiles a great big cheerleader’s smile. I continue.” The bad thing about Fibromyalgia? You don’t die from it.” Her face folds in on itself. She quits talking. Finally.

Don't change that dial--i'll be back....

Fibromyalgia and Me: A Semi-Concise Retrospective, Part 1 of 3.

2011-06-23T17:31:00.000-07:00

Having grown up holding my breath, my whole fight/flight/freeze system was pretty tender already. I think that each major emotional upheaval in my adult life just caused the skin on that system to become more and more fragile, until one day the final emotional hit came that tore through that thin skin altogether.

Year 1. April 2005.

I am doing a program at home that’s a combined upper/lower body set of exercises involving 5 pound hand weights. Suddenly, where I’ve been easily able to do 10 repetitions, I can only do 3 before my muscles simply won’t move anymore. Suddenly, on my first trip down the stairs in the morning, the bottoms of my feet seem filled with rocks. Suddenly, my solid nights of sleep become fewer and fewer, and my body is achy and stiff on waking. I have a few driving experiences where I turn a corner in a perfectly familiar neighborhood and ask myself, "Where am I?" I’m exhausted all day long—every day. What is happening??

I find myself pushing my doctor to actually test me for possible medical explanations. Her answer, (with a look of embarrassment for me,) is that "Sometimes when we deal with our emotional/mental issues, these other pains go away." JUST TEST ME PLEASE.

I am doing my own research online and in the library, and there’s a cluster of medical issues including Fibromyalgia with similar symptoms. It appears to be the least deadly of the bunch. I convince the doctor to test for all the others to rule them out (or not), and finally get her to do the thumb pressure test set up by the American College of Rheumatology on the 18 “tender points” associated with Fibromyalgia.

"Oh." My doctor looks up at my face as she presses lightly on places that made me flinch in pain. "You do seem to have Fibromyalgia," she says in surprise.

This has only taken 10 months, as opposed to the many years that others have suffered with Fibromyalgia before getting a diagnosis. I count myself fortunate.

Thank God I am already seeing a therapist. She helps me stay sane during this time.

Year 2. 2006.

More reading and more reading. More horrible days of exhaustion, my body feels heavy, like gravity has gotten stronger. More full-body pain, some days burning like fire, other days a flu-like aching. My spirits head to the pits of Hell. I give in to the silly question of "Why me?" when I already know the more realistic question is "Why not me?" We are broken people in a broken world. Our bodies break down. Things go wrong.

I have a sleep study, and find out I do have sleep apnea. Maybe using the cpap machine will solve the poor sleep/waking up exhausted issue.

It doesn't. Why not me?

to be continued...

Fibromyalgia and the Perils of Not Listening to My Body.

2011-06-09T23:37:00.000-07:00

But there were sales, and the opportunity to go shopping with a friend at the outlets. And then there was my trainer the next day. So I didn't listen when I should have.

Shopping and training and pain, Oh My.

You see, in Fibromyalgia, the body talks. Much earlier than they used to, the muscles yell "ACK! NO MORE!" But I must be listening.

Nothing about me looks different to remind myself or others that something is different. No cast, no limp, no wheelchair. Just the same Julie that walked the earth 20 years ago, give or take a pound or 40.

A person with a back injury may walk with a cane. I've known one of those. A person with a broken bone wears a cast. I've done that. Even a person with a cold probably has a red nose. But with Fibro, we just look like our same old selves, because the working of it is inside us, in our central nervous system, where our bodies tell us that a gentle wave of pain is actually A TSUNAMI RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

The funny bit (well, not at the time maybe) is that when I am in a flare, having overdone and caused a tsunami, even my brain gets scrambled. Those days my brain is a shaken snow globe, and the flakes of snow are pieces of words and thoughts and scribbles that just can't quite connect to make a whole ANYthing. I once saw a movie where a confused woman wore her bra on the outside of her shirt to work. When I started experiencing the "brainfog" of Fibro, I thought, "Oh no!! That could be me!"

Honestly at those times I fear for myself and my decisions. Should I be trusted with a car, or trusted out of the house at all?

I was there for all of last week and into this week, in FibroFlareLand. Hadn't really visited there for more than a day at a time in several months. Got a little cocky about that. Felt a little powerful. Thought I was strong.

And again I was humbled--I was reminded that I have this thing, this interloper and interrupter. But since this is my life right now, I'm trying to learn to muddle through--trying to show up for the gym, show up in my family's life, show up for myself.

These times of weakness remind me that in myself I'm not really all that strong. I'm at the mercy of this thing that lives in my body. I want to be all spiritual and be able to calmly say, "God's strength is shown in my weakness," but in all honesty, I don't know whether I'm doing that for Him. I'm still not sure what that looks like in this case.

The flares bring me down, but not as far as they used to, so I must be learning. Maybe that's where His strength comes in. I'll keep you posted if I ever figure it out.

What's your place of weakness?

Fibromyalgia and the Gym: Things I've Noticed Besides People in Spandex.

2011-05-25T22:52:00.000-07:00

I have passed the three month mark in my Experiment In Fitness. I started back at the gym in mid-February, and started seeing a naturopathic doctor about the same time. My trainer at the gym has kept me from hurting myself and my naturopathic doctor has supplemented me toward better energy. These are the things I have noticed:

At the gym I can now add light hand weights to my routines. I have better control of the movements my trainer guides me through. I now have to warm up at a faster pace on the treadmill than I did originally in order to start moving my heartrate up, and I've upped my pace on the treadmill altogether from 3 miles an hour to 3.3 miles an hour and added an incline to keep my heartrate in the workout zone. Doesn't sound like much, but it's a change in the right direction, right?

I sleep better and on less medication than I needed for a night's sleep than before. I wake up less groggy. I am better able to do sustained activity than I was previously. I don't see a huge difference, but my dear hubby says it's significant.

Due probably to both supplements and exercise, my flares have been minimal. Where previously I could expect one week out of 4 to be extra fibro-achy and difficult, I've had only a few days in the whole 3 months. This to me, a whiner from way back, is huge. I think it may be even huge-er to my family.

I believe the supplements have supported my efforts toward the exercise, and the exercise is supporting my efforts to take better care of myself. Slowly but surely, forward steps are being taken and small results are being seen.

One reason I started this trip down Supplement-and-Exercise Lane was the thought: In a year from now, what could be different about my health and fibromyalgia? A year will pass one way or the other, so why not DO something?

I've had a number of people tell me that either they or a friend had fibromyalgia "and one day it just went away." I'm not sure if that is intended to encourage me (it doesn't, by the way) but rather than wait around and hope for a cure by The-Raw-Foods-Diet/Prayer/Misdiagnosis or Magic, it seemed prudent to take some steps of my own. And what do you know? The steps are moving me forward.

Where I felt "stuck" in the quicksand of this thing called Fibromyalgia, I'm feeling a bit more in control. What is your area of "stuck-ness"? What choices could you make to improve some part of your life that otherwise will be just the same a year from now?

Skimmer's Recap: Julie finds no magic in her past 3 months, just some serious acts of the will--but finds them oddly satisfying. However, she does not anticipate wearing spandex any time soon. Or ever.

Memorials and Memories.

2011-05-16T12:20:00.000-07:00

I sat listening to stories about a friend's father, being bathed in the loving laughter of those around me. They were good memories, strong memories, the kind to bring back out and savor when you need to smile. One told by my friend was of her childhood, of when her father would be ready to leave for church in the morning but the rest of the family wasn't. He would announce, "I will be leaving for church in two minutes and thirty-six seconds!" His exacting times to push the family out the door became an inside joke to those who knew him and loved him.

I also saw the tears of those who would now miss him, for we sat in pews of the church he'd attended for his memorial service. Memories of his strong faith in the God who created him and the ways he kept that faith strong were shared by those he had touched. He memorized scripture and sang hymns, and urged--maybe even nagged--those he loved to do the same. And they were going to miss it all.

I can't pretend to know what other people think, but being Queen Of The Navel-Gazers, I tend to feel self-reflective after memorial services: what have I done to be remembered? How do I want the rest of my days to look?

How do memorial services affect you?

Skimmer's Recap: Julie, who attended her friend's father's very positive memorial service, decides she would also like to be remembered with laughter and cake.

Me At the Gym.

2011-05-02T11:59:00.000-07:00

Walking along on the treadmill I looked around me at the women of various shapes and sizes running on their treadmills. I thought, "why not try it?"

So I did. For all of 9 seconds.

I would need to severely batten down the, er, "hatches" for that sort of thing. And by "hatches" I mean all the wobbly bits. Of which I have many.

Maybe in the distant future.

No time soon.

Fibromyalgia and My New Friends: Pills and Exercise.

2011-04-22T14:07:00.000-07:00

These are some of my new friends.

Dr. Ballew, my naturopathic doctor, is working with me toward better health. As mentioned in my previous post, "Fibromyalgia and Spitting for Health," we had tested for hormonal imbalances. And by "we" I mean she prescribed the test and I provided the spit.

She started me on Magnesium Citramate (a clever word for Citrate-Malate), a Basic B Complex and a good brand of fish oil, based on our initial hour and a half appointment in which I blabbed a full history of *Me*. And she never once glazed over or drooled. (A very good skill for a healthcare professional.)

Most Fibromyalgia patients are low in magnesium, B vitamins are supposed to be good for energy, and Omega 3s, well, EVERYbody knows THOSE are good! (What are they good for again? Anybody??)

The newer addition to the Pill Arsenal is the Adrenal Stress End, the one mentioned in the previous post that's made of "porcine adrenal." Is the word "porcine" calculated to sound more scientificky than "pig"? I mean, aren't we still talking about the same thing? No matter what we call it, somebody is going to be thinking "Oh poor Wilbur, and Charlotte worked so hard to save him!" But I am willing (and even happy) to eat bacon, so I suppose I can ingest this part of the pig as well, at least in capsule form.

Also new, the addition of the progesterone cream. Apparently progesterone can aid in the balancing of hormones even when the estrogen is in correct range (and since mine is in pill form, it is.)

Things I've noticed. I'm about 2 months into the first group of pills and 1 month into Wilbur's cousin. I'm also about 2 months into my time back at the gym (it only seems like longer...) and 2 months into an often weak attempt to eat less processed carbohydrates and sugar. I am beginning to sleep a bit better, and wake up a bit earlier. I'm still aware of the general ache of FM, but it's a bit quieter.

I am cautiously optimistic--since there is a spectrum in which my Fibro affected energy moves, I still tell myself, "Well, you have felt this good other times in the past 6 years." Hubby says I am much improved, so maybe there is more than I am able to see in myself. Time will tell.

Of course, in the Fibromyalgic world there are always surprises. The past couple of days have also brought a resurgence of weird sensations in my legs and feet--the feeling of bubbling under the skin, a kind of cold or hot sensation. Maybe Restless Legs Syndrome? I dunno. But this is just the dubious beauty of Fibro, our nervous systems do some strange stuff!

Skimmer's Recap: julie doesn't anticipate turning into a ball of energy any time soon, but at least her pill and gym regime keeps her off the street and out of trouble.

Fibromyalgia and Spitting for Health.

2011-04-22T08:00:00.000-07:00

If i were a guy, the whole day would have gone smoother.

The test recommended by my new Naturopathic doctor required spit, lots of it. Four vile vials, in fact.

i think spitting is gross. But spit i did.

The point of the test was to check hormonal balances, one of which is cortisol, a hormone produced by the adrenal cortex. Cortisol is related to stress, something we all deal with daily. Here's a great article on About.com on the Cortisol-Stress connection that explains what cortisol is responsible for and how stress affects it.

But why saliva? Why spitting instead of the pee-all-day-and-save-it-in-an-embarrassingly-large-jug, like my Kaiser health care had me do? According to Dr. Ballew, my Doctor of Naturopathic Sciences and new friend in healthcare, the urine test only measures the overall cortisol level, when what is needed to see how the adrenals are functioning is to see the various levels throughout the day. Like Dr. Ballew explained to me, and the article also explains, the way the hormone should work is to be highest after you have just slept, since you have (allegedly) just awakened from refreshing, restorative sleep. There is a natural downward curve throughout the day in its production, leading at last to the lowest levels at bedtime, when we need to be relaxed and ready for that (alleged) refreshing sleep.

BUT, what are some of the most common complaints with Fibromyalgia? A lack of restorative, refreshing sleep, waking up tired, and general fatigue. Then there's that chronic pain issue, the generalized aching, burning pain. Studies have shown sleep deprivation can cause--guess what--pain. The brain needs good sleep to repair itself or it becomes impaired.

My cortisol level seems to be on its own special little curve--below normal when i wake, then leveling out about 4 pm. But no dropping slowly till bedtime, just full speed ahead at the 4 pm. level. Could this explain the poor sleep i experience? Maybe the difficulty waking up? (Never having been a morning person you can only imagine how Fibro has taken that to new depths of un-morningness.)

If this ends up having a large impact on my health, but how many other Fibromyalgia sufferers are slogging along with the same problem, but they don't have a lovely Dr. Ballew, Naturopath, on their team? I do wonder. Symptoms are many and varied in FM (Fibromyalgia) with some similarities, but could this be one of the big causes? Stress=stressed adrenals that perform poorly=bad mornings and bad nights. Hmm.

My new supplement is made from pig adrenals. Sounds gross, but if i can get a better night's sleep and have a better morning, i'll pig 'em down.

Skimmer's recap: Turns out that spitting can be our friend, but aren't you glad i didn't put an illustration of it up there at the top of the page?

julie's Gym Mathematics.

2011-04-18T14:25:00.000-07:00

I suppose this could also be titled, "why julie doesn't get very far ahead."

Fibromyalgia and Just Blogging Along.

2011-04-18T12:45:00.000-07:00

I don't know which is more embarrassing: that my blog shows only 3 followers OR that I'm not sure even they read it anymore. And then every once in a while I get a comment like this one, posted on my most recent post, "Fibromyalgia and My Baby Steps Toward Physical Health."

Nancy said...

I mentioned on Facebook tonight that I'm going for my first appointment to a Pain Management Clinic tomorrow and a friend told me about your blog. It has been a blessing to me. I was diagnosed about 7 years ago and honestly have forgotten what it's like to feel good. I've tried just about everything, have prayed for healing, and prayed for contentment. It feels like a rollercoaster between hope and acceptance. Thank you for sharing so honestly about your own struggle.

Redemption! Suddenly there is a purpose for my awkwardly unseen disorder--and my unceasing need to talk about it. So thank you, Nancy! I struggle, I write, I share on this blog (which gives my hubby a much appreciated break from me sharing with him) and how great is it to find out it's helped somebody!

Happy *sigh*.

Fibromyalgia and My Baby Steps Toward Physical Health.

2011-03-12T10:00:00.000-08:00

This is what surrounds me at the gym as I step on the treadmill.

from f80-treadmill.org

Slender, long-legged women casually step onto the treadmills on either side of me, put their headphones on, crank up the speed and start running. RUNNING, i said.

i smile vaguely into the middle distance, pulling my belly in, and act as if i am not breaking into a slight mist from walking.

But it's baby steps that will get me there.

"There" is this mystical place in my future where i don't puff along at 3 miles an hour, where i can easily bend to tie my shoe, where i don't see my next decade painted in fibromyalgic shades of pain and fatigue.

i have a trainer. She tells me, "Baby steps. We will take baby steps." i work to do 8 repetitions of simple floor exercises. The first day of training my body loudly informs me that 10 repetitions will set the fibro beast in motion. So we do 8. There's a certain point when my body tells me I Am Done. The muscle fatigue sets in like the fangs of an angry dog, far different from the regular pain of exercised muscles. So we take 8 baby steps.

Three times a week i go to the gym. It's been three weeks now. One day with the trainer, two more days to repeat the exercises and walk on the treadmill next to the Looks Awesome In Spandex crowd. So far i don't listen to music while i walk, instead i people watch, think, pray, and check my heart rate--repeatedly.

Today i noticed on the heart rate zone graph on the treadmill that i am training at the rates for a 70 year old. But that's okay, baby steps. Perhaps before i turn 60 in three years i will be able to train at the rate for a 65 year old.

i think i'm doing this for good reasons this time. i have no illusions that i will again look like i did at 21. i'm not pre-buying a wardrobe 6 sizes smaller. i am aiming for flexibility and strength and energy, things i've lost to this disorder. i had thought i might somehow make peace with my fibromyalgia, but even if i never do, perhaps i can at least learn to smile vaguely into the middle distance when i see it, and just keep walking.

Skimmer's Recap: Feeling fed up with fibromyalgia, julie subjects herself and others to talk of treadmills and spandex.

On His Birthday: To My Brother Michael Who Left the Family 22 Years Ago.

2011-03-10T23:14:00.000-08:00

every year

on this same date

i say to myself,

"huh, didn't you have a brother once?"

i remember him from

my childhood

his childhood

my sister's childhood.

and in my head

i say to my brother,

"didn't you have a sister once?

do you remember me from

your childhood?

my childhood?

our sister's childhood?

do you ever miss us?"

but i guess not.

we never hear anyway

if he does.

no longer take

it personally

because, after all,

it's his loss.

Jack of All Crafts and Master of None Tries Weaving: Project 1 finished!

2011-03-08T13:12:00.000-08:00

Here's the finished project, still on the loom. I think of it as "Sea to Sky." The blue at the bottom is the ocean, and then there is sand and dunes and hills and finally sky. I love the textured yarn one near the top! I imagine that to be a tree and flower covered hill.

The cool thing? It looks just as good upside down. It was just a bunch of curved lines designed to teach how to use the "slit" stitching technique of tapestry on the dvd "Tapestry Weaving Part 1" by Nancy Harvey. Mine isn't as smooth as perfect as hers, but it also isn't in 1980s colors like hers. I just had fun! I may actually figure out how to use it on the wall.

The Problem With Mother-Pain.

2011-03-07T19:02:00.000-08:00

Papa Jean, my stepdad, in his horsey days.

Recently my aunt sent me an album my mother had put together in 1999, just a year plus before she died of cancer in January 2001. My mother had wanted my aunt to have it after her death, but now, 10 years later, my aunt felt I should have it as part of my family history.

I feared looking at it, so let it sit for days on the dining room table. With a relationship as complicated as mine was with my mom, many emotions come into play, not all of them belonging to Grown Julie. So I waited. But today I decided to Take The Plunge, Dive Right In, phrases that oddly refer to another fear of mine: water.

The album is the story of a life, Margie's, from childhood through marriage and parenting, back around to single-ness, and then into the last third of her life with the love of her life, Jean.

The photos are amazing--of her family and my father's family, of our family and of Jean's family, and some I'd long hoped to see of Jean in his cowboy garb on a horse. There are photos of the new "family" she gathered in her new life in Nebraska where she moved to be with Jean at about the same time I was getting married in California.

It's her edited life: "Margie's Life, Lite." Without most of the anger and pain and accusations that colored big parts of the Full Fat version. I marveled at all the smiling faces, the photos of outings and birthdays and holidays. Pretty pictures of the decorating and remodeling she did in the house I grew up in, not of the broken pieces of dishes and punched in walls in the photos she had sent to me after her death to remind me of things my father had done. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was all a pretty happy story. Looking at the pictures I can imagine her as the kind of mother I could call to chat and tell her something funny one of the kids said, rather than calling and ending up defending myself for not being willing to say my father did not do those things to my sister or me.

I finish the album and sob. In my head I'm writing the thank you letter to my aunt: "Thanks so much for the album, the pictures are great and let me into some parts of her life I wasn't there for. I always wished I was a stronger person: strong enough to see the person beneath the harsh words, stronger than her desire to hurt me, stronger than many things that kept me from being a part of Margie's life in her later years."

I don't know what I will really write. Will I mention the victories I have felt in my struggles toward Sound Mental Health over those same years? Will I mention how I finally feel the Mother-Pain will no longer cripple me for weeks after contact, but hopefully only hours? Will I say sure I regret that I wasn't always The Good Daughter, but I knew I would never be the Good Enough Daughter? Probably not. Probably I will thank her for the photos and for her thoughtfulness in sharing them with me.

The problem with Mother-Pain is that no matter how far I've come in life, it will apparently always be waiting to jump out and bite me. But at least now, after enough therapy and prayers and time, the pain doesn't last as long.

Skimmer's Recap: Just when Julie thinks she's getting a handle on that whole Mental Health thing, she realizes "a handle" is but an illusion, and there's always more to learn.

On Clutter: An Unofficial Poll.

2011-03-03T15:00:00.000-08:00

I am curious about what you think.

I've been a clutterbug forever. First, I am a sentimental collector of memories. Things that remind me of either a fun event or even just a good time in my life--well, pretty much anything that brings a warm-happy to me will be collected.

Also I run too much on emotion-brain rather than logic-brain to be very tidy. I tend to end up with piles here and there: the books I want to read, the magazines with articles or creative ideas I liked, the bills I need to pay. My brain tells me that if I put any of those things "away" I will forget about them. Knitting patterns, yarn, scrapbooking supplies, you name it, I have a pile or two somewhere.

My theory on my relationship with clutter is that because I don't have a lot of warm-happies from my childhood, I tend to hang onto as many of them as I can manage. Oh, there's also the fact that I'm inherently lazy about cleaning. I go through big spurts of weeding out the excess, but I'm not the best at figuring out how to organize and keep it organized once I've done the weeding.

So for me, lack of logic-brain, out-of-sight-out-of-mind-edness, and sentimentality seem to keep me in a perpetual state of imperfection, clutter-wise.

So here's my unofficial poll part:
Are you a clean person or a clutter person?
Why do you think you are whichever one you are?
How do you solve your clutter overflow?

Really. I want to know what you think.

Skimmer's Recap: While trying to rationalize her messiness, julie asks her friends to engage in conversation so she can further put off any actual work.

Jack of All Crafts and Master of None Tries Weaving: Part 2

2011-02-27T21:15:00.000-08:00

Isn't this pretty?

i love the light shining through the lovely warping i did on my loom. And it didn't even take too many bad words to get it here! The loopy bits of string are the heddles. Two bars have these strings so that one bar at a time can be lifted

into these holders at each side of the loom. Each of the two bars holds every other thread on the warp (the vertical threads) so they can be lifted to pass the weft (the horizontal threads) through. This makes your basic over-under weave.

Here you can see the two bars with their tediously done heddles. What you don't see is the blood, sweat and tears it took to get it this far. There were also Magic Eye sightings of a unicorn and a possible emu.

Once my psyche had healed adequately from the warping experience, i started my Tapestry weaving dvd by Nancy Harvey. And the fun thing is, you get to see 1980s Nancy AND 1990s Nancy! Other than the funky 80s glasses she was wearing she didn't look very different. Future Nancy shows up to add some information to Current Nancy's lesson.

80s Nancy has us start this way: a little weaving of plastic bag strips to start spreading the warp out evenly, then a hem (that's the dark brown in my weaving below.) i can't help but think of it as a footer. The "cartoon" is pinned behind the area to be woven--that's the enlarged picture outline you see. Calling it a cartoon is just the whimsy i need. See that cool tool? It's to beat down the weft as you weave it.

Notice the loopy bits above the weaving? This is called "bubbling," also a very whimsical term. Apparently bad bubbling can cause problems, bringing to mind one of my favorite life sayings: "Any bubbling worth doing is worth doing well."

If this was a yoga pose it would be called something like "downward facing camel."

And from those humble beginnings, i am this far. Nearly done with project 1!

Skimmer's Recap: Glad to be done with the warping, and now there's not much "weft" to do. (Weaving humor. Deal with it.)

On Life: Embracing It.

2011-02-23T00:24:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling, closing in on 6 years after my fibromyalgia diagnosis, 10 years after my mother's death sent me to therapy, and 57 years into life, like I actually want to embrace life. My head's in a better place than it's been, my body is getting better at dealing with the fibro pain, and surely all that is worth shouting "hallelujah!" about.

I've dealt with depression most of my life--coming from crazy can do that. Honestly, in all my years I have never thought "whoopee! I hope I live to 100!" To a depressed brain, that sounds like a sentence, not a gift. But mentally off-kilter mothers and such be thanked, since at least that relationship sent me to make new friends of Mental Health Professionals, and they've helped my brain become better balanced.

At these realizations I find myself (tentatively) hopeful. It's difficult to be a negative positive person, since one should cancel out the other. But at my core, given God's grace in my life, I am positive, I have hope. But life has at times taught me to be negative, to be fearful. Yet I desire to Embrace-- hope, life, the fact that I'm constantly surprised to find myself in my late 50s.

Thinking about embracing life got me thinking about other times of learning to embrace. When my oldest daughter was dating her first husband, he startled me by hugging me. I wasn't used to that, but it made me rethink my physical and emotional distance from people. My in-laws were not physically affectionate people, but when they retired and moved a 7 hour drive away, my husband and I decided we would start hugging them. It was awkward at first, but--well, but nothing, it was always awkward. When my close friend was diagnosed with ovarian cancer of stage Too Late, she refused to talk about the possibility of dying. Her friends didn't know what to do with that--how could we prepare for the loss? Say goodbye? I learned to embrace the simplicity of saying "I love you" whenever we parted. Now I'm a serious hugger, holding all my friends close to me while they're in my life.

It's important to demonstrate how we feel toward each other. In the same way I've learned to embrace my friends and others I love, I'm hopeful to learn to cherish my future, and not fear it.

Skimmer's Recap: julie thinks about life, gets all mushy-wushy about it, but publishes the post anyway.

About a Book: "Lord, I Feel So Small" by Jon Drury

2011-02-02T23:59:00.000-08:00

"Lord I Feel So Small: Using God's Yardstick to Conquer Self-Doubt"

Jon Drury is a man who speaks from a brutally honest heart. But I mean that in a good way.

The author's struggle with the feeling of never measuring up, of never being quite as useful/smart/talented as the other guy, strikes a familiar chord in me. How any of us ends up in that rut doesn't matter--the point is, we can climb up out of the mud. And Jon's the man to show us how, because he's been-there-done-that, and he's on a mission to show us the way out.

Visually the book is a pleasant read, broken up into achievable chunks within each chapter. Call it my short attention span, or my inability to remain awake when faced with solid lines of prose, but this is important to me. But even more importantly, the text is conversational and approachable, like you're just sitting down and having a really good chat with the guy.

One way he makes the truth of what he says more accessable is by using stories from his own life and from others. I love when authors include stories of other people, because let's be real, folks, some of those stories make me happy to be me. But more to the point, Jon sees his own life story with clarity and honesty, then uses it to illustrate how to pull ourselves out of the muddy mess of our own flawed thinking.

If the many years I've spent with members of the Mental Health profession have taught me nothing else they have taught me this: our human thinking can be very, very flawed. How can we learn to challenge our thoughts? One way is by reading books like this one. Take a look at the sections and chapters to get an idea of the steps he leads you through in this re-look, re-think journey out of the muddy rut of self-doubt.

Section 1-- Crafting the Foundation
Chapter 1: "Lord I Feel So Small!"
Chapter 2: Foundations for Significance
Chapter 3: Yardsticks of True Worth

Section 2-- Feelings That Immobilize Us
Chapter 4: Transforming Despair Into Hope
Chapter 5: Morphing Fear into Courage
Chapter 6: Birthing Healing Out of Grief
Chapter 7: Discerning the Voice of Our Enemy

or Section 5-- Experiences That Hamper Us (this section especially hit home for me)
Chapter 16: Converting Failure to True Success
Chapter 17: Turning Humiliation into Heroism
Chapter 18: Moving From Isolation to Friendship
Chapter 19: Conquering Worry with Trust

And this is only a sampling of the 20 chapters.

I was pleasantly surprised by the "Think It Through" questions at the end of each chapter. "Jesus!" is not the answer--at least to each of these questions. No, folks, sorry to say, if you make use of these you will actually have to Think It Through. I found them much more useful than the easy answer type questions you often find in study books, and more likely to actually provoke thought. And thinking is our friend.

The more you give this book in time and thought, the more you will gain. But even if you can only give it a quick read, there's much to be gleaned. I, however, was unable to give it a quick read, wanting to learn enough to put my hip-waders away for good and step into summer sandles. I'm a flip-flops kind of girl, and flip-flops don't fair well down in the rut.

A Jack of All Crafts and Master of None Tries Weaving, Part 1

2011-01-27T13:17:00.000-08:00

this was titled "Lowell Mill Girls" on the Emory University site.

Once upon a time in a land not so far away, a girl went to college. In this land, the field of Home Economics was not frowned upon as sexist and worthless, so this girl learned many intriguing skills with fibers. She learned to tat, she learned to knit fancy patterns, she learned clever tricks for the sewing of clothes. But her favorite, the one that stayed in her mind for years, was that of Weaving.

The loom was large, and the girl was fascinated. "Ah, if only I may be so fortunate as to put my bustle on and use a loom again in the future after I leave this place," she dreamed.

In later years the girl tried a small tabletop loom, but it was too small. She tried a rug loom, but alas it was too large and bulky. Then she received the Schacht Spindle Company's tapestry loom from her husband for Christmas and, you guessed it--it was *Just Right.*

Here's my Schacht Tapestry Loom hanging out in the guest/fiber-craft room. It's about two feet wide, but the size is no problem since we also bought the A-Frame stand for the loom. It adjusts to whatever angle is comfortable for use. And it's pretty all on its own and smells good, of freshly finished wood. So far, I love this company! I emailed them with a question and ended up having a lovely, helpful exchange with Denise.

One of my favorite things about any craft is reading up on it. I bought a book called Tapestry Weaving by Kirsten Glasbrook that got the best reviews on Amazon, and a dvd called Tapestry Weaving 1 by Nancy Harvey that's like a little class where the teacher takes you through three different projects to teach you different techniques.

Tapestry Weaving, the Schacht Tapestry Loom instructions, & Tapestry Weaving dvd.

My other favorite thing is gathering the bits and pieces needed to do the craft, in this case the fibers. I did my shopping in the guest/fiber-craft room stash. There is, let's just say, an "adequate" amount to shop in.

going with a green, blue & purple vibe for the first project.

*WARNING: WEAVING TERMS AHEAD.
In all fairness, when the loom first came I used some string to try warping it (those are the long threads that go top to bottom.) It's tricky till you get the hang of it--and in all fairness, I never really got the hang of it on that try.

So I followed the instructions to made the reusable heddles--those are the strings that lift every other warp yarn to make a basic over-under weave. The instructions showed a simple way to get them all the right size.

Using the heddle bar support to make reusable heddles. Then they all match! Imagine that.

This is the cool bunch of matching little tied strings I ended up with. Yes, I made them in bunches of 15 because I knew I would never keep track of the total otherwise.

And now to warp the loom. It does this cool "Magic Eye" thing while you're trying to do this, one of those, "is this in front or behind? Can I squint just right and make it into a picture?" This just adds to the thrill of the chase.

Okay! I'm finally starting to get the hang of it--4 inches into it. I still have another 11 inches to go.

Time for a nap. I'll keep you posted.

Skimmer's recap: julie likes crafts and things with yarn, and loves cool tools, but rarely wears her bustle anymore.

Basic article on weaving terms: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warp_(weaving)

Mother thoughts.

2011-01-11T19:36:00.000-08:00

That's a very young me on the right, holding three-month-old Corinne, and my
mother Margie. "Windy Hill" is what my mother named the acreage in the midst
of wheat fields in Nebraska where she and my stepdad lived.

Ten years ago today my mother died. Two days later I found out.

Not the sort of mother/daughter relationship a friend of mine had where she lay in the hospital bed with her mother, cradling her in her arms as she died. But is that the typical bond between the daughter and the mom who nurtured her? I don't know. The relationship between my mother and me was anything but typical.

Her cancer had come back. She mentioned this to nobody, not even the Replacement Children in her more recent life in Nebraska, the three women of the approximate age of my sister and I. My sister and brother hadn't spoken to our mother in years, and though my dealings with her had grown more and more strained, I was still trying to keep in contact from states away. But I'd been replaced by less complicated relationships with those she hadn't birthed.

Her lawyer called me because a next-of-kin was needed to sign the cremation certificate. Without that need, would I have heard at all? I suppose I would have figured it out once the boxes of my mother's "treasures" started arriving, filled with items from her life, all with notes attached. The notes must be nostalgiac explanations of the when and where of the items, you might think--wrongly. No, the notes explained my failings as related to each item, and were dated and initialed, apparently so I would be aware of the many years she'd been planning this After-Death-Surprise for me.

I was destroyed by the box after box of Post-It noted pieces of her life. How could the mother who gave birth to me and who was supposed to love me without condition and protect me be the one who attacked, who torpedoed my personal worth? How could the woman seen in happy photos with my baby be this cruel person?

Therapy followed, since my wise husband could see me falling down a deep, dark hole. It saved my life and my sanity. For years I had tried to make sense of this woman who could be so bright and happy sometimes and so mean and hurtful others. I won't ever know what all was at play in her head or heart, what undiagnosed illness she may have had. I can see from here that she was always at a distance from me emotionally, and her happiness or unhappiness really had nothing to do with me. I wanted her happiness to be because of me, but I think she was much more at the mercy of whatever demons lived in her head.

I've kept some of the things she sent--in fact, some are still tucked away in the same boxes they arrived in. These items and their notes hold a fascination for me, since I still wonder at the workings of her mind. What did it feel like to live inside her head? What ruled her, what drove her decisions? Was there an underlying sadness like I thought I saw at some times in her life, or was that just me trying to make sense of what couldn't?

Humor doesn't come easily around this subject, even though humor has always been my friend. One small smile that's come of it is that my mother even died on a date I can never forget. "Jean loved house numbers with 1s in them," she had told me about my stepfather. Her address had recently been redone by the county and now included 1s. Why my brain chose that bit of information to remember, I don't know. But when she died on 1/11/01, I muttered to the bit of her that lives in my head, "Hah! I bet you planned that."

So on this date I remember her with a mixture of fondness and sadness, much like my life with her played out. I'm finally learning that our relationship makes as much sense to me as weather, and was simply what it was: somedays thunderstorms, somedays sunshine. And I think I've learned from both.

New Year's Anti-Resolutions, OR, Things I've Learned from New Year's Resolutions.

2011-01-04T12:37:00.000-08:00

i am the first person at the end of the year to make a resolution for the new year--that of NOT making any resolutions. Why should i resolve to become organized in the new year, or thin, or to save more money? Why should i make a big statement that i am destined to fail?

Negative, you say? My hubby calls it "being a realist" when i accuse him of being negative. i'm borrowing that for the moment.

It's called "knowing myself." Big statements do not work for this girl. i have always moved at a slower, more casual pace than many others. i'm a big believer in the "don't sweat it" style of being. Not that i don't have my convictions--i do, it's more that i have always had the tendency to beat myself up for my perceived failings. "You idiot" is at the ready in my brain when i make a mistake. "You slob" is waiting to pop into my head when i look around at the casual mess of my space. (Which is exactly what happens when you don't sweat it.)

This year, i think i'll put into place the things i've learned from New Year's Resolutions past:

*i will correct myself just like i would correct my children when i hear "idiot" and "slob" and such words in my head. NO NAME CALLING!! Certainly if i work to avoid calling people names in traffic, i can at least extend the same courtesy to myself, right?

*Frankly, my "getting organized" isn't as much of a problem as KEEPING organized. Well, really, they both go against my nature. i am a visual person--i tend to forget things if they are out of sight (in that perfectly organized world.) Therefore i will accept this and try to work with it. i will have pretty things out to pile things in, creating decorative messes. i will continue to work toward a paper organizing system that works for ME, and i'm pretty sure that will also include pretty containers.

*i will accept that i love to start things before i finish the last project. i am fickle. Today i want to knit, but tomorrow i may want to use my new loom. It is what it is. Again, i think decorative containers may play a part.

*i will accept that i am a jack of all trades and master of none. i have fought this for years, calling myself names when i can no longer limit myself to one thing, like writing. God made me the creative disaster i am, He knows i love many things. Writing makes me happy. Fibers make me happy. Scrapbooks make me happy. i'm sure i'd be tidier if i had fewer hobbies......HAHAHAHAHAAA!!! No.

*i know more about diets than most, because i've been on most diets. Do they work? Not generally, but they make for good reading.

***This year i will focus on making a better choice one choice at a time.

i will not resolve to become thin, i will choose to eat healthier each time i eat.

i will not resolve to become wealthy, each time i think i need that beautiful skein of yarn or pack of scrapbook stickers i will choose to pause and ask "do i need it," and maybe the answer will be "no." If i then put that money in savings, will it add up? i bet it will.

i will think more and treat myself less. This includes purchases, foods, even the most sacred of all, chocolate.

i will keep working one choice at a time toward organization in small ways: putting "like with like" (no more chasing the cell phone chargers etc through the entire house,) and choosing to put things away where they go.

If i bring something INTO the house, something else must go out--- hahahahaa! i can dream.

i will choose to work within the realities of ME. And i choose to take on this new year of 2011 one choice at a time. (It's less scary that way.)

Skimmer's recap: Not so big on resolutions. How about you? Are you a resolution maker? If so, what kinds of things do you resolve to do?

More Cornwall wanderings, now that my cold isn't making me feel as nasty.

2010-11-07T22:45:00.000-08:00

We went "on holiday" (as the Brits say) to St. Ives, a seaside town on the Cornish coast full of tiny houses on narrow rambling streets. Each little corner you turn on each tiny street (which you share with cars by plastering yourself against the nearest wall) gives a new view of another cute little house or stair or garden.

People here seemed to love their dogs, as everywhere i looked there was a dog or six.

See what i mean about "around every corner"? And the sign painted on the street directs one to the Car Park, where the cars go to play for their holiday.

When i saw the establishment below, i wanted to sing "... Alive, alive- o..." (Okay, so i did sing. i love singing in random places.)

A visual treat around every corner!

This store disappointed me when i realized it only sold clothing--the name promises so much more, like artery clotting clotted cream...or maybe fish and chips...or big hunks of beef.

i wandered through a gallery with several on site artists. i had a great chat with this artist while she was working on a painted portrait of a dog. Seriously, people love their dogs in England.

We watched the local wildlife for a while as we wandered the streets of St. Ives,

then went to have a pub lunch. i love the pubs in England--the ones i've been in are friendly places to take a family, and have pretty decent food and prices.

We sat directly beneath the well-used dart board with its list of dart leagues and players. It reminded me of lots of British and Irish movies i've seen. i assume they rearrange the seating when the darts are actually being thrown.

Ice cream stands and ice cream shops were everywhere, so of course we had to partake sitting on the benches facing the water.

And my tough little grandBrits were happy to be playing barefoot in the sand, even though Grandma julie wore her coat and scarf and often her gloves the whole time we were there.

Beautiful, tranquil, off-season St. Ives was a thing of beauty. Hope i get to see it again.

Grandma ice skates with varying degrees of success.

2010-10-25T15:44:00.000-07:00

While at the Eden Project here in England, all three grandchildren (ages 2, 5 and 7) and their parents decided to try out the ice skating rink. Grandma Julie (me) thought she'd regret not trying it herself, since she used to love ice skating as a child, and what could be more fun than joining the grandBrits?

If you can pretend I'm not holding onto the railing I look quite impressive, don't I.
To the left side of the photo Shawn is showing Euan the basics of ice skating,
and to the right you can see Jon helping Ellie get used to the ice.

Elias spent a fair amount of time dangling from Jon like a Christmas ornament on a tree.

Ellie, almost 3, amazed us all by having pretty good
balance on her cute little strap-on 2 bladed ice skates.

Euan loved it, spending most of his time skating without help,
falling down and popping right back up to skate some more.

Grandma? Well, she was quite good at falling down--one time even considering
making a snow angel while laying flat on her back on the ice--but not so good
at the popping back up....

no, for Grandma, getting back up "takes a village."

Okay, so a couple of those falls caused a very bruised and swollen
left hand, and led to a visit to the First Aid booth for an ice pack
held to her hand by gauze wrappings. Plus she now has
an official Incident Report filed in England.

Notice the lovely shade of purple on the left hand.

A great time was had by all. And while I may have come away with bruises on my hand, knees, elbows, and pride, I came away without a single regret.

;-)

Cornwall wanderings.

2010-10-24T15:17:00.000-07:00

across the road from Shawn and Jon's place

I am in the English countryside, Somerset County, specifically. But even in such beautiful surroundings, the locals want to go "on holiday." Sounds so much more festive than "on vacation," doesn't it?

So they find other beautiful places to go, like this:

Cornish coast

More on this later. For now, simply gaze upon the beauty. You see, yesterday we went ice skating while on holiday, and I'm really really sore and tired. ;-)

About the book Daisy Chain, by Mary E. DeMuth

2010-10-12T22:17:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading Mary DeMuth's novel "Daisy Chain," first book in the Defiance Texas Trilogy.

It was a hard read for me.

The story of the small Texas town of Defiance is told through the young eyes of fourteen-year-old Jed Pepper. His closest friend, Daisy Chance, has gone missing, and he's sure it's all his fault. Town secrets come to light during the search for Daisy, and we experience it all from Jed's viewpoint--the viewpoint of a child living in a house full of its own secrets.

I was too captivated by the story to stop reading, since Mary DeMuth has a writing style that wrapped me up inside Jed's head--and there was my pain. Having grown up in a house of secrets myself, the author's uncanny ability to write from within the mind of a child unnerved me. I lived each emotion as Jed did: each moment of powerlessness, shame, guilt or rage. I felt his tentative hope, his doubts.

What I loved most about this book was the very thing that made it hard reading, the author's ability to crawl inside a child's head and stay true to the telling through his eyes. For this reason I highly recommend this book and author.

Saying goodbye to Uncle Joe.

2010-10-02T15:13:00.000-07:00

He was my father-in-law's "little" brother. They were tall. Like "how do I hug them?" tall. My father-in-law, Eldon, was 6 foot 6 or 6 foot 7, at that height i couldn't see up there anyway so I'm not really sure. Tall was (and is) their family's "thing."

I'm pretty sure they were each other's favorite brothers out of the 4 boys in their family. (I think they all doted on their beautiful little sis, Mary.) I remember many stories of the boys' escapades when they were kids, crazy stuff like hunting skunks with pop-guns. Country living is so far from my upbringing in Portland, Oregon that I was always fascinated. I mean, the only wildlife I saw was some of the neighborhood kids, and they'd be a much safer bet to hunt with a pop-gun.

As adults they stayed good friends, and I would hear stories of Uncle Joe's clothing factory from my in-laws. We still have an old platform rocker from my side of the family that I slipcovered in sturdy suit fabric brought home to me probably 25 years ago from Joe's wife, Pat. She had her own business running a fabric outlet of leftover fabrics from the factory. (I only wish I could still fit into the coat they sent home to me at the same time!)

My father-in-law meant a lot to me. He was kind and loving to me, and would do things with me he wouldn't with my mother-in-law, like shop or eat tuna sandwiches. He sat with me in silent support through the years of my miscarriages, he helped us build our second story house addition, he called my m-i-l's peanut brittle "peanut brutal" and tuna sandwiches "cat food" sandwiches, but he'd eat them if I made them. And he absolutely without a doubt loved his grandkids.

His brother Joe was that same sort of person. Unfortunately I didn't get to know him very well, but when I saw him a few years back, he was the same kind of sit-down-and-chat guy that my father-in-law was. He had a ready smile and an accepting heart. He had the same sparkle in his eye, and oh he made me miss my father-in-law.

When my hubby and I visited the Alabama family just a few months ago, I got to see him with his great-grandkids--and I loved it. Again, it brought me back to memories of my father-in-law graciously letting my children and foster children use him as a climbing wall. The two brothers shared a lot in their attitude toward little ones and in their quiet faith in God. And if anything, Uncle Joe was even more of a family man.

This is why I know that Joe will be so missed by his wife, his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and other family and friends. As much as I miss my father-in-law, I have a fair sense of the loss Uncle Joe's home-going to heaven will mean to those still stuck on the ground who loved him.

Goodbye, Uncle Joe. We will miss you.

Missing, and no action.

2010-09-21T01:47:00.000-07:00

Wow. Apparently i have been brain-dead for a month. Suddenly i realize i haven't put any part of me into this vast blogosphere. So if anyone out there in the world-wide-internet still drops by to see what drivel i have written lately, please check back very soon and i will put something besides excuses in this space.

Losing things (besides my mind.)

2010-08-19T02:57:00.000-07:00

This is a bride.

The reason I am using this picture? A photo of my wedding ring with A DIAMOND MISSING would not be attractive. In fact, it bears a striking resemblance to a person missing a front tooth.

I was shopping when I noticed it was gone, leaving only a gummy smile in its place. Fortunately Adina was willing to search the dressing room floor on her hands and knees, (I wasn't) but no success. I left a hopeful little note with the manager in the store in case someone happened to pick up a diamond and think, "I should turn this in rather than put it in my pocket!" I reminded myself "it is just 'stuff."

My dear hubby assures me we will replace it. I suggested cubic zirconium might be a better option for me.

But here's the burning question: since this ring is the only piece I own of any significant monetary value, why couldn't I lose a part from jewelry I'd picked up on the Kohl's clearance rack?

Skimmer's Recap: A diamond is after all but a worldly possession that will not follow me to the afterlife. But still, DANG. * sigh*

My love/hate relationship with Sudoku.

2010-08-13T16:43:00.000-07:00

"They" say Sudoku will be good for my brain. Nobody mentioned what it would do to my self-esteem.

"They" say "just look for the patterns." But when I ask "WHAT patterns?" "They" repeat, "the patterns," stressing the last word as if it will mean more to me when emphasized. Apparently "They" See Patterns. Probably like the guy in the movie A Beautiful Mind, not saying that all people who can see these alleged "Patterns" suffer from a mental illness, but just puttin' the idea out there...

So I watched a tutorial. How simple "They" made it look! Well, heck, I can do this now! At least THIS "They" could tell me what patterns I might be looking for, instead of just thinking "hmm, i could eat a waffle right about now" every time I look at a Sudoku puzzle.

So I look for patterns. To be honest, "They" say the patterns are there, but mostly I see the potential for warm, melting butter, and maple syrup.

Waffle.

Sudoku. Similar, but oh so different.

When I find the occasional pattern I rejoice. I high-five myself, which always scares the dogs. Then I end up back in the pencil-marking land of "Okay--it could be a 1, not a 2, not a 3, could be a 4, not a 5..." and so on. I repeat this for square after square after square. Then I have to go through the "Is this the only 1 in this row? In this square?" process of elimination, row after row after row.

Sometimes the puzzles are easy enough (some of those easy ones are really hard!) and I finish one. ("Yay! I pulled that off in less than my former time of 2 hours and 55 minutes!") But when I realize I have messed up and will have to find my mistake, I give up. Yes, you heard me, Give Up. It's fine to stretch my brain, it's not fine to test my patience or make me mutter "idiot" to myself under my breath.

I want to see the walls of all you people who "See Patterns." I bet I'd find them plastered with Sudoku puzzles with lines connecting the numbers to find conspiracies, right? RIGHT??

Skimmer's Recap: Loved the movie. But let's face it, not all of us "See Patterns." Or dead people, for that matter. Huh! Two movie references in one post--I must be hip. Ow--fact is, I'm getting a cramp in my hip... Maybe if I walk to the kitchen that will loosen it up. Wonder if we have any waffles...

3 Random things I like.

2010-08-06T20:41:00.000-07:00

Genealogy. Even though I spell it wrong every single time and have to fix it, I love genealogy. I use Ancestry.com because they make it so easy, and my sister gave me some great photos and information on our family so I could get the family tree started online. Why is it so fascinating to me to find who was the father of great-great-aunt Gwendolyn? (Not her real name, the names have been changed to protect the not-so innocent.) I think it's part thrill of the chase, part the names, and part hoping to see a picture of them. I love the old pictures!! And I just bet those who have gone before were just as crazy as the current group.

Hobbies. I know. Not a huge surprise. But there are so many things I like to try that I end up with an excessive amount of stuff related to all those hobbies that threatens to take away the usable closet/cupboard/drawer space anywhere I can fit it in. Knitting, crocheting, writing, reading, sewing, etc, all accompanied by the magazines and idea notebooks and books I also collect on the subject. Oh--and finding old furniture I love to clean up and use, or my fascination with collecting things like tea cups or pitchers or creamers or other things with spouts (and no, I don't know why!)

Talking to strangers. Not news to most of my friends, and disturbing to some of my family members, I love chatting with people in line, or people I run into at craft fairs, wherever. I'm a salesperson's dream (plus, they're forced to laugh at my jokes since they're hoping to sell me something.) If I didn't like to talk to strangers there are some great stories I'd never heard, like the lady I spoke to while we were sorting through hobby books, who told me of their family's christening gown that had been passed down and passed down, and each person who had it would add some sort of embellishment to the gown. I love that stuff. Sorry there are no visuals for this one, but I rarely pose for pictures with strangers. Talk to them yes, get photos, no.

What random things do you like?

Skimmer's Recap: Just read the bold and you're good as gold.

Bad Fibromyalgia day Julie is not as much fun as good Fibromyalgia day Julie.

2010-08-02T13:40:00.000-07:00

Now, I recognize that fibromyalgia is not what defines me--that, in fact, I am much more. I'm a wife, mom, grandma, knitter, crocheter, scrapbooker, and encourager and friend. But on some days, those bad-fibromyalgia-days, it is what defines my activities.

Good-(and more fun) fibromyalgia-day Julie likes to shop and eat out and go places. She likes to organize things. She likes to plan projects, and sometimes even do them. She likes to work in the garden, relax in the hot tub, craft. (But she never likes to cook.)

Bad-fibromyalgia-day Julie tries to stay positive initially, but once that first 15 minutes of the day has passed, she feels whiny. The corners of her mouth turn down most unattractively. She no longer tries to keep from making unpleasant grunting noises when moving hurts.

Bad-fibromyalgia-day Julie feels like staying cuddled up in a warm bed, because warmth feels good when everything hurts. Bad-fibromyalgia-day Julie wants to have someone bring her soothing, fruity tea and little sandwiches with the crusts cut off, because even bad-fibromyalgia-day Julie can dream. She feels sorry for herself and tells God she Does Not Deserve It, but then, who does?

The trouble is, the bad DAY is usually the bad WEEK or two. There are signs, oh yes, which Julie tries to ignore because she is not such a fan of the bad days to come--the "flare" as it is called. She realizes that suddenly she cannot get up easily from squatting down to find something in the lower cupboard, that she feels more weak this week than last. She ignores it, enjoying the friends she can go see and the shopping she can go do until the flare hits her square in the fanny and she goes down in flames.

The flames affect her ability to think, to move, to plan, to enjoy. And bad-day-fibromyalgia Julie comes to visit for a time, and even good-day-fibromyalgia Julie doesn't like her so much. But if she just hangs on, she knows she'll be back out in the garden or the local yarn shop soon.

Painful flare.

Soon to be painful funny flare.

Skimmer's Recap: Aww, never mind. i'm just whining anyway.

More knitting endorphins.

2010-07-28T06:00:00.000-07:00

I said I would show what I'm making with the beautiful MANOS del URUGUAY Cotton Stria yarn. If you're interested keep reading, if you "could care less," go stalk somebody on Facebook.

Again, keep in mind this color is not a great representation. I tried to change what looked like baby blue to the real color, a bright, happy, summer-day turquoise. Now it looks like something psychedelic from the '60s. No hallucinogens needed.

This is a new stitch for me--it's an elongated, airy stitch created by doing multiple yarn-overs between regular stitches.

This photo at least shows the texture and color variation in the yarn. I'm using the stitch pattern from a free Berroco online pattern for a wider scarf ("Fascinate") to make myself a narrower one. I'm hoping to have plenty of yarn to make a cute little tam out of the same type of open stitch. We shall see.

Cast on loosely the number of stitches you want for width--mine's about 30 stitches on size 10 straight needles, making it about 7 inches wide. My yarn is heavier than the one used in the pattern and has more texture, but it's still a great look.

The stitch pattern goes like this:

Row 1: (Right Side) Knit.
Row 2: Knit.
Row 3: Knit 1, Yarn-over twice, Knit 1, yarn-over twice, keep repeating till you hit the end of your row, ending with the knit 1.
Row 4: Knit 1, drop the yarn overs, knit 1, drop the yarn overs, and repeat, again ending with the knit 1.
(that was the interesting new bit for me--took me a few repeats to get the hang of it without dropping things I did not intend to drop.)

Repeat these 4 rows till you have the scarf long enough for the look you want. The Berroco pattern calls for 66 inches. It all depends on how long you want the scarf to look on you (or whoever) and if you like it doubled and the ends stuck through, or just hanging with a half knot.

Once you get the hang of the whole yarn-over and dropping business, it's a relaxing and simple pattern to knit while watching a movie. I'd just hold off on the buttered popcorn. Icks up the yarn.

Skimmer's Recap: Yup, I'm a wild thing--just tried a new knitting stitch. Feeling a little mavericky.

Knitting endorphins.

2010-07-25T17:00:00.000-07:00

endorphins

n.

Any of a group of peptide hormones that bind to opiate receptors and are found mainly in the brain. Endorphins reduce the sensation of pain and affect emotions.

(from Answers.com)

I've never been one to get an endorphin rush from running/biking/mountain climbing/skydiving--mainly because I lack the drive to get out of the starting gate, let alone the endurance to reach that awesome endorphin high I've read about. And yet, according to the definition above, I've been an endorphin junky from the start. Since childhood, I've found creating, thinking about creating, collecting ideas for creating, all create me a happy place. That's a place with positively affected emotions that over-rule mental, emotional, or physical pain, without the nasty side effects of an opiate. And knitting is only one of the forms of creating I enjoy.

Perhaps I should market a bumper sticker that says, "I Knit for Endorphins." It could catch on.

One of my favorite things about searching the WorldWideInterWeb is seeing this sort of thing pop up:

Find Endorphins

Huge savings on Endorphins: Browse a large selection

& grab a bargain!

www.best-price.com/Endorphins

In all honesty, I would love to "browse a large selection of endorphins and grab a bargain" but you and i both know, best-price.com does not carry them. So why tease me?

Anyway, back to knitting and endorphins, I bought some beautiful yarn when I was in Alabama,

at the store below, "In the Making." Great name, eh? The yarn is really a bright, beachy turquoise, but apparently there are limits to my iPhone's photo capabilities.

And once inside the store,

the sight alone of bins full of yarn starts the endorphins rolling for me.

The particular yarn I purchased has a great story as well--

for beyond its cool name and tag, there's a great back-story to the yarn. The company is MANOS del URUGUAY, which means Hands of Uruguay. It's a "non-profit organization that assembles over 400 artisans in cooperatives scattered throughout the countryside of Uruguay. The aim of the organization is to bring economic and social opportunities to rural women." The yarn is hand dyed in large kettles, creating the striated effect.

I think life is hard if my economic status says I need to cut back on my lattes, and here's a company making an amazing product that is helping women even have an economic status.

I wish the photos could show the reality of the color, texture, and marble-like shading. The yarn is a Peruvian cotton of wonderful softness. It came in a hank, typical of the nicer (translate: "spendier") yarns. When initially untwisted from the hank it looks like that first picture above, a big loop of loveliness. (And in a new experience, these hanks were tied with the devil's own knot--likely offered to me by God in the interest of teaching me that I may need patience, even in my happy place.)

For actually knitting, an evenly wound ball is much better to pull from and less tangly, so you use one of these:

a yarn swift,
and one of these:

a ball winder, to make these,

lovely cakes of yarn, with the yarn pulling from the inside all neatly and efficiently.

In case you don't know what swifts and winders are, here's a quick explanation. The swift (which looks, I realize, like a badly designed umbrella) serves as the hands to hold the opened hank of yarn so it doesn't tangle--while the winder turns and rolls the yarn into the adorable (yet sadly inedible) cake. The "real" type of yarn store (one that is all about the fibers and doesn't really offer non-fiber related products and has a cool fiber-related name) usually has the swift and ball winder on hand so they can do it for you if you don't have the equipment at home. Me? I love gadgets. My winder is a simple hand crank while the ones at yarn stores usually use power. Mine was cheaper, and surely cranking by hand must burn off a calorie or two as well?

Next time I'll show you what I'm making with this reminiscent-of-a-summer-day yarn, just in case you're interested.

But getting back to the endorphins, I think I can use knitting--all parts of it from the yarn store to the finished product--as natural pain relief and more balanced emotions. Shouldn't that make it payable by my insurance? Hmm... I need to check into that.

Where do you "browse" for endorphins? What's your endorphin-high of choice? And let's keep it legal, and not too embarrassing, okay? ;-D

Skimmer's Recap: i browse for MY endorphins at the yarn store!

Adventures in gluten-free baking.

2010-07-22T01:59:00.000-07:00

I have a friend who also loves to write, and we like to get together for tea (she has gorgeous china.) She also has celiac disease. She's not one to adventure into the land of alternate flours and fussy baking while I love to, especially so we can share a treat with our tea. And if you are experimenting, nobody blames you if it doesn't turn out perfectly, right?

Personally, I had no idea how many foods and condiments had wheat in them. Like soy sauce! Silly me, I always assumed it was made of soy. And my family disagrees with any attempt I make to use a Lesser Noodle than one made from wheat flour since the alternatives have a Funny Texture.

My friend has seen the extent to which wheat rules the Western world, as she can't even eat at some restaurants like Texas Roadhouse (to which I always want to add the word "massacre") because everything has something wheat about it, even the marinades. So bringing pleasure to a friend with a sweet tooth? Right up my alley!

Know anyone with a gluten issue? Here is my more than acceptable recipe for:

GLUTEN FREE SHORTBREAD FINGERS

ingredients:

1 Cup Sweet Sorghum Gluten-free flour

1/4 Cup White Rice flour

4 Tablespoons Agave Sweetener

1/2 Cup room temperature, softened butter

the how-to:

MIX all ingredients until fluffy

PAT dough into 5 inch x 8 inch rectangle on rice-floured counter

(if the dough is too sticky, sprinkle rice flour on top of the dough to pat)

CUT into 12 fingers. I like to use my pizza cutter, and usually I feel the need

to poke a design into the cookies with a fork. Makes me feel all bake-y.

See? Pizza cutted. And fork poked. And very irregularly shaped.

BAKE at 325 F for 20 minutes. I'm assuming you know to put the unbaked

cookies onto a baking pan first.

COOL on pan before removing, since these cookies are very tender and

fragile (like me) before cooled.

Remove gently, eat, enjoy.

tasty variation:

Substitute 1/2 Cup almond flour for 1/2 Cup of the sorghum. Nice, nutty taste.

Didn't I almost sound like I knew what I was doing? So redemptive in my cooking world.

Skimmer's Recap: Seriously? It has what, like 4 ingredients?

More on "More"

2010-07-20T17:19:00.000-07:00

Picking up from my last blog post about reading magazines, I had read one article in my copy of More that didn't entirely cause guilt. It was about a woman who had feared cooking, and had never really even tried cooking. But she decided to learn, and even with fear and trembling became a good cook. I have pretty much resigned myself to the fact that, much like the models in the magazine ads, I will never be that person.

Yet hope springs eternal for me in the cooking department. I am always certain I will be able to cook like my grandmother did, never measuring but turning out perfect baked goods and casseroles. More certain for me is the failure waiting at the end of the baking. Again I decided to take a stab at it. Seeing a recipe online that intrigued me, Cornmeal crepes with sausage and egg filling, I decided to try it on for size.

I measured carefully--well, kind of carefully, one of my biggest problems--and made the crepe batter to chill ahead. Since my dear hubby is suffering through a year of the midnight shift and sleeping till around 3 pm, I'm trying to think of meals that appeal to the fresh-out-of-bed person as well as the ready-for-dinner person. And the tiny picture online of the finished recipe looked good. And who doesn't like a good crepe, even perchance a cornmeal one?

After all, aren't crepes just little disks of deliciousness?

Mine? Disk? Maybe amoeba, or paisley run amuck.

Some simply defied description at all...though the second one reminds me of a brain.

They were also every imaginable shade. Kinda like trying to pick a yellow for painting the walls.

The online photo of the recipe was taken from more of a distance. I, however, can't back up far enough for the distance mine require to look good.

But my guys assured me they were very tasty when filled with sausage and eggs and cheese, so I guess I can count it as a Taste Success. Presentation? Fail.

Skimmer's Recap: Possibly my hidden culinary talents are simply buried too deeply to mine.

Is it just me? or: The importance of picking encouragingly titled magazines.

2010-07-17T20:53:00.000-07:00

Seriously, I don't know when guilt first got its hold on me, but I do remember feeling guilty as early as kindergarten. The incident? I mixed up the names of two of my fellow five-year-olds.

The reason I bring this up is because I can't even read a magazine without becoming guilt-ridden. I was having a lovely Saturday coffee and magazine morning, reading the July-August copy of More magazine with Kyra Sedgewick, the lovely star of television's The Closer on the cover.

I'm a pretty polite reader. I start at the first page of a magazine and work my way through to the last page. (I was raised to be polite and not leave anyone out.) I smile to myself as I read something amusing or just interesting: "Japan, where the country's second-largest airline, ALL NIPPON AIRWAYS, announced it would offer designated women-only toilets on its flights." I smile, remembering my last flight where I used the restroom right after one of the pilots, distressed to find he'd left the nasty, heavily used toilet seat up.

I skim the list of summer reading suggestions, even skimming the full page ad for shoes adjacent.

The book list makes me talk to myself: Now why are you not writing something? You love to write, you should try to get something published. You spent all that money going to Mount Hermon's Writers Conference, and still you are not writing. What is wrong with you? The shoe ad for Sketcher's Shape-Ups merely causes me to mock, it's gonna take a lot more than a shoe to shape YOU up!

I look at the page of "must-have" handbags. Again, my Guilt-Voice interrupts. Why do you have all that stuff to make handbags to sell on Etsy and still haven't done it?

I see an ad for feminine protection telling me "What you're wearing is so last year." This at least is a choice I can feel no guilt about, I tell myself, thanks to that handy emergency hysterectomy back when I still wanted to have more kids. Then I notice the "protection" is for bladder leakage. Crap--I really should be doing those Kegels...

Why do I do this to myself? The article on "This is what 55 looks like," picturing a low-jean wearing lean woman my age(ish) causes me to berate myself for being overweight; the article on women who after 40 started second (and of course incredibly successful) careers farming olives, or organic meats and vegetables, or sheep to sell the fleeces, only serves to make me question my own lack of risk taking and dream following. Even the name of the magazine screams at me: "MORE" i should do more!

For this reason I think I shall avoid magazines named things like "SHAPE" and "SELF." Waaay too much to feel guilty about there.

Skimmer's Recap: When predisposed to feeling guilty about your life, your looks, your health, look for magazines with names like "GOOD ENOUGH."

Alabama bounty.

2010-07-13T10:46:00.000-07:00

I've always been a West Coast girl. I grew up in Portland, Oregon, went to school in McMinnville, Oregon, and now live in the San Francisco Bay Area of California.

There was one brief stint spent in Vail, Colorado while working as a housekeeper in a hotel. Did I learn to ski? Not so much. The idea of downhill skiing terrified me, so I took a lesson in cross-country skiing. The teacher said, "Wow, I've never had a student fall down so much." Um, thank you? It was much harder and wetter than walking, which I did in abundance, rarely falling down. Thus ended my relationship with skis and poles.

What I'm thinking about while analyzing my choices in coasts and my obvious lack of skiing ability is that I've spent most of my time with plentiful fruits and berries and vegetables. Amazing berries growing wild in the empty lot next door when I was a child (I also tried picking berries for money with a friend, but again, HARD and way too early.) And the nuts? We had two walnut trees growing in our yard that provided so many nuts that my mother became quite creative in their use. I've only been able to face walnuts again in the past 10 years.

California also is an amazing land of plenty, fruit, nut, berry and vegetable-wise. I can casually plant a squash in my flower garden and enjoy fresh squash for months, heck, I've even had volunteer tomatoes grow from the compost I made before I learned not to put anything that might grow from a seed in the mix. Every street I go down has lemon trees.

But I've always been able to recognize the vegetables.

Aren't these the prettiest things? New to me!

In Alabama we had the pleasure of watching one of my hubby's cousins in action. And I see why I have my own personal energy crisis, since she had her energy, my energy, and possibly the energy of everyone living in a 5 mile radius. She's one of those people I can only sit back and view in awe: in retirement she heads up the local Chamber of Commerce, runs the local farmers market, takes tennis lessons, and in her down time she does HAND SMOCKING on dresses for her granddaughter. And that's only stuff I know about! And in retirement. I've not done that many things total in my life.

Hubby with his cousins, while he semi-patiently waits for me to be

done taking photos with his iPhone since my battery was dead.

It drove him a little crazy, but it's a mighty short trip anyway.

But the bounty of 'Bama! Oh--they have beautiful fruits and vegetables, things I've never seen in person. We went to the farmers market the Monday we were there, and I of course went crazy taking pictures. It was just so colorful, and the actual farmers themselves are the ones selling the produce, and that doesn't happen at home.

Sells honey from his farm, among other things. And only looks

mildly irritated that I'm making him pose. ;-)

Yum. Beautiful produce, and he didn't seem to mind

the crazy lady from California asking him to pose. :-)

Those are the actual farmers themselves--in fact, the market is held in the afternoon just so the farmers can bring their produce. And an extra added bonus? In this lovely small town, people didn't act like I was an escaped mental patient when I talked to strangers!

More produce loveliness:

More new-to-me vegies!

We bought that Ambrosia canteloupe--and that big melon

that looks black? Actually very dark green, and is a Sugarbaby
(if i remember right) watermelon!

And oh, sweet summer fruit--don't you just want to dive into that

basket of peaches? Juicy wonderfulness...

Skimmer's Recap: OH. YUM. Alabama.

Colors and patterns.

2010-07-11T00:40:00.000-07:00

Flying out of the Birmingham airport in Alabama, the sight of miles and miles and miles of green amazed me. Having grown up in Portland, Oregon, land of liquid sunshine and all things green, my spirit is always lifted by the sight of green growing things.

A swath was cut through the miles of lush, green trees--but what was it? From where I sat, far above, it looked for all the world like a casual path cut by a lawnmower through the green. On closer squinting, (these eyes aren't what they used to be,) I could see cars were traveling along a swath of highway.

Coming into Denver looked less like plush grass carpet and more like a crazy quilt, beautiful in a different way. Both places have an expansiveness not seen in the Bay Area where houses touch houses touch other buildings touch--you get the idea.

On the leg from Denver to Oakland, CA, I was part of a real-time demonstration of that whole Mars/Venus difference between men and women. The young man next to me (and mind you, "young" means pretty much anything under 50 to me now) asked the flight attendant if he could purchase two glasses of wine at once. She said, "Oh! I don't know if we can do that--let me go ask someone."

After she left I turned to him and said, "Well, you look like you could handle it."

He said, "Yes, I would think so! I weigh two twenty!"

Who but a man would announce that so proudly to a complete stranger?

Our time in Alabama with family was relaxing and fun and we laughed a lot and I got to go to a great yarn store, "In the Making," with my hubby's cousin. And why yes, of course I got a photo of the store.

All those bins of colorful yarns give me a tickle of excitement along with an injection of "I'm in my happy place." Life is good when I'm in a yarn store. A different sort of expansiveness and pattern that makes me smile.

Of fibromyalgia and vanity.

2010-07-07T23:44:00.000-07:00

Unable as yet to embrace my gray hair, I continue to put myself through the annoying process of home hair color. In hopes of a quick and easy solution, I purchased a different brand than usual. The name, "Perfect 10," was compelling. I mean, 10 minutes away from at least my hair being a perfect 10?

I've often had friends available to do the deed for me while I sit, slipping into a hair-coma. Whether someone is cutting, styling, or even brushing my hair, I get so relaxed I could end up bald and not even care. Never mind that it's much simpler for someone with a view of the top and back of my head to paint my roots.

I launched into the usual scenario--pull out the instructions, put on the plastic gloves, line up the bottles and tubes to be used in proper combination. And all with the promise of only 10 minutes needed to cover those stubborn grays.

10 minutes to do the job, yet an hour later I was still trying to scrub the color from my skin and the area around my eyebrows that now looked like Groucho Marx. I was trying to bleach the color from the sink, the countertop...giving myself seriously raw patches on my face from the scrubbing... *sigh*

Then on to blow-drying my hair, then straightening my hair, because if I do those things it will last for days without doing more than passing a brush through it.

But how does fibromyalgia enter into this picture, you ask? Well, all that holding my arms over my head against the better judgement of my weary muscles leaves me very tired and achy--which can lead to a certain level of personal crabbiness.

Skimmer's Recap: Fibromyalgia and vanity make poor partners.
:-)

Travels in Alabama

2010-06-30T20:19:00.000-07:00

At the moment I am sitting in a lovely, clean house, everything in order and tastefully decorated. Mine? Heck no! I must be visiting!

Hubby and I have been staying with one of his Alabama cousins and her husband and cat. The husband is very gracious. The cat, not so much. I have mixed feelings about cats whose front paws have been declawed, but it's been a positive situation for me. I don't think Shelby the cat likes me all that well. She's beautiful, a rescue kitty that was dumped on the other cousin's property as a baby, possibly by someone sensing the animal-friendly vibe of the acreage.

"Acreage"--there's a word we don't hear much in the San Francisco Bay Area. In our spot called home our houses are on small dots of property surrounded by privacy fences. Seems the closer people live to each other, the more closely guarded any bit of personal space is. We can see into a neighbor's open bathroom window 15 feet away, but we have fences so we can sit on our little chairs in our little back yards and listen to every word of every conversation taking place in the 3 back yards surrounding ours. Here in the area of Alabama the cousins live in, one yard just rolls into the next and into the next, broken only by houses and landscaping.

Of course, here in Alabama, I don't honestly know if they sit outside in the summer like we do in California. Each time I've stepped out of a store or car I've been surprised again by my immediate immersion into a moist heat sauna.

The downside to this friendly family picture we're enjoying is that the cousins' father is being treated for pancreatic cancer. As you can imagine, the whole family is having a tough time.

The upside is watching the interactions of this family. Every person pitches in. They're a unified group, helping out in whatever thing needs helping. It's a good thing to see. :-)

Skimmer's Recap: Alabama. Heat bad, family good.

My Monday fibromyalgic thoughts after a busy but fun weekend.

2010-06-21T13:21:00.000-07:00

(cartoon here showing a big thought bubble choked with

random phrases overrunning the edges of the bubble--

couldn't find one, so you'll have to use your imagination.)

i get tired of living up here in my head

today it's quite noisy and my focus is bad

i hear my brain chattering:

"should i go work outside?

no, i should clean the kitchen--

no wait, shop for groceries--

why's that so dusty?

no, i should be. . ."

forget it.

think i'll go take a nap.

Knitting: New "Cool Tool"

2010-06-17T13:02:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned in the past (interruptions: Come out and play!) my love of Cool Tools. Yes, I LOVE gadgets.

My newest LARGE Cool Tool is the Silver Reed LK 150 knitting machine.

Men and (other) women may love talking about 0 to 60 in however many seconds, or horse power under the hood, but me? I'm thrilled by words like "tension" and "150 needles" and "row counter."

To many others these may be words of a foreign nature, and tension merely states the feeling after work each day, or needles just remind you of your last trip to the doctor's. But to me? Ahhhhh....sweet drippings of nectar into my mouth.

I understand it may look like nothing much to you, but let me tell you about it! If you have ever used a sewing machine or done any hand knitting or crocheting, you will understand "tension." Without correct tension being held the stitches will be all wonky and uneven, but with tension? A whole new world of precise, beautifully matched stitches one after the other after the other.

I have been using The Ultimate Sweater Machine by Bond for the past few years with a decent amount of success (pictures of projects at the link above. And any of you who know me can totally accept that I had just that look of happy pride the lady at the top right of the box has. HAHAAHAHA! There were some great moments of frustration.

See those cute antennas on the first photo, the Silver Reed? Those are part of the aforementioned Good Tension. Notice the antennas on the Sweater Machine? No? That's because there are none! And yet I managed to make some decent projects on it. So I am pretty much guaranteed success on the new one, right?

I purchased the Silver Reed LK150 at That Yarn Store in nearby Dublin, CA. Lessons are included in the purchase price, so yesterday when I picked it up I had my first lesson. The owner teaches a lot of classes on a variety of levels of machines and in a variety of needle arts. She has taught classes on my first love, the Sweater Machine, and told me I should be very proud if I was able to turn out projects. My first lesson on my new love (no, I am not fickle, I just love them all) was to get me used to the machine set-up and get me over any fear of the machine and the usage of it and the yarn.

I just get all warm inside when I think about it! I even bought a very cool metal case that looks like I'm carrying a rifle--so very American of me to appear to be "carrying." :-)

Skimmer's Recap: Julie got a cool new toy. See Julie smile.

Skimmin' the recap.

2010-06-10T10:21:00.000-07:00

Seriously? Two weeks since I last posted anything? Good grief. So much for my thoughts of consistency. Oh well, that's usually how consistency works out for me.

SO--Skimmer's Recap of the past two weeks:

The back garden hummingbird nest has gone from this--

^ to this ! ^

My good friend went from bearer of a large red ball

to the bearer of this beautiful baby boy (how's that for alliteration?) And i got to love on this little lovely! (i just can't stop!)

i had a mini vacation all by myself in the beautiful breezy back garden in Sunday's warm weather--i lounged on the new cushion of my lounge chair, soaked up the sun, and listened to the birds, the windchimes, and the "shoosh"ing sound of the poplar leaves.

Some of the new plants are growing beautifully,

while some of them? Not so much.

But that's just life, right? Some of it is full of joy and amazement,
while parts of life carry only the best of intentions
that didn't work out after all.

Pretty sure my care of this plant is in that last category.
But then the next day comes along and i get to start
fresh again. Plus i can always go buy a new plant. ;-)

Back garden wonders: the hummingbird nest!

2010-05-28T19:53:00.000-07:00

Last year in July, Dean finally got the camera he'd been lusting after forever, a Canon EOS Rebel T1i. The first pictures we took were of the hummingbird nest in our backyard poplar tree. At Christmas i actually managed to surprise him with a very cool telephoto lens. The first pictures i've taken with the telephoto lens have been of the mommy hummingbird in this year's nest! i was so happy to find her back again.

On eating large.

2010-05-24T13:41:00.000-07:00

the majestic lion, sleeping off his dinner of fresh gazelle.

Did you know that calorie counters abound on the good ol' www? Do you also know you should not use one when eating at a Texas Roadhouse restaurant?

I, of course, during my current obsession with calories, have the calorie counter from Livestrong.com installed on my iPhone. A good portion of the restaurant's menu pops up in their database. And it scares this current counter. "WHAT??! ONE ROLL HAS HOW MANY CALORIES??" (And this after i had just eaten the second tasty fluff of carbohydrate.)

My husband suggested that perhaps I should not look at the database or my meal would be spoiled. But no, for me it was much more like driving by an accident and you don't want to look but you do anyway--what I believe is called "morbid fascination."

As the food arrived I couldn't help but notice that at home I use platters smaller than their plates. I looked around me at couples and families in the neighboring booths. . .they must eat there a lot. I am no dainty princess of a woman, and yet I felt, well, small.

Surrounded by folks who were leaning protectively over their plates to eat like one of those nature shows where the beautiful gazelle is being torn into bloody bits by a lion, i thought, "Are we being secretly filmed for one of those documentaries called 'Obesity in America'?? Have I been placed in the fat room?"

Heck no, I have no issues around my size or food ...

Oh, side note: I have a friend with celiac disease. She is unable to eat at Texas Roadhouse, because everything has some form of wheat in it! Even the steaks have seasonings containing wheat. Bad news.

Skimmer's Recap: Texas Roadhouse--bad for people with grain allergies, bad for dieters. But tasty. Very, very tasty.

Fret Free Friday

2010-05-21T08:30:00.000-07:00

My brain has gone blank frequently these days, therefore I am declaring today a Fret Free Friday and putting something up I wrote a couple of years ago. Besides, I like this post!

Apricot Thoughts.

The bible verse that kept me going during my recent Fentanyl withdrawal experiment was the one about the vine and the branch, where Jesus says, "I am the vine and you are the branch. If anyone remains in me and I in them, he will bear much fruit. Without me you can do nothing." (That's a loose-ish paraphrase of John 15:5.) While i was feeling so detached from life i needed to feel attached still to my Creator, so i would repeat it but from my end of it: "You are my vine, i am your branch." It's yet another version of something i've said to God in the past while going through what seemed an impossible situation: "i may not be able to see You right now, but i will not turn my back on You."

You see, i remain aware of His thoughts toward me, and his persistence in loving me even when i don't seem to be able to carry off my end of the deal. Sometimes simply voicing that desire for connection with God has helped me hold on.

Anyway, later in reading a random bible verse i read something written by the apostle Paul to the Christians in Colosse, "Let your roots grow down into Him and draw up nourishment from Him so you will grow in faith, strong and vigorous in the truth you were taught." (Colossians 2:7.) These thoughts meshed for me. i choose to remain attached to the vine that is Jesus, and that is because i will then stay rooted to the source of nourishment, and will stay strong.

Recently i picked apricots from my daughter's tree with the help of her two girls, Haley and Cassidy. A few branches here and there had been broken away at their place of connection to the bigger tree. The only apricots they held were stunted and dried up, inedible. Other branches were heavy with apricots, growing vigorously from their solid connection to the tree, and were ripe and plump and beautifully colored.

Even i get the visual there--remaining strongly rooted to the source of nutrients grows plentiful, enjoyable fruit. The interruptions of life that we may let break us away from the tree causes dryness and immaturity of fruit.

Good stuff.

Skimmer's recap (and no, hubby of mine, i cannot set this blog up to send you only the skimmer section, sorry--): Attached to the tree= healthy growth. Not attached=little growth if any growth at all.

Fibromyalgia and the "D" word: Diet.

2010-05-20T16:59:00.000-07:00

Lately I've read some articles that serve to give me firm excuses for my lack of a model body (well, that does depend on model of what.) Such as, hormonal imbalances are common in fibromyalgia, and those generally cause weight gain. (Yup, I've got those.) Many of the medications used to treat fibromyalgia cause weight gain. (Yup, I take those.) Plus there's that whole "seriously I'm this exhausted 24/7 and you want me to do aerobic exercise??" (And yes, I LIVE there.) Excuses? I collect those with the same diligence I use to explore all the chocolates of the world.

Actually, the fibromyalgia comes way after the issues of poundage. I've struggled pretty much since birth with the F word and the D word--you know, Fat and Diet. What'd you think I meant?

My sister and I had a long conversation recently where I laughed about the many many diets I've tried over these 56 years of life: in elementary years I ate a million carrots. As I grew older I simply became more sophisticated about it, instead trying the "don't eat in front of people" diet because I felt like skinny people would be judging me, before I moved on to the ever-popular grapefruit diet of the 70s. (Still can't look one o' them buggers in the eye.) I soon went through the Atkins and McDougall's of the diet world, and let me tell you, pork rinds are not the same as barbecue potato chips, and there is no all-vegetable substitute for cheese! I've eaten tiny portions with tiny utensils, I convinced myself for years that I didn't like chips. I've read Dr. Phil's solutions and those of 25 hundred other people, all guaranteed to be "The One." I've eaten enough lettuce to choke a rabbit and enough seeds to sprout like a Chia Pet. To which my sister responded, "I've never been on a diet."

I hate her. I mean, I love her but--

Okay, she too is overweight. But she hasn't spent what seems like an eternity wasting her energy and money on all this dieting silliness of mine. Is it just my way of saying, "hey, I'm trying!"? I'm sure that if I was thin, I would obsess about something else--maybe that people teased me about being skinny (sorry, not feelin' you skinny folks out there--it's been my lifelong dream to have someone be able to call me "skinny.")

I can at least feel good about my efforts to support the economy--all those books and magazines and cookbooks about diets, and that gym membership I have somewhere--?? If I ever decide to return, I'm going to need to call somebody to remind me where it's located.

Skimmer's Recap: Feeling whiny, and you're here to complain at. What about it?!!

A day late and a dollar short: Mother memories.

2010-05-14T08:14:00.000-07:00

I admit it. I am not the best cook in the world--and it's not even that I think I couldn't be a good cook, I would just need to *care* about cooking. Not my favorite.

We used to tease my mother about her cooking, that she would get frostbite from purchasing most of our dinners in the frozen food section of the store. Heck, until I was an adult I didn't know you could make spaghetti without cans or boxes.

But she pulled off some good meals. Her Sunday pot roast with potatoes and carrots? Oh so good. Rich in taste and comfort-food satisfaction. Her pork chops on the other hand? They could have been used as food for the space program, they were so devoid of moisture. Throw one in a baggy and you had a "just add water" meal.

She was creative, and I've followed in those footsteps. Again, and maybe I was just a particularly stupid kid, it didn't occur to me that people bought new couches. I was always fascinated to see the new slipcovers my mother would make for our furniture when she created a new look for the living room.

She loved to write, so do I.

There are similarities between us, something I do think about around Mother's Day. As the years pass, I'm more easily able to see those and not just the emotional unavailability, or the hot temper, or the crazy-making responses to life. I'm becoming more able to put all the hurtful letters she'd sent into their own place in my brain, and the memories of her laughing into another. I'm learning to hold the pleasant days my family spent with her as precious hand-me-downs, while boxing up her anger and accusations into their own separate closet. It's a process.

One I'm working on.

Thoughts on a book: "Thin Places" by Mary DeMuth

2010-05-12T09:08:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I woke early, reaching for the next book waiting on my bedside table, "Thin Places" by Mary E. DeMuth. Nearly 4 hours later I put it down--finished. What kept me reading?

The idea of Thin Places is the times in your life where the membrane between earth and God are stretched so thin you can see God more easily. These places in Mary's life were during the more soul-wrenching parts: being abused as a 5 year old, seeing father after father removed from her life, dealing with the sense of loneliness that came from being "in the way." She explains how these things carry on into adult life, as we all are made up of our old experiences and beliefs.

My own childhood home was a place of chaos, so I'm always curious how others dealt with that. In Mary's story she is quick to show where God made something good out of the darkness of her life, so I was left with a sense of hope, not depression. I am another person who travels the road of actions based on old pain, so I related to much she had to say.

I was immediately caught up in the flow of her words, as her prose has a comfortably poetic phrasing. She is honest, she shares the rawness of life--but there is no self-pity in her recounting of pain, and much can be learned simply from that.

Personally, i loved the book. It was like a 4 hour sit-down over coffee with a good friend.

Fun with calories.

2010-05-10T17:29:00.000-07:00

Obsessing over weight again. i think this cartoon says it all.

When nature disturbs, AKA "Brought to you by the letter 'B'"

2010-05-07T11:13:00.000-07:00

Does this look like the face of a killer?

One week ago Barnaby, all 12 pounds of him, joined us for lunch. We were having pizza and he brought something into the bed next to hubby's chair to eat. Hubby looked down, looked at son, asked "Is that what I think it is?" and stood up. Son looks down and says, "Yes, I think so."

While being interviewed later by his mother, son said, "I looked down and all I could see was skinny little bird legs." Barnaby had caught a bird for lunch. Apparently if not offered pizza, he will simply BYOB--Bring Your (his) Own Bird. Good to know.

I was disturbed by this event. Our little blue-eyed boy catching a bird? I am not used to him chasing anything larger than a spider or fly, and baby birds are too cute to kill. (I do not share the same opinion of any age of spider, fly, or ant.) Later i realized there was a nest in a bottle-brush bush that overhangs our fence. How did I notice this? When the next baby bird was being chased by our dog Blue.

And again I ask, is this the face of a killer?------->
I think not, he appears innocent enough, but apparently the call of nature is stronger than me screaming "DROP THE BIRD!! DROP THE BIRD!" loud enough for neighbors in a six block radius to hear.

At least he didn't bring his to the lunch table. Or get a chance to snack on its feathery delights.

That was the point where I realized the mama and papa birds were hanging out on the fence top cheeping their baby on--"Come on! You can do it! Fly Freddie, fly! Uh oh."

Thoughts on a book: "A Distant Melody" by Sarah Sundin

2010-04-28T22:18:00.000-07:00

Remember when i said "I'll say more on the book once I do more than just put it on my bedside table"? Yeh, back on that page. I just finished reading it today.

I have to admit I got hooked on the story. I'm not the greatest romantic, I don't tend to pick up books of couples gazing into each others eyes, and I definitely don't pick up books with a World War II airplane for background to previously mentioned adoring couple. Usually I'm the one hunting in corners for books about dysfunctional families, or books where if I could just once make it past chapter 5 might Change My Life Forever.

Let's face it: in the last few years mostly I'm looking for a home decorating magazine I haven't seen already.

But I loved it! Author Sarah Sundin is a new friend from the writers conference I recently attended at Mount Hermon near Santa Cruz, California. She was just so sweet and welcoming I decided that whatever she wrote I was buying and having her sign, like the little admiring newbie writer I am. (Imagine my relief on finding she wasn't writing a 12 part series called "Fun With Higher Mathematics." Phew.)

"A Distant Melody" has a great cast of characters. The story revolves around a wealthy young woman and the correspondence she carries on with a young pilot during World War II. As a young woman who has grown up under the weight of her parents expectations, how does she find the path to become the woman she would like to be?

I don't normally write book reviews, but I wanted to share what I appreciate about Sarah's writing: she writes approachable, imperfect characters, who have flaws, a sense of humor, and don't have all the answers. After all, aren't imperfections and struggles things we as humans can absolutely relate to?

If you're looking for a bodice ripper you won't find any heaving bosoms here. But if you're looking for a storyline you can sink your teeth into with characters like the flawed folks you probably know, you're in the right place. Sarah writes substance, not just hormones.

I'm a fan of substance and good storytelling, and Sarah gave me both. Thanks, Sarah!

By the way, "A Distant Melody" is Book One in her "Wings of Glory" series.

Skimmer's recap: Book, romance, history, I liked it.

The surprises of the dirt in springtime.

2010-04-26T17:54:00.000-07:00

It's so fun the first time i go dig in the backyard dirt. i glance at the flower beds and wonder, "hmm...how many things have i not planted that are now growing?"

Yes! The purple lantana! This was definitely the outcome of purposeful planting.

But this? It looks healthy, but no, i don't remember planting it.

This is a decorative lavender, not the tea-making kind, but i did plant this--

but no, not this huge fall of ivy. It's a volunteer from the back neighbor's yard. At least it's pretty.

Quite purposeful planting! This is a California native--the Carmel Creeper plant. Lovely blossoms, and it comes in two different types: the upright and the ground cover. This one is the upright, i think. But yes, most purposefully planted.

This one, up close and personal with the Carmel Creeper? Don't know what this is--but i know i didn't plant it. And there are lots of these sprinkled around ...hmmm... well, it's kind of pretty.

i really love this one! i can't remember what it's called, but it grows beautiful little blossoms. Purposeful little blossoms. And then--

my sweet geraniums with their cute little pink and white faces, purchased at the Half Moon Bay Nursery. i love geraniums, they just grow and grow, even when i plant them.

But again with this one? Why? And scattered along the whole bed! Volunteer soldiers, standing up so straight and proud, ready to overthrow my plants.

And i think i'm quite happy with this, because i'm fairly sure i did plant it, and it's a lilac bush that started out a teensy-tiny thing a few years ago. When it blooms i'll know if i'm right.

But this??? OH it's the bane of my existence--oxalis. Impossible to kill, it covers every available dirt spot on our property after the first rains. At least the yellow flowers are pretty for a time.

This is lovely--and it fits both the volunteer and purposeful status in my yard. When i planted it against the back fence it was a bulb i had dug up from the yard, and i thought it was a white calla lily. BUT! turns out it was a volunteer bulb with glorious orange flowers, and its bloomed twice this year already.

And here is where i THOUGHT i dug out all the bulbs of that orange flower! Happy to volunteer. And i still don't know where they came from.

Here's an especially healthy volunteer Mongo dandelion. Some of the non-purposeful plants are the biggest thrivers. One more:

Did i plant this? No. But it grows over the fence from the neighbor's yard, the hummingbirds love it, so i do too. Plus it's red. i love red.

With all the emphasis on nature and all things "green" the question arises: should i disturb the volunteer plants in the garden-y, forest-floor-y dirt? Apparently not--

If i do? The ants get all crazy and start running around with their little eggs

and the bees get all buzzy around my head. And there was a snake--i swear there was a snake! And who am i to bother them, after all they are just doing garden-y, forest-floor-y things, and who am i to distract them from their content creeping, crawling, buzzing little lives?

Especially the snake. i really want the snake to be happy. And i want all the livestock of nature to leave me alone.

On my efforts to have a pain medication "fast."

2010-04-23T08:30:00.000-07:00

And who is our favorite Vicodin abusing TV doctor? Why, Dr. Gregory House, that's who! Clearly it makes HIM a happy camper.

So why would this fibromyalgic blogger decide to be UNhappy? Maybe she's tired of being tired and foggy. Maybe she thinks that if she can rid her body of the Aleve, Vicodin, Motrin and Percocet, she can ascertain which are fibro symptoms and which are pain reliever symptoms. And which is worse?

Don't get me wrong--i did not quit taking the Cymbalta my doctor prescribed. i'm not crazy. You've probably seen it advertised, that depressing depression commercial (think "Who does depression hurt? Everybody," and lots of pictures of sad looking people. They need an ad for "Who does fibromyalgia hurt? EVERYBODY ELSE," with at least one picture of me scowling.)

The premise of the moment for fibromyalgia is extra "Substance P" in the spinal column that in turn makes the person's central nervous system waaaay more sensitive than it should be. This makes the pain feel like it's screaming for attention when it should be only mildly grumpy.

i've not had the pleasure (?) of abusing my pain meds like House by taking them 4 at a time countless times a day. i've used the Vicodin at the same dose prescribed to me two years ago by the doctor at Kaiser's Pain Management Clinic. And i'm not gonna lie: when that pain reliever washes over, what a relief it is.

i've tried Motrin. Aleve. Percocet as well as Vicodin. And while they all lessen my pain level, they do bad things for all other levels in my life--my stomach goes to a dark place, my creative abilities follow. My emotions are even more touchy than before. None of these do i desire.

It's been, thus far, a 2 week fast. i'm making good friends with the hand-me-down hot-tub again. The only downside to it is my proactivity with the chemicals has made it smell like a public pool (minus the urine.)

We shall see how it goes.

Skimmer's recap: Will fewer pain meds lead to more pain or simply more sanity?

Knitting and driving adventures with Martha.

2010-04-21T08:00:00.000-07:00

Martha, my husband's sister, stayed with us over the Christmas holiday. We decided to have our very own Local Yarn Store "hop." She's in a knitting guild, Creative H'Arts, in the Monterey area and does this sort of thing on a regular basis. i, the Self-Made Knitter of Easy Projects Only, live in my sheltered non-guild, non-hopping world. So we decided to have an adventure.

That Yarn Store in Dublin, CA. *happy sigh*

We started with my new favorite yarn store, That Yarn Store in Dublin, CA. Unfortunately they were closed. Bummer. But there's a great Chinese restaurant in the same shopping center, so all was not a loss. It's a friendly place with a welcoming atmosphere where generally someone is sitting at that big, black table as you enter, working on a knitting project. It just feels good to me, yunno?

On we went, armed with my iPhone's map capabilities--i love watching where we are on the map as we travel (but no, NOT when i am the driver!) So we headed to Piedmont Avenue in Oakland, CA, just blocks from where my daughter used to live. A street lined with small boutiques and several coffee shops, it's my perfect shopping zone. It's also the location of

Piedmont Yarn and Apparel, a small shop packed with yarn goodness--as soon as we walked in i was invited to feel the yarns. (Unlike a yarn shop Martha and i once went into where the lady said "don't touch it unless you're buying it." Hmm.) For we yarn folk, feeling it is a big part of the yarn experience, so i knew this place had to be good!

Piedmont Yarn and Apparel--small but mighty!

Gaylord's, where the coffee is tasty AND artistic!

We finished off the visit by crossing the street to Gaylord's coffee where the condiments counter is a glass enclosed organ. Plus the coffee is so good there--forget Starbucks, forget Peets, this place is great.

With our coffees in hand we returned to the car to find a parking ticket on the windshield. Hmmm--apparently even on the street you have to pay for parking. Good to know. Woulda been better to know sooner. Oh well, it was Martha's car. ;-) Sorry Martha!

i love this photo from "Cartoon Barry" on his blog--If it snowed in the East Bay of California, the Piedmont/Oakland police would totally do this.

Now to Article Pract, a yarn store on Telegraph Avenue in Oakland. Strange name, yes, but i just read on their website that it is a "spoonerism" where the beginnings of two words are switched. So i still don't get it. If i actually knew what "hip" meant, i'd say this yarn store is.

Cool logo, eh?

Again, friendly service was obvious. i eavesdropped on a worker helping a 20-something guy pick a gift for his girlfriend "to show I'm aware of and interested in what she likes." i was impressed by both the staff person but by this gift buying guy. i had to ask--"how old are you?" "Twenty-eight," he said, managing to hide whatever he might be feeling about some random strange woman asking him personal questions. "Ah!" i said, "then there is hope for my son--" The staff person piped in, "Yeh, about 28 is when they start getting human," (she looked to be about his age herself.) The guy looked back at me and said, "Yep, you should have seen what I got her last year--a bowling ball and a refrigerator." See why i eavesdrop and talk to strangers? Most of my family and friends don't get it, but i love it.

Names have a "feel" for me. While there i bought two skeins of Aztec Turquoise Lamb's Pride Bulky made by Brown Sheep Company, Inc. My mind hears that whole name and sees a couple of solid and sturdy sheep standing proudly on a hilltop--one is brown (obviously,) and one is an extra chubby turquoise sheep. It's a yarn that brings a comfortable and practical feeling.

Lovely.

Next stop, off Solano Avenue in Berkeley to a cute little yarn shop named Stash. Immediately a young lady greeted us at the door to explain their method of organization. All yarn was shelved counter-clockwise around the store starting with the skinny little lace weights and sock weights that people (with more patience than me) use, to the heaviest of yarns that looked more to me like pretty rope.

i bought some bright lime green yarn and watched it go from a hank of yarn (a loosely twisted oblong) to a neat center pull ball. From swift to ball winder, all words i am learning these days. "Non-returnable when wound," they all say, but it could be worth it just to see it done. i am easily fascinated.

Two women sat behind the counter working on projects of tiny yarns on tiny needles that i avoid, chatting pleasantly with the shoppers. i watched in awe as one young woman deftly knit a thread-like yarn into a lace patterned shawl, talking and walking at the same time. There is no way to know what i would end up with if i attempted that level of multi-tasking.

It was now pouring rain, but we were still able to find the next yarn store-- K2Tog. (Knit two together, in knit-speak.) Less than a mile down the road, it was in Albany, not Berkeley. i don't know why that makes me laugh, but it does. (Again with the "easily amused.") By this time we were tired, so i took a quick trip around the store and bought a nubby olive green yarn for a hat pattern.

Seriously, if you're not into knitting or crocheting, this is a big *yawn* of a post. But for the fiber-addicts like Martha and me? A beautiful day in the neighborhood.

Skimmer's recap: Does yarn make you yawn? Skip this and take a nap instead.

Seasonal thoughts on change.

2010-04-19T07:30:00.000-07:00

Something happens over the winter. And it happens in my back yard.

i call it "nastification." All the remains of the wet season lay around like so many Thanksgiving leftovers. Weeds crop up in even the tiniest crack.

Everywhere i look something needs to be cleaned.

And who left the tools outside? If this was somebody else's moss-growing garage and somebody else's ruined tools, i'd think the photo was charming.

But then i look up to see new leaves on the poplar tree, bathing in the sun, doing that cool light-play i love so much.

And i notice my orange rosebush has amazing blooms, and even more amazingly, is still alive (no green-thumbs here, just California weather)

and my crawling, spreading white rose is crazy with new leaves and buds!

Color is returning as the geraniums are beginning to grow over the wall, making even the winter-mossed stones beautiful

and i realize that nastification is simply the result of the death it took to get to this place of new life.And i realize that all my striving to be good enough for spring requires death.

Death to my own struggle to be loveable and good enough in my Creator's eyes, and open-ness to the beauty and love and worth He's given me before i did anything to be loveable, to be good enough.

Why do i worry so much about being shiny enough? i can work and fall, work and fall. But my true worth doesn't come from the things i try to do to be lovable, or to be perfect. As i learn to turn my words of pain to God first--rather than griping to people--i'm taking steps to see myself through His eyes. The newness comes in its season. i just need to stop grumbling about the weeds on the ground and look up.

1 John 4:10: It is not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his son as a sacrifice to take away our sins.

Romans 5:8: But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Skimmer's recap: Look at the pictures, read the verses, ponder.

An interesting study on cleaning in which i learn things about myself.

2010-04-16T19:24:00.000-07:00

i decided to do some cleaning of all the stuff by my bed. This is what was on the bedside table top. A little fantasy reading--and i don't mean the novel,

i mean the magazines with articles on losing weight (easily, of course!) and getting organized.

"A Distant Melody" is Sarah Sundin's first book. She was one of the first people i met at Mount Hermon, and she put me at ease immediately with her welcoming smile. It's my next-to-read, and has gotten amazing reviews. i'm sure i'll love it as much as everyone else has, and can look forward to the next two books coming in the series. i'll write again once i've done more than simply place it on my bedside table. :-)

The lovely spread of it all? Totally and absolutely for your viewing pleasure--since you wouldn't be able to see them in their normal jumble.

The process of cleaning rarely leaves me happy (unless it's cleaning in the "Will work for praise" style.) But books! i found more books! i've been stashing them in a basket under the night table as i've collected them. My friend Melanie reads a lot and loans the ones to me she thinks i'll like. It's kind of like having the library just drop by my house with fun surprises.

Anyway, she brings them, i pick them up at thrift stores and garage sales, and i get some in the mail because i support New Life Ministries.

Unfortunately, 2009 was not the happiest and best year in the Elder household due to job changes and layoffs and job searches and rehires, not to mention my constant companion fibromyalgia. So i didn't read much. Now i have not only the books i bought from writers at Mount Hermon and other places, but i have these to add to the Collection Of the Unread But Not Unloved.

Looking over the titles i'd say i have a pretty wide range of tastes, again the usual mix of fiction, fantasy and hope. By "hope" i mean all the titles i pick up because i hope they'll give me some edge on life or organization or becoming fabulously fit by 50 (oops! too late. Make that 60.) These books usually fit under the "fantasy" heading as well.

Of course the odd title just appeals to me, as in Carrie Fisher's "Wishful Drinking." i'm looking forward to it since i love and own the movie "Postcards From the Edge," based on her life.

i now have 42 books to read. Better get myself started. This was a happy cleaning moment.

Skimmer's recap: Yep, i got a lotta books.

Busy April!!

2010-04-14T15:35:00.000-07:00

April is a busy birthday month for our family. We started out celebrating Dean's birthday at Pyzano's, a local and excellent pizza place. Various among us tried to channel the birthday boy's mustache--although we should have added some pizza flour to make the color more realistic.

i think i look totally natural, personally--

though grandson Trevor looks pretty darn Mario-like in it. (i can hear the music playing now!)

Granddaughter Haley definitely gets the "cutest girl in a 'stache" vote.

Below is Cori and Luis' place--i love it! (Plus they're much tidier than i have ever been.) It's a Craftsman bungalow with built-ins, like the china cabinet you can see behind the table. The tablecloth is an old one from my side of the family and looks perfect in their place on the antique table they bought when they moved in.

Why the photos? This lovely meal was cooked by Cori and Luis for Luis' 30th birthday celebration. And have i mentioned (a million times, maybe?) that he's the executive chef for Mamacita, an upscale Mexican restaurant in San Francisco?

It was great--chicken breasts (from quite well-endowed chickens,) asparagus risotto, and an arugula and strawberry salad. Mmmmm. Topped off by a chocolate cake. And good wine. Here's to many more of their birthdays where they cook!!

Then we moved onto Jarel's 22nd birthday--

This is Jarel with friend David, horsing around at his birthday breakfast. He had a great party with a lot of his friends at the house, and an adorable dinosaur cake from Costco that his mommy picked out. :-)

Somewhere in the midst of all this, the Danville Grandgirls took me on a whirlwind shopping and bowling tour. i was consistently 6 steps behind--Cassidy almost left the shoe store with two different size shoes (way to go Grandma!) but we were saved by the observant clerk.

Grandma again experienced being more steps behind as i was beat by Haley in two consecutive games, topped off by a boy about Haley's age who was there with his family, asking my 12 year old granddaughter for her phone number without me noticing. Let's just say Grandma is out of practice!

skimmer's recap: Just look at the pictures. Close enough.

OH! How could i have forgotten to mention the birthday of GrandBrit Elias tomorrow? He's 7!

Notes on a writers conference and a book, "Love's Compass."

2010-03-31T21:47:00.000-07:00

Freshly back from Mount Hermon's Christian Writers Conference, my stack of books to read is growing.

The Keith Green book is a reference to one of my favorite worship moments of the conference--the whole group of editors, publishers and writers, all singing a Keith Green song, and it was right there in the hymnal! i love Keith Green songs. i love Keith Green. He was becoming known in the early years of my marriage (about a hundred years back.) As soon as i heard him sing and play piano, i was a fan of his heart.

The "make your own travel mug" was purchased at Mount Hermon so i can line it with the business cards of people i met at the conference and want to pray for. That way the coffee can travel to my desk and remind me to pray.

The flashlight is the one i took to use in the very dark nights of the conference but forgot to ever take out of the room.

i think i'll tell you about the stack as i read through it. i've already read most of Angus Nelson's "Love's Compass: When We've Lost Our Way." It's a compellingly told story of how God can redeem even the most messed up man on the planet, the self-admitted "Man Whore."

WHAT did i just say there? Yup. Angus appears to be the poster child for "looking for love in all the wrong places." He writes, he speaks for groups, and he's a sweet guy. And though the topic speaks to the self-destructive way people often deal with relationships, the principle applies to much more.

It applies to me. I've spent years looking for someone to fill that role of nurturing mother. i just wanted someone to believe in me and not think i was a failure, think that i might be "good enough." i looked to my earthly mother, but she wasn't really capable of unconditional love and acceptance due to her own issues. When i was less than 5, my thyroid quit working. i became a round little ball of a girl. i remember walking around the house eating carrots, carrots, carrots, trying to lose weight, My mother would tell me that too much of anything was bad--look at horses, they eat carrots and look how big THEY are. Even apples. Pigs eat apples, and look how FAT they are.

My mother got me into a doctor to get treated--by the time i was in high school i was taller and reasonably lean. When not lean enough for my mother, she had her doctor prescribe me diet pills, as in amphetamines. When i had pneumonia with a 104 degree fever during Spring break of my senior year and lost 10 pounds, i remember standing in front of the mirror. "Dang, maybe i can barely stand up, but just prop me in front of the mirror!"

i weighed 115 pounds.

It's been a constant theme in my head ever since. Haven't managed to shake the feeling of failure. i think i have worked it through, but no. A casual word said and i'm a 6 year old trying to lose weight and failing again.

We look for love in many places that can't provide. Only our Creator God can love us like we need.

Anyway, read the book. It's good.

Skimmer's recap: went to conference. Met people. Bought books. Read most of one.

The New Year.

2010-03-10T10:37:00.000-08:00

i thought perhaps a good way to start the new year and begin to post again (thanks to Marilyn for her sweet encouragement in her Christmas card) would be for Julia to interview julie. (Both me. Really.)

Julia: So, any brilliant thoughts to start us on this new year of possibilities?

julie: You mean now that it's March?

Julia: Well, right--but it's taken us this long to start much of anything.

julie: True, but no, not really. Oh! Can i talk about last year?

Julia: Okay--what about last year?

julie: i don't want to talk about it.

Julia: Uh--

julie: Well, it was a bit of a stinky year--dear hubby retired from United after 34 years, thank you very much, BUT he only retired to start a new job with the Port of Oakland doing the same thing.

Julia: But that sounds great!

julie: HellOO--you DO remember he then was laid off? Out of seniority? And had to find a new job? And--

Julia: (whispering) of course I remember--I'm just pretending for the sake of the interview--

julie: OH! Right! Haha. SO, Julia, to tell you the rest of the story (wink) he found a job after 2 months, and that was pretty amazing, and then his good friend worked with the union to prove the Port messed up and got him his job back. So he went back to work there.

Julia: i see--and how is that?

julie: He really likes it. Plus he passed probation while he wasn't even working there. How great is that?

Julia: That is good. Anything else?

julie: Well, daughter Cori and her executive chef hubby Luis stayed with us for several months so they could save up money and pay stuff off. But he didn't cook at home, really. Super sad stuff, that.

Julia: Anything other thoughts on 2009?

julie: OH! OH! Yes! i had the perfect storm of a birthday! It was on 09-09-09. How cool is that?! Plus, i started buying matching hangers for all my clothes and changing them over. It's gonna revolutionize my closet!

Julia: How, exactly?

julie: It's gonna look awesome every time i go in there!

Julia: Ah. Well, have you thought of anything to tell us about the year we are in now?

julie: OH! OH! i get to go to the Mt. Hermon Christian Writer's Conference soon-- Something like 6 days of no cooking or cleaning!

Julia: Now that DOES sound exciting. Do you have anything in particular you're trying to get published, any goal in mind?

julie: Not yet. But it's, like, 6 days of no cooking or cleaning!

Julia: I don't think we can top that, so I think we're done, our dear 3 readers, until next time.

julie: 6 whole days!

Julia: We're done.

My energy drain on fibromyalgia.

2009-07-31T09:52:00.000-07:00

The fatigue of fibromyalgia is like an old battery.

When the day begins, my battery is already half expended. No amount of caffeinated beverage is going to get that bad boy back to fully charged.

Fascinating to me are the things in my day that drain it. Take yesterday, for example. The evening before i'd had a massage. aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh. Yesterday morning i woke up and was an hour into my morning when i realized "HEY! i don't hurt!" Usually my first waking thought is "go get a pill for pain." And i didn't need one. How richly bizarre.

So i went on my way--a doctor's appointment, copy some papers and drop them off for a different doctor, refill a prescription, go get my eyebrows done (a necessity, trust me.) A little lunch, maybe a quick wander through a furniture consignment store. i really should stop at Target and pick up some cleaning supplies...

However, i've hit my wall. i'm fully in pain again. Plus these 3 hours of driving/thinking/doing have spent the battery. i must lay down now, and if i go to Target i will end up laying in the aisle.

Each and every thing done in a day causes a drain, not unlike any other person on the planet. The bugger of it all is that the battery started out the day half used. i have to keep a watchful eye on the battery gauge for that danger zone flag. Again, like the oversensitive screaming girl in your face pain, the battery gauge is oh so oversensitive. What?? Didn't stop shopping at the first signs of fatigue? Energy shortage for 3 days! What?? Had a great day out of the house? Down for a week!

It's a baffling, mystifying, annoying thing, this off-brand, previously-owned battery of the person with fibromyalgia. It never fully recharges. Some things may be found to help--given the nature of fibromyalgia, each person with it has their own unique stack of problems. For some, finding their food allergies and avoiding those helps. For others with more will-power than i, exercising is great. i want to use my half expended battery on the fun things! If only i could see exercise as fun.

i'd be glad to abuse some Ritalyn if it would help, but my doctors think i'm kidding when i suggest it.

My body on fibromyalgia Part 2.

2009-07-24T10:40:00.000-07:00

i have burned my back with the heating pad, not quite this seriously--who knew those clasps on my, um, "Support The Girls" apparatus could get so stinkin' hot?

In the interest of illustrating the "screaming girl" analogy of my previous post, thought i'd share this.

Doing laundry. Every so often it's necessary to wash all those little rugs that hang out at doors and sinks. i have a clothesline out back for our lovely California days, a perfect place to hang all the little lovelies.

Rug One--sure, a bit heavy after the washer. Reach up to clothespin it to stay put on the line--if i don't and it drops, one of the doxies running around our house and yard will either eat it or pee on it.

Rug Two--reach up with it, ooh--arms from shoulder to fingertips are feeling it. And it isn't a question of strength, the actual muscle strength is there, no, it's those naughty screaming nerves.

Rug Three--begin to reach up to the line and OOH! a pulsating heat blasts between fingertips and shoulders. Arms begin to shake. Muscles feel exhausted, like i've just finished 15 pull-ups instead of hanging two small rugs.

Rest, repeat.

Not complaining, simply illustrating. Fibro is a weird thing indeed.

And this is my body on fibromyalgia--

2009-07-20T22:45:00.000-07:00

i think i've found a way to help my 21 year old son understand fibromyalgia.

It was all because of a conversation. One of the million or so we've had on the subject since i was diagnosed about 4 years ago. i understand it doesn't "show." All limbs are apparently still connected. i don't walk with a limp. But we've been going through this for some time now. FOUR YEARS. Roughly.

He was trying to explain to me how there were things i could do. What exactly? i questioned politely. Well, he said, if you just push harder at things then you get better and better at them. (i believe exercise was the subject matter--the skinny little high metabolism can eat anything and everything and never gain an ounce punk of a guy.)

This is where you are wrong, i say calmly (for how i felt, at least.) Think of it this way, i say.

The reason having fibromyalgia is as painful as it is comes from the actions of the central nervous system. You see, IT thinks i am in much more pain than i should be for the amount of effort my body has made. The nerves are over-sensitive. NOW: picture a girl. An angry, emotional girl. Because she over-reacts to things with sobs or anger, you do this one little thing, she over-reacts, and before you can blink she is screaming in your face. This is what my nerves do on fibromyalgia--i do one little thing, they over-react. A little of what seems normal movement causes screaming in my muscles and such. The next time i say "i hurt" i want you to remember that hysterical girl screaming in your face. THAT is my body on fibromyalgia.

Does he "get" it yet? i can't know for sure, or if he ever truly will.

And this doesn't even touch the brain or emotional issues involved.

But you can just bet i will tell both him and you about those as soon as i can think of a good way to explain. Trust me.

A book and a latte. Doesn't get much better.

2009-07-11T00:38:00.001-07:00

Wow--it's been a while since i've been here. Feels like i need to have a look around and see if anything has changed--nope, that dirty coffee cup is still here since March. . .

Sometimes i wake up from a dream where i am running, easily and freely. Last night was one of those times. In my dream i was wearing sweats and running shoes, bounding weightlessly around a track. It felt great. No pain, no fatigue sitting on me like a rhino. And then i woke up.

Coming out of that dream, waking up to the real physical me didn't feel so great. i ached from the top of my head out to my fingertips and down to my feet. i was exhausted, even though i had slept. i just wanted to go back to bed.

i had a lovely day on Monday--i rode BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) with son Jarel over to San Francisco, where he went to jury duty and i went shopping. The Westfield Mall, one short stop from Jarel's jury duty, is a wondrous place--circular escalators rising through floor upon floor of *SHOPPING*. . . my kind of Disneyland ride! Because we were in the city early i took my book to a cafe with mosaic tables and huge crystal chandeliers, bought a latte in one of those oversized soup bowl cups, and read till the stores opened. Lovely. Relaxing. A mini vacation. i could see out into the mall itself with its huge spaces of comfortable seating, natural light streaming down from an ornate domed skylight. It was one of those amazing days of clear sunlight, no fog. The kind of day that makes my heart go "Ahhhhh."

Every day since i have hurt. The annoying achiness and fatigue of the flu that leaves you wanting to cuddle up with a cup of tea and just feel sorry for yourself. But it isn't the flu, it's that *interruption* of fibromyalgia.

i recognize that in this world full of cancers and starving children and job loss and home loss, fibromyalgia isn't the worst thing i could have happening to me. i used to joke at the beginning of this fibro exploration, "The good thing about fibromyalgia is it doesn't kill you. And the bad thing about fibromyalgia is it doesn't kill you."

Flippant? i don't honestly think so. Some days i'm so thankful that i'm not looking at possible death or loss of a limb, while other days i feel so under the weight of the pain and numbing fatigue of it all that i lose sight of hope and joy and tomorrow.

i'm not a person to ever wish my life away, just some days are harder to keep my eyes focused past the today-ness of this annoying, concentration stealing, invisible-so-people-find-it-hard-to-believe-you millstone around my neck.

But i still had a really good day on Monday, and i'm still able to close my eyes and remember the refreshing feeling of that cafe.

Skimmer's recap: Fun on Monday, sore and exhausted every day since. A little feel-sorry-for-myself binge on Friday. Hoping for a better Saturday. Wouldn't trade that latte and book in a cafe for anything.

Will work for praise.

2009-03-26T08:58:00.000-07:00

i'm apparently incapable of finding a cartoon to fit this post. Maybe i'm simply impatient. So let me set the scene for you mentally:

Inside the bathroom the chrome sparkles, the shower gleams. Even the sink shines a welcoming grin. i am seated on a lawn chair in said bathroom, plastic cooler to my side. "Well HELLO!" i say as you enter. "Pull up a seat and pop open a soda-- Yup," i say gesturing with the hand holding a diet root beer, "i cleaned that mirror." i smile proudly. "And that shower wall, well, that bad boy gave me some trouble but it was aaaall worth it in the end--i got that soap scum off till the walls are as smooth as a baby's bottom."

i nod in proud silence as you stare numbly at the scene. "Yup, that was some of my finest work. Sit down a bit and we can just admire. Join me!"

You may as well sit down and say some nice words, because i'm not shutting up till you do.

Housework? Not my favorite. Praise? My favorite. Put the two together and i may get some of the first one done.

i can't seem to help myself. Sometimes i hear me talking and my brain is saying "shut up shut up!" but the mouth keeps going. For instance, my youngest daughter and her husband are staying with us at the moment. They enter the dining/kitchen area where i am standing. "Yup, i cleaned aaall the kitchen counters today!" They look blankly yet politely. "Shut up shut up!" screams my brain. The man's a real live chef. He expects a kitchen to be clean. My daughter loves a clean kitchen. They cleaned their apartment kitchen incessantly. But can i stop? NO. i will continue until someone politely says "Oh," with a courtesy smile.

*SIGH*

But seriously, i ask, what is the point of cleaning if no one notices? i've used that theory for years to avoid cleaning. In fact i wait too long just so a completed task is noticeable. My husband is easy going about the whole cleanliness thing. We both enjoy cleanliness, but we're neither one invigorated by the process. You will never ever walk into our house and hear me say "You need to go now, i can't WAIT to get started cleaning that refrigerator!!"

Last weekend i got to help my friend's father sort some papers on his desk in preparation for moving. It was the closest i will ever get to an archaelogical dig--the various stratas of civilization on the desktop covered more than a decade. Much in the way an archaelogist delicately brushes the dirt from a bowl, i would carefully blow the dust from a letter from 1997. "Look what i found," i would say in awe.

Sorting is fun, her dad was appreciative. Working for praise, my favorite. i was pretty tired by the end and i'd forgotten my cooler, or i'd probably still be there--"Hey! Come on in! Grab yourself somethin' from the cooler! Check this out--that desktop was covered in papers and look at it now. Yup, did that myself--"

Skimmer's update: Want something cleaned? Laundry done? Hand me a soda and tell me how awesome i am. Will work for praise.

Happy birthday, somewhere--

2009-03-10T18:46:00.000-07:00

Today is March 10. It's my brother's birthday. Though i haven't seen him since some time in 1989, when March 10th rolls around i remember.

It's not that he's dead, at least not to my knowledge. All i know is when i sent his Christmas present in 1989, it came back. "Return to sender: Moved No forwarding address."

He was my big brother, the one to go straighten out the kid at the playground who knocked me off the monkey bars. We were never really close, he and my sister were closer in age and more into the same things at the same time. He was in a garage band, she was into the boys around the band. Stuff like that. i was nearly 4 years younger than my sister but he was separated from her by only 2 years. While he was rockin' the rebellious hair, i was in awe of the first girl in my 5th grade class to wear a bra. Widely different places in life.

i don't guess i was too surprised at his leaving the family. Our father had recently died, my sister and brother had stopped communicating with our mother, and even when we'd all shared the same house we were far from the Cleavers. Heck, the Addams Family was more the All-American family than we were. (And their house was way cooler too.)

We three children all had our issues with our parents, not an uncommon thing in a family. But i've never understood my brother leaving us. My sister and i are still close, perhaps closer as we've gotten older and realized we Did Good surviving the chaos with still liking each other.

i will probably never know why my brother left with no forwarding address, but at least once a year, on March 10th, i stop and remember the big brother i once had who gave the kid at the park the what-for to stand up for his little sister.

Happy birthday, Michael, somewhere!

Ready or not, here the ants come.

2009-02-26T12:58:00.000-08:00

Housecleaning has never been the thing to give me that sigh of satisfaction of a job well done. It's never increased my endorphins. It's never given me something to get up for in the morning. (Well, that overlaps another thing that doesn't thrill me: morning.)

The things i love, the things that make me happy, ahhh....give me a yarn store to peruse, or a stack of books to read, or the sound of the ocean. Give me a store with...well, pretty much any store will do (sadly.) Then my heart sighs. Then the endorphins flow. But making a house sparkle? Getting that stain out of that shirt? Stuff's just going to get dull or spilled on again, so big woop.

Recently we've been fighting the rebel hordes of ants who desire to live INside rather than in their cozy ant hills in the great outdoors. Seeking the Holy Grail of Honey Grahams and Cheezits, they have raised their tiny swords high and come full battle force over the hill and into my kitchen. i appreciate their organization, their ability to work as a group, but i don't appreciate them in my cereal. Therefore they must die (i know, i know, "we're all a part of life" and whatnot.) They leave a lot of work for me that i don't enjoy (see previous paragraph for things that do qualify under "enjoy.")

This is where i admire those women who believe firmly in "leave things better than when you came."

This is where i want one of those women to come use my kitchen. You get the gist.

Skimmer's Recap: Ants clever, still want them dead. Please come clean my kitchen.

i'm a winner. Yep, me.

2009-02-04T11:40:00.001-08:00

Recently i received this award from encouraging blogfriend Connie, over at My Thoughts and Creations. By the time i put the picture on here the print got too small and blurry to read. But she says "This award is called the nobelpris and it has to do with being a nice Mom to children, animals, anyone." And Connie wouldn't lie to me, right Connie?

Anyway, i've always hoped to be a nice Mom, though i apologize often for all the mom-things i didn't know how to do when they were smaller. And i have the unfortunate leaning toward mothering my friends. (Sorry, grown-up friends! It's all well intended! My nurturing gene is over-developed.)

i do have a soft spot for animals, and have recently aided in the capture of two little dogs who went astray, and in the returning them to their worried families--in the past 3 weeks. In fact, if i'd known how much chasing i would do yesterday, i wouldn't have gone to the gym first.

Thanks Connie!

;-)

Why Cori makes me laugh.

2009-01-29T21:12:00.000-08:00

Daughter Cori has always been able to make me guffaw in surprised laughter. Her timing and phrasing is guaranteed to unspool me. Here's an example.

Last night, for whatever reason, i was pondering the odd parental promise of "I'll give you something to cry about!"

Without any hesitation Cori said in her deadpan way, "I'll give you something to cry about--there's no Santa, and your grandma isn't in heaven, she was a bad, bad person."

i became helpless. (Also a little fearful for any future children.)

;-)

Like salt and pepper.

2008-12-16T10:32:00.000-08:00

i have a friend. She inspires one to exercise greatness. Well, at least she inspires one to watch exercise greatness.

Recently i rejoined the gym i used to belong to, and that she has belonged to all this time i've been struggling with the whole fibromyalgia thing. She's over 40, toned and terrific looking. i am in awe. But the fact that i feel good enough to go back to the gym says much for the mighty and miraculous workings of Cymbalta.

She is sweet enough to come down to my level and join me on the treadmills. Side by side we walk and talk--she at breakneck speed, her incline at heart-strain steepness, me wandering slowly, which is all it takes to keep my heart rate in the goal range.

i was on the treadmill recently when she was taking a step class. Do you all know what a step class is?? There's a wide free-standing and stackable step in front of each participant. The work-out consists of various bouncy, constantly moving steps and turns and arm motions, all set to disco beat music. Think "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" on Ritalin. Friend Sabrina-Frugalina was a-boppin' and a-movin' through the routine with a spring in her step and constant motion for an hour. i gazed in amazement from my ambling gait on the treadmill.

It occurred to me what different roles in life we take--she is the spiciness of pepper, jazzing up anything nearby. She's a full-on participator.

i am salt. i count on simply enhancing other flavors, my life is more like a slow-simmer. Crock pot cooking.

Our gym and life soundtracks would greatly differ as well. Hers is the sound of an energetic disco Christmas, mine is the sound of Brahm's lullaby, slow and lulling.

i'm not judging the different styles, but she gets way more done. And has a tighter butt.

Faces.

2008-12-01T09:09:00.000-08:00

The face of too much shopping.

Of goofy faces...

and happy faces.

The face of being played out...

and of girl-play...

and total cuteness.

The face of frustration...

of exploration...

and autumn leaves...

and leaf-play.

The faces of family.

The 50s Thanksgiving celebration.

2008-11-28T19:37:00.000-08:00

Me playing at being the consummate 50s hostess.

left to right: Daughter Corinne's hubby Luis, his brother Fabian, Corinne in front of them. Son Jarel, barely peeking out from the back with my hubby Dean at back center. Dorothy (Candie's mother-in-law) with daughter Candie to her right. Fabian's girlfriend Hanna peeking out between them. Candie's husband Charles at back right, and their two lovely girls, Cassidy and Haley. Note the lovely cranberry gelatin mold in front. ;-)

Cassidy and Haley dressed up to match Grandma Julie's 50s theme.
i believe a good time was had by all.

Things that make you say "hmmm..."

2008-11-26T17:52:00.000-08:00

The weirdest thing heard today over the loudspeaker at my local thrift store:

"There's a black BMW in the parking lot with its lights on."

Hmmm.