The (i'm in) Chronic Pain Management Clinic.

Well, i went to my first Pain Management overview class on Tuesday morning, with little idea of what to expect. As my new doctor had pointed out to me, fibromyalgia patients tend to have trouble trusting their medical staff, and are "suspicious." (She said suspiciously.) So i showed up by 10 a.m. with my notebook in hand, and a (hopefully) open mind. i'm an avid note taker--it helps the information gel in my brain. i hear it, i write it with my left hand, i see it. And maybe, just maybe, with it surfing my brainwaves in three forms, i remember it.

i must say, i was pleasantly surprised. The tone was positive and affirming. Someone in the medical world who acted like they believed we were actually in pain! As i first walked into the room i thought, "Crap--everybody here is way older than me!" and trust me, i am no longer in the youthful category. But then i saw a woman with long hair the color of mine, but i think hers was that color naturally, probably mid 30's. And a mid 20's girl walked in, and i thought "wow, she REALLY thinks we are ALL a lot older than her." And she would be right.

The doctor who heads up the clinic spoke to us first. He helped put the program together back in 1979 at the Union City Kaiser here in California. He gave a great overview of the pain process, complete with a handout with drawings (a lovely addition to my notes.) He spoke of the pain gate, and what opens it and what closes it. They will help us close the gate. They do not promise to make the pain go away, but they will work with us in many ways physically, mentally, medicinally to manage the pain. Now, i'd agree that most of us in the room would prefer to just not HAVE the pain, but apparently the good doctor can't actually promise that. But they promise to believe we are experiencing the pain, and that helps me right there.

As he, Dr Frank, explained, "We doctors love numbers! We love diabetes--there are numbers, there are tests. Cholesterol--we can measure that. But chronic pain, only you can help us understand your pain. And your doctor has agreed as part of this program to do whatever we recommend. So, as of today, I am in charge of your pain medication."

Personally, i tend to be a "tough it out" person with the whole pain medication thing. i fear narcotics, especially having had a parent with some strong addiction history with pills. But when i am in the most pain physically, which then seems to affect me mentally, i will give in and take something. Apparently that isn't the most effective way to do it, but my fear overrules my need. i then do less so i am in less pain, and end up in that "deconditioned" state, where i become too tired to move. Then i feel guilty because it has become All My Fault that i am in this shape.

We had a ten minute break after the first hour, so i went walking. That sitting in an upright chair for extended periods is interesting at best. It being a pain management clinic, they at least have decent chairs, and made it clear we can walk or stand or whatever works the best for us during the meetings. That's a good thing.

Second hour we had a physical therapist talk to us. He took us through a very telling exercise. First we brain stormed words for what the pain feels like (sharp, shooting, aching, etc) then words for what thoughts and feelings we have about the pain (anxious, hopeless, depressed, angry and so on.) The third list was words for how the pain affects our relationships (more anxiety, anger, frustration and such.) "The first list," he said, "is the facts associated with the pain. The second and third lists," he said gesturing their direction, "are the suffering involved with the pain. The pain is a fact, but the suffering is optional. And we can help you with that."

Damn--and we all wanted them to just make the pain go away. i suppose i should have gotten a clue from that word "chronic" that it ain't goin' nowhere.

People dynamics were fascinating to me, as always. There were a couple of men who wanted to use the class as a vehicle to hear themselves talk about how awful their pain is and how hard it all is. i understand it's hard. We are all, HELLO, in a chronic pain program. The facilitator was good to bring them back into focus. As we were each sharing ONE goal we hoped to achieve as a result of the program, those particular guys would try to again go off into how hard their life is and how awful their pain is and pick a goal such as "getting rid of the pain." The facilitator said, flat out, "Pick another goal." Was the manly man with his painly pain not listening?? Some pain does not go away.

It appears i will enjoy the program, especially watching the people, seeing who "gets" it and who refuses to. i bet a couple of manly men will not return. The clinic does not promise them a magic pill and magic solution, so why should they bother.

One woman there has had MS for years, and is frustrated with other people not getting it. Her goal, simply put, is to be able to cook herself meals. i said my goal has always been to NOT cook meals, but realistically i do understand how frustrating that would be to not be able to stand long enough to prepare yourself food. i'm just a smart mouth and can't seem to control that. As in when physical-therapist-guy was making the lists of feelings etc and asking "who in here has felt this way about their pain?" and i said, "All of these things really do seem to apply to me, and i would keep my hand up, but it hurts too much." He smiled. A little chronic pain humor, who doesn't need that?

We'll see what next week brings, but at the moment my Hope Meter is up a few points.

Learning to disengage, & grief.

Yesterday was quite a day. First, after finding out that my youngest daughter's travel plans were about to be decimated by United's unfriendly skies being too full for standby, she and her hubby and i spent several hours refiguring plans and looking up flights to buy online. By last night they had things pretty much rearranged. But the thing i practiced during this time was The Art of Disengagement.

As i was driving back home i realized, AHAH. What she and her father have in common, and i have in total opposite, is the way they deal with bumps in the road. i tend to be a "oh, we'll figure it out somehow" while secretly hoping i'm not lying. She and her father start with total annihilation: "The sky is falling! Everything is ruined!" and move toward "we'll figure it out somehow." The trick for me, anxiety-wise, is to realize we both actually want the same thing, we just take different roads to get there.

Regarding grief, that was the sad part of the day. A long time acquaintance just lost her husband suddenly, and the memorial was yesterday. It was a beautiful memorial, with all of their children and children-in-law and grandchildren sharing memories of his love and humor. But at the end of the service, as the wife was walking out on the arm of her son, i wondered, Can grief shrink a person? i mean, she has never been a big person in stature, but she has walked big. She is a very grounded and assured person, and has affected many people with her love of God, sharing hope and comfort, and being a person to walk alongside others in their hard times.

i remember a time back in college when i was thin enough to wear flowered pants without looking like a sofa, and being told by a much taller guy (i'm only 5 foot 4) that i "walked tall for a short girl." i guess that's what i'm thinking of, this woman has always walked tall. But when i saw her coming up the aisle of the chapel, headed to the next phase of saying goodbye to her husband of many years, she looked tiny and frail, and not a bit like the woman i ran into at the grocery store a few weeks ago. So her face haunted me all night when i'd close my eyes trying to sleep. And i'm really tired today.

Making laundry fun.

Now, i am not one to ordinarily sing the praises of my whitest whites and cleanest jeans, but OH, WE BOUGHT A NEW WASHER AND DRYER!! And laundry is fun again--not that i can dredge up a time that i was ever thrilled with it--

Due to our ongoing remodel, and the various tentacles of it that stretch into many parts of the house, the new water heater (the on-demand, hanging on the wall kind) "needed its space." Technically, it needed more room in front of it to satisfy the hunger of the county inspectors to make people change things to suit their rules and whims. So, since the laundry area and the water heater were sharing, we decided to get stacking front loaders for the laundry to give the water heater some room (if not privacy.)

Who would have thought it could be so thrilling to replace the washer and dryer? i must admit to having felt quite spoiled for years, since even in our first apartment as a married couple we had our own washer and dryer in our own attached garage. Oh sure, over the past nearly 31 years washers and dryers have come and gone--hand me downs, occasionally purchased, but always the same types. But THIS time....it's a brave new world!....stacking, front loading, water saving--the kind they've been using in England for years (the smartie pants.) PLUS, i have this all new and cool shelf system just to the right of the units, leaving plenty of breathing space between the shelves and the water heater. It's all very cool.

It's pretty sad, though--here we are, doing the 50's commercial-speak, admiring our bright whites, and being serious about it. Even Dynamo, our most curious dog, has sat in front of it a few times and watched the washer spin, wagging his tail.

For a few more weeks at least, laundry will be fun.

*WE* PASSED INSPECTION!

...Electrical, that is... and by "We" i mean "Dean"...

In the looong, slow process that is our house remodel, the electrical inspection was this week, and everything went just fine! Dean's been dreading it for a year, he says.

So now that means *we* (and by "we" i mean "Dean") can move on to other things that show, like siding, and sheetrock. And i can once again dream of walls where the window is the only place the sun shows through.

Using my goodies

For years i've collected scrapbooking goodies: papers, stickers, alphabets, tools. . . oh, and rubber stamps and inks and pens, and scissors that make cool edges. And paper punches in shapes. And glues and tapes. But for years i hadn't done anything with all the stuff except for collect it. Once upon a time, pretty much in the stone ages of scrapbooking when there were only pens and solid colored papers and maybe a punch or two, i started scrapbooking. Not unlike many things in my life, including a hand-stitched quilt i started for my oldest when she was 8 and finished (on the machine) for her 18th birthday, after an initial burst of energetic scrapbooking, my supplies sat idly in their containers.

i think in a way i was afraid to attack the scrapbooking of our millions of photos. When i started scrapbooking back in the day, it was a simple thing. When i started thinking i'd like to get started again, i took a walk through a local scrapbooking and rubber stamping store, California Stampin'. OH MY. Miles of stickers and papers and embellishments (a word i had not previously known) filled the aisles. More miles of pens and glitters and chalks and endless colored ink pads filled a few more aisles. Magazines and books on scrapbooking and card making filled an entire wall. Overload!

If only i did not like taking pictures so much--and if i had not had children who had then given me grandchildren, or gone on vacations, i would not have so many photos to organize. But i attacked the organization of said photos, cleared myself a space to work, and stared blankly. Organized photos, organized supplies, and no ideas for moving forward.

Between seeing the themed (non-chronological) albums of an Alabama cousin, and finding the magazine named (perfectly for me) Simple Scrapbooks, i began actually using some of my long-hoarded supplies!!! i was on fire!! i made a heritage album of old photos from my husband's side of the family, and then one titled "What I Did On My Summer Vacation" for last year's vacation photos (with room for more,) and an entire Hawaii album for our 30th anniversary trip. Now i've attacked my chronological family photos once again--i'm trying to make my way out of the 90's, having just finished 1997 yesterday evening with Scrubs as background noise.

So if you feel i have disappeared from sight, i've only gone as far as the 90's. i'll try to be back before the Y2K bug hits.

And on a lighter note...

Tired, grim winter couch and pillows (not to mention the patch of paint on the wall behind where i've tried out a color.)

Bright, cheerful SPRING couch and cushions.

Some people spring clean. This is my way of welcoming the sunlight and fresh air and lighter feel of the days...plus, i'm really not that big a fan of cleaning. It's like i used to say when my mother-in-law would try to tell me how much she enjoyed getting the bottom of a pan clean as new: "i have hobbies."

The spot of color is still on the wall behind. i haven't gone quite so crazy as to finish that. But a couple of bits of fabric and a mile or so of white thread and i'm happy to spend my cleaning time sewing.

A week (or two) in the life

Lately i've had some pretty interesting Bible passages come up. In what i'm sure some would term quite unspiritual fashion, i've taken a totally random approach to finding Bible verses to read. Kind of the ol' "flip and find" style of choosing.

Recently i've voiced concerns to friends, family, and to God Himself. "i'm so dang tired of feeling like crap," i said. "i keep complaining about the same old stuff," i said. So as i threw these words around, i decided to do a bit more journaling of what Bible reading i do. (i would love to say that i get up every day at the butt-crack of dawn and have a glorious time of Bible reading and prayer before running 5 miles. But even seeing that in writing on this page makes me laugh.)

i'm a bit random in my approach to many things--or, "creative" as i prefer to call myself. i have no real plan for housework--when the floor has more dog hair on it than the dogs, i clean it. When there are more pans in the sink than on the pot rack, i wash them. When company's coming, i dust. (And by "i" i mean frequently i make Jarel do it.) There is no "Thursday laundry day" at my house--when i have to start wearing my fancy underwear, i wash clothes. When we're down to carrots and oatmeal in the kitchen, i shop. i sew when the mood strikes me, i exercise even less. All that to say, i'm not the most focused person on the planet.

Why did i feel the need to tell you all that? i suppose so that you won't assume i'm not taking God lightly. i'm simply being consistently random.

So, after all my frustrated complaining, i decided to just pick a passage in the Bible and see what it had to say. The Bible study we friends had been doing (for quite some long time now) by somebody Blackaby called "Experiencing God" has talked about how our times of understanding God through His words in the Bible IS an experience with God. And who couldn't use a little one on one time with the Big Guy?

So i flipped my Bible open to where the attached satin ribbon bookmark was nestled. Isaiah 38, i suppose there because that's midway through the Bible. ANYway, it's a chapter that tells about King Hezekiah's illness. God had even told him he was going to die. For obvious reasons that news did not thrill the king, so he prayed and cried out to God, and God listened and added years to his life. King H even wrote a poem afterward about it--he said that the experience taught him humility, and being allowed to live gave him reason to praise God, as "only the living" could.

i'm not going to die from fibromyalgia, but some days i'm mighty cranky about it. So what experience did i have through those verses with the God who made me? Thoughts of hope, thoughts of purpose, and the realization that life allows me to continue learning.

Another day i picked up my Bible and began to thumb through--what did i think i want to read this time, old testament or new? Job 30 caught my attention. i loved this! Quoting straight from my New Living translation, "I am disgusted with my life. Let me complain freely." OH somebody's been looking inside my head! Disgusted with the constant exhaustion/pain/lack of enthusiasm for life. Job was saying that it didn't matter to God whether or not he was guilty or innocent, sinful or righteous, God was still choosing to punish him. Job was very honest before God--"You made me, why do you want to harm me? I am right before You."

That's the age old question--why does bad crap happen to good people? What did i hear in those words of Job? i can be honest before God. i can say how i feel, tell him i don't think it's very fair that i have this fat bump in my road. i'm a good person, right? i don't deserve this stupid pain. i can complain freely.

Another day, another random passage--and feeling particularly out of hope that day. New Testament this time: Hebrews 4:14-15. Jesus faced all our same temptations, so he understands our weaknesses. These verses talk about how we can have Jesus as our "high priest" (more on that later--) so we can go to him and ask for mercy and grace when we need it. This brought to my mind the question, what are my weaknesses and temptations? i'm easily tempted to lose hope, easily tempted to get stuck in the "now" of how lousy i feel. i start feeling like i will always feel exactly this way--too tired and awful to live. i lose the bigger picture, that there's more to me and my life than the way i feel at this exact moment of hopelessness. And i'm a big proponent of hope--i try to give others hope in their trials, but i'm having trouble finding any in mine. More time doesn't speak to healing, just to more physical and mental pain.

So what did i "hear" in those verses? Again, i can speak honestly to God my Father, this time with a dose of "he understands because he's been there."

The next time i read more in Hebrews, this time 5:1-10. This explained what a high priest was--someone who represents other people in their dealings with God. He understands them because he is one of them, having their same human weaknesses and temptations. But he must be called by God for the position, simply waking up one day and saying, "Hey, I think I want to be a high priest," doesn't do it. So, how does Jesus figure into that whole "high priest" bit? While he was walking around on earth like the rest of us, he was tempted, he prayed for deliverance from the pain of the death he faced. But he prayed to his Father to understand and make the choice that would be best. He processed to the point of obedience to a bigger picture.

i have a problem with obedience. The very word is hard for me to say. i suppose that comes from having grown up in a home where i pretty much obeyed to stay out of trouble. i didn't obey because i believed my parents had my best in mind and i trusted their judgment, like in some "Leave it to Beaver" world. i obeyed because the alternative was not too pleasant, and i prefer pleasant. So, as a child i didn't gladly obey out of a trust relationship, and i still have trouble with the concept. i'm clear on this. So i'm working on trusting God. i've got the whining/ begging/ pleading thing down.

Next random verse: Colossians 2: 6-10. Verses 6 and 7 say, "Continue to live in obedience to him. 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. Let your lives overflow with thanksgiving for all he has done." Hello. Obedience again. What's up with that?

How do i let my life overflow with thanksgiving? It's like all those stinking thank you notes my mother made me write as a kid (i know, i'm a better person for it--) once i would stop to remember what i had received i'd be happy all over again for it. So, remember. Make a list. What has my Father done for me?

-helped me survive my childhood by being there for me

-found me family in my husband and his little girl

-showed me His willingness to walk with me in tough times

-showed me His comfort in pain

-even now, helping me learn to trust him as i could not trust my birth parents

-taught me the value of truth in life and relationships

-given me the desire to encourage and love others.

That's just some of it.

Most recent random verses: Romans 8:9-25. This passage tells me that i'm under no obligation to do what my human nature wants me to do--that's a different spin on the idea of my less-than-optimum life/health choices: "under no obligation" to them. When i think of my human nature, my brain goes automatically toward my weaknesses, such as my passion for all things creamy, fatty, and chocolate, or my lack of passion for exercise. But i owe those things no loyalty. Different spin.

We also"groan to be released from pain and suffering." God gave us his Holy Spirit to give us a taste of "future glory"--is that maybe when we're done with life on earth with its brokenness and decay? So i get the groaning, i get the brokenness, i just tend to forget there's a future.

So, i must ask you, how "random" were all of these verses i read? i mean, take a look: King H was gonna die. He prayed, he lived, he learned from it. Job, a righteous man, a good guy, being honest with God--"I'm disgusted with my life." Followed by Jesus as our high priest, one who understands our weaknesses, someone who has struggled to see the bigger picture and questioned God the Father, something i understand. Top that with a walk through staying rooted in him by being obedient, seasoned with a dash of communal groaning for release from the stuff that steals our hope.

All of that seems to have a theme--maybe there is no "random" with God--yes, there is pain, there is suffering. Friends get cancer, we get sick. Brokenness happens. But where is my hope to be found? i know the Sunday School answer is "Jesus!" But i need a bit more detail than that, a bit more direction. So, how about hope found in the details of that list i made of ways God has shown His love for me, prompted by those verses in Colossians. How about in all the verses that said, "You have lots of company in the struggle to make sense of your pain." Where can i find comfort? Probably in those "random" verses in Hebrews telling me that Jesus understands pain and temptation because he's been there.

i've spent three days writing this--really, i'm gonna stop now! But it's been an interesting creatively random wander. . .

Not happy.

Today was a big day for me--i was going to meet my new doctor. Of course hope ran high--maybe this one will actually listen to me! Maybe she'll nod sympathetically and at least appear to believe me.

But no.

This was not to be. First, "Why did you leave Dr. ***?" she asked. How do i explain this without making myself sound the ungrateful b*****? So i tried to explain some of my frustrations with having to push so hard for any testing etc, i tried to appeal to her years of study by saying i would like to benefit more from their knowledge in helping me feel better. She explained to me that the frustration fibromyalgia patients feel in getting help often leads to their distrust of medical providers.

From her expression i thought, Uh oh, i bet my old doctor and my new doctor are buddies.

She explained to me that there was not a lot of point to many tests as they were not necessarily the answer, "And I'm not one of those who uses a lot of cortisol and such, and your tests came out normal for that anyway." So i explained having had the test at the chiropractor's, and that i did come out low on that. So SHE explained how "too many cooks in the kitchen" just make for confusion. (Possibly i should tell her the actual saying is "too many cooks spoil the broth," if she's planning to rely on trite, over-worn phrases to "dumb down" her doctor speak for her patients.)

i sat there quietly, attempting to keep a placid smile on my face while she explained that "therapy could also help," the approach to fibromyalgia being a multi-something-or-other process. She did at least use different phrasing from my previous doctor, who told me that "sometimes when you get the issues of depression dealt with, other things can get better, too." Instead, this one told me that "behavioral therapy can help with the fibromyalgia." OH RIGHT! i FORGOT i can simply BEHAVE MYSELF BETTER! Guess those 5 years of therapy i already had didn't teach me to "think" away the pain.

She did at least sign me up for the pain clinic, so they'll be calling me, she says. That could be helpful. She looked a bit exasperated when she said "I like to treat fibromyalgia with nortriptyline at night--" and i immediately said, "i can't use that. Gives me a rapid heartbeat." "Or amitriptyline--" "Nope, that one did the same thing."

Right. Be exasperated with the fact that i just shot down your plan. Think how exasperated i am with the stuff not working!!

She sent me home with a prescription for the IBS, and a requisition for some bloodwork.

i muttered stand-ins for bad words all the way home.

Think i'll be looking yet again for a new doctor.

Able to leap tall footstools...

i'm so proud--i just looked at my son's "My Space" and found that he has listed "my mom and dad" under "Heroes."

...That's, um, right after he listed Superman ("he's the best hands down!") Spiderman and the Punisher. Oh, and Wolverine, Ironman, Elecktra, and a couple more i'm not familiar with.... and then there comes Michael Jordan and the Terminator--

But we did make it ahead of Ghost Rider. Now THAT'S a relief...

My life as an oyster.

i went searching for images of oysters after saying to friend Adina yesterday that i felt like just closing up on myself like an oyster. The images i found served to ensure that i will never eat an oyster, and i now know more about oysters than i ever wanted. Anyway, the reason "oyster" came to mind was that when i feel especially fibromyalgia achy and just worn to the core, i just want to close up inside my little shell and stay warm and not move. She said, "And when I open back up, I may have a pearl," to which i responded, "Or not--" So, after a few days of oyster-wishes, i am open again. Sorry, no pearl, simply these thoughts:

Things i love:
affectionate contact--hugging grandkids, my kids, friends, my puppies, and of course my husband.
encouraging
laughing
movies like "The Wedding Singer" with laugh-out-loud bits
reading
creating
chocolate

That's maybe the worst part of When Fibromyalgia Strikes--i feel unable to enjoy those things (i can usually make an exception for chocolate.) It's like there are two distinct Fibro Me's--one where i hurt to the very tips of my fingers, but i'm still able to create and enjoy and shove the pain to somewhere off-center, and the second me where i feel achy and dull and want to just close up my shell and wait for tomorrow.

What i can do with this information, i am not sure. Maybe at this point it's enough to just know it.

"Six Days, Five Nights," Maui.

We got this great vacation package offer from the Sheraton Maui, waaay back last summer. Perfect celebration of our 30 years of marriage! Trouble was, their dates filled up so quickly that the first available time was this April. Then i broke my toe, got the cast, etc etc. So we rescheduled to May 10th, three days after the cast came off of my AWEsomely hairy leg. So here is the accounting of random thoughts on the too short vacation, kept in my tiny purse size notebook:

Thursday, 10th May, 2007. We hoped for first class, (as we airline employees and spouses do) and got cattle class. Oh well, we're still on our way to Maui! i sat with a couple from Cape Cod who were celebrating a friend's 50th birthday along with three other couples. Great conversation, friendly people. Dean sat with a guy who never said a single word for the entire 5 hour flight.

Arrived at the Sheraton Maui feeling out of place--valet parking? We're more accustomed to the kind of accomodations with the loud ice machine in the hall outside our door. Everybody smiles and says "Aloha" when they see you--

Nice lunch at the Something-or-Other-Terrace in the hotel--easygoing wait staff. Made me think about restaurants at home, people taking themselves so seriously-- The hotel restaurants are sort of boundary-less, and you can approach from all sides--people wander in from the beach with towels wrapped around them, somebody greets them with "Aloha" and a relaxed smile and asks to help them. At home things seem so much more prescribed and edged. We watched birds landing on neighboring tables to steal leftover fries waiting to be cleared, nobody chases them away--we fed them crumbs from our rolls. Tiny birds argued with medium size birds, and everybody seemed to get something.

Nice room, pretty private lanai facing onto a grassy yard bordered by flowers--upgrading to an ocean view room was going to double the cost of the whole trip, so "garden view" it is!

Friday the 11th--i felt sexy for five minutes on Friday--i put on my gauzy black skirt and a tank top, and was standing with one foot up on the edge of the counter, shaving my leg. i glanced over and caught a view of myself in the mirrored closet door, and thought, "Hmm...not bad..."

Dean went for a brisk walk so i bought myself a vanilla latte and some canteloupe and blueberries at the hotel's coffee cart. i sat alone at one of those high tables in my gauzy skirt and concentrated on looking mysterious...

We drove a ways up the coast from Kanapaali, where the Sheraton is, stopping alongside the road every now and again to look at the amazing ocean view spread out far below us--at one stop we walked to the water through rainforest looking trees, all densely topped and dripping with vines, the ground covered with a deep floor of a vining plant--beautiful! And all this with my adorable sock and "post-op" black shoe covered right foot.

8pm and we're sitting at the Lagoon Bar out by the beach, listening to a guitar playing guy singing pop songs--currently "Margaritaville" AND they have Orna-Glow type candles on the tables! For those of you unfamiliar with the Orna-Glow concept, one Christmas my friend Julia gave each of us in Bible study group an Orna-Glow tree ornament. It glows, phasing through different colors. An instant hit, we have spent the ensuing years delighting over every other Orna-Glow sort of find--Melanie thrilling us all with her (snowman?) addition to the Orna-Glow family last Christmas. And where are the Orna-Glow coasters Sabrina used for a time? ANYway, wish i could buy these candles from the bar!

The singer is having creative fun with the words to the songs--in Margaritaville, instead of "Don't know the reason/Stayed here all season/With nothing to show but this brand new tattoo./But it's a real beauty/A Mexican cutie/ how it got here I haven't a clue." he's singing, "don't know the reason/stayed here all season/with nothing to show but this brand new sunburn/but it's a real beauty/back there on my bootie/how it got there i haven't a clue."

There are all shapes and sizes of couple out--several spontaneously swaying and dancing together to the songs, out along the beach and edges of the bar--

Saturday the 12th--We bought coffees at the cart again, sat in this lovely seating area on a veranda-like part of the building talking. We rented a blue topped cabana on the beach (40 bucks!!) and lounged about and napped and read till just before dinner, cleaned up and ate at the Lagoon Bar and watched the Cliff Dive ceremony at dusk--very relaxing. Chatted with a woman from Minnesota and her visiting friend from Germany.

While in the cabana a cute little young couple was passing--she saw me and stopped and said "Oh! Would you mind taking a picture for us?" i said, "Sure! If i looked like you two i'd be having everyone ON this beach taking my picture--" They had a sweetly happy and unassuming air about them, and those firm young bodies that come naturally only to the 20 year olds--She had a head full of long dark curly hair and a tiny tropical print bikini, and he leaned over and kissed her and gave her a quick squeeze as they posed--So cute. Dean has taken a couple of photos for couples on the trip too--it makes people so happy.

Sunday the 13th, Mother's Day-- We got coffee at the cart again and skipped the 50 bucks a head Mother's Day brunch at the Terrace restaurant--took a really nice drive down the coast this time, ending at a lava field place with a gorgeous bay with black and white rock beach--

Back up to Lahaina where we had lunch at the Cool Cat Cafe (seriously.) and walked through an art fair outside the old courthouse under the famous banyan trees--i bought a print of a woman's watercolor painting of the old courthouse--her name was Marjorie. My mother's name. On Mother's Day. Crazy, eh? There were a number of older bohemian type women there selling their art, gaunt, gray, in flowing clothes--and some rather ordinary men and women who just looked like people you'd see at Back To School Night--

i ate a mango that was off of somebody's tree! How cool, mango trees in your yard--i know we are blessed to have citrus trees in California, but mango sounds so, well, tropical. i suppose because it is.

Monday the 14th-- We're driving along the coast highway on our way to the Island Paperie, "the only scrapbooking store on the island!" It's in Kahului, not far from the airport. When i told Dean i wanted to go there he groaned, but being a good sport he'll take me anyway.

Chain link is draped over the lava rock walls along the highway like a fine net skirt--

Continuing our drive after the Island Paperie (very well stocked, i must say, with many many beautiful and special Hawaii papers) we drove up into the neighborhoods and up the mountain to the Iao Valley--we ate lunch at a funky little nature area behind a gift shop, a pretty good crab and avocado sandwich for a place operating out of a kitchen with walk up service at a screened window, and a patio of battered and weather worn outdoor furniture.

We watched a couple of local guys jumping off the bridge at the Iao Valley walk into the 6 1/2 foot deep, narrow river 30 feet below, for tips--like a street musician. i thanked them for being crazy, it was fun watching! And way better them than me--

We drove around looking at the local houses, both new and really old, many with wide eaves serving i suppose as a way to shade the houses from the tropical heat, some wide enough to cover shady porches. We saw quail, 2 adults flanking a bunch of tiny babies, walking purposefully up a street and into a yard--so cool!!

Tuesday the 15th, and sadly, the sixth day and time to go home--We've had some great talks, great drives, read and basically just RELAXED. Time to return the car and to reality, hopefully somewhat restored. We spent last night chasing the sunset around the hotel--the Sheraton is spread over quite a large area, with a number of buildings. We wandered through all the areas searching for the best place to get photos as the sun went down. The colors change so as the sun goes down, its own tropical Orna-Glow...

Dream a little dream of who?

Lately i've been looking up dream meanings again. The good thing is, this means i must be sleeping deeply enough to dream. The bad thing is, last night i dreamed about Britney Spears.

Why Britney? i looked up dream meanings on the Dream Moods website. They gave me a number of options to consider regarding celebrities: dreaming a celebrity is a friend, dreaming a good friend turns into a celebrity, being carried off by a celebrity--i'm not so sure my dream needs all that much interpretation, since it involved a looong downhill conveyor belt/slide on which she was traveling with a lot of people, myself included, only she was doing a really poor job of watching her toddlers and just kept wandering off away from them. Oh, and Phil Stacy, the bald-headed contestant on American Idol? He was the father, and kept rescuing them from getting hurt. So, Britney Spears, not a great mom, slippery-slide downhill--you take a stab.

i should probably be concerned myself, though--i was also on the downhill slide. i've felt like that lately, certainly. A year ago i was on the great path of discovery that was the Cave Man Diet/Rare foods diet, had newly increased thyroid medication and had lost some weight and felt somewhat IN control for a change. Now, i do realize that "control is but an illusion"--but of late i feel especially OUT of control of many things.

Food just goes right along with that, always has. Oh sure, i eat my veggies, i eat my fruit--i *try* not to eat so many carbs and sugars. But if ice cream is in the house? Well, it becomes a loving companion to that nighttime cup of decaf coffee and visits often. Or cake? Or any kind of sweets for that matter?? Or creamy gravies?? THEY LOVE ME! THEY CALL ME! Ah, the slippery slope that is Comfort Food.

And exercise, or rather, the lack thereof--i have this excuse of a cast on my leg that keeps me from my elliptical machine. But before the cast? How many times had i been on it in the month previous? HMMM??

i keep thinking that i need to take back control--that thing which is but illusion-- But my achy body is not an illusion, the fatigue that debilitates is not an illusion. i keep waiting for something to give, my vitamins and supplements to kick in and kick butt. It's not happening. i wake up day after day after day feeling like i've been trampled by a pissed-off mule. i shove my way through the long morning hours, finally hitting a more productive afternoon. i make dinner, cleaning up as i go, and i'm pretty well done being useful for the day. i take my assortment of pills and go to sleep, hoping to wake the next day with the tiniest bit more energy, but instead i dream of going downhill with Britney Spears, and wake feeling jet lagged.

Life Lessons.

Life's just full of little lessons--for instance, the TLC Channel "Life Lessons" figurine that reminds us that children learn from us, and will repeat every single thing you say--usually at the most inappropriate moment.

Here's another: do you know somebody who has to one-up your pain? You know, when you just want to have a good gripe but they keep telling you what they have that's worse? Yep, fine, you want to tell them, You win in the 'Sucks to be you' contest of life, but dang it, i still need some air time!

You know that internal dialogue, the one where you're really hoping it's "that still small voice" generally associated with God, and not just *you * upping the Crazy Quotient of the family tree? Well, like i said as i closed an earlier gripe-post, there's stuff i can do with fibromyalgia but not with a cast, and vice-versa. It's the first category i'm honing in on here.

It's like the Still Small Voice is saying, "well, look--you used to be able to do that with fibromyalgia--oh, and that--" (Here the Still Small Voice gets the tiniest bit cheerfully sarcastic, which is part of why i worry that possibly, just possibly, it's really that family tree business i mentioned earlier rather than God--) "Hmmm....So, do you think that maybe there are things that are more limiting than fibromyalgia? And that you should be thinking of what you can do with the fibro rather than what you can't?" Yeh, whatever.

So, life's little interruptions may not always be the End All they seem at the time, as much as i hate to admit that. It's so satisfying to have the occasional whinge, and i've always been one to tell someone "Your pain is your pain" and isn't less simply because someone else has it worse. But how can i have a really good whinge about the fibro with that cheerful Still Small Voice in my head pointing out that it could be worse? i mean, it's not as if i can't drive and get out of the house or something--Oh wait, 2 more weeks in this cast. Dang.

Life's Interruptions/Life's Lessons. They seem to have a connection. i hate when that happens.

Please tell me at least i'm burning more calories...

i just showered. Did the whole routine--shoe on the cast, wrap a towel around the cast, giant black garbage bag over the whole thing. As soon as i stepped into the water, i felt it running down inside the bag. Plan B, balance aforementioned casted/shoe-ed/toweled/bagged foot on the edge of the tub, precariously. By the time i'd washed and conditioned my hair, scrubbed my body, and scraped the stubble from underarms and one leg with a dull razor, i was exhausted. Huffing and puffing like i was three times my already generous size... Ready to move on with the day? i don't THINK so--more like "ready for a nap."

So, please tell me i'm at least burning more calories than usual...

Dormancy.

You Are An ISFP

The Artist You are a gifted artist or musician (though your talents may be dormant right now).You enjoy spending your free time in nature, and you are good with animals and children.Simply put, you enjoy beauty in all its forms and live for the simple pleasures in life.Gentle, sensitive, and compassionate - you are good at recognizing people's unspoken needs. You would make a good veterinarian, pediatrician, or composer.

What's" Your Personality Type?

i just did this short version of the Myers Briggs personality test--interesting and quick. i guess a person can change types over time--perhaps as a result of simply growing up, or maybe years of therapy (also aiding in growing up.) i don't think this is what i tested as before. i do always end up in the creative block of the test, but this is the first time i've heard my talent might be dormant. i feel like I'M dormant in the past years--but dormant is at least a kinder word than "stagnant" which also leaps to mind...

Casting the first bone.

It seemed like such a small thing.

As i was walking down the stairs, my left foot slipped. This left my right big toe hammering itself into the floor full force. i hopped around, muttering, and grabbed my toe firmly, and thought "boy that's gonna be sore." But broken, i didn't anticipate broken. My first broken bone and cast in 53 years.

The next morning, Easter, i awoke to my toe swollen and colored like an Easter egg in lovely purple stripes. So it seemed best to have it checked out at Kaiser urgent care before going to eldest daughter Candie's for lunch. i was thinking maybe i'd need a funny little shoe and some tape. Certainly not a cast, what with my favorite jeans on and all. But thank God for stretch denim, i wasn't forced to cut them off that night.

So, yes, it's a cast to the knee, for 4 weeks. Everything is a struggle, i must say. Walking up and down the stairs is an amazing feat of the feet--and since the shoe is slightly curved so it gives a rocking motion for the purpose of walking, it makes walking down the little hill of our front yard an adventure--will she be able to stop before she hits the step of the porch? And driving is out of the question, since my right foot is encased in a lovely blue cast (but it does match my blue purse nicely!) A decent shower is an impossibility, what with the large plastic bag and strict instructions to NOT GET THE CAST WET. i can't use the hot tub. Who would ever think i could tire of my computer or television? AND IT'S ONLY BEEN SIX DAYS!!

So, stuff i could do with fibromyalgia but not with a broken toe: decent shower, soak in the hot tub, do stairs, wear two shoes and get a pedicure.

Stuff i can do with a cast but not with fibromyalgia: get sympathy and have people do favors for me without complaining. ;-)

Coveting my neighbor's bathroom.

Okay, so i don't covet my neighbor's wife, or husband for that matter, but her bathroom and kitchen? ah yes.

Adina has a new kitchen. It's all stylin'. Gray checkerboard backsplash and dark manufactured granite countertops. While i find my Formica-like countertops practical, they just look so practical. They're in that awkward stage of being old enough to be old but too new to be cool retro. Back in the day, 20 years ago, my kitchen was all shiny new too, and really i can't complain too much, it's all very functional. It's just 20 years old, slightly older than my youngest child.

But now, Adina's bathroom.....aaah....all glistening white and pure and new....from the ground up, new. New shower, new floor, new lighting, including a light in the shower. Granted, their old bathroom was functional, i mean, it had the usual necessary fixtures. But it was in need of some serious love. And now, in its newly reborn form, it is spa-like. (At least that's what the decorating shows would call it. i must admit to personal ignorance on the subject of spas.)

My bathroom, where i attempt to put on makeup and otherwise beautify myself, was new at one point. It was never spa-like, as that was not the preferred look of the 80's. i got rid of its big hair and legwarmers when i peeled off the wallpaper and repainted a few years ago, but that does not change the fact that there is no window and definitely no light in the shower.

So here i am confessing my bathroom covetousness. It especially overwhelms me in the shower, when i am shaving my legs by Braille.

Adrenal eating.

Another thought that's been cruising around in my brain:

When the chiropractor gave me the results of the cortisol test, list of supplements, and recommendations for lifestyle changes, one of those changes was to be sure to eat protein if i had something high carb.

My thought: i can do this. Milk with my chocolate cake, peanut M&M's instead of plain.

Now, for tomorrow, the 24 hour pee collection. When i went to the lab to pick up my jug, imagine my surprise and amusement at being handed a rather large orange jug. The gal explained the procedure then said, "Keep it in the refrigerator." To which i replied, "--and be sure to tell my son it isn't orange juice."

i do amuse myself.

i eat hope for breakfast.

Okay, so the title's a little odd. But it's been running around in my head for weeks now.

i think it means i'm sort of a hope junkie, and i need my fix daily. If i have a very NON- hopeful day, i'm in the dumps for a while. So when the chiropractor did a test that showed i have adrenal fatigue, but their solution was a couple hundred bucks a month in supplements, which i do NOT have, hope took a big swirly ride down the toilet.

i get in this mixed emotional hoopla over stuff like that--okay, i already feel sorry for myself over the fibromyalgia (yes i already know that's pointless, thank you) and the never-ending fatigue and soreness etc, but to throw on the adrenal thing and then taunt me with a solution out of my grasp? Well that's just rude. i told the chiropractor, "So, i can't work because i have this, so i don't have money enough to get over it...how does THAT work??"

Then, instead of being the lone ranger about it, i decide to ask friends' opinions--"how do i do this? Do i push them to let me buy only what i can afford, even though they said that was the absolute minimum of what i needed to take, or do i just try to go it on my own and figure out supplements i can afford elsewhere? And then how do i get follow-up, since if i do my own supplements i can't really ask the chiro to retest me, which is actually pretty pricey all on its own, but in California i can't request my own saliva test from the lab without a doctor of some sort's signature. And i'm already paying Kaiser for medical, so i wonder if there's a way THEY could just do the testing for me so i could just find my own supplements. And if i find my own supplements, can i do it without frying my liver or something?"

Okay, now that i just wrote that down, i can see why i didn't get many responses. Even i'm overwhelmed by that onslaught of words, and i love words.

So i started looking up more information about the supplements the chiropractic office had listed, and then reading other sites with adrenal fatigue information and suggestions for treatment, and started compiling my own list of the common denominator supplements. Good grief. i love the internet and all the happy hours of searching i can do there, but yikes... Information overload.

So now to compile the info. And sort the info. And cull wisdom from the info. Weirdly, i enjoy that whole process. Something about taking what seems overwhelming and finessing it into doable bits, that is pretty darn satisfying. And then i just have to watch my compulsion to keep rechecking stuff on the internet, because i will always find something that says the direct opposite of the conclusions i have reached, which of course throws me into the self-doubt mode--maybe the decision i've reached WILL cause my liver to become a briquet... Ah, the second-guessing of the over-thinker. It's a family gift.

So, armed with all this info, printed up and highlighted (yep, i'm still pretty dependent on the whole paper and pen thing) and the bits of advice from friends, i'm ready to move forward, and attempt to climb out from the pit i've fallen into.

The friend advice--one bit was to not let the chiropractor tell me i needed to do a bunch of stuff because then you end up with an expensive orthodic you probably didn't need (thank you, Frugalina. Well said.) Another was to email my doctor at Kaiser who we're already paying for, and start there. (My dear Adina. Strip all the excess emotion and words and start at the most basic step. If i am the chicken with my head cut off, what is she? Maybe the farmer's wife, saying, "Stop running around already. Tomorrow's Sunday, and you're dinner." And she's not being cruel, just practical. This is where you are, what's the next logical step?)

i emailed my doctor and explained the saliva test i had done to assess the free-cortisol in my system throughout the day, done at 4 intervals, and the results. (i didn't mention that i paid a stinking $179 to soak up my saliva with cotton rolls, which is wrong on so many levels.) Finally i got a call from my doctor--she said she hadn't heard of a saliva test for cortisol, but Kaiser did a 24 hour urine collection we could do. Guess i'll be staying home that day. And meanwhile i bit the bullet and purchased a few supplements, thanks to Costco, my local Health Unlimited, and ProHealth (http://www.prohealth.com/shop/) plus i also started charting my temperature per the Dr. Rind protocol (http://www.drrind.com/) to get an idea of the metabolic activity of my body. So far that temperature is all over the place, not unlike my mood.

i guess the gist of all that is, i'm pretty sure i'm looking for hope in all the wrong places (sing it! to the tune of, "Looking for love in all the wrong places") and so my hope "fixes" are inconsistent at best. i don't mean to say it's a bad thing to attempt to move forward and be proactive in my search for better health. That seems to be neccessary, me being my best human advocate. But i do tend to forget the other, bigger, more consistent advocate, the God who made me. i'm guessing He's really my best advocate, the One who loves me when i don't love myself, the One who made me and my saliva and presently tired adrenal glands. If i would just remember to go talk to Him first, i know that at least my mood would be more stable. He helps me keep the bigger picture when i have a tendency to lose myself in the little details of life, like the thought of saving up a day's worth of pee. ("If i could save pee in a bottle..." That's right, sung to the tune of Jim Croce's, "If I could save time...")

i'm still not sure whether or not i'll supplement myself into a hairy man chest. i'm hoping no.

Waiting.

Weirdly, i've had nothing to say here lately. i think i feel like that saying, "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." And i don't feel like i've had anything positive to throw out onto Blogger.

i think i'm just waiting--waiting for the dream of Good Sleep to come, waiting for my house to be finished, waiting to have a brain. Waiting.

Good Sleep is supposed to be visiting me any time now, what with the cpap machine breathing up my nose. The brain may come once i have enough visits from Good Sleep. The house, well, that's its own issue, largely out of my control. This morning i asked my dear husband, "do you think we'll always live here?" He said, "why, do you want to?" What i think i want is to live in a finished house, with sheetrock on the living room walls, and no piles of building supplies in the front yard and back deck. But what will that do for me? i don't really know, but i'd like a chance to see. Just as i would like a chance to see what will happen when Good Sleep comes to stay a while.

Okay, so it's been a while...

My faithful reader tells me "there's been nothing new for a while on your blog-" Well, there were the holidays, i say in explanation, and then there are the constant games of Spider solitaire i play obsessively, thinking i will begin to win Win WIN!! but i don't. Not often. Just often enough to keep me trying. ANYway, i'm writing now.

Christmas was fun, spent with the family at my oldest daughter's, with all of us pitching in to have a simple meal of appetizers and sandwiches--and of course pie. There must be pie in copious amounts. And the grandchildren are fun and funny, and keep us all amused.

i got to have early Christmas with the England contingent--now, they know how to do cold. And dark. i'm pretty used to street lights and such, but those quaint little villages in England don't have much of that and a person really can't see in front of their nose at night. And here i thought that was just a saying. We've had some extreme cold for these mild parts of California, below freezing nights and mornings. For us that's a novelty, for my little English grandsons it's just a part of winter time, having to wear 16 layers of clothing to go outside.

i'll try to get my rear back in gear to write more often here, (although the typing is better with my hands) just in case someone drops by.

It was funny to sign on to my blog and see the last thing i wrote was about the sleep apnea--it's been pretty much 2 months exactly using the cpap machine, and i think i'm finally getting used to sleeping with it, with the mask on my face. i figure i'm getting accustomed because i no longer wake up in the night and flail madly at whatever is covering my nose before i realize it's supposed to be there. The mask is my friend. Haven't seen a big difference yet in quality of sleep, but i think i must be starting to sleep a bit more deeply, as i'm waking up less in the night. So we will see. The jury is still out on that, as that saying goes.

Well, it's late (for me, anyway,) and time to put on the lovely mask and float off to dreamland.

YAY, I SLEEP LIKE CRAP!!

And just why am i so excited about that? Well, i'll tell you--because now i know i have sleep apnea and get zippo deep sleep, and there is hope! Hope in the shape of a CPAP machine!

Zero stages 3 and 4 sleep happened during my sleep study--well, duh, no wonder i feel like poop when i wake up. Those are apparently the restorative sleep stages where your body heals itself from the day's wear and tear. So my body has not stood a chance in that whole "restorative" department. My apnea is not nearly as bad as my dear husband's--he had as many episodes per hour as i had in the whole 6 hour study. But soon we will look like Alien Central with our machines strapped to our heads and faces like technological jockstraps.

Also, i show no "alpha wave intrusion into delta wave sleep" as is common in many fibromyalgia patients. i think this is a good thing, if my thoughts mean anything, coming as they do from a sleep deprived brain. Why, you may ask? (You may not ask, but too bad, i'm writing this.) i think it's good, because if i start getting consistent deep sleep, i should feel better. And i won't have those pesky alpha waves intruding into my deep sleep, once i start getting it. i could be wrong about that whole last bit, but what the heck, i'm drunk on hope!

Walking in the cool of the day...

...Or in this case, it was downright brrrr-isk for my blood and for this mild climate place. But i was on a mission. The book our bible study group is studying is called "Experiencing God" by somebody Blackaby, i think. Anyway, it's been pretty cool. It has lots of things to make a person go "hmmm..." One day last week there was a special assignment to be done. Along the lines of Adam and Eve walking with God in the cool of the day, we were to spend 30 minutes walking and talking to God in some place nature-y. In Castro Valley we have a lovely hilly place called Greenridge Park, so i went there.

Now, there are lots of things i can do for 30 minutes: read a book, drink coffee, chat with a friend, use the elliptical, even just sit and stare dumbly at my toes. But spend 30 minutes concentrating on talking with God? Yikes. A daunting thought.

But, like i said, i was on a mission. So i shoved my hands deep into my pockets for warmth and started walking. How to even start this?

At Greenridge Park there are big trees, lots of birds, and at some times of the year there are even rabbits. As i walked i looked at the trees and thought, okay, what would it be like to just hang out with God in a garden in the cool of the day? What would that even feel like? If it were at day's end, after a nice warm day, the coolness would make me feel a little happy-lazy, and i'd probably just be in the mood for some comfortable conversation with someone close to me. So, okay, think of this walking with God thing as a comfortable conversation. Good. i can do that.

Here i must insert something that will seem irrelevant, but trust me, it will tie in. On the weekend before, Dean and i had watched TLC's "What Not to Wear," a show that i am admittedly hooked on. i've gotta love anybody who thinks you should dress for the body you have. i've dressed in mourning over the years for the body i no longer have, and obsessed over the body i wish i had (but am apparently unwilling to work for.) ANYway, the person being taught to dress for her rather adorable little 20 year old body was a girl named Megan Slankard. She's from Tracy California, not far from here, and is a musician. She writes her own songs and plays a mean guitar, and has a great voice. Back in the day i loved playing guitar and singing, so i really enjoyed watching her on the show. Now here is where this ties back in-- (i know, that already looked like the part that somehow tied in, right?) Being young and therefore allowably angst ridden, of course some of the songs would be about love gone bad. Now remember this, before you judge me, she is really good at catchy lines and catchy tunes. So i've had one of her songs stuck in my head for days. The lyrics go, "it's too bad you saw me naked too bad i love you don't mean anything ever again." So what of course has been stuck in my head? "It's too bad you saw me naked" keeps replaying.

So i'm trying to have this walking-with-God-in-the-CHILL-of-the-day experience, trying to focus, and "It's too bad you saw me naked" is playing in my head. Now imagine you are standing in front of the Queen of England, and you just burst out singing that. i was inwardly cringing and thinking "sorry sorry!" to God. But then another thought came in--well, of course God has already seen me naked, not just physically, but emotionally, mentally-- He's seen me in all the nakedly raw times of my life when i thought i'd never feel right again: when i was going through the miscarriages, when my kids or my husband were struggling and i felt helpless to "fix" it, when i came face to face with the pain that came after my mother's death. He has seen me in the nakedness of all those moments, and He has been walking with me, even when i was so tied up in the pain of it i didn't see Him.

And then i thought, naked--when God walked with Adam and Eve in the cool of the day, they were naked. And why weren't they ashamed? They were an open book to God, they had nothing to hide. They were glad to walk and talk about every little thing. No secrets. No worrying. It wasn't until they decided to "fix" their lives their own way that they became ashamed of their nakedness.

That is something i strive for--that genuineness that means there is nothing to hide from God, or from anyone, really. OH! i get it--that song in my head, something i saw as an "interruption" in my walk that day with God, was part of the conversation. Ah.

Just so you know, and won't send me for an extended stay at the local Hilton Psychiatric, i'm not talking about audible voices here. There was no booming voice from the clouds, no talking tree or squirrel, but i heard Him all the same. i'm usually too caught up in trying to "fix" my own life/relationships/health/finances/etc to stop and have a conversation with God. But it looks like that's something i'm going to do more often.

The King of Calories

i don't know why i do this stuff to myself--i downloaded a trial of a program on CalorieKing.com that allows you to track your day's worth of calories/fat/fiber/protein etc. Do you know how many calories are in ONE serving of Panda Express Orange Chicken??? Holy crap, it's like 480!! And the fat? Well, that takes the throne as the King of Rotundity at a rousing 21 grams. Glad i had the Virtuous Mixed Vegies (70 calories and a more modest 3 grams of fat) instead of fried rice or chow mein. There's already a glaring red line surrounding my day's calorie and fat intakes. i'm guessing that if i had the fried rice instead there would probably be a red line and a picture of an enormous behind.

Glad to be here...

i'm glad to be alive, of course, but in California, for certain.

Today was one of those amazing fall days here in the Bay Area--the sky was a cloudless blue, and the sounds of summer played on the air: leaf blowers and kids on bikes, the heart-stopping loud bass thumping of someone's car stereo as they drove around our corner (not my favorite summer sound.)

i spent hours in the yard cleaning up my flower beds, cutting back stuff that needed cutting back, that sort of thing. It was glorious. Sunshine and a light breeze all day. Do you know what i mean by the "open" feeling of summer? Neighborhood sounds travel on the air, making me aware of being part of something larger. There's a different feel to summer air--as if it carries a bit of everywhere along with it. Nice to have today as a reminder, before we have to break out the umbrellas.

Things to embrace after 50.

Yesterday i had my eye exam. i'm getting bifocals. After increasing difficulty acting casual while trying to read small print or waiting for my eyes to refocus from close to far, i've taken the plunge. i've decided to Embrace the Bifocal. In fact, i may go so far as to do commercials to advertise my campaign to Embrace the Bifocal. In these i will be seen bounding across a grassy field of flowers (in slow motion, of course) wearing something that floats about me, hiding the southward shifting of important body properties. My carefree demeanor, centered by the fashionable bifocals i'm wearing, will show that, YES, Bifocals Can Be Beautiful! And if i am wearing them while bounding across that field, i may be able to see the shift in terrain before i go head over floaty gown...

That's the only thing i feel like embracing at the moment. i promise that if i come up with something else i have the energy to embrace, i'll keep you posted.

To sleep, to dream...while hooked to loads of wires

7:40 pm, October 18, 2006. Sleep study night.

So far, so uneventful--unless you count the freeways full of traffic that Dean drove through to get me here. (Isn't he sweet?) He's staying in a hotel nearby, 1.6 miles away, according to Mapquest.

The Santa Teresa Kaiser's sleep clinic is a cute little bunch of rooms off a little hallway, and they're decorated like mini hotel rooms--i don't know if they're all different (like the wildly decorated Madonna Inn on the coast of California--we stayed there once.) but this one is painted pretty much the same shade of green as my bathroom at home. The bed is covered with a comforter that i sincerely hope is supposed to be that particular shade of dirty white. There are two really cute chairs in the room, a dresser, mirror, and headboard in a nice reddish-brown wood, along with the requisite piece of hotel art.

The techs are both guys--a little weird, that. Hope i can wear my bra to sleep. i know that's not my normal sleep routine, but then neither is this whole dorm-room-attached-to-many-little-monitor-thingies-being-watched-by-two-strange-men. And the girls could use some support.

A sleeping pill, Ambien, is waiting for me. It was suggested by the woman who called me to see if i could fit into a cancellation spot. So i emailed my doctor to request that. She put in a prescription for one (1.) One single pill. And an $18 pill at that. Okay. A full prescription would have cost me $20 under our coverage, but a single one at its full cost (being less than the copay amount) is $18. Bummer deal. Well, if it helps me sleep well, i may ask the doctor to give me a whole bottle. Clearly nothing else is working.

i'm in waiting mode, as both techs are with patients. There's an adorable little girl about 7 years old who's here for a study. Wow. Since i don't go to bed until 10 usually anyway, they've said to just make myself comfortable--there's a tv, i have my book, so it's all good.

i just hope the study shows something. i've gotten so used over the years to feeling like all the ways i feel unwell are my fault and could aaaall be cured by Proper Diet and Exercise that i halfway expect them to find nothing and send along a "Jenny Craig" brochure with my report.

*10:10 pm.*

Well, i am now officially wired for sound (and whatever else they wire for--delta waves and such.) i look pretty darn funny. It took Tom the tech an hour to do it all. i have wires in my hair, on my face, legs, chest, and these cool purple straps cuddling the girls--one strap above and one below. It's a look. A purple box with numbered plug-ins for the colored wires attached everywhere. i have wires down my jammie pant legs, attached under my chin, under my eyes...i can't actually smile with everything taped to my face.

It's nearly lights out. Tom said he'd be back in about half an hour. As he was going out the door he said, "You can go to the restroom, read, whatever. But what one thing can you not do?" He looked at me expectantly. i looked back blankly, searching for the answer in my brain. i don't know, what? Wear a size 8? "Don't fall asleep!" Oh yeh. He did say that earlier.

i'm banking on that Ambien to get me calm enough to sleep.

This is weird. Good thing i got in so quickly--asked the doctor only a week or two ago. Less time to fret about it. And i'm good at fretting. Possibly a master fretter.

*MORNING DAWNS.*

Actually, i'm pretty sure it's still dark outside, so no dawn, just morning. 6 am wakeup call. Last night Tom said, "We wake people up between 5:30 and 6." i said, "Could i please be more toward the 6?" Not a morning person under any circumstance.

Between the pill and my strictly cutting off any fluid intake after 6 pm, i was saved needing to be unhooked and assisted to the restroom in the night by Tom the tech. i did wake up in the night--not sure how often, once or twice out of my 11:30 to 6 night. Given the fact that i normally sleep more like 10:30 or 11 pm to 7 or 8 am (yes, i know i'm spoiled) that rude 6 am awakening is just a blip on the screen of my usual night.

Results come in 4 or 5 days--i now look forward to it.

Tom was a fun chatter while doing the wiring last night--he has 2 girls, 5 and 8, and since he only works 3 days a week, 4 when they're short handed, he gets to spend time in their classes. He admits to riling them up, he's so high energy--i told him we used to tell people who'd get Jarel all wound up in the evening, "You wind him up, you take him home--"

i felt like i was seeing what a grown Jarel could look like out in the working world, a hyper-speed, fast talking man chattering along happily, doing his job.

Dean picked me up and we're now back at the Blue Collar Extended Stayamerica--the parking lot is full of trucks and minivans, while next door at the White Collar Extended Stayamerica Deluxe, the parking overflows with spendly little sports cars. Amusing.

**
On the way home via 680. Just passed a hand lettered sign stuck on a hill next to the freeway:
"OSTRICH
eggs leather
meat"
Mentioned it to Dean. He said, "Sounds like a bad place to be an ostrich."

Oh what a night.

i have good friends.

Not that i thought my friends were bad, but i've had some nice things happen lately.

First, there was that whole birthday thing in September. My sister and i have talked about how we both have some deep-seated dread of our birthdays. Nothing to do with the amount of years, though that carries its own trauma. So there i was, dreading my birthday the whole week previous, trying to put on a happy face, and then it all started flowing. i got to chat with a long distance friend, got to see my beautiful long distance grandkids on the webcam, got calls and cards from local friends and children, not to mention the perfect gift of a bag full of chocolate bars from my husband. And they weren't just any cards, and they weren't just any chocolates, they were special and thoughtful and funny cards, and lovely special chocolate bars. The kinds of things where you know the person really thought about you when they bought them. And on top of all that, i got to go to lunch and shopping with friends and daughters--TWICE!

But why just feel bad about my birthday? There is of course the whole fibromyalgia thing. Again, i try to not be a big crybaby about it. i do whine some. i do get grumpy a little. But it does tend to get me down from time to time, what with that whole crappy-sleep/constantly-achy-body thing.
And then there are always finances to worry about--why the heck our electric bill is as high as it is, why i am seemingly incapable at age 53 of making a simple budget and making it work. As somebody who believes in the God who made the universe (and me) i believe i'm to be a good manager of what resources He's given me. But can i ask Him for a raise in my allowance? That would be so much easier than trying to learn to live within my means!

And then there are my fears--the fears that keep me from doing things i would like to do. There's the fear of New, the fear of Failure, the fear of Large Bodies of Water. Recently daughter Corinne and i were discussing what we would do if we could have any job. She'd really like to know that about herself, since she's currently spending hours and hours finishing her college degree and considering going into a Master's program. i said i would love to write and publish--one thing i am passionate about is writing. i do some of my best thinking that way. Now, if we were talking about the fear of New Kinds of Chocolate, i'd be willing to try some total immersion therapy, but when it's the fear of something where i think others will be judging me? That gets pretty darn different.

So those are a few worries, a select few of the worthless crop i am currently fertilizing. But again, i am somebody who believes in the God who not only made me (and the universe!) but that He actually cares about my life. And that includes my birthday-dread, and my fibromyalgia-sleep-deprivation-crabbiness, and even my phobia about opening my electric bill.

So i've been conversing with God lately about the above-mentioned stuff--living within our means financially, dreams and passions i'm afraid to follow, pretty much all the stuff above except i'm not really ready to chat about the whole water thing just yet. And i've been trying to not only talk, but listen. You know, the kind of thing that makes a real relationship--the sharing, the not-one-sidedness. And i put a disclaimer here: if you are the sort of person who feels strongly that the creator of the universe (and you!) does not dilly-dally about having chats with 53 year old women about their fears and dreams like some cosmic slumber party, you should probably stop reading. Because lately i have been having a hard time hearing His voice, and i've been asking God if the stupid little crap of my life matters to Him. These are the ongoing inner conversations in my head as i go through my day doing laundry and such.

So i've been thinking about getting a new cell phone. i realize a cell phone is a frivolous thing, so how can i think about getting a new one if i have one that works? Well, this cell phone thing applies here because i have been saying to God, in the mode of trying to be responsible with the money we have, "i will not get one if it costs." You see, in our house, we are gadget fiends. We do love our cell phones and computers and cool tools. So a cell phone, here in the land of plenty, is not a big thing. Twelve year olds have cell phones here. i decided to be content until i found a freebie that i liked. And then my friend got a new cell phone. It glimmered in the light as i felt the gadget fiend within me rise up. But no--i've made a commitment. It must be free. i had been looking on our provider's site every week at what they might have. One similar to my friend's was, with rebates, $80. Not free. Now, again, here i know that to some, 80 bucks is two weeks groceries, and to others that's just the price of a good lunch. But, remembering my decision, no go. Not free.

But what's the harm in looking at the features and comparing reviews on Cnet and Amazon and such? This will fill my gadget cup for now. So i open Amazon to see if there are more details not on the Cingular site, and look up the phone.

It was there for $0.01. One cent. One penney. Huh. Cool.

A couple of days later i received my copy of "Simple Scrapbooks" magazine, and start flipping through the pages. i'm one of those people who tends to read all the pages, even the letters to the editor. So i perused the ads in the front, i started reading the letters from readers, and one sounded so very like me until i realized, it IS me--it's an email i sent them a couple of months ago. Not a piece of writing i sweat bullets over, but an email i just sent off one day because i like their magazine. My thoughts, my name, published right there on the page of a magazine. i laughed. Huh. Cool.

So, last night with my Bible study homies, i shared these two bits of news about the phone and the magazine. i asked them, "So, do you think God really answers stuff like that?" i mean, can God answer prayers through a cell phone? Am i just nuts to think He cares about the cell phones and the writing desires of my heart? If i had not been talking to Him about these very things for the last couple of weeks, i might have thought these were random acts in a random world. But no, i think they show God has a sense of humor.

So, here's where we get back to that concept of relationship with God. My most valuable friendships are ones that are reciprocal--not just me giving, not just them giving, but the give and take that creates closeness and trust between us. God, for all that parting-of-the-Red-Sea kind of action is still seeking to have a relationship with me. i know i've made the mistake of putting my parents' faces onto God. i know i've struggled long to separate what i saw as parenthood when a child from the truth of God's care as my Father. i read a verse yesterday in the book of John, chapter 14. It's verse 18, where Jesus is telling his disciples that even though he was leaving them soon he would ask God to send them the Holy Spirit to be with them and counsel them. He said, "No, I will not abandon you as orphans--I will come to you."

Abandonment. Speaking for myself, feeling abandoned like an orphan is an underlying fear of mine. Sometimes parents are too busy with their own problems to be involved with their children, and those children can end up feeling pretty alone even though the parents are physically present. Parents can be emotionally absent, physically absent, mentally absent--there are all sorts of abandonment. There can be the sort of abandonment that happens when parents don't like their grown children having a different opinion or belief or child-raising strategy from theirs. So first, in my life, there was that whole emotionally absent thing going on with my parents, and then Dean and i lost one parent after another until we found ourselves adult orphans in 2001. Abandonment. Not always intentional, but always painful.

But Jesus said He wouldn't abandon me, wouldn't leave me alone--He would send me the Holy Spirit to take his place.

My friends said, "It sounds like God is relating to you in a way that speaks to you--with a sense of humor." i like the thought that a relationship with me is important enough to the God who created the whole pickin' universe (and me!) that He would not abandon me. That's an active thing. A two way thing.

Oh, and the topper for good friends? i have one that actually says she thinks i'm organized. (Thanks, Adina!) But the subject of why that is worth putting out front in lights is another subject for another day.

"If i only had a brain..."

Yesterday i had a unique experience. Because of the whole fibromyalgia-arthritis-hard to work thing i've had a couple of interesting doctor visits lately. Last week it was one where i got weighed and measured (why will they always take my word on my height, but not my weight?) and told to bend here and fold there....the young girl taking the measurements very delicately put her tape measure to my legs and arms (i apologized for not having shaved my legs, had i known i would be fondled about the calf and thigh i surely would have) and checked for matching/not matching sides of my body. The doctor then came in and spent his 2.5 minutes speaking with me, looked at my scoliosis in the lower spine, and told me he makes no decisions, he merely does the exam and gives the information to the Social Security people, and they decide.

Yesterday's appointment was much more entertaining (hard to imagine, i know) as it was a psychological evaluation. Did this have me nervous? But of course. Did it help that Mapquest has an odd sense of humor when laying out the route to an unknown doctor's office? Not really. But once i was there outside the office, shoving nickles and dimes into the parking meter, i steeled myself for the upcoming unknown evaluation.

The office was in a lovely old building in nearby Oakland. i let myself in to the suite's waiting room and was handed a clipboard with 6 or 7 sheets of questions. Some i could answer easily: "do you smoke? use drugs? feel like killing anybody?" But questions like, "what do you think is your main problem?" or "did you feed/bathe/dress yourself today?" begged for answers i felt i should probably NOT put down on a psychiatric evaluation. And yet, those questions barely prepared me for the battery of tests administered by the doctor herself. (And why is it called a "battery of tests"? Is it because you feel battered after taking them?)

i was feeling all pumped by the questions like "how are apples and oranges alike?" BOTH FRUITS! or "how are "cars and boats alike?" BOTH TRANSPORTATION! Maybe i can pass this test! Ah, but they got trickier as time went on: "how are flies and trees alike?" Uh, both alive and hopefully outside. "Why do we have a probation system?" HUH? "Name all the continents" "Who was president during the Civil War?" What are we testing?? Whether or not i was i asleep during history and geography classes???

And then came the evil *Numbers*.... "I am going to say a list of numbers, and you repeat them back to me." Numbers--never my favorite, and here they come to bite me in the backside-- "5. 8." Okay i can do this!! Then eventually, "6. 3. 5. 1. 9. 8. 3. 4." Um..(furrowed brow...) "And now I will give you a list of numbers and I want you to REPEAT THEM BACKWARDS TO ME." Now, nice Doctor Lady, if i couldn't repeat 8 numbers to you FORWARD, what makes you think i shouldn't just go out and get myself a candy bar and come back later?

And there were patterns to be copied made of blocks. Anybody familiar with "Flowers for Algernon," the story of a mentally handicapped person who has some experimental treatment or something and becomes brilliant, but then it wears off and they go back to where they started? Well, whether or not i just butchered that story, guess what part of the story i felt like? Yep, back to slow. And there were patterns to be copied in pencil. Cool. i'm all over that one--yes, i have copied the "Could You Be An Artist?" pictures from the ads-- "Now, I will take away the cards and your drawings--Now draw them from memory." Back to slooower.

By the end of the testing i was seriously questioning my ability to unlock my own car door, and i have one of those "push the button on the remote to unlock" thingies.

i did get myself home, though. But today i am not getting out of bed. Not sure if i can feed/bathe/dress myself anymore.

The year of 53

i suppose this could also be called, "The Year of Looking For Signs." What is it that fascinates me about numbers lining up? i was born in 1953 (yup, there it is in writing!) and had my 53rd birthday this September--cool enough for me, right there! BUT THEN--i did some birthday ebay shopping the week before my birthday, and (add in some Twilight Zone music here--) saw that i now have--can you guess?--53 feedbacks! How cool and yet weird is that?

As if that combination of odd numbers and odd occurances wasn't enough, i already have odd numbers going for my birthday itself--the 9th day of the 9th month. So altogether, does this make me an odd person? Possibly. i mean, i am left-handed, too. But if those do not, there are many other things that probably serve to qualify me.

Feel free to not bring them up.

In the absence of a campfire...

...a gas stove does a pretty good job. At least for S'mores making.

There was the idea of a camping trip with friends. That didn't work out, but we were left with a powerful hunger for S'mores!! My good friend Adina said, "Well, I've done them over a candle before." Do i need any more of a green light than that? Not where chocolate is concerned! So we collected the necessities: graham crackers, marshmallows, and, mmm... chocolate.

Now, Adina, being the S'mores connoisseur that she is, brought Ghirardelli chocolate squares. We here in the Bay Area have a serious appreciation for Ghirardelli, especially as she happens to be a local girl (there is just no way chocolate is a man!) It's smooth, it melts well, even on stove-top S'mores. Adina also tutored me in the ways of expert marshmallow toasting--she is good, i must say. As much longer as i have loved chocolate and S'mores than her, being considerably older, i was in awe at her masterful technique. i'm one of those impatient souls who ends up with the flaming marshmallow and has to blow it out, while she steadfastly held her metal skewered marshmallow, deftly dancing with the flame, creating an enormously puffed lightly tanned delight. And at this point the differences again showed--i am one to just slap that baby on the graham cracker and chocolate, squish the cracker on top and dive in, but not so for Adina. With the careful movements of a surgeon she tipped the skewer up and slid the marshmallow ever so slowly on end onto the chocolate and cracker, held the topping cracker and worked the flow of the oversized creaminess into just the right position, and danced it over the flame as a whole for just a moment longer before she gently picked it up and bit in. i was in awe.

A couple of days later i was still dreaming of perfectly puffed marshmallows, so i picked some up at the store to try her technique myself. i turned on the gas burner, and flame and marshmallow engaged in the dance. Could i do it? Could i, the impatient one, make the dance last until the perfect shade of golden delight had been achieved? Sadly, no. Marshmallow firebomb #4087. But as i blew it out and prepared to eat it, i paused to think fondly of all the other burnt marshmallows i've enjoyed over campfires in the past.

Final bit of advice, though--if you use a metal serving fork as a skewer, remove the marshmallow BEFORE attempting to eat. That hot fork can leave quite a little blister on your lip. Trust me on this one and don't ask.

Just wondering....

Anybody out there? i mean, i love to hear myself talk as much as the next guy, but seriously....

Fall

Today is that kind of amazing fall day i love. i always forget i love it until it comes and i realize i'm holding my breath and listening to the leaves rustle and feeling the crisp air.

In one part of my brain i think fall means brown-ness and dead-ness and winter coming (yes, i'm aware that "winter" for me here in the San Francisco Bay Area is not quite what some of you view as "winter"...) BUT--apparently there is another part of my brain i'm usually unaware of that *senses* the fall on another level. That part of my brain carries the pleasure i felt jumping in rain puddles as a child (and as a college student--yes, i really did and i'm not ashamed to admit it.) It remembers the feel of the crisp coldness of the Pacific Northwest or the Nebraska plains or England or, yes, even California in that brightness that precedes winter.

i need to listen to that part of my brain more often, i think it might help balance out the other part of my brain that can only see laundry and dust and bills to be paid.

What i did on my summer vacation.

My hubby and i got to spend time last month on two different farms. We visited relatives in Alabama where the young folk still say "yes ma'am" and "yes sir," where we stayed on one cousin's farm. Wow. Acres and acres of green pasture are anchored by the light and airy farmhouse. Horses wander lazily nearby. My damp Portland Oregon roots sighed happily at all the green-ness.

The occasion was the 60th wedding anniversary of my hubby's uncle and aunt--wow, huh?--at pretty much the same time as WE are celebrating our 30th! And i was impressed with that many years (Kind of in a "jeez, are we that old?" kind of way...) But apparently all that green comes at a cost--humidity--cousin Lea Ann said, "We call it 'air you can wear.'"

We had a lovely time visiting with our too infrequently seen relatives who welcomed us and fed us well and put us up in our own "apartment." (We too have a special place we can let people stay at our house--if ya don't mind all the boxes of Christmas decorations stacked along the bedside...it's that ambiance that says "homey, but not in a good way." )

And the countryside in Alabama--i want this view out my front door! --->
There was even a rather spectacular thunder/lightning/rain storm for entertainment--let me tell ya, that thunder and lightning bit sure seems closer out there in all that open land. And greenness abounds there, it seems--Uncle Joe and Aunt Pat's house has an actual woods in the backyard, and the church we attended better have some riveting sermons, because the walls behind the pulpit were windows looking out onto fields of green and trees...my eyes only wandered a little....

THEN we moved on to a farm in Canada--as in a working farm with crops and harvesting and all those things unfamiliar to my town-bred self. It's the family farm of my good friend Adina, in Plum Coulee, Manitoba. Her two sisters, brother, and brother-in-law were home as well, bringing the temporary household count to 9 adults, 1 almost adult (just kidding, Dorian!) and a baby. Here i am frustrated--i don't seem to be able to add a particular picture i have of the farm. So picture for yourself: a vast expanse of fields surrounding a collection of granaries, house, barns, and trees, fronted by a gravel road--all washed in a translucent rose-colored late afternoon light. And picture a big ol' red tractor with my Kansas born husband driving, a very nostalgic experience for him--although this time he could reach the pedals, no longer being 8--

<-- here's a shot of that red tractor between the granaries

Oh--and both farms had gardens--in Alabama, a softly overflowing cottage style flower garden, and in Plum Coulee, a garden full of poppies, vegetables, and fruit trees. The really disturbing part? The garden in Manitoba is larger than the plot of ground that defines our entire California homestead. Anyway, in Canada they humored me and let me play at gardening. i, who am duly impressed when i can keep a rose bush alive for more than a season, got to help harvest the remaining beans. And we had a campfire out in the backyard one night! How crazy is that? i mean, if i imagine building a fire in our backyard i know it would mean either the house or the fence or the neighbor's place (or all three) likely going up in smoke.

We attended the family's Mennonite church on the Sunday, and ate some of the meals that say "comfort food" to Adina--and i have to say, i'm good with that whole watermelon and fritter thing they call a meal! (They don't call it a fritter--it actually has a German name that i can almost say but definitely can't spell--) But, oh yum!

It was a great month, whether at a family celebration in Alabama, or a family meal or cup of coffee around the table in Plum Coulee. i won't go all philosophical and sentimental on you, but i loved watching the families in action. There's a commonality to the kinds of families who like each other, evidenced by the shared jokes and knowledge of and grace for each other. i know a lot of what helps both these families give grace is their own experience of God's unconditional love and with that, how can they give anything less to each other?

But even after my summer vacation of farms, i still don't know where the phrase "he bought the farm" comes from. Any thoughts?*

*Cousin Lea Ann has a link to the possible origins of the phrase: http://www.snopes.com/language/phrases/farm.htm

Why it's good to be me!

More and more lately i find my brain has gone out to lunch and forgotten to take me along. The good part? Something happens that i didn't like?? Give me 30 minutes and i'll have forgotten it ever happened.