"The great thing is, if one can, to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions in one's 'own' or 'real' life. The truth is, of course, that what one regards as interruptions are precisely one's life." C. S. Lewis
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."
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 Sundinis 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.
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.
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?
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 Storein 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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.)
