Once upon a time, on the first day of Spring...

a boy and a girl were married.

 

From the day the Boy had first seen her, he knew she was The One. So exactly 2 years after they first formed their household union, they were to make it a permanent one with signatures and flowers and a solemn ceremony.

This ceremony was to take place high in the majestic mountains of the magical faraway land where they lived called "Vail Colorado." There was snow in its mountains, even on the first day of Spring, and the Holy Man who would perform their ceremony was out in that snow performing a different sort of ceremony with 2 poles and 2 flat pieces of wood. His Holy Watch was apparently broken, causing him to rush in late wearing muddy boots.

The Boy, the Girl, a friend named Mildred and the Girl's young and beautiful sister all passed secret smiles amongst themselves on observing the man's muddy footwear, it being irregular indeed to wear such attire to perform this solemn ceremony, and didst bring them a chuckle.

The Girl's younger sister with the naturally occurring dark hair played a stringed instrument and sang a moving ballad to the young couple. The Holy Man attempted to lead the ceremonial participants in a recitation of the Lord's Prayer. Again they passed secret smiles amongst themselves while mouthing words that may or may not have been correct, as the raven-haired sister of immense beauty was the only person besides the Holy Man familiar with the words. And didst I mention she sang like an angel?

In time the Boy grew into a Man, knowing all the more surely that, indeed, she was The One.Their union was strong, unusual in the fickle and self-serving times in which they lived. Their time lasted into 4 decades,  cut short only by her untimely death. The Man and the now unnaturally raven-haired sister still grieve, but as they share the story of The Old Days and the Holy Man of the muddy boots, and of the first day of Spring all those decades before,


they smile.


Skimmer's Recap: Canst thou tell who the young sister may have been? The Girl Bride was actually the pretty one, but she would have found the shameless younger sister's telling of this story amusing.
(Hi Keith! i love you!)

Gall bladder surgery proves effective distraction from Fibromyalgia.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things to do instead of shop on Black Friday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Painful flare.

Soon to be painful funny flare.

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

My life as a toothpaste tube.

If the picture above symbolizes my energy level before the Fentanyl, Oxycontin, Morphine, & Methadone experiment....the one below is my energy level after.

From barely there to totally twisted, tweaked, and wrung out. (And a different brand and color, but who's counting?)

This week i have helped paint the house's front porch from top to bottom (new siding so new everything-gets-painted) and today i will help with either painting the trim on the house or cutting siding for the third outside wall of the house.

above: the new roof & dormer construction, with new siding, new windows, and new paint.

Therefore, i must assume i am beginning to come back from the dead! Maybe i will live past this Opiate Interruption after all. Woohoo.

Skimmer's recap: Ah come on, buck up!! This one was stinking short!!

Apricot Thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

Good stuff.

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

Habits of Happy People.

First off, welcome back to me! i say. Nearly a month is way too long for any self-respecting blogger to go between posts--

Friday i went back to the Chronic Pain Management Class at Kaiser for my 2 month follow-up day. Other than the nurses trying to kill me by having us do ALL the strength exercises i have not been doing faithfully, it was a good day. Even an encouraging day.

The last thing of the day was time spent with the psychologist--she spoke of Intentional Happiness. What is that, you ask? Why, i would be *happy* to tell you, i answer.

The psychologist started out by commenting that for all the years there have been studies to define the many types of mental/emotional illnesses and their treatments, no studies had been done on people who are well-balanced and happy in their lives. Surprising, you comment? Truthfully i had never given it a moment's thought, i respond.

This study was done with a goal of ascertaining what differentiates a person's capacity for happiness or unhappiness, thriving or failing. It encompassed people who had lived through horrible circumstances and events: the holocaust, loss of children, illnesses, etc. Those who survived and thrived had several habits in common. But first to set the stage:

If you draw a circle representing 100% happiness in your life, what percentage of that circle do you suppose genetics plays a part in? Take a guess--no really, just guess! i was totally off. It's FIFTY PERCENT! This would include things such as coming from a long line of family members with depression and/or anxiety, other illnesses both mental and physical such as a predisposition toward cancer, diabetes, etc. So HALF your happiness is affected by genetics. (Again i apologize, dear Corinne, child of birth--you are so screwed.)

Now, of the 50% remaining, what percentage do you think you are solely responsible for? This includes your behavior and habits, that sort of thing, the parts only you control. FORTY PERCENT!! That's right. A whole hunk of it is up to us. Our choices. Our habits.

This leaves 10%--that is the percentage determined by circumstances: events, disease, pain and such. A mere 10%. BUT, and here's the kicker, when that 10% starts taking over our thinking and actions, it swallows up the 40% that is our behavior and habits to become FIFTY PERCENT. Holy negativity, Batman!

So--this brings us to the answer to the original question: What are the common habits of happy people?

*Intentional happiness. This is the choice to look for the good--what happened today that was good? What went right? (NOW who's talkin' smack about Pollyanna, huh?)

*Support. The habit of seeking support and working to maintain and improve those supportive relationships.

*Hobbies. Those who thrived in the midst of bad circumstance had hobbies! Since i am a big hobby person i understand this one. My hobbies focus me on the immediate. i have no thoughts of past failure or present pain, i'm lost in the moment. And lest you think a hobby means craftiness, a hobby can be many things that don't mean having shelves full of yarn and scrapbooking supplies and fabric and....yeh. That would be me. A hobby can be as simple as reading a library book, or watching a movie. All hobbies don't require huge amounts of supply space and/or money, they simply are an activity that gives you something to focus on other than your circumstance.

*Flow. This was an unfamiliar term. As soon as the psychologist explained it i understood--that feeling you get when you're doing something that absorbs you and puts you in the moment? That's flow. For me all those hobbies i mentioned, the reading/creating and such, those put me in "flow."

*Meaning. Finding meaning for life is a habit of a happy person. For me there have been many things that contributed to that--none of which i can do as easily any more, given my energy-free life. Once upon a time i loved providing infant foster care, i loved being a part of students' lives for the years i worked in the church high school department. i loved providing a safe space for the occasional teen who needed a place to stay. i loved (and still love!) loving my kids. i find that i am in a time of redefining what i can do, given the change in health. But that's okay--no place does it say i have to do the exact same things to have meaning in my life. For me it has all been driven by the unconditional love i have known from my Creator God, and the desire to share that in my actions toward others. i need to accept that i will do this in my flawed way, but the desire is there and always has been. i just need to do some thinking to find a different way to perform the acts that give me meaning and purpose.

As simple as this all seems, the practice is the key. My choice to look for the good, to seek support, to find ways to be focused and absorbed and in the moment, to find meaning--these choices are the key to thriving in the midst of crappy circumstance. Crappy circumstances are the things we often see as interruptions in our real life, when in fact they are our life at that moment.

Skimmer's recap: Half your potential for thriving in life is determined by your genes. Only 10% is determined by your circumstance. That leaves 40% dependent on your personal choices and habits. That's a whole lot of control.

Just me.

Not exactly sure why, but i have not felt like writing. i suppose it has something to do with the fact that i've changed pills yet again and so am having to go through the adjustment process again. This seems to mean extreme fatigue (which is what i thought i already had, but apparently it can be worse) which leads to a lack of the will to do much of anything. Therefore i do as little as possible--laundry, make pancakes for dinner, clean the occasional bathroom. i realize this makes me appear to be pretty much a useless lump, but i guess it's just part of the process. Hopefully this new go-round of medication will not leave me with shortness of breath and hot flashes, as did the last. And as much as i enjoyed the appetite suppressant side effect of the medication, feeling like i couldn't catch my breath was a bit of a bummer.

i had pretty much decided i would just hand over my ticket and take the ride and see where i ended up, see if it was a ride worth staying on and going round a few more times. i've pretty much decided i'm okay looking like a lump and doing little but knit and the few aforementioned chores. i guess my giving into my body wishing to hibernate and come out sometime Spring after next is somewhat weird to those around me, though, giving off the appearance of being the walking dead. i just have such short spurts of energy to use. Who wants to use those folding towels and cleaning bathrooms?

So hopefully i'll be back to myself one day--oh wait! This isn't "an interruption" of my true life, this is my true life right now. i honestly didn't think i could feel a whole lot lower than i did!

i need to find my inner Pollyanna.

The cancer interruption.

i've lost a couple of friends and assorted others to that big interrupter of life, Cancer. One was a long time friend who became my boss and helped me learn i was capable of doing many things i didn't think i could. The other was someone i'd known for years but not as closely, but God allowed me to spend a few days with just before she died.

Both had said the same words during their struggles with cancer: "I just want my life back." Somehow in my head, i heard those words, but as an outsider i thought, "but this is your life right now." To me, from the outside looking in, i knew the nausea and weakness were part of their "now," the part of life they were currently living. To them, the sickness and treatments that stole their strength and their hair were evil invaders come to take away what was rightfully theirs--their ability to care for their children, or do their jobs, or even go to the grocery store. So for them, the cancer was the interruption in their "real" lives.

i don't blame them at all for the way they felt. i have no idea what it feels like to have something attacking you from the inside, threatening to take away life as you know it.

For the one friend, even as she was in the hospital bed in her living room, bald-headed and too weak to get to the bathroom alone, when i would come in to visit she would say, "Tell me everything!" She had always greeted me like that when i returned to the office from vacation, or when she knew anything had happened in my life. She had a certain way to share photos when she returned from a trip. These customs were like little safe harbors in life--places you knew you could pull up to that would mean sharing and love, not just for her but for those she shared them with. It was about the relationship, the connecting.

For the other friend, the things we did in the few days we spent toward the end of her cancer interruption were the common errands that any mom and wife might do: take the vacuum cleaner to be fixed, go by the drugstore, pick up the kids from Vacation Bible School, go to the coffee shop. So with her, we did those things, but slowly and with an oxygen tank, each step taking great concentration and energy. And she was so happy in the doing.

Their "new" lives meant restrictions. They just wanted to be allowed to continue with the things that were important to them--for the one, that safe harbor connection with friends, the sharing of the details of life. For the other, being able to be a mom to her kids and a wife to her husband, even if that day it just meant buying them Band-aids at the drugstore.

The things that mattered to them in their "real" lives, the ones they wanted back, were the same things that mattered to them even in the life-changing interruption of cancer. The common thread running through what seemed to be two distinctly separate parts of their lives was that desire to connect with those they loved.

i'm not sure why they've been so much on my mind lately. i do know i've been feeling the limits my fibromyalgia puts on me. It's not a sickness-unto-death, i know, but on those days i find myself crying because i hurt so much i can barely move, well, i must admit to wishing for my old pain-free life.

But like my friends, the same stuff has continued to matter to me through all parts of my life (of which there have been several, having passed the half century mark.) i too love the relationships and the connecting, the sharing of photos, the tell-me-everything details of the lives of people i care about. i love the simplicity of a shared meal, conversation over coffee with a friend.

The things we value as people doesn't seem to change as our situations or bodies change.

Just something i've been pondering while in overthinking mode. Any thoughts?

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.

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.