Busy April!!

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

i think i look totally natural, personally--

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

i weighed 115 pounds.

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

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

Anyway, read the book. It's good.

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

The New Year.

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

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

julie: You mean now that it's March?

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

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

Julia: Okay--what about last year?

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

Julia: Uh--

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

Julia: But that sounds great!

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

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

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

Julia: i see--and how is that?

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

Julia: That is good. Anything else?

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

Julia: Anything other thoughts on 2009?

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

Julia: How, exactly?

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

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

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

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

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

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

julie: 6 whole days!

Julia: We're done.

My energy drain on fibromyalgia.

The fatigue of fibromyalgia is like an old battery.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My body on fibromyalgia Part 2.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rest, repeat.

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

And this is my body on fibromyalgia--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will work for praise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*SIGH*

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

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

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

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

Happy birthday, somewhere--

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy birthday, Michael, somewhere!

Ready or not, here the ants come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

i'm a winner. Yep, me.

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

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

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

Thanks Connie!

;-)

Why Cori makes me laugh.

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

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

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

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

;-)

Like salt and pepper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Faces.

The face of too much shopping.

Of goofy faces...

and happy faces.

The face of being played out...

and of girl-play...

and total cuteness.

The face of frustration...

of exploration...

and autumn leaves...

and leaf-play.

The faces of family.

The 50s Thanksgiving celebration.

Me playing at being the consummate 50s hostess.

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

Cassidy and Haley dressed up to match Grandma Julie's 50s theme.
i believe a good time was had by all.

Things that make you say "hmmm..."

The weirdest thing heard today over the loudspeaker at my local thrift store:

"There's a black BMW in the parking lot with its lights on."

Hmmm.

A 1950s Thanksgiving.

Well, i've been back from England for nearly a week now, and my body and brain might just be getting back on the right time zone. Between the usual loads of laundry and piles of dishes, i've been looking up recipes. When thinking about the Thanksgiving menu, daughter Cori came up with the idea of casseroles--from there we jumped to the idea of a 1950s theme. Jello mold anyone?

So i've been cruising the internet for foods in gelatin. What else says 50s like Jello with grated vegetables in it? i've found some great sounding recipes, though, to my surprise! i mean, for me personally, if it contains cream cheese i will come. Or cranberries and pineapple. These sound good to me.

i also need an interesting dessert, besides the pecan pie i can't help but make. Any 50s desserts ideas?

Oh--and i will be wearing my pearls and best apron.

Not my cup of tea.

Tea is a big thing here in England. i've known since i was a little girl that tea is very English and queenly, pinkies held high, full of mannerlyness and whatnot. And aren't tea parties pretty much the symbol of childhood imagination?

Tea is no imaginary happening here in the damp U.K. And tea has rules. To do tea properly there should be a teaPOT, not just a cup. Aforementioned teapot should be heated before making the tea, milk should go in the cup at a certain point... It's not simply a drink, it's an event. And there must be biscuits. And how much do i love a place where a "biscuit" is a cookie!

The weather is overwhelmingly conducive to the idea of a warming beverage. The boiler man comes in from the average gale force wind and rain to fix your boiler, and you offer him a nice hot cup of tea with biscuits. The moving men carrying boxes in the rain are offered tea. It is a polite and thoughtful country that way.

During this visit to England the house's boiler went out. Now, a boiler going out in winter England is like the time we rented a convertible in mid-summer Las Vegas--a bad idea. In England, the boiler is the source of not only hot water for bathing and dishwashing, but heat for the radiators. So, no boiler, no heat. No heat in this passage of autumn to winter in England? A bad idea gone tragic.

So the boiler guy comes in from one of the more thoroughly nasty days i've seen--freezing cold rain coming sideways, trees blowing, wind howling. He's covered in mud from waist to toes from his previous job.

"It's been quite a day!" he greets me cheerfully, wiping his feet. i am wearing two shirts, two sweaters, jeans, a scarf, two pairs of socks and am clutching a blanket around me.

Daughter Shawn says to her English hubby that she's going to offer the boiler man a cup of tea. Jon says, "Let me make the tea." Apparently there is some discussion in this household over what constitutes the proper cup of tea. Shawn has had a bad experience with tea-making for her fully British husband. He explains.

"When I have tea, I want it strong. And you should never use full fat milk, that's too creamy. You should taste the tea." i flashed back to a memory of my first cup of tea at his parents' house when we came to meet them years ago. His grandmother offered us tea and after pouring asked if we cared for milk in it.

"Oh no," i casually waved the idea away, "i usually drink it black," i smiled at her. One sip and i understood the offer. A serious cup of English tea peals the taste buds right off your tongue.

For Shawn and i, a cup of tea is sweet comfort. Creamy with milk, sweetened with honey, warm and soothing. i guess that for any proper Englishman or woman, if you come away with taste buds and without extra hair on your chest, you haven't had a proper cup of tea.

A very cool gift.

i'm quite sure Ellie decided to hold off on walking until Grandma Julie arrived from America. On her first birthday, November 7, she decided it was time. Lucky, lucky Grandma!

Need i say more?

Ellie (just turned 1) & big brother Elias (5 1/2)

mum Shawn with Elias & Euan (4 in January)
Ellie the charmer

Grandma julie's wet hair is pretty interesting.

Those sturdy English.

i arrived today in England.

It just so happened to be the day they're celebrating Guy Fawkes day and Bonfire night. Having been told "layers, think lots of layers," i put on 2 shirts and a sweatshirt under my coat, and 2 pairs of socks under my new warm boots. i topped the whole ensemble with my recently purchased scarf, gloves, and cute hat. If not prepared, i was at least adorable.

We drove tthe 3 kids to a friend's house to park, then several families set off in the pitch black muddy evening for the field where the celebration would take place. i was handed an umbrella and fell into step behind numerous strollers with babies and rain baggies over them, and countless more small school children in wellies (rubber boots) and raincoats. The cloud of well covered adults and children moved off in a large gnat-like cloud to the field. The cloud grew larger as excited children and parents gravitated toward the rope separating us from the huge bonfire in the middle of the field.

Did i mention the whole "pitch black" thing? Here were families upon families, chatting and playing and standing bundled in the freezing rain like they were having a tea party. In the darkness, everyone looked the same to me--tall and short dark bodies with vaguely seen faces above, cheerfully saying "hello" to me as i was introduced.

Normal, it was all perfectly normal to these sturdy English. Rain, blowing like ice needles into your face? Normal. Slogging along a country road through muddy piles of leaves in the pitch black? Normal. Fireworks in the rain? All normal. Me? i kept wrapping and wrapping my scarf around my neck and wishing for a third pair of socks under my new boots.

i looked around at the crowd and asked Jon, my son-in-law, "how many people do you think are here?" He said, "Oh, probably a hundred, hundred-fifty." He laughed and said, "You'd probably have a thousand!" (i do after all, live in a populated area in California.) i said, "Oh no-we would have totally called it on account of rain!"

A good time was had by all, and on the bright side, i think i will only lose the one toe to frostbite.

Here's a fun link to explain the Guy Fawkes celebration.

i'll wait for daylight to get photos of the grandBrits to post.

Talking life more than politics.

This election year has fascinated me.

i must admit to being pretty uninterested in years past. Partly that was a function of the party going on in my head, filled with parental voices and doubts that i could indeed live a viable adult life. i couldn't hear myself over the noise until my 3rd round with a mental health professional. (i view this process of understanding myself as peeling off the layers of an onion. It appears i'm a slow peeler, still peeling after 55 years.)

This year i have finally been able to watch and learn and listen to the issues. i have people around me voting opposite sides for various reasons. Problem is, i've been unaware of so many of the issues it's been a huge undertaking to try to understand even a portion. Foreign policy, wars, environmentmental issues, pro-life, pro-choice, issues of the economy as it heads for the Big Flush, and much more. i "get" more than i did, but i still understand merely a crumb from the cookie.

Foreign policy: i know little of foreign policy, other than the fact the U.S. has apparently ticked off a lot of other nations with our adolescent superiority. Not a good thing for getting along with the rest of the planet.

War: i know only a tiny bit more about war--and only from a personal-life basis. Between the war's effect on my father and the imbalances of my mother, my siblings and i grew up in a domestic war zone. i never heard of my father's training time in Australia, i only knew the horrors of combat in Korea. i knew the man who sat us down in the living room with a gun and threatened to put us all "in the ground." My sister tells me he was a bright and accomplished student. i'm sorry i never met that man--that would be a good memory in the mix.

Environmental issues: Again, a tiny bit. i grew up in the lush beauty of Portland, Oregon. When i see the green of a forest or woods my soul sighs with happiness. i'm pro-happy-environment. Now, at 55, i have many things floating about in the attic of my head--one is the childhood memory of building a snow woman (complete with breasts) in our front yard, another is the Snoopy on his doghouse i snow-sculpted one winter. i could honestly think i'm losing big chunks of brain cells, because now if i talk about the snow of my childhood, people act as if they should humor the crazy lady--it doesn't snow in PORTLAND. So my personal experience says the environment is changing. i don't know much other than the junk in the air bothers my asthma, AND IT DID SO USED TO SNOW IN PORTLAND!

The Economy: Experience tells me it's hard to get by. Partly because i'm not willing to give up satellite tv and other niceties, admittedly. Partly because our adolescent country is in that "I want to learn it the hard way!" stage. Two hundred years plus is pretty young as countries go, but the bad part about that? What takes a teen 4 years to learn takes a country decades. The me-first mentality hasn't been curbed in our adolescent economy. People are suffering, and not just the big guys who have to make do with two vacation houses instead of three, but the regular folk who just need to see a dentist but have no coverage and no extra money beyond their day to day costs of living.

Pro-life, Pro-choice--always an issue for me. i know my sister dealt with a childhood that was far less than affirming. Mine wasn't so great, but i was the baby and skated by more easily. But having grown up in an environment filled with the toxicity of cigarette smoke and anger, i still don't regret having the chance to live. i'm thankful i've been on this earth long enough to go to school, make friends, give birth, adopt, do foster care--and oh yeh, marry a really good guy.

Though formerly a girl who thought marriage was for suckers and child raising frightening, i had the chance to meet someone who changed my view on marriage. Then i learned i loved the nurturing-growing-teaching-loving parts of child raising. i know that none of them have found the path to adulthood a peachy-keen-no-sweat road. But they're all amazing, and make my soul sigh with pleasure, almost as much as those forests and woods. (KIDDING!) i'm beyond thankful for the opportunities i've had to nurture those lives.

i'm grateful for the chances i've had to care for foster babies and teens in distress, hopefully giving them some sense of self-worth by being loved without condition. Our son, now 20, was born nearly 3 months premature to a cocaine addict. 28 weeks gestation, a big 3 pounds, he fought for 5 months before being released from the hospital. He was the age of pre-born children some would still consider disposable. He's a tender-hearted boy with learning disabilities and his share of difficulties. And like my other children, i cannot imagine my life without him. i do worry about some of the changes in the U.S. Some have been a long time coming, but i do worry about the issue of "choice." Whose choice, the baby's or the mom's? i'm thankful, even with the difficulties i've faced, to have had a chance to live and grow.

Anyway, if you've made it this far through my mental life/political purge, congrats. If you had to skim a LOT, just read below.

Skimmer's recap: i'm glad i had the chance for this life of mine. i don't understand a whole lot about world issues, but i've gotten to do some pretty great stuff. And that includes building snowmen in Portland. Seriously!! i can show you pictures!

What's wrong with this picture?

i'll give you a hint: it's a cookbook and i've been using one.

i've been cooking lately. Purposely. And enjoying it.

Anyone who knows me well is aware of my many kitchen casualties. i've eaten the burned cookies/burned toast so often over the years that now if it doesn't taste like carbon it doesn't taste right. My children will not be gathered after the funeral saying "I only wish I'd learned to cook like Mom--"

But lately i've been cooking, making meals, trying new things. i've always loved cookbooks and recipes in magazines, and have ripped out more recipes from magazines over the years than there've been days in my life. i've thrown away piles of recipes i've never tried. But like i said, "lately..."

i've organized my recipes (again) and tossed a pile of them (again.) But i'm feelin' it, i'm feelin' the cooking vibe. It may be the season--the change to autumn brings visions of hot chocolate and pot roast with gravy (well, not together.) Possibly that's inspired me to look for new cold weather dishes. i actually made a pork tenderloin roast with a lovely orange and honey glaze with its accompanying chunky homemade applesauce. Don't remember what i served with it, i'm just so impressed with myself over the roast. Twice that week i cooked from a real recipe and twice it was good!

i refuse to discuss the other meals that week.

When credit cards amuse.

i received one of those "Important Notice of Change in Terms" papers in my credit card bill.

i must admit that sort of thing is usually filed without reading. What compelled me to read it this time i don't know. But what i now realize is that had i known how amusing these titillatingly titled missives could be i would have been reading them all along.

Paragraph 1 included many Boldfaced and Capitalized words along with this friendly statement: "Please see below for the Summary of Changes and your right to not accept the changes to your APRs." Oh! A choice! How very American of them.

Paragraph 2 gave the rundown of rediculously high rate changes for Overdraft Advances and Cash Advances. This included the invitation to accept their graciously offered rediculously high new Default APR with its new variable rate. Hmm. Such an offer.

Paragraph 3 told me of my "Right to Opt Out (not accept) the changes in the APRs." Very decent of them! All i need do is write them a letter politely declining: "As tempting as your offer for unbelievably higher and unpredictable rates sounds, I think I'll stick with your previously merely laughable rates."

Paragraph 4 clarified "What it means if you choose not to accept these APR changes." Ah! Let us see what provision has been made for this: "These APR changes will not apply." Cool. My letter changes everything. i'm pleased. Next sentence: "Your account will be closed and your card will no longer be available for use."

Huh. So much for "Options."

Skimmer's recap: When a credit card says you have options, it really means you have none.

On turning 55.

i turned 55 on the 9th, and the 11th was our 32nd anniversary. We had the anniversary date loong before it became a week to be filled with tv shows about the Twin Towers and terrorists.

i'm weirdly happy to be 55--i can get the Tuesday Senior's discount at Ross Dress for Less, and i'm sure other good things will come. i'm even celebrating the big 55 by making a scrapbook called "55 Things About Me" which i will fill with a list of stuff i like, places i've lived, stuff like that. i am "marking the occasion" rather than letting it slide by.

So today i thought "wonder what i'll get if i do a Google search for images about age 55?" And here's the first thing i found, thanks to Gosnell Realtors--

i am SO done looking.

"Good morning" takes on a new meaning.

poplar tree in our backyard

i've been having some good mornings lately.

i say this because i've never really been a morning person, but morning has been less friendly with the fibromyalgia. If you've read this blog before, you probably remember that i've whined heartily about the Fentanyl withdrawals and the fact of that experience leaving me with even less energy than before.

But changes seem to be in the wind--i've taken adrenal support supplements for a few months, and am now on Cymbalta, the pharmaceutical recently proclaimed on commercials as the answer to my fibro pain. We shall see how it goes, but whether from the time passed from initial withdrawals till now, or the adrenal improvement or the Cymbalta, i'm finally able to wake up at a decent hour and get out of bed! (By "decent" i refer to hours starting at 7, not the indecent time my hubby gets up-- 4:20am.)

The simple act of being able to wake up and get up is one i haven't been in touch with for a while. The fibromyalgia, diagnosed about 3 1/2 years ago, has changed my usual world of "i really don't want to get up" into "i feel really exhausted still and i'm too sore to move anyhow, so i really don't want to get up." They're simply different by degrees--did i mention i've never been a morning person??!

The extra good part of mornings lately is that in this end of a Castro Valley August, the weather is clear and even on the hot days the mornings are lovely and breezy. The balcony outside our second floor bedroom invites me to sit and listen.

my treehouse nook

i am a lucky girl. (Okay, a seriously over 50 girl, but still...) When our second floor was added and the balcony made, it had no covering over top. Me, being the delicate flower that i am, suggested that protection from the elements would be good. Dear hubby did that. So now i have a lovely treehouse nestled in the branches of the poplar tree, or so it seems.

Do you notice the sounds of morning are different than later in the day? And the sounds carry through the air differently in the summer? My nest asks me to shhhh and listen.....the constant soft swishing of the traffic on the freeway a mile away, the rhythmic thrum of my bedroom ceiling fan...the workman's tools two doors down...the rustling of the poplar tree's leaves. Listening has become a calming practice of feeling outside my own body and its pain, of being strictly in that moment, a meditation of sorts.

Skimmer's recap: Not a morning person. Mornings improving. Good morning to me.

The softer side of SWAT.

Enrico Colantini in Flashpoint

Apparently i'm drawn to Canadians.

First there's my dear friend Equichick8 and her totally enjoyable family from Manitoba, then came Corner Gas--introduced to me by my Canadian friend. Hubby and i have become quite addicted. It's light, it's funny, one of those things that makes me laugh out loud. Now there's Flashpoint, the new Canadian series on CBS. Here's the write-up from AOL television:

Inspired by the real-life Emergency Task Force of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, this taut police drama chronicles the efforts of the Strategic Response Unit (SRU), an elite and highly skilled group of cops charged with rescuing hostages, defusing bombs and breaking up gangs. The series title comes from another part of their job, however: getting inside a suspect's head and discoverying his emotional "flashpoint" that triggered the crisis in the first place.

i wanted to see this because i love the actor Enrico Colantoni--most recently seen as the father on Veronica Mars, the show where one could gain satisfaction from watching the cute high school outcast say all the things you always wish you'd said.

The curious bit to hubby and i in Flashpoint is the extremely sensitive overtones to the show about hard hitting SWAT team members as they go through their daily business of catching bad guys and saving lives. Now, SWAT and sensitive don't seem to readily go together in my brain, but who knows? Maybe SWAT teams regularly have the touching moments as shown on Flashpoint. Now, i do love Colantoni, but this jury is still out on the subject of the softer side of SWAT. But Corner Gas is here to stay.

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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.

Farmers Market chats.

Okay. So i couldn't figure out where the apostrophe goes in the title, so i left it out.

A few Saturdays ago i went to our Castro Valley market held in the parking lot of the BART, our local Bay Area Rapid Transit station. The market had recently opened for this year's nicer weather, and it was my first time attending this year.

It's small, just two shortish rows of vegetables and fruit, with a third row of ready-made yummies such as scones, meat pies, and fudge. (Notice the sweets got two mentions?) A few artisan stands run along the end of the food rows, selling things like jewelry and local honey. One of those stands held necklaces of brightly colored, playfully decorated handcrafted ceramic whistles. i stopped to see the whistles and stayed for the conversation (as i tend to do.)

The whistle crafter was talking to a passerby about relationships, and as soon as i stopped they included me. The subject seemed to be men and the longevity (or lack thereof) of the relationships they'd had, both being divorced. i was the stand-out, nearing our 32nd anniversary in September.

The whistle crafter began talking of the recent reconnection with an old boyfriend of 50 years ago. "Back in the '50s, when you had sex it was in the car with all your clothes on," she said.

Being but a mere babe in the '50s and obviously more shy than she, i managed to mutter an embarrassed "Oh! i did not know that."

"Oh yes," she said, "and he remembers exactly what I was wearing that night--all I remember is that I was shoved up against the steering wheel--"

i honestly can't spell the exact sounds i was making, trying to utter something showing interest without appearing as surprised as i felt by this naked flow of information.

The conversation continued, as i love learning about people's lives, seeing things through another's eyes. The conversation was just the frosting on the cake of my morning full of fresh greens and berries and squash, and the smells surrounding me of the sharpness of arugula and the contrast of a woman's heavy perfume as she passed.

"i loved this day!" i thought as i gathered my bags of fresh romaine, strawberries and golden beets. i was taking home farm fresh squash and the stories of romance past and present of an energetic 70 year old woman. It was the story of two paths diverted and once again crossing because they're both involved in the boards of their local farmers' (farmer's??) market associations, proving that "local, sustainable, and renewable" applies to relationships as well as produce.

Do you have any local market stories of your own? Chance encounters? Favorite fresh foods? Share, please!

Surprises. Good ones.

Yesterday hubby and i went to church at our previously attended church, and had a lovely morning. Changes in the leadership of the church have made an obvious difference--there's a strong emphasis on being sure to teach the congregation, and beyond that to be sure the people understand what's being taught. And then the adult class we attended (and used to attend) has had a new teacher/co-teacher (not sure which, haven't been there in 3 years) and he was good! Intelligent, approachable, all the stuff i look for. That was "good surprise" number 1.

Good surprise number 2 was when hubby and i went to eat lunch out and ran into friends we haven't seen in a long time, with the BONUS of their daughter and her kids who are visiting for the summer from the midwest (sorry Jenner, i never get the state right!!!) She is the daughter of my good friend and boss Adele, who died of cancer in 1999, changing some things in my life forever. That was some walk we took together, Adele and i, she was diagnosed just as we were starting a church volunteer job together in June, and she was gone by Thanksgiving. If that walk was rough as friends, i can only guess at the surface of what her family went through... i remember saying to her hubby, "Boy this seemed to happen fast" and he answered with weary, sad eyes, "Not to me." He has since remarried an amazing woman who i loved watch being Grandma to Jenner's children. i'm pretty excited to get to see Jenner again since she has a whole summer here! And her kids are too much, too cute--her son has a great imagination and filled me in on his love of Legos and the possible scary stuff in the attic, while her daughter drew amazing little pictures that were quite good for a 7 year old. The first picture i saw was of a "BullDog"--it has horns like a bull, and feet like a bull, but it's a dog too ;-) There could be a future for this little lady down the road in the political cartoon arena... Wonder what she'd draw if i told her about our little "hot dogs"....

SO, Jenner! email me or something so we can set up a time to get together!! And i loved finding out you are one of the masses of 5 people who read my blog ;-)

The Ant Brigade.

Did you know ants can survive being microwaved?

i wasn't too happy to learn that bit of information. And the reason i learned it was because we had The Infestation of all Infestations. They were marching in from the kitchen's East wall--coming in one line, and splitting into two separate forces. i used my Lysol 4 in 1 to immobilize the troups, and Raid to make their entry and escape route unpleasant (well, deadly was the intention.) As i turned, full of the joy of my successful attack, to my dismay, what did i see but more ants looping the bottom of a cupboard on the North wall, clever devils. So again, i came in strong with my Lysol 4 in 1 with its Raid chaser--but further down the North wall more were attacking silently from the West end. While i took a break to reconsider my counter attack techniques, i put a cup of water in the microwave for tea, and lo and behold, little ant soldiers were scoping out the inside of said microwave.

"This oughta fry 'em!" i said. i mean, i know they're God's little creatures and all that, but death is a reality for all of us, right?

Pulling the cup out, i noticed the undaunted (though likely sterile) ants still marching around the edge of the microwave. Huh.

Adina cleans my kitchen/bathroom/family and dining areas every 2 weeks, so i asked if she would deal with the microwave for sure, telling her about the persistent ants. When i spoke with her later (should i tell this, Adina?) she said, "Ants die at 20 seconds in the microwave!"

In confusion i said, "Oh--it must have been because i had something else in there to absorb the waves..." To which she replied, cheerfully, "Well, if they are on a plate in the middle of the microwave, they only live to 20 seconds."

My hubby said, "So, a little experimentation, hmm?" Yes.

At the moment i've given up on the whole ant brigade, just immobilizing (with my Lysol) and relocating (down the garbage disposal) the troups as i find them, but i hear there's some great stuff in a bottle over at Home Depot that i can buy for my hubby to spray around the windows and foundation of the house (right, honey?) But what do i do about the 8 million little buggers in my yard?

In honor of Father's Day!!

FIRST (and partly for my own amusement)

stupid things some people's parents have said:

"STOP CRYING OR I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT!!"
The logic of this one has eluded me for years and years....OH! Maybe because there IS no logic to it.

"WHEN I SAY JUMP I WANT YOU TO SAY 'HOW HIGH?'" This used to drive fear into my heart when my father would say it, but now it makes me giggle. i'm sure he would have preferred a snappy salute and a "SIR!" at the end of the "How high?" Oddly, i'm pretty sure that neither myself or my siblings ever actually answered this request.

One of my personal favorites from a father of a friend:
"I WANT WHAT I WANT!!" Okay, you and every 2 year old in the nation--what makes you think you're special?

SECOND (and because i really really mean this and it's the real point of the post)

HUUUUGE blessings and kudos to all the men out there who avoided those sorts of inane statements, and who have instead provided loving encouragement and guidance. Not to say that you never raised your voice or got frustrated, i mean come on, we're all human...
So, HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO ALL THE GOOD GUYS AND ROLL MODELS OUT THERE! i hope you know who you are, and know how much we appreciate you. That includes you, my dear hubby.

FENTANYL: The Withdrawal Experiment.

GOOD things about Fentanyl:

• It's a cheap drug on my medical plan.
• 
  
  It's legal, thus keeping me from skulking around alleyways looking to score my next hit. (do we even have alleyways in Castro Valley?)

BAD things about Fentanyl:

• Well, so far, pretty much everything.
• Wearing the Fentanyl patch means you must not get overly hot or it will dump ALL it's medicinal goods into your system at once, causing major overload and some nasty symptoms. Ways to get hot? Have a fever. Work in the sunny garden, then get in the hot tub (with the patch carefully above the water line) to soak your sore muscles from working in the sunny garden.
• Fentanyl sedates. EVERYthing. Your pain sensors, hopefully, but also your brain, your creativity, your internal workings, your....well, things best left unsaid, since this is a family friendly website. Plus, anybody who knows me is aware i'm already no Bundle of Energy. i've always worked at a lesser speed--clean part of the floor, sit down and read a magazine. Finish the floor, sit and read some more. Start on the kitchen tidying, sit down and have a cup of coffee and draw designs on a napkin. i always thought i was a bit lazy, but now it turns out i was "pacing." Who knew.
• Fentanyl withdrawals are a bi----i mean, a trial.

i originally wanted to name this post "Fentanyl: treatment for pain, or an evil plot to kill my creative mojo?" When i said that to my hubby, i followed it with, "but i thought that was excessively long for a post title." He leaned back in his chair and said, "That's never stopped you before." i guess, given his proclivity for skimming, i would have had to do a skimmer's version of the title as well.
Just a brief overview of my withdrawal symptoms to date:

• Very sick tummy, but on the upside i've lost some weight. Granted, it was weight i'd previously lost two years ago, but what the heck. i am getting tired of saltines, though.
• Creepy feeling of crawling out of my skin. Hard to explain, worse to go through.
• Excruciating pain on some days, for instance Wednesday being the worst i've had, worse than my most painful fibromyalgia day, 9 on a scale of 10, where 10 means "hospitalize me or shoot me with rhino tranquilizers, please."
• Extreme anxiety. But then, the whole opiate experiment had that same effect. So, let's see: March, April, May, and now into June, anxious, anxious,anxious, and anxious.
• Hypersensitivity to sounds. That also came along with the higher doses of Fentanyl, and again on the withdrawal path. Yesterday was the first day in months i'd been able to listen to music (well, besides American Idol, which goes without saying.)
• Fits of temper
• Personality changes
• Zombie-ness, in varying stages and amounts.

So, as you can see, symtoms aaaaall over the charts! Dr God at the pain clinic wanted me to wean from the Fentanyl by dropping from the 125 mcg dose to 100, then 75 for 6 days, then 50 for 6 days, then just take the dive. When i did not replace the 50 mcg patch quickly enough i had a long bad day of withdrawal, so i decided to use my remaining 25 mcg for three days, then my 12 mcg for another three to slow down the process. i felt that i was Dr God's child being taught to swim by being thrown into the deep end and walking away. No support, no "this is what you can expect to happen" or "this is what you can do to cope." Just throw me in and head for Starbucks.

i grew up in Portland, Oregon, and puddles are more my size, so my plan was to wean off to the point that i could simply drop into a puddle at the end where i could still keep my head above water. If this withdrawal is a puddle, what the heck must the deep end be like???

While looking up symptoms of withdrawal at the beginning of this ride, i saw ads for private clinics where you could stay to withdraw. Basically they keep you unconscious for the worst of it. i see why it's no big deal for those actors who love their Oxycontin and such--when it becomes a serious problem, just spend a tiny portion of your fortune and check into a clinic! Virtually no pain and all gain, for a measly 10 grand or so-- BUT, if they had to go through the actual pain of withdrawing, they might think twice before popping them bad-boys again.

My state of discomfort is odd even to me. In the early days of fibromyalgia i remember trying to find a position for sleep. i arrived at sleeping on my back with a pillow behind my knees as the only way that didn't hurt. In these withdrawal days, i'm so crawly uncomfortable that i find myself in bed doing the rotisserie chicken: on my back for a few minutes, then my right side, then my stomach, then my left side, only to start the spit on its next rotation. NOTHing is comfortable! Sitting up is no better, even in my nice thrift-store LazyGirl chair, place of all comfort.

It's a curious state of being. Soon to be behind me. Then i can at least simply deal with the fibromyalgia pain again. Woohoo.


*OH--forgot to add the skimmer's recap: Fentanyl: little good, mostly bad, withdrawal is hell. There ya go, it's short, but you miss the clever analogies/metaphors--whichever they are, i can never remember. *sigh*

NEW GRANDBRITS PHOTOS!!

The lovely Brits below are Ellie, age 7 months; Euan, age 3 1/2; Elias, 5 years; and one more adorable Ellie for good measure. ;-)