Dog name

I just had the weird, random, thought that my next dog would be named Loki.

This is weird for a couple of reasons.

1. I never, ever, pre-name animals. I have spent days, looking at an animal waiting for the right name to come to me. Though, I have joked that I should name a dog, Sun. Just to here my husband say, come here "sun". The last few dogs:

Majik, a black lab mix, was named by my son, when he vetoed my choice of Warlock.

Jazz, a German Shepherd/Husky mix, was named when my husband called his bother, Heinz 57, and I replied, and all that Jazz.

I had a perfectly named cat. It took me a week, as I stared at that cat and I could feel the name, as they say, on the tip of my tongue--Chaos.

2. I have no plans to get a dog.

Got to do

So, after my shower this morning, I was feeling pretty tired. But I had planned a shopping trip. So, off I went. I spent about an hour shopping. I stopped, inside the store, and helped a man that was having a time getting out of a wheelchair. I explained that I was a nurse, and asked if I could help. He told me he'd had his knee replaced 3 weeks ago. We talked for a bit. My husband had his knee replaced and has done very well with it. I think we both felt better for the experience. 

I drove home feeling much better than I had. I opened the moon roof and let the cool air and sunshine refresh me. I have to remember that sometimes I need to DO.

99%

I am 99% white.
I am 99% straight.
I am 99% atheist.
I am 99% uncertain of my future.

A new ribbon

I have a new ribbon to add to the collection. I am none too happy about it, but have been telling myself, it could be worse. It can almost always be worse. But it is hard to be told that you have a life long, potentially debilitating, disease. I found out yesterday and started treatment today. Fortunately, that has gone smoothly. The treatment is scary. Not treating isn't an option. I haven't decided yet to tell, I am usually pretty open, but I am afraid this will carry some stigma. I don't want to be treated like I am fragile. I am not, yet. I just saw a meme that says, Good news, it isn't cancer. Bad news, you'll have to take chemo the rest of your life. Fun, huh? The doctor explained that cancer gets it by the bucketful, I only have to take a thimbleful. Every week. Forever. Just a thimbleful of poison. No big deal, right? And because I will be taking poison, I get another pill for side effects, so maybe my mouth won't erupt in sores, or my hair won't fall out, or I won't throw up. You know, all those chemo side effects. No, I am not dealing with this very well. I don't even have the option of, maybe I'll get better. I guess, I should be grateful there is treatment. That maybe, I get to keep doing the things I enjoy.

Emotionally inaccurate

Don't assume because you see laughter, that I am happy.
Don't assume because you see me being silly, that I am stupid.
Don't assume because you see a tear, that I am sad.*

*Especially that one. I cry for a lot of reasons. Most often it is to release the pressure that could do serious harm.

But...

When you hear me say, I am angry, believe it.
When you hear me say, stop, believe it.
When you hear me say, I'm done with you, believe it.

Two people diverge in the woods...

It always amazes me how two people can travel along the same road for years. Then one hits a rock in the road and is flung off into the woods. Sometimes they try to find each other. Sometimes, one of them just speeds off. Sometimes they meet again at a crossroads and decide to travel along together again. Maybe, they'll be more careful of rocks in the path this time. Maybe not.

Life is so different depending on the path you choose, and the people that travel it with you. Getting lost isn't always bad, as long as you can still find yourself. Without ever getting lost, how do you know what possibilities exists? Staying on the well worn path, is safe. But sometimes, a rock is good for everybody.

My state of being

 I was thinking this morning, that what I learned yesterday, might be beneficial to others. So here I am writing. I have, yet again, discovered that I have a malady potentially brought on by lifestyle. I went to a dermatologist to discuss a couple of things. One of the issues was my fingernails. They have developed vertical ridges, running from the tips to the cuticles. This was bothersome for a couple of reasons. I was concerned I had a fungal infection. And, one of the nails kept trying to split along one of the ridges, vertically. I kept trimming it back, which seemed to be keeping it in check. I knew if that nail split back that way, it was going to hurt, a lot. The good news, no fungal infection. The dermatologist said that my nails were very thin. I knew that, they have always been thin. He said what was causing the ridges was stress. Not mental stress, but physical stress--potentially, from typing. And since I know a lot of us spend time doing that, for work and/or recreation, I thought I would share. My nails, especially my thumbs, split about a 1/3 of the way from the tip. He said that is likely stress from hitting the space bar.

He has written me a prescription for something that is applied to the nails. The pharmacy was out of it yesterday, and it may require pre-approval from the insurance--not holding my breath on that one. His other recommendation was Biotin. I already take a multivitamin, so I checked, it only has 5% of the recommended dosage of Biotin. So I guess I will start taking another pill (ugh), or find a better multivitamin. He said that you can usually find Biotin in a vitamin for hair, nail and skin. Who couldn't use help in all those areas? OK, shut up people with perfect skin, nails and hair.

In addition to a daily multivitamin, I take Calcium with Vitamin D, because I am lacking. It was discovered on a lab result, some years ago, that I essentially had no Vitamin D in my system. Not enough unprotected sunshine. Nor, do I consume much dairy. I also take a B12, because the proton pump inhibitor (Pepcid, Zantac, etc) that I take, interferes with it. Also discovered in lab work. So, yes, I am taking a pill because I take a pill. That bothers me--but not as much as the acid reflux. Have I mentioned that I hate taking pills? I am up to 7 a day. Only 2 are prescription, 3 vitamins/supplements, a baby aspirin and allergy medication. After seeing some of the medication lists at work, I figure I'm not doing too bad. But, I'll admit to having a frustrated doctor. She has gotten to the point where she says, I'll write the Rx, let me know if you're going to take it. Nurses make really bad patients.

Guns are not guilty--people are

Recently I saw a statement that said, guns are evil. 

I responded that guns are tools, people are evil. Let's place the blame where it needs to be. 

They responded that if the person had not had a gun, people would not be dead.

If a person has evil intent, he would make a bomb. He would set the building on fire, gasoline and a match--both legal and easily obtainable. When a person is intent on doing evil, they will find a way. And a person with such intentions does not care that the gun is illegal. People that can not legally own a gun (underage, felons, etc), still do. I just think the blame needs to go to the person or people. We don't blame the car or the booze when there is a drinking related accident, we blame the driver--the person that made bad choices, not the instruments he used.

Guns and bladders

Recently, I have seen this quote frequently on Facebook: 

"I stand behind you in line at the store with a smile on my face...and a gun under my shirt and you are none the wiser, yet you are safer for having me next to you. I won't shoot you. My gun won't pull it's own trigger. It is securely holstered with the trigger covered. It can't just go off. However, rest assured that if a lunatic walks into the grocery store and pulls out a rifle, I will draw my pistol and protect myself and my family and therefore protect you and your family. I may freeze up. I may piss my pants. I may get shot before I can pull the trigger...but, I won't die in a helpless blubbering heap on the floor begging for my life or my child's life. I won't be that victim. I choose not to be. As for you, I don't ask you to carry a gun. If you are not comfortable, then please don't. But I would like to keep my right to choose to not be a helpless victim. There is evil in the world and if evil has a gun, I want one too..." -Brian Cerny

As I stood in line in the grocery this morning, it crossed my mind. Then my brain did it's weird random thing, and thought...

And when the transgender person is in the stall next to you, you won't know either. They will keep their genitals hidden just like the person that legally carries concealed . Do you think they never used a public facility before someone decided to freak out and make an issue of it? 

I have frequently heard the argument, if you make guns illegal, only criminals will have guns. I think, honestly, you'll just make more criminals, because many law abiding citizens would not turn over their weapons, therefore becoming a non-law abiding citizen. So if you make it illegal for a transgender individual to use a restroom facility where they feel safe, that they have been using anyway, what will happen? Will they go where they feel threatened, or will they quietly continue what they always have? I suspect the latter. And who is going to play bathroom monitor, like we're all in elementary school? Will we have to carry out birth certificates and ask, pretty please, may I potty?

This isn't about 6'4" Joe Cowboy, with his 5 o'clock shadow, using the lady's room because he threw back a few too many brewskis for his bladder. I can pretty much assure you, he'd rather head to the head with the urinals. 

Will criminals take advantage of the law? Perhaps. If they wanted to hang out in a stall waiting for an opportunity to take advantage, they could. If they want to hang around in the hall and watch you enter and follow you in, they could...that's what makes them criminals. 

Fractions

I need more fractions in my life. Never thought I'd say that.

Pants, I need a 1/2. One size is too small. the next size is too big.

Shoes, I need a 1/4. I already wear a half size, but they could be just a tad bit bigger. The next size is way too big.

Thermostat, I need a 1/4, a 1/2 and a 3/4. Oh let's face it, there is no comfortable. I am either hot or cold, and sometimes both at the same time.

Mexico 2016

Just came home from Mexico late last night. This trip, the 8th, had some firsts. I went to Xel Ha, something I have been meaning to do for several years and my husband got sick. Really sick.

Xel Ha was amazing. Best snorkeling ever. Saw a stingray. Swam with a sea turtle. Tons of fish. I look forward to doing that again. Learned a lesson, see previous post. Take shoes you can attach to your life jacket. I think I burned the bottom of my feet walking on hot paths. Also, we turned our fins in before floating down the river. Those would have been helpful when trying to maneuver. But our lack of direction did lead to a lot of laughter. If you can't laugh at yourself...

Would have helped if we knew where we were going to. The map in my pocket, was not much help once it was water logged. We came upon a group of parrots in a little display area. They weren't there long, I don't know if the parrots come in to eat at a certain time, or what. But luckily, we happened upon them. Macaws, beautiful. And, we did our usual, we greeted them with, hell-o. One turns it's head and checks me out. I repeat, hell-o. Black beady stare. Then the light bulb ::bam:: Hello, to me, Mexican parrots. Hola, I say. Beady eye responds back, Hola. Who knew parrots spoke Spanish! ;)

As I mentioned previously, my husband got sick on Thursday. We were flying out on Saturday. You know it is serious when you call a doctor in Mexico. We were lucky, her English was pretty good. Medical terminology is often studied in English, or has roots in Latin. So we shared a common language. Her calculation from Celsius to Fahrenheit scared me, and was wrong. Not that I can do that calculation in my head either. Steve's 104 temperature, turned out to actually be 101.5. I know Fahrenheit has no more meaning to her than Celsius does to me. I knew looking at him that he was not running a 104 fever. He was breathing, alert and oriented.

We were discussing this afternoon how quiet it was at the resort. At least in our room. Our house is never quiet. You get so accustomed to the noise that you don't notice it anymore. We've not had the TV on all day. If seems like an unwelcome intrusion.

One bright to slightly woozy part of the trip was the Axel specials. Axel is an evil bartender (haha) but makes amazing margaritas. 

2 oz anejo tequila, he preferred Hornitos
2 oz Cointreau or Grand Marnier
1 oz fresh squeezed lime juice
Rim glass with salt and serve over ice

He says margaritas should not have syrup in them. Experience says he is correct, unless you want to drink more than 1 or 2.

Along the way, we taught a new English word to one of the servers. Eventually. She admitted that she did not know this word. Good to pay back, I have been taught many Spanish words. 

I almost forgot to mention the roller coaster flight into Cancun. There was a great deal of shaking, rocking and rolling. It was not a horrible flight, after all we remained in the air, But it was one of the roughest we have had. 

I also wanted to mention the unusual man at airport. Sitting at our gate waiting for our departure, this man walks up and sits down on the opposite side of the gate. Suit jacket, jeans, leather hat, sunglasses...here's the strange part, he's wearing boots that are so small his feet don't fit in them. They were those half boots with the zippers on the side. His were not zipped up, and his heel is hanging off the back. In addition, he is carrying a cooler as his carry on item. Then he started greeting people, like he knew them. Like they all belonged to a secret club that had a super, double secret, hand sign...only he was the only one aware of it. Nothing suspicious here. We boarded before him and wondered if they pulled him out for a random search. I was glad when he walked past our row on the plane.

Mexico, 8 years and still learning

We say we learn something new every year we go to Mexico. I was trying to remember them all. This goes beyond the normal recommendations, of don't drink the water. By the way, that does not apply in the resorts. Or, to me, what is logical, be polite and respectful of your host and their employees. Paying to stay somewhere does not release you from your manners.

Ok, the lessons we've learned:

When booking a resort, read reviews, of course. Then, go to Google Earth and look at the aerial view. This will show you several things; what does the beach/ocean look like? Is the resort built parallel to the ocean or is it a 20 minute walk to the beach? We booked one that was on a narrow piece of land, so it was built so that the lobby was a 20 minute walk from the beach. Everything was a long walk. Also look to see if there is a "sister" resort. A resort will advertise that they have xxx number of rooms, but when you get there, you find a second hotel on the property, doubling the number of people, often sharing your restaurants and pools. We've even found sister hotels, where one is adult only and the other is family oriented. What good does it do to book adult only, if that only means your room?

Take an ink pen in your carry on. There are immigration papers to fill out. It is really hard to borrow an ink pen from people in a hurry to start their vacation.

Once you clear customs and immigration at Cancun's airport, put on your, I have a destination face, and walk with purpose right past all the people that want to stop you. Do not stop until you are outside. They will tell you anything to get you to stop. Then they will waste your time trying to sell you something.

Once you make it outside, you should be looking for the private transportation you prearranged. Our first year, we just booked transportation. To our hotel in Playa del Carmen, an hour from the airport. We were the last stop, of I don't know how many. Never again.

At the resort, order your drinks the way you want them, by name. We order anejo margaritas, in order to get the aged tequila. Smoother drink. If you prefer Absolute vodka over Smirnoff, order your drink that way--if the resort has it.

Speaking of never again. Never, ever, enter the US through Miami. As annoying as all the winding lines can be, it beats the mass chaos that is Miami.

Some years we have been lucky, some years, heading home has been a nightmare of endless lines. Checking in with the airline and printing your boarding passes at the hotel, the day before departure, can save you one entire line and a tremendous amount of irritation. There may be a nominal fee, so far ours have been free, but it would be worth it, if you hit high tide at the airport.

There are more, I'll add them as I recall.

Who pays for the date?

This is a question a friend asked on Facebook a few weeks ago. It's been many years, ok, decades, since I dated. I read through the conversation wondering how much dating etiquette had changed. The general consensus was either the man, or the person that initiated the date. This pretty much agreed with the dating norms of my memory.

This morning, as my mind has a tendency to do, came back to this subject with a new thought. When I go out with friends, there is no expectation that anyone is going to pick up the tab. It happens, but it is not expected. So why the difference when it's a "date." What is the difference between a date and friends getting together? A date is an opportunity to get to know each other, to see if there is mutual interest/attraction, it also has potentials that friends don't, usually. But to me that seems all the more reason, especially in the beginning, that the date should be dutch. Why should men be expected to pay for every opportunity to meet a woman? Especially, in this day and age of equality. If one person makes considerable more money than the other, then a place affordable to them both should be agreed upon. And the whole "potential" thing, if a man is buying because he is expecting sex, this raises all kinds of issues. Buying a meal, even a couple of meals, in expectation of sex, is treating a woman in a degrading manner.

I don't expect to be dating, but I think I have concluded that I would be paying my own way--at least as long as it was casual.

Gender

I have a friend, or three, that--I guess the common term is, cross dress. Though I am fairly certain that term is reserved for men that wear female clothing. Nary an eyebrow is raised when a woman dresses in men's clothing. I have, and still do, shop in the men's department. I have worn men's shirts, pants, shoes, socks--and risking TMI, underwear. One year on vacation, I discovered I had under packed, so I borrowed a pair of the husband's for the trip home. I loved his boxer briefs. No underwear creeping into places where underwear do not belong. I have looked for something similar--without the fly. The women's boxer briefs are NOT the same thing. I was surprised that my online searches led me to sites for Queer underwear. Again, the gender attitudes. If I am female and don't want lacy, up the butt crack underwear, I must be...oy. And the ones available, $30 a pair! I do not like them that much. Commando is easier and cheaper. There are times when I am shopping for something the women's department doesn't deem to be currently fashionable, but is apparently a staple in menswear. The only time I have had anyone mention anything to me, was a man at the shoe store, that asked, you know these are men's shoes, right? I asked him if men's feet were so different that the shoes were going to cause me a problem. He smartly wandered away. But that is the point! With very little (no insult intended) difference, our bodies are very similar. 2 arms, 2 legs, a torso. So why is clothing so strongly gender identified? Or, on a bigger scale, why is anything gender identified? Personally, I don't want pink tools--ok, maybe purple. It's my favorite color. But I would not pay more, just so my tools would look feminine. I actually prefer that they not. And god forbid! a pink or purple gun. I warned the guy at the gun shop not to put one on the counter. He said they were very popular--among the ladies. My granddaughter plays with the same toys as her brother. She has dolls, but that is not what she sees. She sees him with super heroes and villains. But, I keep waiting for a Disney princess to beat up a bad guy. We have bought Lego's in traditional and girly colors. The grandson pays no attention to the blocks being pink and purple. He's also been known to use a Lego flower as the top for his helicopter. I have found that gender is the hardest identity for us to break. In role playing games, people are fine with you being an ogre, but you better be the properly gender assigned ogre. I tried playing a male character once. Lion makeup and hair fluffed to the max, assuming the full mane would be an obvious indicator of the character's gender and yet everyone nicknamed the character, Mama Saar. Apparently, everyone just assumed I had held onto my big hair from previous decades.

Another flashback--18 years

A post on Facebook had me doing math--in my head no less, and I had an oh my god moment. I passed my nursing boards in February of 1998. That means it has been 18 years. So hard to believe. So much has passed by in that time.

On turning 54...

Wait a minute. I had to do the math, again. I swear I just turned 52, like, a year ago. How have I missed a year?

Anyway...

There is only one way to not age. So, I embrace each and every birthday. I am not ashamed of my age. I just forget, sometimes, how old I am. Today, I finished my 54th year and I begin my 55th. I hope to finish my 55th, well, I realize that list is endless. Happy, healthy, employed, sane (sort of). I am sad to say, that I am slowing down. I don't dance on the tables so much any more. Do you know what the down time is on a broken hip??? I can still outdo some of the juniors...I just have to be picky about the challenge. I look in the mirror, and know it's not as bad as it could be, but gravity works. It's hard, but still beats the alternative. Other than my hair, which hasn't seen a natural color in years, I won't be doing anything, beyond the lotions and potions. Aging is big business, big money. I'll occasionally pick up a bottle of moisturizer, that promises more than it delivers. Of course, that may be because I'm cheap, and not the best at applying it on a regular basis. There will be no Botox, no plastic surgery. I will try to age gracefully, which is more than most other things I do.

P.S. Yes, I would love to be younger. Not stupid young. Maybe 30. But I would not want to go back to where I was at that age. I like my life better now. I like me better now.

New Year Resolutions

I have heard that you should believe in something. I am not a big believer. I am more of a skeptic. One thing I do not believe in, is New Year resolutions. I don't believe that I will wake up tomorrow all new and shiny--despite promises declared in a sleep deprived, potentially inebriated, state. But, if I were going to make one, I might consider something a bit different than losing weight. I think the world needs more people that promise...
to be kind. This can take a lot of paths. Be imaginative. Say please and thank you.

• compliment. Sincerely. 
• courtesy. Especially while driving. At the very least, be less aggressive. 
• to be less offended. Assume best intentions, unless you know better.
• to acknowledge the usual. Take less for granted. Say thank you. 
• help others. Lots of opportunities, just open your eyes.
• to put your phone down. Acknowledge the people you are with. You might even meet someone new.

The possibilities are endless, but my time is not. 

Happy New Year

Life Quotes versus Real Living

I recently heard a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote that I really liked--

Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.


It made me think of another favorite passage, from Robert Frost--

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.


And that leads me to another Robert Frost--

The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.


I obviously have a fascination with the woods. I'd say I was in good company. I think the reason the the quote struck a chord with me, is I have struck out into the woods where no trail existed. This usually involves me bleeding, pulling thorns from my skin, god only knows what from my hair and clothing; and occasionally actually getting, sort of, lost. Not surprisingly, it is very difficult to make way, where there is no way made. Yes, yes, I know, I am not supposed to take it literally. But this is MY path.







I stayed on my own path and did not follow the herd. I made a way for myself--Eartha Kitt

Feelings

Some people like to take their feelings out and examine them. They turn them this way, and that way. Upside down and inside out. Throw them under a microscope. Hash, and rehash. To me, it just seems they keep the wounds open. Self punishment. Pain for the sake of pain. Stress becomes a lifestyle. I wonder what they gain?

I, on the other hand, prefer to keep my emotions tucked away in a box. Preferably, in a dark, secure, place. I do, on occasion dust a box off, have a peak inside, then place it back on the shelf. There are lessons in those boxes. Sometimes I need a reminder. And honestly, not all the emotions tucked tidily into those boxes are unhappy. But looking backwards, does not change the past. And it is really hard to drive forward while looking in the rear view mirror.

Every now and then, I get a little emotionally overwhelmed. Too much traffic, not enough storage space. My brain feels like an air traffic controller, with no control. I spin around and around, trying to maintain balance and composure. Lately, I have felt out of control, my emotional plate full. I have an appetizer of work; a salad of holidays; an entree of cancer; a cup of old dog and a dollop of graduation dessert. Work will, well, work itself out, I suppose. The holidays will come, and go. Whether I am ready, or not. The return of the lymphoma, is very much an unknown. A second opinion is on the horizon. I wish the old dog would go quietly into that good night, and not make me make that decision. Graduation, for my son, is a good thing. But even good things add stress. I'll eventually round them all up into a neat package and tuck them away. It isn't that I don't care. I just dislike being miserable...and uncontrolled. Being unhappy does not change the situation. I am strong enough to admit that I have next to no control. I do not feel the need to beat my head against the table. It would, maybe, rattle the plate, but, by no means, wash the dish.

Pressure cooking

I bought an electronic pressure cooker after seeing an infomercial ::gasp:: I know. I drove right to Target and slapped down my money. My husband liked the idea, but has yet to use it...and he's the primary cook. Well, since I hate to see my money go to waste, I dragged it out of the closet last weekend and made my lunch for the week. I did not want to commit to a meal, lest we be starving if it went badly.

First try, what I decided to call, chicken stew.

Whole chicken thighs. Frozen corn. Canned, Italian style, green beans. A cup of water and a dash of this and that found in my seasoning stash. No potatoes for a couple of reasons. Trying to keep the calories down and I find reheated potatoes, unappealing. If I were making this for dinner, I would have added potatoes. I had planned on lima beans, but found the pantry bare. Carrots and celery could have been options too.

It was very simple, and pretty yummy. A good learning lesson.



 So, today, I decided to be a bit bolder. I'm calling this southwestern chicken soup.

Chicken tenderloin. Canned chopped tomato, with green chilies, cilantro and lime. In a brand name, this is called Rotel. I had planned on buying individual items, but when I found it prepared, woohoo! I am not a big, everything fresh, type of cook. I am perfectly fine with opening a can. Then I tossed in a small bag of frozen corn and a can of frigoles negro (black beans) bought in the Mexican section of the grocery. And again, a dash of this and that...and just a pinch of dried red pepper. For kicks.

Again, had I been making this for dinner, or not fretting about calories, I think I would have added rice. And some tortilla strips. Guacamole? I bet some would even elect for cheese and sour cream.


As you might guess, seldom do I cook anything that comes out the same way twice. I measure when I bake, not so much when cooking. I think I have the pressure cooker, chicken thing, down. Now, I am contemplating Italian and Asian varieties.

To go, or not to go, that is the question.

Once upon a time, I was a go-go-go person. I wanted to know what was up there, down there, over there,  and around every corner. That desires seems to have greatly faded. I am unsure if it is age, or the hassle of things. Or maybe age, is why it is a hassle. Part of me is happy, part of me is not. I like being more relaxed, able to just enjoy the here and now. I dislike that I  might be missing something. I enjoyed that bountiful energy, even if others, perhaps, did not. I hate the idea that aging is slowing me down. I guess it comes down to a mental versus physical state. I don't know which one is in charge here.

I still enjoy doing things. I am just a little slower at pursuing them. It is way too easy to just, not. I find myself making excuses. Even in things that I greatly enjoy. The idea of, the planning of, the idea of planning, can become panic inducing. That is another issue I have noticed. Panic. It has become a much more frequent companion as I have gotten older. My research tells me this could be hormonal...another side effect of aging. Damned old age. Or even middle aged. I guess, at 53, I am middle aged. This shit is not for the weak, But it beats the alternative. I am, in no way, ready to give up the ghost. I just need to find balance between my mental and my physical. I need to rouse the inner kid, just a bit, to balance with the old lady that is perfectly happy to sit on the couch and read. Winter coming on does not help that condition. Neither does my husband, a perfectly happy, self proclaimed homebody.

Now that I think about it, I have a long standing history of self seclusion as the days begin to shorten. I love Autumn, but I do miss the sunshine. Yesterday was the first day of gloomy, chilly, Winteresque weather of the season. I came home and ordered pizza. Zero desire to leave the house again. And every reason to do just the opposite. I must not cocoon. I know myself. I just have to pay attention. Time to make excuses to go, instead of excuses to stay.

Battle of the BUG

I had every intention of going out. But I had been doing this and doing that, and when I became an object at rest, with a book in my hands...

Who am I to mess with the laws of physics?

My rest, relaxation and reading are disturbed when I am notified that there is a really BIG bug in the bathroom. I approached the bathroom, imagining the worst--Godzilla cockroach! If you've ever been introduced to palmetto bugs or hissing cockroaches, you have the correct mental image. I boldly enter the bathroom, unarmed even, and approach the location that has been indicated. Now, I must inform you, that I have been sent on this mission by one of the males of my household. I suspect this has been done, in hopes of witnessing the extremely rare instance of me squealing like a girl, or actually admitting to being afraid of something. What I find, much to my relief, is a cicada. Of course, this thing is bigger than any cockroach, and much, much, more...launchable. I grab some tissue and pick Mr Bigbug up. If it had been a cockroach, he would have been sentenced to immediate death by drowning, but a cicada will be released back to nature. I have my prejudices. I walk outside and open my tissue encased hand, Mr Bigbug stares at me with his beady red eyes. You are not going to make me feel guilty. My house, your yard, compromise. After several attempts at failure to launch, I place him and his tissue on top of the garbage can. Negotiations complete, or so I think. I walk the 12 feet, or so, towards the back door. Guess who beat me there? I hear him smack his bug head against the glass door and land on the deck at my feet. Stealthy he is not. OK, I am smarter than the average cicada. I am not going to open the door with you resting on the threshold. Come on, give me some credit. I take my foot and...bump him, with the intentions of redirection. Goal accomplished, he flies up my skirt! When I say goal accomplished, I mean both, that Mr Bigbug has been redirected and I may have, possibly, squealed. There was, I know for a fact, significant dancing going on, and the consideration of stripping off my maxi-dress, on the spot. I do not have much fear of bugs, but bumping around inside my long skirt, he is in very personal space! Hopefully, there were no witnesses to my failed negotiations, as I have no idea just how high that skirt got in my surrender. After proving that he was superior, he released me and allowed me to go back inside, alone.

Finding words

I have word finding difficulties sometimes. Especially names. I am told this is a symptom of my Chiari. Last night, I put a brace on my wrist because it had been bothering me. Nothing unusual. Treatment is rest, why I have the braces for both hands. As I put the brace on I thought of the name of the malady. Internal conversation went pretty much like this:


.......
Chiari. Nope, brain.
.......
Plantar fascitis. Nope, feet.
.......
Tendinitis. Nope, thumbs.
.......
Fibromyalgia. Nope, well, everywhere.
.......
Discitis, Nope, back.
.......
.......
.......
zzzzzz

I could remember the laundry list of my ailments, but not the particular one I sought. I finally drifted off to sleep without remembering the name...carpal tunnel. I knew it the minute I woke up this morning. While unimportant last night, imagine how frustrating this can be. I hate when I blank on a name of someone, especially that I know well.

Imagine having a conversation with someone, and not being able to find a word, like chair. I once tried to tell my husband, there was a hole in his chair. I stood there making the 'sign' for chair. I knew exactly what I was talking about. But he does not know even the rudimentary sign language that I do, so I was still not managing the message. I finally walked over, and pointed.

Standing up

There is a controversy going on in Kentucky. A county clerk is refusing to issue marriage licenses, since marriage for gay couples became legal. She states it goes against her religious belief. I disagree with her stand. A big part of that, is her using religion to make a governmental decision. She is also breaking a Federal law. She has lost all appeals. She is not doing the job she was elected to do. And, I support the choice of two consenting adults the right to marry.

BUT...

I am usually for the rebel. I'll admit it. I am also a huge supporter of people standing up for their beliefs, especially in the face of opposition. So, I had to ask myself, how would I feel if this lady was using religion to do something I agreed with?

The Bible teaches that we should take care of the poor.

Matthew 19:21 Jesus said to him, If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.

So what if, she were feeding the needy out of the county clerks office? There might even be a law against it, as I know there have been people arrested and ticketed for feeding the homeless. I wonder if her superiors would be calling for her impeachment? (Elected officials can not be fired.) Something I have not heard in the current case. I doubt it would go to the Supreme Court. She would not be breaking Federal law. But this is about how I think. Would I stand against her in a situation, where I believed she was doing good?

My answer...

Uncertain. It is a small office, I imagine. What if she could feed the homeless without interfering with the operations of the office? What if, none of her co-workers objected? She would be, in my conjecture, breaking the law based on her religious beliefs.

Sometimes you need to question what you think. Sometimes you don't get answers. Sometimes you wish the people that use the Bible to support their actions, would quit picking and choosing, and live the life they claim they believe in.

Staring at the ceiling

Unfortunately, I spend extended periods of time doing that, from time to time. It is not because I am worrying. I do not lay awake at night worrying. I refuse. Sleep disorder is just a side effect of another disorder...actually, I think they call it a syndrome. Apples. Oranges. Anyway, I lay and I think. Nighttime daydreams. Recollections. Fantasizing. Plans and plots. I thought maybe I could sit here and collect some of those musings. But like dreams, they evaporate in the light of day. What seems so solid at 2 a.m. are just wisps of smoke on closer inspection.

Work

Normal work day...

Alarm goes off at 6 a.m. I am happy if I am still asleep, or grumpy, because I was still asleep.
Make-up.
Hair.
Clothes.
Coffee.
Out the door at 6:33...or, there about.
Traffic.
Parking garage.
Walk.
Dodge traffic.
Walk into the office about 7:15.
Work.
Work.
Work.
Lunch at desk.
Work.
Work.
Work.
Leave office about 3:45.
Dodge traffic.
Walk.
Parking garage.
Traffic.
Home about 4:20, or much, much, later, depending on traffic.

Work at home day...
No alarm.
No make-up.
No hair.
Pajamas.
Coffee.
Walk across the hall, 7:15.
Work.
Work.
Work.
Lunch at desk.
Work.
Work.
Work.
Close computer 3:45.
Home.

I got to sleep an hour more. Accomplished more, without distraction or disruption. Worked the same hours and got to enjoy my evening sooner. The only downfall, I walk 2-4 miles a day at work. Today, I walked about 1/4 mile. I was going to make it up on the treadmill, but the grandson wanted me to play...and that was more important.

Worrying

I have had a multitude of thoughts wander through my mind the last few days. Unfortunately, they are never when I have something at hand to jot them down. My mind moves on to other things, and that musing is lost forever...or at least until the  memory Ferris wheel brings it around again.

I have one thought, however, that is haunting me and won't go away.

I am borrowing trouble. Worrying about what might be. Something I try to avoid. I am not sitting here fretting, frozen in my own worry. That is NOT me. But sometimes, the possibilities creep up on me and I worry. Just a few moments here and there. Sitting here, like this, focusing on that one thing and writing. Writing usually clears my mind. I suppose, this time, only another test will clear my mind. I had an MRI a few days ago. Actually, I had 2 MRIs, but only have the results from one. The MRI of my lumbar spine. It showed that I have a bulging disc in my lower back, with some spinal cord compression. I am not surprised by this. I declined the offer for physical therapy or a surgical consultation. Unfortunately, and I know this from experience, in medicine, when they are looking for one thing, they often find another. I should not say, unfortunately, those accidental findings can be lifesaving...as it allows for early treatment. Just, medical findings, are rarely a good thing. They found something on my left kidney. Something, as a diagnosis, is not very helpful, or comforting. They are going to schedule an ultrasound to take a better look. Hopefully, it is something simple that I can ignore. I ignore a lot. No, I make an educated decision not to treat everything that ails me. A pill for this, and a pill for that, and before you know it, you're taking medicine to thwart side-effects of another. I have been saying no to surgery on my back, for nearly 20 years, and doing quite nicely, thank you very much.
I am still waiting on the results from the MRI on my brain. This one worries me more. I have been previously diagnosed with a Chiari I malformation. (Chiari malformations are structural defects in the cerebellum, the part of the brain that controls balance. Normally the cerebellum and parts of the brain stem sit in an indented space at the lower rear of the skull, above the foramen magnum (a funnel-like opening to the spinal canal). When part of the cerebellum is located below the foramen magnum, it is called a Chiari malformation. Type I involves the extension of the cerebellar tonsils (the lower part of the cerebellum) into the foramen magnum, without involving the brain stem. Normally, only the spinal cord passes through this opening.) This is something that must remain stable. The possibilities are endless and scary. As the consents at work say, up to and including death. The treatment is neurosurgery. And I use the term treatment loosely. I don't want to go there. 

Foggy morning memories

I drove to work yesterday morning, headed east as the sun was waking up, as I usually do this time a year. The wispy clouds were pink against cerulean skies, as far as the eyes could see. My morning commute at sunrise, often makes me wish for more leisure time with my camera. It makes being up so early a bit less painful. I noticed the fields alongside the road deep in fog. There is something about fog that speaks to my imagination. I do not find it creepy. (Though, I dislike driving in the pea soup variety) I do not envision Jack the Ripper. I imagine, instead, myself strolling along on dew covered grass in the quiet early morning. The fog swirling in my wake. I have had many opportunities to enjoy the solitude of a foggy morning. Usually, while others slept after LARPing into the wee hours. This being the case, I never had a camera at hand. On the weekends, I can't seem to manage jumping out of bed, grabbing the camera and heading in search of foggy sunrises. I have seldom heard the forecast for fog, and it, and sunrises, are a time limited opportunity.

Thinking about those early mornings on LARP weekends, other memories surface.

Walking on grass, so frost covered, that it crackles with every step.

A suspension bridge sparkling with frost, as early morning sun invades through the trees. That one ended up in injury, as frost covered suspension bridges are slippery, and the cables are sharp if you grab them trying not to fall. I shredded both hands. Strange how it still remains a favorite memory.

I woke, in an open air cabin, to several inches of snow. Made my way to the "tavern" and made coffee. I sat on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, and watched the world wake up. The snow undisturbed by man, sparkled in the soft early light. Down the hill, deer made their way around a pond. No sounds of traffic or people. Nothing to disturb the solitude. It felt like I was the only person on earth.

Sometime soon, I'll have to write about my late night memories.

Excuse me if my mind wanders

It's 4 a.m. on a Sunday morning and I am not asleep. Instead my mind has been on a vast field trip while I lay awake in bed. Instead of getting frustrated I got up to write. Clear the mind, the rest will follow. Uh huh, sure. But here goes, randomness...

As children, the most important person in our lives, is our parent(s). They teach us, guide us, protect us. Or, at least, that is how it is supposed to work. As teens, it's friends. Their job is much like that of our parents, but often, even less dependable. As adults, it gets a bit more complicated. Many will say that God is the most important person in their life. I often wonder how many think that is the proper response. As, I often do not see them living the life they proclaim to believe in. More on that later. For a lot of adults, that important person, is their spouse/significant other/mate. Sometimes, that role is even filled by the search for that one. The most important person becomes an, often elusive, ideal. More on that later, too. Children, obviously, can be the focus of our lives. It is important to be engaged with your children, but do not get lost in your role as a parent to the exclusion of all else. My Mom once told me, that when I moved out, she looked at Dad and realized she no longer knew him. She had been way too focused on me. Because of this, I worked on the belief that if I cared for my marriage, my children would benefit, and I would still have that, when my sons found more important things in their lives. I won't claim to have done the best job at that. It worked out, but I wish I had done better. Hindsight. Friends can play an important part for adults. They become our support system. At one time, I had a friend that I shared everything with. I could not imagine my life without her. I thought the feeling was mutual, until it wasn't. There was a separation, a reconciliation, then a divorce. Not in the legal sense, but in a very emotional one. Some people find a calling. I have many distractions in my life, but I have not felt a calling to something. A strong passion that I am willing to give myself to...except, maybe the beach. A few people, may, say that they are the most important person in their life. I have mixed feeling about this. At first, I wondered why we did not, generally, think this way? It is important that we take care of ourselves, to be a priority. But, then, those people that will admit to this type of thinking, come off as egocentric. As individuals, we need to be important, but not the center of our own universe.

And on to those additional thoughts...

I am probably repeating myself here, but in an effort to be complete in my random thinking, people often talk the talk, but do not walk the walk, when it comes to God. They proclaim the belief, but do not live the life. They like to preach it, but apparently, it only applies to others. This is not true of all people, but it sure seems frequent looking in from the outside. I will repeat the question too, why be a part of a religion, if you do not believe in the tenets that is the very foundation? Catholics using birth control. Jews eating pork. Wives not graciously bowing down to the leadership of their husband. If that last one surprised you, might want to look closer at your religion. That is pretty standard in Christianity. I am not Christian, of that, I am sure. Instead of picking and choosing what parts of a religion I will follow, I have done much study trying to find a belief system that I can love. So far, I have failed. I like to believe, I hope, that their is a higher power. I hope that we are not alone. I hope that all the craziness has a purpose. I believe faith and religion can be too separate ideas. Faith is inside you. Religion is man-made...and often to a purpose that makes me suspicious.

And that second, follow-up. The soulmate. The one true, just for you, forever and ever, perfect person. Bullshit. People are not perfect. Love is not perfect. You can't sit on your ass and expect a perfect life. It takes work and attention, just like anything else worthwhile.

I give up. Time to try for sleep, before the sun rises.

Quiet

I find myself feeling a bit reclusive. Maybe a bit contemplative. Quiet, even. I am not sad. I am just...internalized. I do not know why, or when it started. Sort of feels like it's been on the edges for a while. I have no time for withdrawing. I have a full-time job and a busy social calendar. Going to have to compromise. Find a median. People don't generally like me when I am quiet.