The Last Leaf

 O'Henry is one of my favorite writers.  He wrote stories with a twist that you didn't see coming.  His story, "The Gift of the Magi," is a Christmas tradition.  His actual name was William Sydney Porter.  His nom de plume was O. Henry, or Oliver Henry, or Olivier Henry.  As a writer I understand that it can be entertaining to create new names to write with.  He did so, partially because he wrote some of his stories while he was in prison.  I'm getting ahead of the story, let me back up.

O'Henry was extremely prolific writing somewhere in the neighborhood of 400 short stories and poems.  He had an extremely colorful life working as a pharmacist, a bank worker, (he served three years in prison for embezzlement) a draftsman, a small business owner (he published satirical works, both his and other writers).  He was a musician, artist, pharmacist, and writer, it seems like an unlikely combination of skills. 

He married his first wife when she had tuberculosis.  They eloped because her mother was very much against the marriage.  Two children were born to their union but only one survived.  Another irony, his daughter died in 1927 of tuberculosis.  That miserable disease claimed both mother and daughter although years apart.  

One of his stories, "The Last Leaf is about a girl who is an invalid.  (In my youth that is what a disabled person was called).  She was stuck in her bed in a small apartment.  Day in and day out all that she experienced of the outside world was the view from her bed out the window.  (This story has become sharper in my memory because I have spent an inordinate amount of time during the pandemic staring straight ahead out of my windows).

In high school I was cast as this sickly girl.  She had a chest complaint.  That certainly resonated with me.  I could add my asthmatic bronchial cough to the realism of the character.  Here is an irony inside the story of an irony, I caught bronchitis.  I couldn't play the character because I was too sick.  

Back to the story, it is late autumn, moving towards winter.  There is ivy growing on a wall outside her window.  The leaves have turned a beautiful crimson.  The girl gains the morbid idea that when the last leaf falls she'll die.  The custodian of their apartment building is an old man.  He hears about this girl's belief.  He paints a leaf so that the last leaf will never fall.  He does this errand of mercy in inclement weather.  The girl is so heartened by the leaf that does not ever fall she gets better.  The custodian does not fare as well.  He sickens and dies.  

That story has been  at the forefront of my mind as I stare day in and day out at the luxuriant trees outside my window.  In spring they begin to bud, summer finds them verdant and green, autumn colors them a brilliant crimson, then they begin to dance away on the breezes.  Now?  There are very few hearty leaves left, still clinging to the mostly denuded branches.  

Here is where I differ.  I do not believe that those falling leaves are an image of death.  I heartily endorse a quote that says, "Anyone who believes that autumn leaves die has not watched them dancing in a breeze."  Well that might be paraphrased but the idea is there.  

Right now, the branches seem skeletal, scratching at an iron gray sky.  I will do my best to remember that the leaves dance away, but they return when spring comes.  I actually saw my neighbor in the building across the way a few days ago.  I can't see anything but a silhouette against the window but somehow for a brief moment I felt a sense of community that this pandemic has stripped away from me.  

Ahhh...The Wonders of Snurffle Day!

 It began with the great Christmas Tree Hunt of 1987.  My husband, bless his heart, would somehow find the closest locations to our home where you could purchase a Christmas tree permit and then meander into the mountains and find a tree to chop down.  He was very excited about this experience.  He had to get up early because the permits would often sell out by noon.  After his purchase and using a map they would provide up he would go into the mountains in our Suzuki Samarai.  We often referred to this small vehicle as a mountain goat.  I was often amazed at the places it could take us.  

This particular hunt got us a most remarkable tree.  It had three branches at the top.  My husband purchased three white angels.  He said that we had cherubim, seraphim, and an archangel singing hallelujah.  

As the years came and went new details were added to our holiday.  It was clearly defined as the Frdiay after Thanksgiving.  We would purchase matching pajamas for our two children.  They would wear these during the day as we would decorate for Christmas.  

Next, we began to go to a Christmas tree farm.  We got free hot cocoa, and a family picture with Santa.  We got a ride up a steep hill.  We would meander about searching for that most perfect of trees.  It became apparent that my husband preferred Noble Christmas trees, while I preferred Douglas.  In the spirit of Democracy we took turns, every other year.  Somewhere along the way I became converted to Noble trees.

After a few years of joyous celebration my husband gave our family holiday a name, Snurffle Day.  I have not one single idea how he came to this name?  He was an extremely creative soul.  To me it still sounds like a holiday that Dr. Seuss would invent if he were as adorable as my husband.

As the years moved forward I began to wear matching jammies with our kids.  Nyle did not get matching jammies.  I've felt badly about that in retrospect.  He acted as though he didn't care, but maybe he was just being nice?  Regardless, the jammies went from very Christmas themed, snowflakes, snowmen, reindeer, etc. etc. to this year's rendition, velvet palazzo pants, and an adorable tee shirt that says, "Roll With It."  This theme seems extremely important during 2020 since a pandemic has become our new normal.  

We adore Snurffle Day.  It's much more fun than simply stuffing scads of edibles into our mouths.  Oh, I enjoy the gratitude attitude that Thanksgiving promotes, and I do love good food, but a day that is personal to our family?  Magical.  

By the way, Snurffle Day is not copyrighted.  If you should feel a need for Snurffleing with your family we heartily endorse this day.  You make it personal by adding your own special family touches.  I would love it if as a tribute to the creativity of my honeybunch, Snurffle Day became celebrated around the globe.  Happy Snurffle Day to one and all!

Pollyanna, A Bad Rap?

 Pollyanna.  It is a name that I've been called on multiple occasions.  It was not given as a compliment.  No, the thought was that Pollyanna, was sickening sweet.

Pollyanna, a book written by Eleanor Hodgeman Porter is a book about an orphaned girl  Her parents are both killed in an accident.  An only child, she is foisted upon an unmarried aunt.  The aunt is extremely wealthy.  She is also cold and distant.  She does not want to be disturbed by the noises of childhood so she give Pollyanna a bedroom as far away from her as possible.  Pollyanna is isolated to only a few servants. 

A strange things happens. Pollyanna introduces them all to "The Glad Game."  Her deceased father was a minister.  He does research into the "Glad" verses in the Bible.  There are many.  He decides that this is the Lord's way of encouraging people to be positive.  The game is looking for the good, even in the bad.  

Some folks feel that this attitude of gratitude makes Pollyanna shallow and saccharine.  I disagree heartily.  If you were orphaned at such a tender age, and sent to live with a emotionally distant aunt, it would make much more sense to become cold and distant, negative and disconsolate.  Instead Pollyanna inspires the community around her to better ways of looking at life.  

I'm often stuck in my bedroom due to our current pandemic.  I am immunocompromised and I live in a large apartment complex.  There are many good folks living here who do not see the need for protective face masks.  Covid19 is spread through the air.  Somebody could think they had a cold and walk through the halls unmasked.  Sometimes I do feel as though cabin fever will eat me alive.  So, I play the glad game.  I'm VERY glad that I have a warm bedroom.  I have a smart phone, and a computer.  I can reach out and connect with loved ones through these means.  My room is cozy, and in it I have things that bring me satisfaction.  As I start adding up the positives, the negatives do not go away, but those ideas simply shrink in importance. 

In one scene in the movie Pollyanna, there is a lady who has poor health.  She has decided that she's dying.  She just stays in bed all the time.  She has samples brought to her that help her choose the type of coffin she wishes to be buried in.  Pollyanna reminds her that she should focus on living, not dying.  Sometimes in little ways life seems too difficult, especially right now.  Yet life is intrinsically precious.  This life is an educational process.  It is a journey of growth.  I love the quote that says, "This life is backwards.  You get the test first, and then the lesson."

Good folks everywhere, sometimes it IS OK not to be OK.  There are times when life seems to pile challenge on challenge on challenge.  The older I get the more challenging my challenges seem to become.  I think about Olympic athletes. Did they become exceptional athletes by sticking to a short exercise program and then sitting on the couch eating bon bons?  No!  They pushed, and pushed, and pushed their limits.  They stretched and progressed.  It is up to each and everyone of us to do the same.

Your challenge for today?  Play the glad game.  Even if it is only a small thing.  Count that as a win, and move on to other positive ideas.  Maybe somebody will call you a Pollyanna.  If they do, say thank you, it's what Pollyanna would do.    

I'm Just Happy to be Stuck With You!

We had only been married a few weeks.  We were moving into a new apartment together.  Well the apartment was almost a hundred years old.  It was new to us.  I finally saw all of his possession's that had been in his mother's storage.  I was startled by one item.  It was a round piece of poster board.  It had a pen and ink sketch of him a few years younger with his flourishing signature underneath.

Why was this image so startling to me?  I queried him, "Did you play the drums in the band my dear friend sang lead in?"  Now he was startled, "Yes, but how did you know?" was his question.

I was going to college several years before I met my husband.  I had all the arrangements made.  It was to be my second year in college.  For reasons that I thought were good at the time I didn't go.  I withdrew from school.  

I did go visit my dear friend.  She and I had performed in summer stock theater the summer before.  She was incredibly talented.  She could sing, dance, and act like a professional.  She was singing lead in a band.  I went to their performance.  During a break I said to her, "That big guy who is playing drums, is the best drummer that I've ever heard.  (I LOVE drums).  He is also really handsome.  On the other hand, what a huge ego that man has!  I've never seen a drum set with a pen and ink sketch of the drummer with a huge flourishing signature across the bottom.

It had been about ten years since I had seen the drummer and his sign.  Obviously he had made a large impression on me.  Imagine that seeing that drum front I remembered him.  I hadn't realized that he was THAT drummer until then.  It definitely made me even more certain that we belonged together.  

I fell in love with one of the most creative humans I had ever met.  He could sing, dance, act, write, direct, produce, play the drums and the guitar.  We sang together every chance that we got.  

We faced many, many hard things together.  Somehow he could make frightening and awful an adventure.  Things were sometimes turbulent in our relationship.  We both had gigantic egos, I mean, we were both performers!  We were also both the youngest in our families.  We actually came close to divorce at one point along our twenty-seven year journey together.  It was during one of our rough times that he told me our song was, "Happy to be stuck with you."  I felt rather badly about it at the time.  Then I listened to the lyrics more closely.  He loved me, he loved our children, the family that we created together.  He truly was grateful that we were stuck together.  He appreciated the years of shared experience, the love that becomes stronger as times relentless march continues.  

Twenty seven years was not nearly long enough.  He passed away at the age of fifty-four.  It has been ten years tomorrow.  Gratefully, I still feel him close.  I know that his spirit is still watching over this family that he so lovingly helped to create.  I am certain that I will continue to love him forever and always. 

My Other Mother

 One of the first things that I noticed about my new mother-in law to be was her beautiful red hair.  Her skin was fair, her eyes were the azure blue of a summer sky.  She was in her sixties when I met her.  She was still a beauty.  It soon became apparent that her beauty was far deeper than her skin.  I fell in love with her almost as soon as I fell in love with her son.  My love for her son deepened after I met his mother.

Through the years my admiration and love for her continued to grow.  After twenty something years of marriage, her husband developed alcoholism.  He was ashamed and so he would stay away when he was drinking.  His absences became longer and longer.  He wasn't working regularly.  She had not worked outside of her home since her marriage.  Now she was desperately trying to find ways to keep a roof over their heads, and food in their stomachs.  She had five sons.  The oldest was about to join the military.  My husband, the youngest was not quite ten as it began to unfold.  

Brilliant, charming, she began baking.  This was her short term way of coping with hardship.  She would have her sons travel door to door to sell her wares.  Her cakes sold like, well like hotcakes as the saying goes.  I can affirm that her cake baking knew no match.  On the other hand, there is a family joke that the bread that she made is still used as a football. 

 The ultimate irony?  She had adored her father when she was a small child.  He apparently also adored her in return.  He became an alcoholic and disappeared from their family life.  So cruel that her husband also followed that path.  Most remarkable of all?  I never heard her say a negative word about her father or husband.  It was abundantly clear that their struggles with alcohol were not allowed to dim the love that she felt for them. Hers was not the love of denial.  She knew far too well the challenges that they had.  She made the conscious choice to remember the positive.

Reaching a very precarious position financially, she packed up the family and moved several states away.  My father-in law had gotten a job. Ever positive and hopeful she packed up their tired old family car with kids, and the few belongings that could be squeezed in around the kids.  Unfortunately, it became apparent fairly soon that divorce would be the option she needed.  She was abandoned with children to raise.

Again she packed up the even more tired vehicle, and loaded in kids, and even fewer possessions.  Now she moved even more states away to be closer to her family.  It was the 1960's and divorce was still considered a scourge as though somehow it was contagious, or that only poor quality people would be involved.  Now they bounced about from teeny, tiny apartment, to even teenier, tinier apartments. 

 Mom got a job as a secretary-receptionist.  It had been decades since her previous job.  A brilliant human being mom not only thrived, within a few years she had been promoted from secretary/receptionist to the first women detective for consumer fraud in that state.  She managed to climb up the ladder by being extremely observant, and making herself necessary in all of the cases.  

Things did improve a bit financially.  The unfortunate reality was that she was told, "We can't make your salary commensurate with our male detectives.  They have families to support."  WHAT?  Not only did that continue to lower her families financial future, it later lessened substantially the retirement income that she received.  

Never one to dwell on the negative she proceeded to close some landmark cases.  She looked like a lovely grandma.  She would act as though she didn't quite understand the falsehoods they were telling her.  Then she expertly gathered evidence. She would come back and shut down the organization.

At six foot four inches two hundred sixty pounds, my husband was quite imposing.  Mom had officers that could come with her as back up.  She often preferred having my husband come instead.  He said that he would stand behind her looking as mean and tough as he could.  

This description will not be understood by those under fifty.  You can google these people if you're curious.  This was my husband and my favorite description of her work, "She looks like Edith Bunker, and has the mind of Remington Steele."  That was part of her gift.  She looked so sweet and loving that often people would underestimate her.  

I was honored to name our first child after my other mother.  She always treated me with love and support.  I did not realize, however, that this first child would grow up to be like her namesake in far more than name alone.  

 I'm eternally grateful for my other mother.  She was a gift, an inspiration in my life.  My husband was the brilliant, charismatic, funny man that he was because she was his mother. 

Who are you? Who do you want to be?

 I LOVE modern technology that affords me the ability to connect with beloved family and friends all around the globe!  Sometimes I post my less than stellar personal moments on Facebook.  Afterwards I think, now why would I share that part of me that is flawed?  An easy answer; the affirmations that come flooding in help me feel appreciated, loved, and understood.

One of my friends put it rather humorously to me in my struggling teen years.  "If you quit telling people that you're ugly, maybe they wouldn't notice!"  Do you notice though that she didn't AFFIRM that I WAS ugly.  She affirmed that I BELIEVED that I was ugly.

What kind of things do you project in your life in your daily interaction with others?  Do you feel weak, unable to live up to the standards that you desire?  Do you feel ugly, or fat?  Do you feel hopeless, that there simply is no way to attain what you would like to?

I believe that all of us have felt all of those things at some point in our lives.  If you haven't CONGRATULATIONS...and please tell me how you managed to dodge all of those miserable bullets!

Recently I re-connected with a beloved friend from my childhood.  I haven't seen her in THIRTY years.  I was stunned when I looked at her because she's only a few inches taller than me.  That makes her about five foot eightISH.  The reason that stunned me was because of the memory I had of her.  My memory made her a GIANT!  Tall, skinny, and coltish.

Now she's not all that tall, nicely built, and very gracious and poised.  So, was my memory wrong?  Had my perception of her been completely skewed?  (One of my favorite things about being 65 is perception.  That 3-D ability to view the present with lessons from the past.)  The answer is NO...my memory was that she and I were two of the tallest girls in the class for a very long time.  That was because, in fact, we were.  I was five foot five by the age of twelve, and she was five foot seven or eight by the age of twelve.  We then had to wait a very, VERY long time for the other children around us to get their growth spurts and catch up to us.  They DID catch up, and now we are both just a tiny bit above average height.  Yet in my memory she still is incredibly tall!

Why do I use this little analogy?  Before I explain I wish to use another example.  A lovely girl that I know is not any fun to shop with.  The reason?  She does NOT see what is actually looking back at her from the mirror.  She sees all the negative ideas and perceptions of herself that she has developed over a very short life span.  It doesn't matter if an outfit makes her look beautiful to everyone else.  There are almost NO outfits that make her look beautiful to herself.

WHY?  Why do so many of us carry around wounds from the past in our hearts and souls?  Wouldn't it be easier, and happier to see ourselves as beautiful, with all kinds of potential and possibilities?

Back to MY youth again.  I learned a song that changed much of my negative thought patterns.  It was called "Please Pass the Possibles to Me."  The ideas of the song encouraged the value of positive possibilities for each one of us.  WHAT?  There could be a time in my life that I felt wanted, loved, beautiful?  There could be a time when I would believe enough in my gifts and talents to write novels, or positive attitude ideas to share with the world?

I adored a little movie that came out a while back.  The title was unfortunate to my way of thinking.  It was something like, "What the BLEEP Are You Doing?"  I just paraphrased that title as close to the original as I could remember.  The title did NOT do the movie justice.  The movie was about the idea that REALITY is fluid.  It IS NOT, solid, and completely unable to flex or change.  It promoted that idea that we can in fact create our very own reality!  WHAT?

So...today, what is your reality?  Do you enjoy your own reality?  Is there anything within it that you can change?  Are you limited by your own perspectives?  Or are you limited by necessity (little things like feeding your family).  Can you create your own reality?  Sometimes, at points in your life that may be impossible...but just for a measured time.  So, if you are stuck for awhile, find ways and means to make that reality more positive.

I worked at a job that I HATED!  The work was mostly about numbers and statistics, while I'm a people sort of a person.  I HAD to keep the job.  It gave our family health insurance, AND it paid for my husband's Law School (at $15,000.00 a year that's a pretty real motivation).  So, I found ways and means to make the job work for me.  I did my best to strengthen the weaker part of me, dealing with math and statistics.  I focused on the people part of my job, and used that enjoyment to tide me over on long stretches of the things that I did NOT want to do.

Oh it didn't make my reality suddenly magical.  Yet it did a lot to make my reality MORE magical.  Viktor Frankl found ways to make living (and living with the possibility of death) in a Concentration Camp more positive.  Oh please, he didn't start skipping and singing happy songs.  That isn't called reality, that's called Psychosis, or the inability to recognize reality.  He did rise to a higher level of reality where he could bear his limited, horrendous existence.

Can you create your own reality?  The answer is YES...no equivocations.  It WILL involve some work inside yourself.  Take a journal, find a quiet corner and investigate.  List all the things you do like about your current reality, it may be small places where you can focus like, I love my parents, or I love my children, and the possibilities I see within each of them.  Or you may realize that YOU are your own dam...the kind that stops water, not the other kind (see, I shifted reality for a moment, and you can too...hee hee).  You may be the one stopping or damming the incredible possibilities that lie within YOU!

Most importantly, BELIEVE!  YOU CAN CHANGE...YOU CAN BELIEVE IN YOUR OWN POTENTIAL!  Class dismissed!

Pandemic 2020

 There is an image going around on Facebook that I feel best describes the trend of this year.  It is a row of porta potties at some event or another.  Behind the portable bathrooms rages a fire.  The caption read, "If 2020 were a scented candle."  There is no denying that this has been a miserable year.  There are record numbers of unemployed in the U.S.  Around 230,000 of our citizens have died from the mishandling by our leadership of Covid19.  

The closest thing to this pandemic was one hundred years ago.  This time the disease was called Spanish Influenza.  It devastated the world population.  It is very personal to me.  My great-grandmother went to Kansas to treat her son sickened with the disease.  He recovered.  She got the disease and died.  There weren't enough clinicans to treat the desperately ill people.  There weren't enough people to bury all of the dead.  Everyone was afraid, with good reason.

 What does one hundred year old history have to do with us in 2020?  Those people endured a horrendous health challenge.  The challenge did end eventually.  The people who survived kept moving through life.  We WILL see this pandemic go away.  We may have to make small sacrifices along the way, like wearing a mask anytime you are around another human other than your immediate family.  Like frequently washing your hands, and socially distancing.  Perhaps you will have to limit social gathering to groups of ten.  These are all very small sacrifices.  If doing these simple things can save lives, and they CAN, why would we hesitate?

 I am at serious risk of this infection.  I spend most of my time inside my residence.  When I do go outside, I faithfully wear a mask.  This is not a challenge for me.  Born with severe allergy asthma, and a puny immune system I have had to wear masks before in my life to protect me from the infections of others.  I've also had to wear scarves or masks on my face when the weather was very cold.  If I went from a cold outside to a warm inside, it was a guaranteed asthma attack.  If I kept my breathing warm with a scarf or a mask that would often ward off an attack.  This was before the advent of the wonderful modern medicines that currently are used to treat asthma.  

It amazes me when I do go outside for a walk, that virtually nobody is wearing a mask?  They are choosing to risk not only getting the infection, but sharing it with others in their sphere of living.  They also seem blithely unaware that they might have an asymptomatic case and they may be spreading it to anyone around them.  

I hear done woman explain, "I chose to live my life with faith not fear.  If I get it, I get.  That's just the way things work.  I totally agreed with her assertion that life should be lived with faith not fear.  The rest made my temper rise.  Somehow she had missed that if SHE gets it, she will then be spreading it to others anywhere within range of her, before she even has any symptoms.  I have faith...FAITH in the intelligence of the populace of the United States of America.  I have faith that my neighbors and fellow men and women are selfless enough to think not just about their protection when wearing a mask, but about protecting others around them.

 Partisan politics do NOT belong in a pandemic.  I don't care if you are Republican, Democrat, Independent, or  whatever party you choose to align with.  Wearing a mask is a sign of our respect for humanity.  That is a condition that we all share...humanity.  I don't know if anyone will read this.  Somehow I feel better having voiced my opinion.     . 

Still Socially Acceptable?

 Political correctness has become a wave sweeping the United States.  We try diligently in our speech and attitudes to not discriminate on basis of race or religion.  I understand the need for change.  As a child of the 1950's and 60's I heard moron jokes, Polish jokes, black jokes, etc. etc.  It seemed that it was even acceptable to joke at the expense of the mentally challenged.  My personal belief is that maligning others used to be an acceptable way of shifting our feelings of self doubt to others.  If somebody else is less than, it makes me more than, right?  (Completely and utterly wrong).

Prejudice is a divisive canker of the soul.  Judging another human being on a visual basis only is morally reprehensible.  This leads me to discuss one of the last largely socially acceptable prejudices.  I flinch when I see a Facebook or Instagram post that shows an obese person in a small scooter at a store.  The worst was a woman whose scooter had tipped over and nobody was coming to her aid.  Indeed, many seemed to feel that her dilemma was deserved and should contain her from eating too much.  

My husband was a very large man.  At six foot four inches he was not lean.  He once had a doctor tell him that he had the thickest muscle density of any human that he had treated in over twenty years of practice.  He told him that his perfect weight was two hundred and sixty pounds.  

Following multiple life threatening illnesses his weight ballooned upwards.  He developed type two diabetes.  He went to a doctor because his blood sugars were completely brittle.  They would soar up to six hundred, and then drop to sixty.  The doctor said, "Mr. Jones, I can't help you unless you lose weight.  Please don't come back until you do."

So....easy for the doctor to blame the patient for the disease, right?  My hubby was taking HUGE dosages of insulin daily to try and bring his uncontrollable blood sugars into control.  It was almost twenty years later, and many complications later that a doctor finally said to him, "At the dosages of insulin that you're taking it would be virtually impossible to lose weight.  Insulin acts as an appetite enhancer.  You are probably hungry ALL THE TIME!  In addition, another condition was finally diagnosed, insulin resistance.  Remarkable, twenty years before there had been treatment for insulin resistance, but none of the doctors that he saw during that time span bothered to look beyond his weight for a cause.  

Next case.  One of my friends was a slightly below average sized child.  When she became an adolescent, everything changed.  She started gaining weight.  This was not an inactive child.  She actually danced an hour to two hours five days a week.  During high school, in spite of her intense physical routine, she gained another twenty five pounds.  She went to doctor after doctor who gave no answer to this challenge.

In her twenties she finally received the diagnosis of Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome.  For some reason (cause still unknown) some women develop a condition that throws their hormones into frenzy.  In my friend's case the syndrome was responsible for the uncontrolled weight gain.  She took a required physical education class in college.  When her weight didn't budge no matter what she ate, and how much she moved her teacher gave her a poor grade.  WHAT?  By this point she knew about her medical condition.  She explained.  The teacher didn't give one inch.

What is the point of this post?  When a person can't lose weight, regardless of level of physical activities and diet, DO MORE DIAGNOSTIC TESTS!  Don't assume that the weight IS THE PROBLEM.  Instead, look more closely for a reason that is causing the weight gain!  In some people the weight gain was precipitated by a tragic event.  My children and I all gained weight after my husband's death at fifty four.  (If that doctor had only given him insulin resistance medication twenty years earlier, he might not have died that young.  At the least he would have had a healthier twenty years).  Eating sweets is not a healthy way to cope with loss, but when you understand the physiological reasons for craving sweets it makes more sense.  Sugared chocolate creates endorphins....the feel good chemicals that create feelings of euphoria or comfort.  Of course the quick rise of the feel good chemicals also drops suddenly.  This can lead to an endless cycle of sweet food bingeing.  For most people this might not even cause a hiccup in their weight gain.  It might also lead to a healthier method of coping, exercise.  If you have an underlying mental or physical medical challenge you crave food more and gain more.  

 The good news is that you CAN get help.  You may have to do lots of research on your own.  This is a marvelous time for research.  You can connect with sources on a global level.  I understand that doctors in the U.S. are often harassed by the number crunching management.  They want them to spend less time with patients to be able to create more billable hours.  I actually had a doctor tell me, "I can only deal with one or two of your medical conditions at an appointment.  I live with multiple medical conditions, each of them impacts the other conditions.  I would spend my lifetime at her office trying to get the best medical treatment for all of my conditions.  (NO, I'm NOT a hypochondriac, I have medical conditions that have all been diagnosed with empirical evidence).  If I WAS a hypochondriac a good doctor would arrange for a consult by a different medical clinician, a therapist.

The bad new is that people can be very cruel.  Posting pictures of obese individuals and then making rude comments is NOT helpful.  Do you have enough empathy to imagine yourself in the place of that person?  How would YOU feel if food was the only thing that made you feel alive?  What if  you live with such intense levels of pain that any movement guarantees you a consequence of severe pain?  Would you feel inspired to move and eat less if you could move less and you hurt more?

Doctors need to be more proactive with their patients.  Instead of automatically labeling a person of weight as lazy, or ignorant, they could check the medical conditions of a person to see if those were creating weight gain...insulin resistance, Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome are two such conditions.  There are many, many others.

How can we call ourselves politically correct when we still laugh at the misfortune of others.  Why is it OK to tell fat jokes?  It isn't acceptable to tell other types of jokes that poke fun at anybody, why is it still acceptable to label people and make fun of them because of weight?  

I used to be one of the offenders.  I simply dismissed obese people.  I would mentally think, eat less, exercise more, come on people!  I danced my way through my life, never concerned about weight gain....and then.  After my second child my weight stalled.  My baby weighed almost nine pounds.  I was horrified when I only lost five pounds?  How is that even possible?  My metabolism slowed further as I moved along through life.  After developing degenerative disc disease throughout my back I eventually piled on ninety pounds?  This forced me to understand that being overweight usually has a cause, a reason.  It is NEVER OK to look at someone with weight and make a snap judgement.

I end with a plea.  Doctors, look more diligently for a root reason that someone has weight, don't make a snap decision that all of their problems come from their weight.  Weight is often caused from underlying health problems.  Humans, develop some empathy.  Understand that weight can happen to ANYBODY!  You may be a slim trim human being, and THEN...remember that before you laugh at that picture of a woman tipped over in a small scooter.        

College to Cancer?

 Everything was set.  After forty-six years I was going back to college.  I was so excited!  I had a snazzy little red car.  I was looking for an apartment.  My registration (which involved the folks at the college going into the archives and brushing off almost fifty years of dust) had taken so very long.  The new adventure was calling me forward....AND THEN.

Why is is that in life curves are allowed to appear when the road before you seems straight and exciting?  Breast cancer was back!  This was my second bout.  I had faced it before when I was thirty-four.  If I had known then that it would return to haunt me and steal away my long delayed dreams I would have had it removed then!  Alas, none of us know what the future holds.  I was young and the cancer was very early.  So I opted for two lumpectomies and radiation.

I tried to reason that it wasn't going to take me very long to recover and then I would head off to college.  My recovery triggered a bunch of complications.  So like watching dominoes fall I witness my dreams crushed by other health issues.

 I mourned, oh how I mourned!  Tears wet my pillow at night, and I sobbed often to those that are my best support.  I did NOT waste any time asking, "Why me?" or just "Why?"  Life has taught me that those questions rarely have answers.  In addition they rob me of the precious energy I need to face the reality of my everyday.

Another question came forward.  "How?  How can I navigate this blow?  How can I move through the Valley of the Shadow of Death with hope and courage?  This question helped me to look inward for strengths that I was not aware of.  This question helped me to look at others and the way they navigated the hard and ruthless in life with grace and dignity.

It was NOT easy.  It indeed has been one of the hardest challenges of my life.  Yet there were gifts and lessons hidden in unlikely places as I traversed this curve in my life's road.  I even discovered joy as I laughed with women who had walked this same path.  

I had longed for a new/old challenge and adventure.  I wanted to go to college, to gain a Bachelor's degree.  I still believe in the power of education to unlock opportunities.  I now remember that education is not limited to brick and mortar buildings.  It is not only gained through hours and hours of classroom study.  Education comes to those that are open to it, in the unexpected curves in life.  Indeed, it is the very core of where the most important wisdom may be derived.  

Now?  Everyday is an adventure to find the best ways to walk through the curves. Sometimes fog that seems to hide any possibility can be blown away by the winds of lessons I've gained in this manner. 

Dot...the extraordinary comfort kitty!

 My husband was like the Pied Piper of Hamlin, only with cats....that he did not lead to drown in water.  Cats, literally walked off the street straight to him.  Dot, well she showed up one cold, rainy, wintry evening on our porch.  We already had THREE animals in a space where we were only supposed to have TWO.  What are you going to do when those animals march right off the street and into your heart?  I tried to be firm.  Make her a tent to get warm, give her food and water, BUT DON'T BRING HER IN THE HOUSE!  Why was I so adamant?  I knew that she would come inside and I would become attached and we would have double the amount of animals that we were supposed to have?!

I should put in the title, don't read if you are not absolutely madly, crazy in love with some sort of animal.  Anyway, Dot next was moved to our garage, which my husband used for a recording studio.  That gave he and Dot lots of bonding time.  

Then one day, one of my children's friends brazenly marched into the house with Dot in her hands...and that was that.  Her name?  My wise manipulative husband (well not really totally manipulative, just a little bit) knew that if I named this creature, I would be even further connected to her.  It was easy.  She was all gray, (I thought, but learned differently later...that is for another post) except for a tiny white dot of fur just below her chin.  Of course, later her name was elongated to Dotsy, Dotsy Doodle Doo and Dotsy Wotsy Doodle Doo.  (What? Her owner loves words).  

I did NOT like Dot much at first.  She came, brand new into an already established pecking order.  Rolly, our precious Poochan pooch was the alpha.  Spike, our orange tabby was next, and Katty Kaliko was lowest on the totem pole.  Dot came in determined to become the alpha...forget being a MALE alpha....from the first she was, "I am woman hear me roar!"  (Thanks to Helen Reddy for singing that lovely anthem).  Dot would stalk the two kitties and jump out at them.  

Rolly?  She seemed to think that Rolly was some sort of odd cat.  She was madly in love at first sight.  Sadly, that love was NOT reciprocated.  Rolly was, however tolerant (most of the time) of her loving nuzzles and sidles against him.  

I fed Dot, and put up with Dot but she was very much devoted to my husband and child.  He would often tell me, "She's a sweet kitty!"  I was not convinced.  Then my husband died.  Dot grieved with us.  At first she was a bit annoyed that I would actually sit in his recliner.  Eventually she accepted me as a worthwhile participant in the loyal order of Nyle and his creatures!  

I had never lived alone.  I was terrified.  Our children were grown up and gone.  The worst was nightimes.  My hubby and I were nocturnal for the last decade of our marriage.  I would usually go to bed earlier than him, but I felt completely safe knowing that my six foot four muscular honey was watching over me.  When he passed, I was lost.  I felt as though my feet went completely out from under me.  We had shared twenty seven years of living and three children together.  

This is when Dot and I bonded.  Both lost without him, she seemed drawn to me when I needed her most.  In the darkness of the night I would awaken myelf sobbing.  Often Dot would climb on my tummy and knead my chest, throat and face.  It was like having a personal grief crisis counselor that lived with me.  

After my husband's passing we moved....lots...and she moved on with me.  Along the way we said goodbye to Spike, Katty, and Rolly.  Dot continued on.  In the last few months she has been bravely battling lymphoma.  Her vet told me that she is the strongest animal that they ever worked with.  Strong in her desire to live in spite of chemo, shots, blood draws, pills, etc.  She was strong in her persistence at getting around, up and down, and wherever she needed to go.  I continued having nightly communal experiences with her purring, and kneading.  This last week, things changed drastically.  Her ability to fight the demon invading her body grew weaker.  She was down to nearly four pounds.  In her prime she weighed almost fifteen.  Even as her body weakened her spirit soared. During this time she received massive quantities of snuggles, treats, water from the bathroom faucet (she adored watching the water come out fuzzy and then drinking from my hand).

Finally it became obvious that it was time to release her.  It would not have been merciful to wait for this wasting disease to finish destroying her strong body.  Today I made the trip that every pet lover dreads.  She went to the vet's one last time.  The vet was AMAZING!  They had a beautiful outdoor space prepared with lavender growing to one side, and a charming gazebo.  It's a pandemic and I'm a prime candidate so they were willing to perform her release outside.  I sang to her and stroked her head as she relaxed and then leaped into her strong, healthy spirit self.  

I have no doubt that my sweety, her rescuer is holding her in his arms.  Rolly is putting up with her loving nuzzles, and she is once again trying to rule the roost.  Thank you my deliver Dot, who helped me cope with grief until I was strong enough to face it on my own. 

Still Crazy After All These Years

In one hour and seven minutes I will have lived on this planet for sixty-four years.  When I was born I had severe allergy asthma, and very little immune system.  I was in and out of the hospital often.  There was no treatment for asthma but to give oxygen and pray the attack would stop.  I remember at about the age of three or four being in an oxygen tent.  The doctor was speaking to a group of interns nearby.  I'm sure he thought that I couldn't hear him over the sound of the oxygen.  My ears were still pretty sharp then.  I heard him say, "This child will not live very long.  She is too severely allergic and sensitive."

Lying there I thought to myself, "HAH!  I'll show you Dr.!"  I HAVE, I've shown that doctor and then some.  Of course, the credit for keeping me alive long enough to reach some marvelous medical discoveries goes to my patient self-sacrificing parents.  They did everything in their power to keep me alive.  My attacks often started in the middle of the night, which meant one or both of my parents didn't get much sleep.  Mama started doing research and off we went to herbologists, naturopaths, chiropractors, nutrinists, and more.  Obviously something worked.

Then I began to see a new Dr.  He was a family practice doctor and he changed my life forever.  When he discovered my dismal past medical history he didn't just push a pill at me and tell me to come back in six weeks.  No, he got busy and did intensive research about the newest medical developments for my condition.  He got me involved in a medical trial.  I began to use a medication that helped to desensitize my bronchials.  It didn't cure me, but it lessened by hospital stays a great deal.  As my asthma lessened, I was able to strengthen my immune system.

I went to college, performed in summerstock theater, served an LDS mission, sang, danced, and acted in many productions.  I met the man of my dreams and we created family together.  He got his undergrad degree, and then his J.D.  We performed together with great joy. 

Now?  Now even though the pandemic has swept away most of the outside activity in my life, I am still filled with enthusiasm for the inside activity.  I sew, write, knit, do genealogy work, dance, sing, and sometimes play the piano.  I've watched fascinating documentaries that have increased my knowledge, and I'm currently taking an online Spanish class. 

One of my friends once told me (she was in her 80s at the time), you are only as old as your oldest cell.  Your body produces new cells every 5 seconds.  I have not verified the science of this with SNOPES but I like her vision.  In her nineties she needed to move into assisted living.  The last I heard, she was teaching aerobics there. 

Even if my body keeps getting older, and my health issues continue to pile up, I'm going to do my best to find joy.  There will always be something that I can do...even if it is lying in bed praying for those I love.  I AM praying right now.  I'm praying for this pandemic to stop.  I'm praying for a useful vaccine to be created.  I'm praying for a world where black lives DO matter, and we do NOT go around judging each other harshly.  I've seen a great deal of history in sixty-four years of living.  I want to see some more.  I wish to see our children make our earth safer, healthier, and much more loving. 

I'm happy that I've lived to reach my sixty-fourth birthday.  I'm blowing that doomsayer doctor a raspberry.  I imagine that he has passed on long since...and I'm still here...and still doing my best everyday.  (OK....I do not wish that doctor harm.  I just want him to see that I proved him wrong?) 

Happy birthday to me!

STOP THIS MADNESS!!!

I do my best to stay away from the divisiveness of politics. I can't be silent any longer. First of all...no haters please. I respect your right to your opinion. Please respect mine.

Portland, OR is a lovely town. The people are kind, they are tolerant of others, they even allow those that are down on their luck (the homeless) to put up a tent or tarp wherever it is not causing anyone harm. Unbelievably, even in heavy traffic they will allow your vehicle to merge into places that you need to merge.  

Since the horror of George Floyd's death there have been mostly peaceful protests about the use of extreme policing and racism. Enter federal troops who don't identify themselves, act as commandos, not peace officers (I believe most officers still swear to protect and defend...people?) and quickly prove that the very problem Black Lives Matter protestors are trying to address NEEDS TO BE ADDRESSED! This overreach of the Executive Branch of Government is completely unacceptable. The protests in Portland were lessening...enter the stormtroopers (they really do look like that) with unfettered use of tear gas, rubber bullets (which broke the skull of a man), billy clubs (regular policemen haven't been allowed to use those for years), flash bangs, and an authoritarian attitude that smacks of tyranny.

My beloved Papa served for three years as a paratrooper and infantry man during World War II. He was very proud of the service that he gave for his country. This action against our own citizens would sicken him. He believed in our country and the values that we are supposed to stand up for. 

Maybe this president could spend more time focusing on ridding our country once and for all of a pandemic that is increasing exponentially? Perhaps, he could see that our health care heroes have the supplies that they need without having to wrangle to get them. Maybe the money that is being spent to send federal troops into Democratic cities instead could be used to get our health care workers the supplies they need? Or perhaps that money could go toward the expense of creating the vaccine that we need to end the Covid19 virus once and for all!  

What about the record number of unemployed people that are scrambling in our country?  Remember those down on their luck folks that I mentioned above?  There may soon be much larger populations of tent cities as people are unable to pay for housing for themselves and their families.  Perhaps some money could be put into this effort?

Finally, in what world does it make sense to send our precious children back to school in the fall?  When I was a child we were encouraged never to swap hats because it increased the exposure to ringworm and lice from other children.  Can you imagine 7 years olds that continue to wear their masks all day long without swapping with another child?  What about children who are asymptomatic but bring home Covid19 to other family members, those immune compromised or elderly?  Who will pay for the health care that all of them will require?  How about the teachers, and the staff when they become sick and must be quarantined.  Who will care for their costs?  As usual our president makes decisions without a single thought about possible consequences for others. 

Remember when a certain current president made NOT wearing a mask in a pandemic a political statement?  Remember how sharply the Covid19 cases rose because people were NOT wearing masks in public?

Please, let's stop the madness.  Here are some reasoned ideas to consider.  
 1.  Quit sending federal troops to cities that have largely moderate protests.  If there is looting, let the city, county, and state officers who have been trained to deal with these actions without exacerbating violence, police them.  That will save a large quantity of money.  
2.  Let's use that money that we have saved to ensure that our health care workers have the appropriate equipment that they need to keep themselves safe in this pandemic.  Let's make certain that there are guaranteed lines of replacement for all of that medical equipment.  
3.  There needs to be a plan to fund some sort of employment for all of these people who have no income.  There must be work that needs doing that could be accomplished from homes.  
4.  Let's establish a stay at home school program for at least this school year to avoid causing the possible health consequences of children returning to school during a pandemic.  Teachers could teach more practically remotely, than trying to teach masked children in socially distanced classrooms.  
5.  Let's require people to wear masks in any situations where they can't stay six feet from others.  We must close down places or situations that can expose us to this virus.

My Other Mother

I have been blessed in my life by the mothering influence of many, many women.  Some have been the age of my mother, some have been my age, and some have been younger than me.  To me, mother energy defies age.  It is the powerful gift of loving beyond your own selfish wishes.

My mom-in law was one of the best examples of powerful love, and nurturing.  She raised five tremendous sons.  She did this even after a painful divorce, and having to return to the work force after twenty-five years as a stay at home mother.  At first she cooked delicious foodstuffs and had her sons sell them in the neighborhood.  When this failed to adequately support her family, she went to work as a secretary/receptionist.  She barely earned enough to pay the rent.  My husband remembers times when he slept in the kitchen because they could only afford a one bedroom apartment.

Within a few years she went from a secretary/receptionist to the first woman detective for consumer fraud in the state where she lived.  She was brilliant.  Unfortunately, she was never paid as much as her mail peers.  The reason she was told is, "They had families to support."  I've often wondered at the hubris of someone telling her this when it was common knowledge that she was the sole breadwinner in her family of five sons.  Her retirement was lessened substantially by this foolishness.

She raised five strong boys to become five strong men.  She did this while working to support them.  One of my favorite stories about her creativity was the traveling circus that she would develop.  She wanted the boys to receive an allowance.  She could not afford to give them an allowance.  A circus would have games to be played (all for a small fee, of course), hot dogs and lemonade to be eaten (again at a small fee) and my husband's personal favorite was fishing.  He would receive a small prize if he managed to hook one of the fishes.

Penny poker was a game played close to allowance day.  She mindfully cheated, but was never caught, and never confessed.  By the end of the circus, or after the poker game, she would have won back the allowance.  The boys never felt cheated.  She gave them their money's worth.
When she would visit us, my husband would tease her that he expected her to pay for her supper.  He also offered to let her play fish to see if she could snag any prizes.  She graciously laughed away his teasing.

When I married her baby boy she opened her arms and heart to me.  She never had a daughter.  That didn't stop her from being a loving gracious mother to me, and to my sisters in law.  We had lots of fun together.  She could make me laugh on a regular basis.

Having lived through the great depression, World War II (her husband was stationed on the Isle of Tinian.  He saw the plane leave that dropped an atomic bomb on Japan).  She had mastered the art of being happy even when the world was not a happy place.  I always rejoiced in her visits.  I loved and respected her with all of my heart.

I loved her so much that I honored her by naming my daughter after her.  My daughter reminds me a lot of her namesake's combination of caring people skills, and brilliance of brain.

Thank you my beloved mom! 

Choosing happiness

My dear Mama lived to be ninety-five.  She lived through the Great Depression of America, and was engaged to my Papa for three years as he fought in World War II.  She knew far too well that happiness was a conscious choice.  It's was not a matter of denying that hard things happen. It was the realization that it is always possible to find joy. Sometimes you had to look really hard.

For example, Mama loved to learn.  She once attended a seminar where they told the participants to buy a pair of those glasses with the fake nose and mustache.  He then told everybody to use them to provide a much needed humor break for themselves and others.  She used that principle well.  She would put them on randomly.  Sometimes when she was riding in a car.  Often I would see a car with everyone laughing.  I would glance over and surprise, Mama had her fake glasses on.  My sister-in law once found her sitting in front of her tv with her fake nose on.  Needless to say, my sister-in law had a good laugh!

Mama said that she didn't just put that fake nose on to make others laugh.  It worked just as well for her in lifting her own spirits.

My mother fostered an amazing 20 children.  Some were official, others were not.  She had wanted a large family.  She had eight pregnancies and only three of us survived.  She often repeated to me, "You don't have to give birth to be a mother.  Being a mother is about nurturing, and loving."  She was a vivid example of this principle.

Once again it's Mother's Day.  The other night I could feel her close by me in the night.  As an asthmatic child when the only treatment was oxygen and prayers we spent many a long night together.  I would be in the recliner gasping for air, mama would be on the couch next to me.  When I am sick and miserable in the night I can feel her loving angel presence comforting me and cheering me on.

Who knows, maybe I'll be blessed enough to see her haunt me sometime.  Of course, she'll have on her fake glasses, complete with nose and mustache! 

Even a Pressure Cooker Needs to Vent

I have lived long enough to see ideas come and go...and then come again.  The pressure cooker was my mama's go to when a meal needed to be cooked quickly.  There was a valve on top that released the build-up of pressure.  Then you would put a whatchamacallit over the vent to hold in the pressure and cook the whatever faster.  Enter 60 years later and the Insta cooker. 

My life has had lots of pressure cooker times.  When life builds and fills with sorrow or stress, what do you do with that build up of pressure?  My wise sister once said, "Even a pressure cooker needs to vent once in awhile." 

This seemingly inane discussion of cookers leads up to my need to vent.  I truly strive to live life with love.  I want to be a voice for peace in an often contentious world.  There is one philosophy that pulls me in a negative direction, every single time.  I have been offered the wisdom by many that if I simply would quit manifesting negativity (by speaking about the challenges that I have faced) or if I would address the subconscious level of my past...my physical health would improve.

I met a psychologist at a holiday party.  She was charming.  She heard that I was dealing with cancer number two.  She explained that cancers are caused by unresolved issues of the past.  Kindly she offered me one free visit with her.  It was a party so I did not say, "Are you kidding me right now?  You are saying I CAUSED MY OWN CANCER?  Or that any and all of my health challenges were caused by something I did or didn't do in my lifetime?"

Simply discussing that brief conversation makes me passive-aggressive.  Sometimes being passive aggressive works.  In other words, it would have been inappropriate for me to yell at her or engage in a contentious discussion.  Yet I need to vent the negative energy somewhere.  This is where I chose to express and vent.

Please do not EVER tell me that the hard things in my life were caused by a previous bad incarnation.  Do not say that I cause my own health problems as a self-punishment for choices that I've made in the past.  I would race to quote the old idiom, "I was born this way, what's your excuse?"

I've learned a thing or two during my lifetime.  This is a truth that I will carry forward...shame and blame never fixed anything!  Telling an alcoholic that they have liver disease because of the alcohol, and then shaming them for their illness?  Good things are never accomplished by shame or blame.  Please NEVER tell me that my cancer, fibromyalgia, arthritis, spinal disease, will be CURED if I quit manifesting AKA venting or discussing them.  Do NOT tell me that my illness is my bodies way of punishing for past behaviors.  NEVER tell me that God is punishing me for some past misdeed in another life.

Here's the thing...stuff happens.  In this old world, you may bring genetic disorders forward from the past.  America went insane with nuclear testing.  They did NOT just test in isolated areas, they had secret testing sites throughout the U.S.  Dangerous waste from factories have been dumped in many rivers and water sources throughout our country.  Car accidents happen because a person is drunk, or texting.  Snow and ice cause accidents.  The bad choices of others can cause some of these things.  Our own bad choices CAN cause some of our problems.  DUMB old being in the wrong place at the right time can cause some of our issues.

What is my point?  There are many reasons why bad things happen to good people.  Telling those good people that they are responsible for those bad things just compounds their struggle.  I speak about my challenges to people because it connects my struggle to theirs.  It helps them to see that it IS possible to have a positive life experience even in the middle of the worst kinds of crap that life can hand you.

When I can offer a light to someone in the midst of deep darkness it gives me affirmation.  I'm far from perfect, but I live for times when I can use my experience to give hope to others.  One other truth that I've learned, there is ALWAYS hope!