Finally!

Last night I finally had a complete night's sleep with my own BiPap!

This saga began about 3 months ago, if I recall correctly. I took my broken BiPap in to see if it could be fixed and got a loaner. The loaner was OK, but worked just differently enough that I had trouble getting used to it. My original stayed in the shop for almost 2 months.

The first time I took my original home, it would not blow anything but small puffs of air. I had returned the loaner when I picked this one up, so I was stuck sleeping sitting up on the couch until I could get it back to Jackson. Turns out, it was a software problem that was fixable in the local office.

Once again, I took it home only to find out that the cord to the humidifier was missing from the "new" bundle of cords that was sent back from the shop. I used it without the humidifier, at the cost of waking up with a sore throat in the mornings until I could drive the 50 miles to get another one.

When I got that cord, I thought I was home free until I hooked up the humidifier only to discover that the adaptor to the humidifier was not operational. Another night on the couch.

Fortunately, I was spared another trip to Jackson by my friend, Teresa, who was coming to Vicksburg and picked the cotton-pickin' thing up for me.

Next time, I am gonna "accidentally" drop the thing in the Mississippi River and demand a new one.

Batteries

If someone really wanted to cripple our society, all he or she would need to do is take away all of our batteries.

I think about the number of things in my home that require batteries, and it boggles my mind. Flashlights, remotes, phones, tools, MP3 players, clocks, smoke alarms, tape players, weather radio, cameras, scooter, and I am sure there are some I have not remembered.

This morning, when my husband went to crank the van, he discovered that the battery was dead. We could not go anywhere until a new battery had been purchased and installed.

Forget nuclear weapons and germ warfare. Just take out the battery factories. Simple.

And scary.

Sheesh.

Breakdown

Murphy's Law of Sanders Automobile Breakdowns:

1. They are going to occur on a Sunday or after hours.

2. They are going to occur on the most desolate stretch of road that is to be traveled that day.

3. They are going to happen when it is either blazing hot or freezing cold.

This morning, as my husband and I were coming home from a lovely weekend in Memphis, we broke down in West, Mississippi (population 220.)

Some things were on our side. We were able to make it to the shade of an overpass before the van quit entirely, my cellphone had 5 bars, and I have AAA roadside service.

So, I dialed AAA. When asked where I was, I told her the mile marker and the names of several small towns that we were probably near. It took her a while to find a town large enough to have a towing service. We got lucky with Durant, a metropolis of almost 3,000 people a few miles down the road.

We were told that it could take up to an hour and a half for a tow to arrive. At this point, the temperature was 98 degrees and I explained to the lady (who was probably in some cool place up North) that it was hot, supposed to get hotter, and that if I get too hot, I start having difficulty breathing. The nice lady then put us on a priority list and that tow came in 45 minutes.

The truck arrived and the driver, wearing an Ole Miss cap, smoking a Camel, and covered with tattoos got out. He looked like an angel to me. Fortunately, because it is not football season, I had none of my LSU stuff in the van. This was probably a good thing. Derrick packed us up in the wrecker and drove us to the big city of Durant where we were left at a truck stop to wait for Bubba, the owner of the shop our van was being towed to. Bubba promised us that he would get on it first thing in the morning.

So we waited in what was obviously the hotbed of Sunday afternoon activity in Durant for my sister to drive up from Clinton and get us, leaving our van in the hopefully honest and capable hands of Bubba.

Have mercy.

Drained

What is it about sitting in a hospital room that is so draining? Even if your person sleeps most of the time and is not demanding, there is just something about hanging out in a hospital room that is exhausting. I know I am not the only person to experience this.

My theory is that even while sitting, my mind and body are in a state of hyper-alertness, ready to deal with any situation that might come up. There is no real relaxed state in this situation. I guess after several hours in this state, it is not unusual to feel like I have been "beat with an ugly stick" (as my mom used to say) when I leave a hospital after sitting with a loved one.

My "shift" starts at 5 PM. I think I am gonna take a nap.

Store Closing

I was informed today that one of my main happy places, The Craft Store, is closing its doors in a few weeks. This is where I have taken art classes, had things framed, and been able to get at least some of my art supplies locally.  The stores core clientele is dedicated, but there are just not enough of us to keep them afloat. 

Most of all, however, it has been a place to gather. A place to talk. Over the years, Pam, Barbara, Carla, Kathy, Teresa, Sam and I have solved the problems of the world, laughed till we hurt, and been there for each other through good and bad events. 

I am going to miss it terribly. 

Musings

Our air conditioner is out again. My husband reminded me that it went out last year as well. Thankfully, this time it is only in the 80s and not the 90s. Hoping for a quick and and cheap fix. Hope the guy that fixed it last year is still available. He was a peach.

I also had my first experience with what my iMac book calls the "spinning beach ball of death."  My mac hung up for the first time, forcing me to have to shut it down at the power button. I wish I had a video of me frantically combing the book for a better solution, all the while knowing what would have to be done. 

My iMac hung up after I downloaded something called "Scorch" so I could download Andrew Lloyd Weber's Pie Jesu to sing in church in the morning. I have it, but it is in the low key. I am singing with our local lyric-coloratura diva, so I had to find the high key. Thank goodness for sheetmusicdirect.com!

I bought another new watercolor book. I am trying to figure out what books I can rearrange or get rid of in order to make room for my watercolor book collection. Anybody want the entire Mitford Series? Free to good home!

Enough rambling for one night. 

Flip Side

Today I read that Susan Boyle has been hospitalized for exhaustion after having a "breakdown" of sorts.  It has become obvious that this shy, sheltered, learning disabled lady simply does not have the mental toughness that it takes to handle fame. 

If she is able to continue her career, I imagine that it will need to be as a recording artist in a sheltered studio. Maybe a limited number of singing engagements in fairly controlled environments. Maybe the stress of her past weeks would make almost anyone crack. 

Get well, Susan. I still want your CD.

Susan

By now, anyone who has been following the Susan Boyle saga has read that she LOST the Britain's Got Talent competition. 

Since when does beating out hundreds of people auditioning for a spot on this show make her a loser? Since when does the fact that an eager audience is waiting to buy her first CD make her a loser? Another read Dream Over. Dream over??? Are they serious? Her dream has just begun!

What gets me is that I have yet to read a headline reading DIVERSITY Wins. 

Which one will we remember a few weeks from now?

I don't think it will be Diversity.

Sweet 16!

 Today is my niece Amy's 16th birthday.  I look at her and it just does not seem possible. She has grown up so fast. 

Amy was one of those babies who was determined to keep her gender a surprise until the birth. Attempts to determine her sex were met with her turning her back to the "camera." When her daddy came out grinning and announced "It's a girl!" I was told that I jumped at least a foot off the ground. 

I don't know that they have ever totally been on the ground since. 

Happy Birthday, sweet 16!

Testing Again!

 Well, it looks like Picasa might be the solution for now. I can post the pic directly from there and then add text. For the curious, this is the first iris I painted in watercolor class. 

Patting myself on the back for finally figuring out a solution and going to bed!

Testing

Pictures

OK, I have hit a snag. I can't get pix to upload from iPhoto to my blog. I don't want to pay big bucks to publish a blog through iWeb at this time. 

There are supposedly some ways to get around this, but I can't quite figure them out. I guess I will have to keep working on it. 

Banging head on small Mac keyboard...

Withdrawal

OK. I admit it. I am having withdrawal.

Both of my art lessons are canceled this week. One teacher is taking 4H kids somewhere and the other is taking her mama to the doctor. Both things certainly trump art lessons.

I sure am missing them, though! As is usually the case, the more I learn, the more I want to learn.

But, for now, I will read, practice, and look forward to next week!

Apple

I am still learning something new about Mr. Mac every day. I have a Mac for Dummies book (do they have one for someone dumber than a dummy???) but it is confusing me. I seem to learn better just pointing and clicking.

Ahhh, clicking. It is going to take me a while to get out of the habit of right clicking! Most of what I need is available from a drop down menu at the top that changes with the application currently in use.

So far, I do not like Safari. After two days of struggling with that, I downloaded and installed my beloved Firefox.

One of the fun things is the ability to set a computerized "voice" to tell me what time it is, every hour on the hour. The one currently in use is "Bruce." Ol' Bruce helps me keep track so I don't spend all day on this new toy.

I adore i-Photo! It is SO easy to use. I still want my Photoshop Elements back, but this is great for the easy stuff.

I can't wait to see what all this machine will do!

Stay tuned!

Mr. Mac

Last Friday, I fried my PC. I planned to replace the CPU, but was not physically strong enough to dislodge the heat sink. So, I put things back together and tried to turn the machine on. 

All the fans whirred and the machine hummed, but it would not boot. I called my local guru and we went through all the obvious fixes with no results.

Reluctant to put much money into a 4 year old PC, I started weighing my options. I could try to replace my PC. Or, if I could figure out a way to finance it, I could get my dream machine.

A Mac.

To my utter shock, my DH agreed to finance 2/3 of my venture calling it my 50th birthday, 26th anniversary, and Christmas gifts rolled into one. So, yesterday, I trotted over to the Apple store and picked myself an iMac. It is going to take some time to get used to, but I am already hooked. 

I have heard it said that if you ever go Mac, you'll never go back. 

I believe it.

Mother's Day

I have several friends who are facing their first Mother's Day without thier moms. My heart just aches for them, because I remember how very hard that first Mother's Day was for me. Indeed, it took 3 or 4 before I was able to get through our church service and not be in tears at some point.

I still miss my mom. I am thankful to have a precious stepmom who makes my dad happy, but I miss my mom. I miss that special "mom" brand of love and encouragement. I miss her cooking. Even with the exact recipes, things just don't taste the same when I make them. I miss singing with her and hearing her lovely alto voice. I miss the knowing that one person on the planet loved me unconditionally.

I am thankful that I had her for 30 years. Some people are estranged from their mothers or never even knew them. I can't imagine that.

So, ((hugs)) to those missing their moms on Mother's Day. And if you still have your mom, give her an extra hug.

You never know when it might be the last one.

Retro TV

While flipping through our TV channels a couple of weeks ago, I discovered that we had acquired a new one. I was pretty skeptical. At least 90% of what we get on TV is of no interest to me at all. I have my short list of programs that I watch faithfully. I seldom miss House, Lie to Me, Dancing With the Stars, Ace of Cakes, or American Idol.

I was delighted when I scrolled through the lineup for an average weekday and saw my old pal Marcus Welby. Now, there was a doctor. Next up was Emergency! It is probably a reflection of my present age that I now find Kevin Tighe (Roy) more appealing than Randolph Mantooth (John). Also in the lineup of old favorites was The Incredible Hulk, Dragnet, Adam 12, and The A-Team.

I also am getting a chance to see shows that I never got to watch because my mom or dad did not like them. I am discovering Kojak, The Bold Ones, and Night Gallery.
And, not being a fan of any of the popular late night shows, I finally have something to watch before bed...Alfred Hitchcock Presents.

These shows are somewhat cheesy, corny, and definitely not politically correct.

That's what I call entertainment!

Barracuda

The other day as I pulled into the local Sonic, I saw a lineup of old cars that looked as if they belonged at a drive-in. The Vicksburg Car Cruisers were parked and ready to show off a dazzling array of antique vehicles. They were all very snazzy, and reflected the love, time, and elbow grease that made them that way.

But it was the Plymouth Barracuda that brought back a flood of memories. My grandmother was in the market for a new car and my dad had taken her from dealership to dealership showing her conservative, "old lady" cars. Mamaw wanted none of them. Instead, one day in the late sixties, she pulled up in a maroon Barracuda hatchback with a black racing stripe down the side. Living in the tiny community of Russum, Mississippi, we kids had never seen anything that cool in our entire lives.

Mamaw was a nurse in Hazlehurst, a small town about an hour south of where we lived. Before reliable and widespread emergency services, Mamaw would open the hatchback, fold the back seat down, load up a patient and haul him or her to the hospital. The Barracuda made many a trip out to the country to check on folks and down to Louisiana to visit relatives. We all loved that car.

Eventually, the Barracuda got so old and unreliable that Mamaw had to trade it in. No longer being made, the cool Barracuda gave way to an ugly, angular, green Plymouth Valiant. It was the end of an era.

But thanks to the Vicksburg Car Cruisers, I had a lovely trip down memory lane.

Watercolor

In January, I talked our local craft shop owner into teaching a watercolor class. This was a big step for me. I have not picked up a brush to do any kind of "fine art" painting since I was 13.

When I was a kid, I loved to draw and paint. My school notebooks were covered in fashion sketches and doodles. Art was second nature. When I reached 8th grade, I excitedly signed up for my first art class.

My excitement was short lived. The teacher was a sharp tongued woman (nicknamed Nicolathenose) who did not like much of anything I did. My fashion sketches for an assignment to draw a store window display failed to impress. Worst of all, I got a "F" on my painting. I admit it was not my best, but I simply could not get it done in a single class period. I was told that I had no talent. I was crushed.

I stopped drawing and painting. I concentrated on music and became a musician instead of the fashion designer I had dreamed of becoming as a kid. It all worked out. But part of me still longed to paint. I started out with some simple "one-stroke" painting. It was fun, but still limiting. And I did not feel like an "artist."

So, after 36 years, I finally decided to try fine art painting once again, in the form of watercolor. I am in a class with people from age 9 to age 65. My teacher tells me I have a nice touch for this medium and I am happy with how much I have learned in less than 3 months. I feel like I am making up for lost time. I paint constantly.

I don't know that I will ever be "art show" material, but for now, I am having a great time.

Birthday

My father-in-law will turn 80 on Saturday. For this milestone, all 5 of his children and most of his grandchildren are meeting in Nashville, TN for the weekend. I love Nashville. It is one of my favorite places to go.

Most of me is looking forward to this trip. But part of me is still tired from a combination of not feeling well with my sore throat and trying to catch up on my sleep after dealing with a broken bi-pap. I could deal with unplugging the phone and pretending to be gone. I want some time home alone to paint, watch what I want to watch on TV, and just sleep.

But this weekend is for my precious father-in-law. And I will do what makes him happy, no matter what.

As for my wishes?

Maybe next weekend.

BiPap

For the past 10 years, my constant companion at night has been a bipap machine. I was diagnosed with sleep apnea, either ceasing to breathe or breathing too shallowly approximately 30 times an hour. Before I was diagnosed, I had never heard of sleep apnea. I was constantly having to pull over because I was nodding off in the car. I had constant headaches. I could not think clearly. I snored like a buzz saw. It is a wonder my poor husband ever got any sleep.

It took months and the help of fellow posters on sleepnet.com for me to get the components together to allow me to sleep properly. When I did, it was like a miracle. I could drive without getting dangerously sleepy. I could put my thoughts together. And the white noise my machine makes at night sure beat the heck out of my snoring!

About a week or so ago, my machine started acting strange. It will run smoothly for hours, but then stop abruptly. Sometimes it will start up again. Sometimes it won't. I have begun to have sleep and oxygen deprivation symptoms again.

Tomorrow I am taking my bipap back to my supplier to see if it can be fixed. No matter what it takes to get me hooked up again, I will do. I can't live like this again.

Breathing. I like breathing. Day and night.

Amy

Tonight, my niece Amy, will be inducted into the National Honor Society. As her aunt, I am justly proud of her and her accomplishment.

This kid had a rocky start to life. Diagnosed at birth with Strep B and pneumonia, she spent her first 9 days in the NICU. It was heartbreaking to see the little thing under oxygen with tubes and wires everywhere. She was in the part of the unit reserved for the sickest babies. Thank God, she was a fighter and made it through those first terrifying days.

Since then, she has battled some lingering complications of her early illness. They get her down at times, but Amy is never down for too long.

As proud as I am of what she has done, I am prouder still of who she IS. This is a young lady who can light up any room she enters. She sings and she dances. She thinks of others and loves to help people. She is wonderful with children. She is a loyal friend. She loves her God and her church. The "Amys" of the world help me see the future with much more hope than the gloom and doom reports I hear on the news.

Amy, you are a blessing.

KK :)

Not Mine

Today, a friend who is has been in a local nursing home rehabbing from a car wreck called me. She was frantic. Scheduled to go home today via nursing home van, the powers that be were trying to renege on the arrangement. Her only surviving child lives in New Orleans and her friends are in no condition to pack up all her belongings to move her home. Including me.

I did not volunteer. I offered to try to think of someone who could do this for her, but I just refused to make her crisis, MY crisis. I set a firm boundary. I figured that if the nursing home was not being paid to keep her any longer, they would find a way to get her home.

Sure enough, they did.

Money (or lack thereof) talks.

Miss Edith

Today I sang for the funeral of yet another of my "little old lady" friends. "Miss Edith" was a long time family friend. She had twinkling eyes and a lot of spunk. You always knew where you stood with Miss Edith. Even after she was largely silenced by a stroke, she could still give one of her famous LOOKS.

Back when my mama was alive, Miss Edith would call her on the phone, sometimes daily. Mama loved to talk and the phone was her lifeline on days when she was too sick, weak, or in too much pain to leave the house. However, sometimes Miss Edith would get to going and Mama just could not get off the phone with her. Miss Edith was not much for subtle hints.

So Mama and I developed a system. If I came in and she was on the phone with Miss Edith, Mama would mouth "Rescue me!" That was my signal to ring the doorbell and get Mama's little Pomeranian dog to start barking. Mama could honestly say there was someone at the door and this would get her off the hook with Miss Edith.

I am sure Mama was up there to welcome Miss Edith to Heaven.

The thought makes me smile.

Sorry

Sorry!

How many times do we hear this word? There are times when we are thankful to say it and thankful to hear it. Times when we truly did not have any intention of offending or being offended.

But sometimes "sorry" is not good enough. We get weary of a person continually excusing less than acceptable behavior with "Sorry!"

At some point, we have to stop doing the things that make us feel the need to apologize! If I am in a bad mood for whatever reason, doesn't it make more sense to take myself out of situations where I will get my feelings hurt or hurt those of others? I know what most of my triggers are. I know (or at least am learning!) what the triggers of most of my loved ones and friends are. I should be able to conduct myself in most situations where I will not have to continually apologize for my behavior.

So in this spirit, I am going to end this short rant.

With no apology!

Dumb

Tonight I am kicking myself for being dumb. No excuses. Just plain dumb.

Due to first of the year medical expenses, I have not been getting my house cleaned by my monthly cleaning goddess. I am hoping to get her back once these deductibles are met and things settle down.

The thing that drives me nuts in my house is dirty floors. Ironically, this is the one thing I am really not supposed to clean because of my asthma. Vacuuming carpet is a particular "no-no."

Today, I decided I was going to see if I could just vacuum the hardwood floor in my office with my little electric broom designed for this purpose. The dirt was just making me crazy.

9 hours and 3 uses of my inhaler later, I can truly say that this was the dumbest thing I have done in a while. Next time, I am just gonna name the dust bunnies and make pets out of 'em.

Anybody know any good dust bunny names?

Parade

One of the best parts of the Sunday newspaper for me is Parade Magazine. I love the "Personality Parade" section, Ask Marilyn, and James Brady's "In Step With."

But today, when I turned to that last page, "In Step With" was missing for the first time in my memory. For a moment, I had forgotten that James Brady passed away last month. His respectful and insightful interviews will no longer grace that last page of Parade.

It is truly the end of an era.

One that I will miss.

It's Me!

Just in a new guise. My friend, Carrie, just debuted a new blog, complete with a template from:
http://www.thecutestblogontheblock.com/

I have not been totally happy with the last incarnation of my blog template, but was not happy with many of the other Blogger templates, either.

Soooooo, I went to the cutest blog on the block and found myself a new one. I donated a bit for their time and effort via Paypal (though this is not required) and dressed up my humble blog.

If your blog needs a face lift, check it out!

Secret Life

My niece's favorite show this season is "The Secret Life of the American Teenager." I got a call from her mom last Monday wanting me to record it because my niece was not going to be able to watch it and no one there could work the DVD recorder. So, I set my DVR to record "House" and decided to watch/record the niece's show.

Most teen fare these days is pretty trashy, but my niece is a class act. I wanted to see the show that had captured her fancy. For those not acquainted, the premise is 15 year old Amy, the smart, band nerd kid, gets pregnant at band camp after having her first sexual experience with a cool, worldly guy. The show deals with everything from deciding whether or not to terminate the pregnancy to dating as an unmarried, pregnant teen. The supporting cast includes the girl with the (earned) bad reputation and how the boys lack respect for her, the girl who is trying to wait for sex until marriage, the boy who wants to "rescue" Amy, and Amy's so-called "best friends" who are less than supportive now that she is in trouble.

Sam was over this evening and I decided to watch the show again with her. She recognized her classmates in the characters and asked a number of questions which I answered to the best of my ability. It is amazing how much teens can be exposed to without knowing the facts. This is a show about consequences, a concept that is far too absent in most of today's teen TV.

Sam and I will be watching Monday.

And, maybe, learning.

Sick

Ugh! I had a lovely time in Nashville. Ate wonderful omelettes. Found cute shoes. Sat in the hot tub. Had quality time with my BFF.

Coming home, my throat got scratchy, I started to wheeze, and I had a headache. In two words, the crud. Four days later, despite an increase in my steroid and frequent puffs of my inhaler, my throat is still sore. I have cut my talking to a bare minimum and warned friends and family that I am not answering my phone unless they call twice in a row which indicates dire emergency.

I admit that after having nodes last year, I get pretty paranoid any time my throat gets sore now.

BIBO...

Repeat as necessary.

Nashville!

Tomorrow morning, I am headed to Memphis and then to Nashville. I am grabbing my best girlfriend in Memphis and we are heading to Nashville for a couple of days of R&R.

It will be good to get away for a few days. I am going to get Walter the chef to make me a cheese and mushroom omelette. I am going to sit in the hot tub till I become a prune. I am going to put my cellphone on silent.

:)

Community

I don't know if this is a particularly "southern" thing, but ever since I was tiny, my life has never been about just me. Or even about just my blood kin family. It has always been about community. I grew up in a time when people took care of each other. We did not consider it an unbearable burden. We did not look upon it as partiularly "heroic." We just did it. By the time I came along, families were beginning to scatter across the country, sometimes leaving elderly parents or grandparents dependent upon the kindness of non-family members. Even when family lives "close," they may be too mired in addictions, debt, and other problems to care for aging family members.

People tend to shy away from the thought that they may one day be helpless. That physical and/or mental deficits may put them at the mercy of strangers. Sure, there are professional facilities, but in most of these places, staff is overworked and underpaid. They have little time to pay attention to all but the most basic of needs. Even in a good facility, residents are treated better if staff knows that an outside someone is liable to pop in unannounced.

But, we have largely become a nation of "not my problem." Few have the time or patience to be there for the people who have no close kin or whose friends have passed on. I find it sad and a bit scary.

One day, that person with no one may be me.

6 Weeks?

According to ol' Phil, who saw his shadow today, there are to be 6 more weeks of Winter. Phil is obviously NOT in Mississippi, where weather changes are the norm rather than the exception. Saturday was a beautiful day with temps in the mid 70s. Sunday was a windy, wet, and chilly 49.

I hear friends from other parts of the country talk about putting up their Summer or Winter clothes. I really can't do that. I have worn shorts on Thanksgiving Day, Christmas Day, and New Year's Day in the past. And, sometimes, I have been known to need a sweater in June, though, I admit, this is rare. But let me put up ALL my sweaters the first of June and you can bet I will need one at some point during the month.

This year seems to be a particularly challenging one to dress for. Even when the temps are 60 degrees, my toes have been cold. I have been wearing my RedHead lambswool hunting socks just about everywhere but church. And I have to admit that I have been tempted to wear them there! But if it hits 70, I am reaching for the Capris and sandals. I don't seem to have a happy medium temperature zone.

So, as always, despite what Phil says, I will keep all my clothing options open. After all, if i don't like the weather in Mississippi, give it a minute. It will change.

Grapefruit

Monday, I ate a grapefruit.

I know that this does not sound all that remarkable, but this was the first one I had had in 10 years or more. Citrus is one of the first things to go when you have acid reflux disease. But, now that I have had my surgery, I am able to eat much more normally.

I found my old serrated spoon, cut that pink grapefruit in half, sprinkled it with just a pinch of sugar, and dug in. To say it was heavenly is an understatement. You can keep the oranges and the tangerines. I adore grapefruit.

Because of some reactions with my daily medications, I have been told to keep my grapefruit consumption to one whole grapefruit per week. I can live with that.

I ate half on Monday and the other half on Tuesday. I get to look forward to eating another one next week.

My mouth is watering already!

25 Random Things About Me

OK, I have been tagged 3 times to do this, so I figure I am going to give it a whirl!

1. I was born in Baton Rouge during the LSU football season of 1959, the year of Billy Cannon's big run back against Ole Miss.

2. I grew up on classical music and show tunes and did not listen to pop radio until I was in college.

3. I briefly dated a Druid one summer while working at an amusement park.

4. I got an "F" on my painting for art class in 8th grade.

5. My original ambition was to be a fashion designer.

6. I played clarinet for 9 years.

7. I was so thin in high school that I was the butt of "skinny jokes."

8. I once owned a dress that was an inch shorter than my hair.

9. My license plate reads: I SING

10. I have sung the National Anthem for the Mississippi Braves baseball team.

11. I have a large collection of Dreamsicle angels.

12. I spent 6 years in therapy.

13. Aside from communion wine, I have only had one alcoholic beverage in my life. A strawberry daquiri when I turned 21.

14. I have made arrangements to donate my body to the University of Mississippi Medical Center when I die.

15. I have been married once, to the same man, for 25 years.

16. I am totally addicted to Scrabble.

17. My favorite piece of music is "The Swan" by Camille Saint-Saens.

18. My favorite sport is figure skating and my favorite skater of all time is Michelle Kwan.

19. I still have part of my comic book collection.

20. I have had the same BFF for almost 27 years.

21. I cannot work a Sudoku.

22. I have the same birthday as a famous tenor.

23. I have 2 left feet, but I am going to be able to dance in Heaven.

24. I don't have binocular vision.

25. I believe in angels.

MIL

MIL is shorthand for mother-in-law. As of today, mine has been gone for 5 years. It does not seem like it has been that long.

Married at 16, mother-in-law was a pretty, vivacious girl. No one really knows when the specter of mental illness began to rear its head, but within a few years time, mother-in-law was diagnosed as "manic-depressive." Treatment for this illness in the fifties was not particularly effective. The available drugs caused terrible side effects. Electro-convulsive therapy helped somewhat, but the benefits were short lived.

My husband remembers being shipped off with his 4 siblings to his grandmother's house when his mother would have to go to the State Hospital at Whitfield for treatment.

When I married my husband, I thought that mother-in-law liked me OK. I did not find out till we had been married almost 20 years that she did not. I know some of it was her illness talking, and some of it was the fact that I helped father-in-law move her to a retirement apartment when her behavior made it too dangerous for them to remain under the same roof. My husband became her caregiver and this caused stress in our marriage as well.

I wish I could say that I miss mother-in-law. I felt sorry for her. I tried to be kind to her. I loved her as much as she was capable of being loved.

But, I don't miss her.

Denny P.

Today, I am having lunch with Denny P. Denny is a (semi) retired Episcopal priest who came into my life during a local theatre production of Camelot. He played Merlin to my Nimue and we bonded during this experience.

After the play (mercifully) ended, we stayed in touch. I would go over to his church and sing for special occasions or drop by his office to say hello.

The real test of friendship came after my mom died. On December 26th, it was Denny who appeared at my door with open arms. And he was one of the people who stuck with me during the difficult months afterward, when I plunged into a depression so deep that I thought I would never come out of it.

Denny is what I call a "hoot." Despite being a member of the clergy, he does not take himself too seriously. He is a champion hugger. He loves good food and good times. He loves me.

And I love him.

Retirement 2

I am feeling less panicky today about the retirement issue. I know others who have had incomes cut involuntarily due to job loss or other circumstances. I can't imagine what it is like to be in that situation. We have been blessed by steadiness of income and my husband's determination to pay things off early.

I admit that I am spoiled when it comes to wanting to be able to continue to travel occasionally. To be able to buy books (our library is small, local, and does not have a particularly good selection). I want to be able to continue to buy the things I need to make and send the cards I send to my shut in and nursing home friends each holiday. I want to be able to do what I can in the way of enrichment for my young neighbor. I don't want to have to hesitate to be able to take a friend to the doctor in Jackson. I want to be able to continue to be able to get my all medications and be able to take them as prescribed.

I think of returning to work myself and then I have a day like today with crushing fatigue, multiple falls, and blurred vision.

Things will work out. I have faith.

BIBO.

Retirement

My husband is in the process of trying to retire from his job as a nuclear plant operator. He has been there 25 years. The plant has been good to us, allowing us to enjoy a level of financial stability that few people have nowadays.

But, at almost 55, the stress of rotating shifts, constantly changing rules, having to be on perpetual alert for emergencies, and the physicality of the job are getting to be too much. When my usually imperturbable husband gets this stressed, it is time for a change.

He will need a part time job for a while to help make ends meet until we can get into the 401K, in hopes that it will have recovered somewhat in the next 4 years or so.

I admit that my first emotional response to his retirement is sheer panic. I grew up in tight financial times. I was the quintessential "starving student" in college. And the first few years of marriage were very lean times. I dread the thought of having to constantly worry about money at this stage of my life.

But, we have always managed and I know that we will manage now.

I just have to remember to breathe.

Today

No, I didn't really refuse to answer the phone. I have just had time to get my mind wrapped around a few things. The problem seems to be absorption. Once absorbed, things get much more manageable.

I am going to Nashville with my best friend. I have been wanting to record some old standards for a long time and I want to get something on CD now that my voice is recovering. Part of me is terrified that I am going to lose my voice again. I also just need some chill time with my friend. My husband is going to help with expenses as my Valentine's gift.

If I end up taking my friend to Jackson on Friday, we are going to leave at 7 instead of 6 AM. She will have to stay a bit longer, but it will be more manageable for me. This friendship is not a one-way street. She was my only local friend who came to be with my husband while I was in surgery and made calls to family and long distance friends letting them know I was OK. I do what I do for her out of love and hope that someone would be there for me if I were thousands of miles from my only family. She is also of an age where most of her other friends have seriously ill parents and/or spouses to care for.

Sam and I had a lovely watercolor lesson. She did not paint much, but I could tell that she was processing the information to be put into practice on her own. I was really jazzed when my peach actually LOOKED like a peach by the end of the lesson!

Balance. It's all about balance.

So why is it so hard to achieve?

Circles

Going around in circles. My mind, that is.

Today started out really nice. Had a lovely chat with a good friend. Ate soup and cornbread with my father-in-law. Made some Valentine cards for my nursing home friends.

Then I got a call from my best friend. She wants me to go to Nashville with her over Valentine's Day weekend. Now, going to Nashville is one of my favorite things in the world to do, but money is a bit tight now. However, this is a hard holiday for a single person and bless her, she has run all over the country with me. I told her I would think about it and get back to her.

I got a text from Sam wanting to bring her friend to the watercolor classes we are going to be taking starting tomorrow. That was fine, I told her, but her friend would have to buy her own supplies. Friend's dad said he could not do that. Brief pouting ensued, but I promised to take her next week if her dad agrees to get her start up materials.

Next call was from a friend who is worried about our mutual friend. Mutual friend is taking an emotional nosedive and talking of death. This is not good. She is scheduled for ECT on Friday. My brother usually will take her on his way to work in Jackson and then I pick her up. But, when I called my bro, he told me his car is not doing well and HE may be taking it to the shop on Friday. Other worried friend is staying at the hospital with her young grandson. Friend has thus far not been able to find anyone else to take her. Nobody goes to Jackson at 6 AM except my brother.

Add normal, annoying details like being tired, trying to finish a project for my sister, and my body not cooperating with me and I admit I am more than a bit stressed.

I can keep my OCD under fair control until a day like this. But when I get this many thoughts in my mind, they whirl around like peas in a blender.

Tomorrow, I am not answering the phone.

Football

Well, both Mannings are out for the season now, so I have no one to root for. All I can do is root against the teams I really dislike.

I got spoiled having Peyton and Eli in the Super Bowl these past two years. It was nice to watch the Super Bowl and have teams playing that I desperately wanted to win.

Fatigue

Mornings like this drive me crazy. Despite a lovely 8 hour sleep, I woke up tired. So tired that just the thought of taking a shower seems to be more than I can manage.
An MG'er, Beverly J. Nason, (affectionately known as Grammy Bev) described it perfectly in this little essay.

On a good morning, we awake with a dollars worth of invisible nickels in our pocket, or perhaps we find them after our first dose of Mestinon. We must decide how to spend this precious supply. Shall we shower, dress, make the bed, have breakfast, go to a job, and recklessly spend them all at once? Perhaps, we should just use twenty-five cents, and dress without the shower or shave, leave the bed for later, and spend five to fifteen cents for breakfast. We alone may judge from our recent experience. Having decided, we act, and our precious deposits is made into an invisible slot, filled with invisible batteries. These batteries kick in slowly and we drain their reserve. When it is close to gone, we force ourselves to rest. As the day progresses, we decided to do a small chore. The shave, shower, shampoo? Five more nickels perhaps? The bed? One nickel perhaps. Cleaning house? Going to work? How many nickels will we have to spend today? For many of us, we can barely afford one nickel at a time, today. If we have the luxury of time for a rest period or a nap, We might awaken with a sudden new supply of nickels in our pocket. Probably our next dose of Mestinon will provide us with a fresh supply. For others, we may find we've chosen unwisely and squandered our day's wealth, Or borrowed from them tomorrow, to do what had to be done, or simply what we wanted to do to improve our quality of life. the debt must be repaid, and time in bed will be the price. We can gamble them all away, or spend them gratefully. When we awake, morning after morning, with pockets full of nickels, Such an abundance that we no longer have to count them We have achieved Myasthenia Gravis remission May you all have "pocket full of nickels"

Decisions

Do I or don't I? This year I am having a heck of a time deciding whether or not to continue maintaining my Mississippi counseling license and National board certification. To do this requires not only licensure fees, but a minimum amount of malpractice insurance and several hours of continuing education every year. Now that I am not working, it is getting harder and harder to come up with the money it takes to maintain my eligibility to counsel.

I worked very hard to get that license. For three years I drove a 160 mile almost daily round trip from Vicksburg to Monroe, Louisiana to get my counseling degree. My husband did not approve of what I was doing, so I got no support at home during this time. I was also helping care for my eighty-something year old grandmother at the time. Getting my degree was one of the hardest, but most rewarding things I have ever done.

I guess holding on to my licensure is holding on to the hope that a cure might be found for Myasthenia Gravis and that I might be able to go back to work someday.

And I don't know if I am quite ready to give that up.

Advice

I have heard of a quote that says: "Be chary of giving advice. Wise men don't need it, and fools won't heed it."

When I was in counseling school, we were instructed never to give our clients advice. Advice was characterized as using words like "should" and "must" when talking to a client. Such as "You should leave your husband", etc. This kind of language leaves a counselor open to lawsuits, not to mention headaches!

However, one of the functions of a counselor is to help a client look at all options available to him or her. Many clients tend to have a history of feeling helpless in situations and difficulty saying "no." One of my jobs was to remind them that they could, indeed, say no in present situations. This is not "should" language. Rather, it is language that reminds them of their options. You "could" take this path. You don't have to do things you don't feel comfortable with. What are some other ways you can handle this? None of this constitutes "advice" from a legal and ethical counseling standpoint.

Maybe there is a school that helps counselors un-learn counseling techniques.

It could work.

Curmudgeon

Maybe I need to make a New Year's resolution not to be so much of a curmudgeon. The older I get, the worse I become. By next year there may be no hope for me at all.

I was brought up to believe that men should not wear hats at the dinner table. Ladies, both young and old should at least comb their hair before being taken out to a nice restaurant. That even in a family home, visiting adult children should act like adults and not children. That "inside" voices should be used and that elders should be respected.

I admit it. I am big on manners. I wish I could give them as Christmas gifts. One size fits all, they never go out of style, and they cost very little.

Good manners for everyone.

Works for me!

Orange Cake

Back when my husband was a boy, his mother made what she called an orange cake. It is a pound type cake with nuts and raisins and then a glaze made with sugar and orange juice is poured over the hot cake and allowed to soak in.

Unfortunately, according to my husband, it only turned out just right ONE time. If the syrup is cooked too long, it does not soak all the way into the cake, leaving much of the cake very dry and crumbly.

After an experiment using (shudder) BOXED pound cake mix by my sister-in-law over Thanksgiving, I decided that I was going to attempt this legendary cake. I started out by putting out a query on a cooking forum about cooking the syrup. I bought the best ingredients, said a little prayer, and set to work.

I am calling it a belated Christmas miracle! The syrup soaked all the way through the cake, leaving it moist and delicious.

I just hope this is not a one-time event for me too!

He's BACK!

Apparently, there was quite an outcry from other distressed Pokey owners (besides me!) and we were given our original puppies back. At last count, 152 Pokey owners had written in to thank the creators for restoring our "babies."

I don't feel quite so daft now.

Just happy!

Smokey

Smokey was a chocolate lab puppy with the most adorable face. I fed, watered, petted, and played with him every day. He would turn over and let me rub his tummy wriggling with pleasure.

This week, Smokey changed. His face was no longer adorable. He wouldn't let me rub his tummy anymore. I was warned that if I did not feed and water him, he would be taken away from me.

Smokey was my Facebook "cyber-pet." Now known as a FooPet.

I know! It sounds ridiculous that I should get so attached to something that was not "real." But, since my husband refused to get another dog after my beloved Duffy died years ago, I just enjoyed playing with my Smokey.

I tried to get used to this new dog who claimed to be my Smokey. The one who liked to chew up shoes, especially high heels. The one I had had since March. But I just could not get used to this thing that was trying to take the place of MY puppy.

So, with a heavy heart, I went to my applications list, found the FooPets entry and clicked delete.

RIP Smokey. I miss you.

Stealing

A damper was put on Christmas Eve this year when I was warned to put my purse somewhere safe and out of sight before other guests arrived. I was told that one of the guests (a regular visitor to this home) had been suspected of stealing money from the hostess for some time, and had stolen a large amount from her earlier in the week.

So, we found ourselves in the position of having to watch our belongings and put our Christmas money out of sight during what should have been a carefree and enjoyable time. The entire color of the evening was changed, because of one person and her need to take what does not belong to her.

I don't understand stealing. I really don't. There is nothing I want bad enough to steal. I find no thrill in it. I don't think I am "entitled" to it. My conscience would bother me forever. But, some folks can steal without a second thought. They simply can't tell right from wrong. Or, they don't care.

Sad.

A Moment of Sad

I thought that I might escape it this year. That day or so of melancholy that comes over me every year at Christmas. It is nothing serious, but it comes every year, just like clockwork.

I know that at the forefront of this is the fact that I still miss my mom. She will have been gone 18 years this Christmas, but I still miss her. I probably always will.

I know, also, not to have too many expectations for Christmas. My DH does not like the holiday and is not going to do something romantic or spontaneous. My dad is going to be a grump. My sister is going to be so tired that she gets snappish. But, every year, a tiny part of me wishes for the whole Norman Rockwell happy holiday bit, even though I know that this is a total myth!

But, I will go do the Christmas Eve thing tomorrow. I will be thankful that my family is alive and well this holiday. It will not be as bad as I fear. And then I will take off to St. Alban's Episcopal Church to sing for the Christmas Eve service. A lot of my Christmas Spirit will come then, singing in this beautiful church and hearing the Christmas Story read.

And Christmas Day is always lovely. My sister's mother-in-law will have everyone over for a potluck lunch. Everything is laid back and everyone feels equally welcome. This is the precious woman who decided with my mom long ago not to make the family have to choose between them every holiday. They would have everyone at Thanksgiving at one house and Christmas at the others house. It is a tradition that works well and has been a blessing.

Of course I have my list of Christmas miracle wishes. I wish for my brother to come back to family gatherings and learn to at least tolerate my sweet stepmom. I wish for my sister to stop and smell the roses a bit more. I wish for better years for my friends who had hard times this year.

I believe in Christmas.

I believe in miracles.

Who knows?

Wardrobe

Holiday dressing is a challenge in Mississippi. I never know from one day to the next what type of clothing I will require. Yesterday, I went to get gas in my car in shorts and sandals. Today, I am in velveteen and still chilly. People talk about putting their summer clothes away, but in Mississippi, that is not really feasible.

Trying to figure out a party/event wardrobe can be especially difficult. Holiday clothing pretty much consists of sweaters, velvet, turtlenecks, etc. So what does one WEAR when 75 degree weather on the day of the party makes that cute sweater totally unwearable? Someone would make a fortune down here designing a line of clothing that looks Christmasy, but can be worn when it is just plain hot.

Maybe that is my future calling?

Catfish!

Today I got to expand my soft diet to include a bit of fish. Catfish, that is. It was like Heaven to my taste buds as I took teeny, tiny bites of my fillet and a lovely change of pace from Rice Crispies, mashed potatoes, and Jello.

To many Southerners, farm raised catfish is a direct gift from God. I count myself among this number. To paraphrase Ben Franklin, CATFISH is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.

I'm happy.

:)

Diet

Today is week 2 of a mostly liquid diet. I am on it while my stomach heals from being wrapped around my esophagus. I have to admit, it is already getting old.

I am beginning to understand why so many of those commercial liquid diets fail. Yes, you get full, but there is just no satisfaction in the process. I am already looking forward to the day when I get to CHEW something again!

On the bright side, this is one holiday season that won't involve a weight gain!

:)

Amazed!

As I write this, I am three days post op. I have been out of the hospital since Wednesday and have done so well that I am still amazed.

In the past, most of my surgeries have had complications. Some of these were due to poor hospital care and some just due to anesthesia, luck of the draw, etc. This time, other than the usual difficulty getting my oxygen saturation to proper levels after surgery, I have done well.

I know that all the good thoughts and prayers going up for me have made the difference. As has the excellent care I received from Dr. Petro and the Mississippi Baptist Medical Center nursing staff.

Healing is going to take awhile. I am limited to liquids. I am tired and a bit sore.

But mostly...

Amazed.

Surgery

Tuesday, I am having fundoplication surgery. This is a fancy name for having the top of my stomach wrapped around my esophagus in order to cure my GERD.

I have to admit that I am a little nervous. I have not been put under to this extent since being diagnosed with MG. Myasthenics tend to have trouble breathing when sedated, so things can be a bit more complicated than they are for the average patient. However, I would not be doing this if I did not have faith in God and the doctor.

I am praying that this surgery will eliminate the chest pain, indigestion, and diet limitations that have been my constant companions for years. The thought of eating half a grapefruit without pain makes my mouth water in anticipation.

Wonder if I can wrangle a trip to Florida to get some?

Hmmmmmm.

Carols and Kisses

One of my favorite Christmas traditions each year is when I take a huge bag of Hershey's kisses over to my favorite nursing home, get on my scooter, and ride down the halls singing carols and passing out chocolate. Everyone who is able to eat it gets chocolate or a sugar free peppermint patty. Many residents can't peel their kisses, so I unwrap them and gently guide these tiny treasures to eager mouths. I love to see the look of enjoyment on the faces of those who can no longer express themselves in words. The smiles and the eyes say what their tongues can't. If the resident can no longer eat solid food, then he or she gets a "real" kiss.

As for the carols, I never cease to be amazed that even the Alzheimer's patients can sit and sing every word to Jingle Bells or Silent Night even when they no longer know their own names. And some residents will continue to sing, even when I have gone on to the next hall. I can't help but smile when they just keep on singing.

And when I leave, my heart is full of smiles and songs.

And maybe a kiss.

Or two.