iPhone Adventure

Yesterday as I was taking the small elevator down from the third floor of First United Church (the kind that has the grill that has to be closed for the elevator to work) my iPhone fell from my fingers. Between the second and third floors it skittered through the grill and plunged down to what I thought would surely be its demise.

When I bought this iPhone, my first ever, I purchased a case with a screen protector and had an Apple Store employee put it on before I so much as touched my new toy. I truly believe that my case is the reason my phone survived. It is the iSkin Solo FX, a silicon cover with a thicker screen saver that becomes a mirror when the phone is off. It was a bit pricey, but was worth every cent even before yesterday's plunge.

A lovely gentleman from the church fished my phone from the bottom of the elevator shaft for me. Aside from a few small pockmarks on the case, the phone works perfectly (except for the crummy AT&T service in my town right now, but that is another story!). Once again, I can play Scrabble, keep up with my calendar, Facebook, read, listen to music, and manage my Netflix queue while never leaving the comfort of my sofa.

The moral of this story? I will not try to walk and carry my phone at the same time.

Especially in an elevator.

Like Family

Yesterday I found myself trying to describe to a friend who is "not from around here" how I feel about a number of people who are not "blood kin." These attachments largely come from a combination of having lived (except for going to college less than an hour away) in the same city since 1968 and the kind of person my mother was.

When we moved to Vicksburg in 1968, the first person we met was Miss Juanita, our next door neighbor, who came over and introduced herself with baby Todd on her hip. Since then, our families have been "chosen" family with each other. Juanita and her precious husband, the late "Mr. Don" were the kind of friends who would wake up at 3 AM and rush my mother to the emergency room far quicker than an ambulance could get all the way out to the county. Our families have eaten holiday dinners together, rejoiced at weddings and births, and mourned the deaths of my mom and Mr. Don. These people are family in every way that counts.

Another member of my extended chosen family are my sister's in-laws, whom we have called Granna and Papaw since my sister's children arrived. They have been part of my life since my sister began dating their son when they were both 14. My mom and Granna decided early on that they would have each other's entire families over for holidays. We still spend Christmas at Granna's house and Thanksgiving at the Nelson house. Granna is like a second mother to me and she and Papaw are family in every way that counts.

My friend Teresa is like a sister to me and has been since I met her in college. We have been there for each other through each other's joys and heartaches. Her mother "adopted" me long ago. I call her "mom." Again, she is family in every way that counts.

And because these people are "family", then the people they care about become important to me as well.

Added to my biological family, my extended family makes for a large brood sometimes.

But I would not have it any other way.

La Bohème

I will never forget the first time I saw Puccini's La Bohème. Someone had managed to get student tickets for my friends and me to see a traveling production at our local city auditorium. Pam, Donna, Becky, and I all dressed in our Sunday best and one of the mothers (can't remember which) drove us. None of us had ever been to an opera and we had no idea what to expect.

By the end of "Che gelida manina", I was totally enchanted. I looked down my row. Donna and Becky seemed to be moderately enjoying Bohème. Pam was asleep and was actually snoring. By the end of the opera, I knew I would be a Puccini fan for life.

Tomorrow I will drive a two hour round trip to a Jackson theater to see filmed MET production of what is still my favorite opera. My 17 year old niece is going with me.

I wonder if she will come away as enchanted as I was all those years ago?

I hope so.

Sunflowers

Last Friday, I took my long awaited 50% coupon for Michael's and purchased a table easel. Many watercolorists do not use easels, but some do.

I decided to try it.

These days, I pretty much paint without any kind of guiding sketch, so I just decided I wanted to paint sunflowers and dove in. I was surprised to find that I did not try to grip the brush as tightly when I painted on my easel, so my hand did not get as tired or shaky. I also got a much desired "loose" effect that I have been striving for.

Response to this painting has astonished me. People on both my Facebook accounts have commented. And I have had lovely response from my Flickr watercolor group friends. One professional artist made my sunflowers a "favorite" which is quite an honor. Especially as I greatly admire her work.

My new easel is a success and I look forward to creating more paintings on it.

MG Monday

Looks like today is going to be an "MG" Monday. It is only 8:45 Central Time and I am already short of breath, have one fall under my belt, and sound like Otis Campbell on a bender.

Back to the sofa for me.

Bleh

Answering Machine

I am about to buy my first answering machine. Bill and I have resisted having one for the past 26 years.

When I was caring for my mother, in the pre-cellphone days, I would let her know where I was going to be so she could call that home or business if she needed me. It worked out.

Once I got my cellphone, I just asked folks to call me on my cell if I did not answer my home phone. I could collect messages from that, if need be.

Yesterday, Bill and I were both away from home all day. And neither of us noticed the blinking light on the Caller ID until this morning. My sweet father-in-law had called. He was in a (thankfully minor!) car accident yesterday. He refuses to carry a cellphone and did not think to call MY cell number. Bill and I did not find out about the accident until this morning.

Since we are the only children in town for my dad and Bill's dad, it looks like we are going to have to get an answering machine and/or call forwarding to my cellphone.

Off to buy some peace of mind.

Breathe Out

When I got news this morning that my friend's pathology report after lung cancer surgery was good, I think I truly exhaled for the first time in weeks.

While I know there are survival stories out there, I personally do not know ANY long term survivors when it comes to lung cancer. And, ironically, it seems that the non-smokers died more swiftly than the smokers. One of those "life is not fair" things.

But, today, the sun is shining a little brighter, the birds are singing a bit more sweetly, and the "c" word is at bay in the life of my friend. At least for now.

I'll take it.

Favorite Star Trek Movie Quote

Kirk: Spock!
Spock: The ship... out of danger?
Kirk: Yes.
Spock: Don't grieve, Admiral. It is logical. The needs of the many outweigh...
Kirk: ...the needs of the few...
Spock: ...Or the one. I never took the Kobayashi Maru test until now. What do you think of my solution?
Spock: I have been and always shall be your friend.
[Holds up his hand in the Vulcan salute]
Spock: Live long and prosper.

Collage

In my continuing quest to find ways to "do art" I have turned to mixing collage elements with watercolor painting. I am experimenting with Japanese unryu and masa papers, as well as painted tissue to add interest and texture.

This works well for times when my hand control is not good enough to get the proper grip on my paintbrush. Subjects do not have to be precise, because they will be overlaid with textured papers.

The jury is still out on how popular these pieces will be. I have sold one of the three I have made and I was asked to place one in Fondren Art Gallery. They are definitely a bit off the beaten path. Most of all, they are fun.

Fun is good!

Greatest American Hero Intro

I used to love this show. And this song. It sums up very much how I feel right now! :)

Lovely Day

Today has been a lovely day. First, I took lunch to my sister who is laid up from foot surgery this week. Then I found out that my 17 year old niece has discovered music from the thirties and forties and loves it as much as I do. We had a ball singing snatches of Ella Fitzgerald, Dean Martin, and Frank Sinatra songs to each other while my sis polished off her fried dill pickles and mozzarella cheese sticks.

I met up with my dearest friend, Teresa, and we saw the movie "Eclipse." It was a vast improvement over the first two "Twilight" movies and quite enjoyable. A trip to the Pie Factory for BBQ pizza and Barnes and Noble, where I found an amazing new watercolor book, rounded out the evening.

I know that tomorrow I will "pay the piper" for overdoing today. But, today was totally worth it. And I would not change a thing.

Grandma's House

While Bill and I were down in Hazlehurst on Tuesday, I asked him drive over to the street where my grandmother used to live. I spent many hours in that house on St. Charles street, reading books and playing with dolls that used to belong to my mother. Many holiday meals took place around my grandmother's table, served on china she got as a young bride. Pictures were taken in front of her beautiful azalea bushes and games were played on her front lawn.

It has been about 10 years since I last saw my grandmothers' house, but I was not prepared for the sight that met my eyes this week. Her house was unrecognizable. The once lush and well kept lawn was covered with trash and junked cars. Window screens were torn and shutters were sagging. Paint was peeling and the beautiful azaleas were gone.

I now fervently wish that I had not had the impulse to drive by. Honestly, it would have been better for the house to no longer have existed than to see it like this.

Thank goodness I still have my memories, and they are of a humble, but pristine white house kept with love.

Graveyards

My husband and I went down to Hazlehurst, Mississippi this morning to tend some of the graves of my ancestors. Actually, my husband does most of the tending now, while I give directions.

The stones bring stories, both good and bad. My maternal grandparents buried their first born daughter at the age of 3 days. Great Uncle Louis lost his teenage son Louis Jr., to leukemia, in 1952. Great Aunt Eula Mae introduced my parents to each other at Hardy-Wilson Memorial Hospital when she was a patient there under the care of my mom.

Aunt Belle was called "Little Aunt" because she was under 5 feet tall. I still have letters that she sent me, typed on her old IBM Selectric. That was her "handwriting" as far as I knew. My maternal grandfather died 5 days after my second birthday. My precious paternal grandmother passed away 11 months after my grandfather. All she wanted for those 11 months was to go and be with Papaw and Jesus. We could not be totally sad at her passing, knowing that this was what she wanted.

My husband I and I have chosen to leave our bodies for medical study and not be put in a cemetery. We have no children to tend our graves, and we probably would not want them to feel like they had to. Sometimes I have a pang of regret that I will not have any tangible reminder of my life out there to tell stories to future generations.

Tangled Trees

Today, I finally finished a painting I had been working on for almost two weeks. It ended up being considerably more detailed than I anticipated, but painting it helped me work my way through the tangled emotions and situations I have dealt with lately.

I painted my way through hurt, anger, pain and rejection. Through Dad's heart catheterization, watching a dear friend deteriorate from Alzheimer's, and waiting with a friend for results of her lung biopsy, which, unfortunately, came back positive.

This looks more difficult to do than it really is. The main requirements are patience and persistence. Sometimes I get lost in my own forests.

But I always find my way out.

Cousins

I had a wonderful reunion with some of my first cousins yesterday. I don't think we ever really intended for as much time to go by between visits, but life has a habit of getting in the way sometimes.

I grew up in a time where all the cousins came to visit the grandparents and sometimes stayed for days at a time. Even though most of them are older than I am, they made time to play with me and take me out for ice cream at the local malt shop. There were no computers, video games, or cable TV back then, so we entertained each other. I have to wonder if cousins today bond like we bonded back then.

Some of the cousins have been knocked around by life. One has appeared on the 6 o'clock news more than once. Another is about to embark on his third (I hope this one is the charm!) marriage. One could not make it because she is undergoing treatment for cancer.

We all left with updated contact information and a resolution to not let this much time elapse before we get together again.

Invite

I received an e-mail this week inviting me to consider submitting a painting for an upcoming art show in Jackson. The theme is "Paris" and I tried to think of what I could do with my present capabilities to paint something that would, at least, be in keeping with the spirit of this city.

Since my grape paintings have been popular, I decided to try adding a bottle of wine to my grapes. I was pleased with the result and submitted it for consideration. To my delight, it was accepted and it now sits, framed and ready for its' journey.

Now if it will just make its' way from the show to someone's home. And some money make its' journey into my pocketbook! :)

Peace

I made some decisions last night that have brought me a sense of peace that I have not had in weeks.

Peace is good...

Unraveled

I saw a familiar name yesterday on Facebook. She had responded to one of my Facebook friends. She was an acquaintance of mine a number of years ago. At the time, she was young, fairly newly married, and seemed to have a pretty good life.

Out of curiosity, I clicked on her name. Most of her profile was viewable, so I started reading her wall. What I read made me sad. She and her husband have divorced and it sounds like she turns to alcohol for solace more often than is healthy. She has money troubles. She mentioned spending Christmas Day at a casino while the children were with their dad. She breaks up and goes back with a man who she herself describes as not being good or healthy for her.

I have not seen this woman in 20 years or so. I have to wonder what happened to make her once promising life unravel so.

I pray that she can figure out how to knit the good parts of her life together, find ways to cope with the bad, and find happiness once again.

Struggling

Trying to stay positive is a struggle right now. I am trying to just keep a low profile until I can be perky again.

I have to wonder if my many friends who love to read would take it well if they could not read more than about an hour a day, and that not all at once. I am not taking temporary here, but permanent.

I have to wonder if my friends who love to sing would take kindly to not being able to sing a recital or concert anymore? Again, permanently.

How many people who truly cherish the ability to send handwritten, heartfelt letters to friends and family would be able to see typewritten correspondence as a genteel substitute?

Which of my artist friends would be content to have to paint in painfully slow increments? Not much is more frustrating that having to look at that unfinished painting while the desire is so keen. No end in sight for this one either.

Picture the above as being the things you most love to do and they are all limited at best, impossible at worst.

I am looking for options. Ways to adapt without going stir crazy. They have to be out there.

Somewhere.

Doc Roulette

A discussion I read yesterday about doctors and medical care got me to thinking about my own batch of doctors and whether or not I could do away with more of them.

My most important doc is probably my neuromuscular diseases specialist. After taking an antibiotic prescribed by a doc not versed in MG and ending up in University hospital in crisis, I don't think I would want to do without this one. Keep.

My pulmonary doc is probably second on the list. Breathing is kind of important. Due to multiple respiratory issues (moderate, persistent asthma, so far benign spots on my lungs, and moderate to severe sleep apnea) my insurance will only pay for stuff like my C-Pap, nebulizer, and multiple, pricey asthma meds if they are prescribed by a pulmonologist. Keep.

My PCP is probably the next most important doc. He is very good about keeping up with what all my other doctors do. He is a preferred provider and can do my blood work without it costing me an arm and two legs. Keep!

My gastroenterologist would come next. With the history of bleeding ulcers, GERD, and pre-cancerous colon polyps, I think seeing him once a year is pretty reasonable. Keep.

My GYN is still pretty important, even though I had a total hysterectomy years ago. Because I have no family history of breast cancer, I choose to take HRT to help protect my heart and bones (as well as keep me fit to live with). According to him, precancerous cells can occasionally reoccur in tissue surrounding the cervix, even after said cervix has been removed. I can live with one visit a year. Keep.

Without my chiropractor, I would be screaming. I could live without him, but I might not want to! KEEP!

Otolaryngologist is a keeper on an as-needed basis. I am a singer. This guy has the equipment to look at my vocal cords. Hearing and balance doc is still on tap if my 30 year on and off dizziness decides to come back. I think I can get my PCP to prescribe my Epi-Pen. No real need to go to the allergy doc. He can't do a thing about the food allergies. Arthritis doc? Jury still out. I do want to protect my joints as much as possible. This has gotten fairly severe in a fairly short time.

In this litigious society, a lot of PCP's and Family docs are afraid to tackle anything but the basics. At least around here. I can't say that I blame them. Insurance requirements also play a part in making doc decisions.

I guess my top six stay. At least for now. :P

Good Grips

A trip to Bed, Bath, and Beyond brought me an unexpected happy this week. I went in for some other things, and, as always, I have to browse through the kitchen gadgets.

Whilst browsing, I came upon a section called "Good Grips." These tools have handles that are thicker, softer, and easier to grip than conventional tools. Of course, they are also a bit pricier.

One that I decided to invest in immediately was this jar opener. I was a bit skeptical, but I figured that $7.99 was an acceptable gamble. I took it home and tried it out.

This thing is like a miracle. I was able to get the lids off pimento jars (pretty much impossible for me) with no problem. My new jar of Hellman's mayo? A snap!

Best of all, I can get the lid off the "Yes" paste I use for making art collages. That alone made it well worth the price.

Routine

The older I get, the more I find myself comforted by routine things. Maybe it is the Methodist in me. While some rail against the structure, I never tire of responding to the preacher's "The Lord be with You" with "And also with You." I never tire of the Apostles' Creed or The Lord's Prayer.

My dear Episcopal priest friend has called me the "Chinese Soprano" for over 20 years because my license plate says "I SING." I can't imagine him greeting me any other way. My friend Teresa and I have a routine of responding to most statements with a line from a song or a movie. Henry, (God Bless Him) will pose for a "geek shot" of the Vulcan "Live Long and Prosper" salute when we are together. My friend Andie and I both love pie and exchange "pie shots" by cellphone.

When I am asked how I am, my standard response is "I'm Doing!" I can't remember who I stole it from, but it has come in handy. It is a graceful answer to a question whose answer would bore most people to tears. It is my routine response.

One routine I desperately miss, even after almost 20 years, is my mom's routine response when she answered my phone calls. I would give anything to hear "Hey baby girl" just one more time.

I think there is a difference between "routine" and a "rut." I don't want to get so rigid that I cannot flex.

But I crave the warmth and comfort of routine.

Layers

*****Warning***** This post may been seen as whining. You might want to skip it. :P


FIrst of all, I promise I am getting to the end of these posts. Still just mostly talking to myself.

I have been in some degree of constant pain since I was 13. I am 50 now, so that it 37 years.

It started when I had my growth spurt. As I grew, my back curved. This was before routine scoliosis screenings in schools, so I was not diagnosed or treated for a condition that could have saved me much of the pain I experience now.

When I was 18, I was in a bus crash that fractured my back between the shoulder blades. I still have some level of chronic discomfort from that. Add that to the scoliosis.

About this time also, I began having symptoms of GERD. Anyone who has ever had severe reflux can attest to the fact that this can be quite painful. Especially in the days before medications for this condition were common. Add that to the scoliosis and back injury pain.

All of this was manageable. No big deal.

In my thirties I began to experience more severe problems with my back, aggravated by the scoliosis. Bulging discs in my lower back left me unable to walk at more than a shuffle, put on my own shoes, or lift my feet into my car without help. Thankfully, I have been greatly helped by a wonderful series of chiropractors who have kept this pain manageable for the past 15 years. Add this to the scoliosis, the back injury and the GERD.

Shortly before I turned 40, I began experiencing severe pain down my arms. I was unable to hold a glass, so everything I drank had to be through a straw while the glass was sitting on a solid surface. This went on for a year until doctors finally discovered the ruptured disc in my neck and did surgery to remove this and fuse my spine.

My forties began a merry-go-round of medical odysseys. Now I added cervical spondylosis (arthritis of the neck) to the mix, as well as degenerative disc disease ( the discs have eroded, leaving bone on bone), and spinal stenosis (a narrowing of the bones surrounding the spinal cord, leading to irritation of the nerves).

Add short term pain from a total hysterectomy, an appendectomy, a spinal fusion, a complicated tonsillectomy (included some severe hemorrhaging), surgery to wrap my stomach around my esophagus, and injuries to both knees from a fall, I have rarely had a real break from pain in a very long time.

I have been experiencing pain in my hands for about a year that gets bad enough at times to keep me awake at night. Monday, when I was diagnosed with osteoarthritis in my hands, it was just one more thing. And I was bummed.

I will put on my big girl pants and deal with it. I just have to get it all in perspective.

Safe Place

*****Warning***** Talking to myself again. Some may see this as whining. You might want to skip it. :P




Some days I feel like my "safe places" are becoming smaller and smaller. This applies to both physical and mental places. The places I am feel safe going, especially at night, are getting fewer and fewer. I used to feel pretty safe going almost anywhere, but not anymore. I am especially missing that sense of safety now that it is getting hot and nighttime would be my preferred time to get out.

My loss of mental and emotional safe places is even more keenly felt. I am hesitant to ask for support or prayer because others have "REAL troubles." Any expression of real feeling constitutes "drama" to some. I am afraid to express my feelings to any but the smallest handful of people now. I spent years in therapy being encouraged by my therapists to acknowledge the feelings I spent my whole life stuffing down until I was close to ending my life to end the pain.

I don't want to become a whiner. I don't want to dwell on the negative. I try to be the supporter, rather than the one who needs supporting. But, sometimes I am the one who needs support and understanding.

I pray to find safe places and safe people.

Validation

*****Warning***** This might be construed by some as whining, so you might want to skip it! :P I am more just thinking out loud than anything.


When I was in counseling school one of the things I learned about was the validation of feelings. This involved truly listening to the client and honoring their feelings without judging, whether I agreed with these feelings or not. To judge, try to fix, or belittle these feelings resulted in something called "secondary wounding." Often, this hurts worse than the initial event.

Another thing I learned is that most responses to events are not created solely by that particular event. Responses are filtered through a maze of past experiences, both good and bad.

I am recognizing that my reaction to my arthritis diagnosis has its' roots in several things. One is a fear that this could be the start of another massive body breakdown like I experienced at 40 with the onset of my MG, food allergies, and asthma. Another is flashbacks to seeing the gnarled hands of my nursing home patients that left many of them with sharp minds, but the inability to do the simplest tasks (wiping their butts, for example) for themselves. Another is losing the ability to paint that I have come to cherish so much. I am not Van Gogh or Monet, but this is something that has allowed me to give back something to my community and helped me build back up the self-esteem that has been lost with my career and ability to sing for more than very short bits of time.

So, now I am doing with myself what I used to do with my clients. I have acknowledged my fears and honored them as MY fears. Now I am in a position to dispute what is not really rational.

Osteoarthritis, unlike rheumatoid is not autoimmune. Although I have a better than average chance of developing another autoimmune disease (my asthma, MG, and allergies are all autoimmune) this is no harbinger of what might come.

With better treatments, there should be fewer people in the shape that my precious nursing home patients are in now. They did not have access to many of the things that can make a big difference now.

And hopefully, on the art front, no matter what happens, I will find some way to express myself.

Arthritis Part 2

*****Warning***** This might be construed by some as whining, so you might want to skip it! :P I am more just thinking out loud than anything.



I want to preface this with acknowledgment of the fact that arthritis is not cancer. It is not Lou Gehrig's Disease. Nothing that drastic. And I am duly thankful not to have any of the aforementioned diseases.

Arthritis is a common, treatable disease. There are a number of things that can be done for it, IF one is an otherwise healthy adult. However, if one is not an otherwise healthy adult, things get a little trickier. With my history of bleeding ulcers, NSAIDS are not recommended. A regular increase in my steroids can cause problems with blood sugar and osteoporosis. Pills need to be avoided so that my liver does not have to handle the stress of yet more medication. Some of the treatments can cause problems with my MG or asthma. Some things can't be used because they are related to foods that I am allergic to.

After brainstorming, we decided on a prescription topical gel that hopefully bypasses all the potential pitfalls and will help manage the symptoms.

It has taken me a day of tears to get used to the idea of managing one more thing. i will deal. I just have to get used to the idea.

And I will.

Arthritis

I haz it. Fortunately, I was thankful that it is not rheumatoid, but the more common, degenerative, osteoarthritis. It is in multiple joints in both hands.

I was kind of hoping for some fluke thing that would be temporary and would go totally away with some easy treatment. No such luck.

Not wanting to take any more pills than I already do, I was prescribed a topical cream that may help the pain some. But, the pain is not the main issue for me.

The issues for me are the loss of my ability to write legibly for any length of time. To be able to button my buttons. I have given up using brands of things which have caps too difficult to remove. I slide my money across the counter, rather than risk dropping it on the floor.

Of course, painting is where I feel the loss of function most keenly. My hands shake too much to stay inside a sketch (even if I could SEE said sketch, which is another story.) and I can no longer do detail work that requires exact placement of my brush. This has been a blessing in some ways, because the styles that have evolved from my disabilities are selling and getting me noticed.

I have to admit, I was hoping to be just a bit older before I had to deal with osteoarthritis on top of everything else. But, now that I have a name, I can set about finding the tools that will enable me to function the best I can with what I have.

But, I would like a break before anything else develops.

kthxbye

Hallelujah!

After 2 weeks of almost literal weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, our church website is back on line.

This process involved people in 3 states and two continents. We had to free ourselves from a company in Australia (I have no earthly idea WHY our previous website was hosted by an Aussie company) with lousy customer service (6 days to answer an email request for support???) before we could transfer over to a reliable US company with good customer service.

Being the most tech savvy (and I use that term loosely!) of the people dealing with the new website, it fell to me to sort things out and get us up and running again. I learned a lot in the process. I may not be the sharpest tool in the techie shed, but, by golly, I am the most tenacious!

Visit crawfordstreetumc.org and see what all the fuss is about!

"Cheap Joe"

I received a postcard from Cheap Joe today. Now I don't know Cheap Joe aka Joe Miller, personally, but he owns and operates the wonderful company where I am able to purchase many of my art supplies online.

I almost did not look closely at the postcard. I figured it was just an advertisement. But, I happened to turn the postcard over and take a closer look at it. And now I know what a class act Cheap Joe really is. This postcard mentioned the recent tornadoes in my area and offered to help replace any art supplies I may have lost that insurance would not cover.

I was stunned. I have never heard of a company doing this. But, as an artist, I guess Joe wanted to make sure his fellow artists had the supplies they needed to continue their artistic endeavors.

Fortunately, I was not in need of the help offered. But I did e-mail Joe thanking him for the thought.

With tears in my eyes.

Security

I was infuriated to read in the local paper today about another visitor to Vicksburg being mugged. An elderly retiree from another state suffered a broken arm and a facial cut requiring stitches. This is the second mugging of a tourist this year. Is that any way to treat our guests?

I know that this might not be unusual in many places, but this is a fairly new phenomenon in my small city. Mugging is something I used to think of as only occurring in places like New York City. Something I had only seen on TV.

But, now, mugging has come here, and it makes me mad. There was a time when you were almost 100% safe around town, as long as you stayed away from the few "historically" bad areas. Now, my church has had to hire a security guard to help keep our members safe when they are attending church functions at night.

I used to feel safe making a trip to the grocery at night as long as I parked in a well lit area and tried to enter and exit the store with other people. Now, since there have been a couple of strong arm robberies in the parking lot of my favorite store (in a good area of town!), I no longer feel free to do this. All because of a few punks wanting to steal a few bucks instead of working for them.

And the ironic thing is, many people around these parts would be happy to give someone a few dollars if they were asked politely.

But don't knock an elderly lady down and try to take her purse.

What goes around comes around. And you punks will get yours.

MG Days

Looks like this week is going to be mostly resting. My body is giving me some messages I know by now not to ignore. An MG flare-up for me usually starts with severe fatigue. Not the kind of fatigue people experience after being busy for days or generally overdoing it. I am talking about waking up as tired or more tired than when I went to bed. This kind of fatigue has me wanting to sleep 18-20 hours out of 24.

Next we have the choking. Loads of fun. No cornbread, rice, plain water, or crackers for me for a few days. I always find it ironic that I choke on plain water, but don't choke on carbonated beverages. Go figure. Thank goodness for Diet Coke!

My current fashion colors are black and blue. I am not falling exactly, more like just stumbling into things. And, of course, with the steroids I take and my naturally pale skin, I am sporting bruises literally from my shoulders to my ankles. I am a Spring. Black and blue are NOT in my palette!

My big activity of the day was one hour of church. Followed by two naps.

So, for the moment, I listen to my body.

Even if I am not crazy about the message. :P

A Little Guilty?

Myasthenia Gravis has taken a few things away from me. My ability to work on a steady basis, reliable vision (most 50 year olds don't have that anyway!), being able to sing as long as I want to, and the security of knowing that I can get from point A to point B without falling, among other things.

But, MG has given, as well. Retiring from my job has given me the time to do the "fun stuff." Singing for my great nephew's preschool class, teaching watercolor at the local Senior Center, working on my church's website, and helping an elderly friend learn to use her first computer brings me great joy.

Many of my 40 hour a week working friends would love to be able to do what I do. And sometimes, I have to admit, I miss the perks of full time work. Nice clothes, manicures, pedicures, massages, yearly vacations, and the fulfillment of being a professional are things of the past. But, I would not go back, even if it meant not having MG. Seriously. I feel like I am where I am supposed to be, doing what I am supposed to do. Life is pretty good.

And I feel just a little...guilty.

Another Doctor?

The good news is that the steroid epidurals I had helped me get strength back in my ring and pinky fingers. A brace, worn at night, is helping the carpal tunnel symptoms. I can control my brush to paint again and I am not dropping hot pans on my pretty Corian countertops and burning them anymore. This is all good.

The not so good news is that the joints in my hands are still swelling and aching whenever I do much of anything. Simple things like typing for too long, stirring dough, holding a book, etc. make my hands puff up like those gloves on old cartoon characters and just ache. There may not be anything that can be done, but I just need to KNOW that, so I can adapt. And, if there is a solution, that is even better.

So, I await a referral to a rheumatologist. I was down to 7 doctors, doggone it!

Oh well, make it 8 again.

Lost Dog/Found Dog

Last Saturday, my sweet stepmom's son, Eddie, lost his truck and his house trailer in the tornado that ripped through Eagle Lake. On Sunday, Eddie's old dog, a 13 year old Sharpei mix, nosed his way out of the fenced in backyard that was his temporary home.

Eddie accepted the loss of his home and truck. They could be replaced. But Kelo could not. Calls were made to local vets, radio stations, and shelters in hopes that Kelo would be found. I called neighbors with a description and asked them to call my number if he turned up at one of their houses. People were praying that he would be found. But, nobody had seen Kelo.

Bill and I were driving home from a fundraiser for the fire damaged Bovina Cafe when, about a mile from home, we spotted a brownish looking dog with a wrinkly face walking down our street. We stopped immediately, and Bill tentatively approached the dog, made friends, and took hold of the dog's collar.

The only family number I had was for Eddie's sister in law. I immediately called it and asked if she and Eddie's wife could come see if this was, indeed, Kelo. As they drove up to where we were, both of these ladies broke out in big grins and gave the thumbs-up sign. We had found Eddie's old dog. Although stinky and hungry from almost a week of adventuring, Kelo was alive and unhurt.

Now Kelo is clean, fed, and reunited with his "Dad."

Kinda sounds like a country song. But this one had a happy ending.

Exhausted

Had it not been for TV and internet yesterday, I would not have had a clue. The sun was shining here and the day could not have been more beautiful.

But just a few miles north of Vicksburg, it was another story. A tornado skipped over Vicksburg, only to touch down in Eagle Lake. Eagle Lake is a beautiful spot and a number of people have weekend homes there. However, for several more, it is year-round "home."

One of these residents is my stepmom's oldest son. He was driving his truck when the tornado hit. When a tree fell on his truck, he escaped with only minor injuries by flattening himself across the passenger seat. His truck is a total loss, but fortunately, he will be OK. His trailer sports trees on the roof and it no longer has windows, but hopefully can be salvaged.

A little piece down the road, his stepdaughter, her husband, and two small children under 5 were saved by a visiting relative who came in, got them down on the floor, and covered the children's bodies with his own. Little Reed and Tucker are OK, thanks to quick thinking and action on this man's part.

Few people around here are not touched by this in some way. Many of us have friends and relatives in Yazoo City. Some of us had people traveling when this tornado hit. I am thankful that my dad had the presence of mind to stop in Kosciusko and find safe shelter. Choctaw County, where they were headed, was hit and people (including two children) killed.

I am still waiting for word of friends in Yazoo City. Phone lines are down and cell towers destroyed. Someone started a Facebook group to help us get information from that area.

The tension of yesterday, concerned about friends and loved ones in the storm's path has left me exhausted. Even today, I feel like I have been beat with the proverbial "ugly stick."

But, you can bet I am counting my blessings!

Accepted!

Yesterday I took a chance. Already planning to go to Jackson to celebrate the 48th birthday of my younger sister, I decided to stop in with some of my artwork at a nearby art gallery.

The gallery manager, Caitlin, graciously allowed me to leave three pieces to be evaluated by the gallery owner, Richard Mckey. I received an email today that all three pieces were accepted and I was asked to come in and sign paperwork allowing the sale of my work.

I have to admit, I am beyond excited. My work may not sell. But to have the distinction of being chosen to be shown is an honor in itself.

Of course, having a customer come in, fall in love with my work and buy it on the spot would be awfully nice. :)

http://fondrenartgallery.com/

Via Dolorosa

Unable to sleep after the Maundy Thursday service at my church, I found myself playing with the iMovie program on my iMac. Inspired by a few online friends who expressed a desire to hear me sing the "Via Dolorosa", I decided to see if I could make some sort of slide show to go with the track I recorded in Nashville a few years ago.

So, I searched the web for relevant pictures in the public domain, added the track, and after some fiddling and fussing, put it on YouTube. I have never "broadcast myself", so this was a first.

The response has totally amazed me, with 396 views of this video in the past two weeks. Not sure if this is what is called "viral", but I am humbled by the number of people who have taken the time to listen to this touching song.

The Show

The Vicksburg Art Association Spring Show opens tomorrow night. For this, my second art show, I have taken the risk of entering a series of watercolor paintings. These have been well received by artists (some of them professional) on my Flickr site and by my friends. I don't know if they will appeal to the art buying public here.

As my husband retires this week, I would love to be able to make some extra money with my art. My disability benefit is a blessing and I am thankful for it. But, public mental health counseling was not exactly a high paying job and my benefit is based on that.

So wish me a customer who likes "my" colors, has good taste, and wants to spend some money.

Jim

Although Jim was a few years older than me, our paths crossed a pretty good bit over the years. I mostly knew him from his playing percussion for church cantatas and little theatre productions.

Jim was also my mothers' pest control man. But he was more than that. He was her friend. Mama was chronically ill for the last 11 years of her life, often in severe pain, and had difficulty breathing. Jim would come spray the house and then sit with mom, have a glass of tea, and dish about the goings on in town.

Jim wore yet another hat. He was an EMT with the local fire department. On Christmas morning, 1990, Jim was driving the ambulance that responded to my daddy's 911 call when my mom could not be awakened.

The next day, the first person on my doorstep was Jim with the arms open to give me a hug and express his condolences on the death of my mother.

Jim was not perfect. He liked his alcohol. His marriages were not successful. He leaves a legacy of two pretty awesome teenage sons and memories of his kindness and compassion.

The last time I talked to Jim was a couple of weeks ago. He had called the house to talk to my husband about a coin he had found. He had been having some health problems, but was hanging in there.

Jim is in Heaven now, probably catching up with my mama and laying down a beat for the angels to dance to.

Rest in peace.

Via Dolorosa

After a week of waiting and wondering, it was finally decided that I will once again be able to sing the Via Dolorosa at my church during this Lenten season.

The Via Dolorosa (or Way of Suffering) is said to be the path that Jesus walked bearing His cross on the way to His crucifixion. The song, popularized by Sandi Patti, strives to put the listener into that scene.

I have been singing the Via Dolorosa in my church for at least 21 years. It has survived the comings and goings of 4 ministers now. People in the congregation come up to me in the weeks before I sing to tell me how much they are looking forward to it. And I get cards and letters afterwards from church members who are moved by the words and mood of this touching piece.

I know the day will come when I am no longer able to do this song justice. And I hope that I will have the grace to know when it is time for me to stop singing it. But I don't think that time has come. And, for that, I am thankful.

Retirement

After much agonizing, my husband of 26 years has decided to retire. I am alternately happy for him and terrified at the same time.

The nuclear plant where he has worked since before we married has afforded us a nice, secure living. By living a fairly simple lifestyle, saving for a rainy day, and giving back to church and charity, we have done well. Our house is small, but paid for. We have tried to make improvements that will last our lifetime and keep it fairly maintenance free.

But, this job is for younger men than my husband. The physical demands of working 12 hour rotating shifts is getting more difficult with each year. His job is physical enough to remind him that he is not 30 anymore. And the stress of being in the nuclear industry is crushing in and of itself. There is no room for error in this field!

Barring a catastrophe, we should be fine until we can tap the 401K. We will need to tighten our belts some. Even if he needs to work, he will not have to do anything nearly as stressful or demanding as his current job. We joke about getting him a job as a greeter at Wal-Mart.

We are going to have to set some ground rules. I am not cooking 3 meals a day. And he is going to have to let me have my afternoon nap! We are NOT watching the History Channel and Andy Griffith 24/7.

It is going to be an adjustment. Stay tuned.

David

Last Friday, I met an old High School classmate for lunch. I had not seen him since graduation, almost 33 years ago. Before the age of internet, cellphones, and cheap long distance, it was not always easy to keep up with people who went to schools in other cities.

David and I reconnected on Facebook, of all things, and Adam Lambert, of all people. This would not be that unusual, but David is a Catholic priest who has been assigned to Hong Kong for the past several years.

One of my memories of David involves painting in 8th grade art. He got an A+ on his painting. I received an "F."

Though born in Vicksburg, David was conceived in his mothers' native city of Hong Kong. His father was from a nearby province. Like many children of immigrants, David had a terrific work ethic and graduated 3rd in our class of 350.

Ironically, David and I both ended up getting Master's degrees in Counseling Psychology and woking in public mental health fields for a while. He surrendered to the tug of the priesthood, that he acknowledged had been in his heart since college, and became a Dominican priest at the age of 40.

David is in the states to meet with his Bishop and await his next assignment. He anticipates a return to Hong Kong as the Catholic church endeavors to create a strong Christian presence there before Hong Kong is incorporated back into China.

I plan to become a "Skyper" so that I can keep in touch with David if he returns to Hong Kong. Although he is happy to serve where he can make the most difference, I get the feeling he would like a little taste of home every now and then.

I wonder who my next random comment on Facebook might reconnect me with. Stay tuned!

The Coat

Yesterday it snowed in Mississippi. I am not talking about the occasional light dustings that barely cover the ground. This was real, almost 6 inches on the ground (by official reports), snow.

And it immediately brought back memories of the last time I saw snow like this. It was 1966, in Russum Mississippi. I was 7 years old, a tiny thing, and this snow came almost to my bony little knees.

I had recently been given my first really beautiful coat. It was a bright blue, with white fake fur trim. We were not well-to-do, so items like this were rare in my life.

Well, I went outside on that snowy day in 1966 and played to my heart's content. I went indoors to warm myself at the Panel-Ray heater on the bedroom wall. I toasted my front, then turned around to warm my back.

Sufficiently warmed, I turned away from the heater and heard my mother gasp. Unaccustomed to "fur", I had been standing too close to the heater. My lovely coat was singed all the way down the back in the pattern of the heater's grill.

So, it was back to "hand me down" cloth coats from cousins and garage sales. The next time I was able to have a new coat, I was 17 years old.

But, I still remember that magical snow in 1966. Good thing, as the memory had to last 43 years! And now I have a new one. The magical snow of 2010.

Alone

I went to the funeral home for a visitation today. I hugged the lady I used to work with as she sobbed on my shoulder. A few years ago, she lost her parents a day apart. Then, her sister. Last year, her only child, who was in his forties. Today, she was preparing to bury her husband of 43 years.

J married her husband when she was 15. She jokes that she got married because her parents told her she was too young to date. She had her child at 16.

J has never been alone. She was a "we" before she ever really became a "me." She was physically and emotionally dependent on her husband. I am concerned about her and am hoping that she will be able to make a life for herself now. It is not going to be easy.

Torn

Tomorrow is the Super Bowl. Many years I am not that into it because I don't have a favorite team playing. But, tomorrow, for the first time, I have not one, but TWO of my favorite teams playing.

Like many Mississippians, I grew up watching the Saints. Archie Manning, Ole Miss football star from Drew, Mississippi, was the one good player on a dismal team. Having a Mississippi boy as quarterback of a pro team was a source of pride when we did not seem to have that much to be proud of. The Saints are kinda like the Cubs for me. I root for them, but never expected much out of them. I don't think I ever expected them to play in a Super Bowl.

And they are playing my favorite quarterback and his team, the Colts. I admit it. I love Peyton Manning. I love to watch him play. I love his commercials. I love that I won't open the newspaper and see where he has been arrested. Most of all, I love the charity work that he and his family do for Mississippi.

Needless to say, I am torn. On one hand, a Saints win would do wonderful things for a New Orleans still struggling after Katrina. On the other hand, I would love to see Peyton further cement his legacy as one of the all time greats.

I am just hoping for an exciting game. And may the best team win.

De-friending

I just did something I honestly never thought I would do. I de-friended someone on Facebook.

This was not a personal friend, but a friend of a friend. I am usually pretty careful about who I let "in" on Facebook, but this young man did have some intriguing views, so I accepted his friend request.

The first strike came when he told me to "shut my face" after we disagreed on something. I don't take too kindly to someone young enough to be my son talking to me in that manner.

Strikes two and three came when he kept tagging me in his notes. I don't even want to be connected in any way with some of his more extreme views.

So, I marked the x to sever my connection with this young man. I wish him well.

These Hands

I finally got some answers (about time!) on my hands today.

The pain in my ring and pinky fingers is caused by spinal stenosis. That is where areas of the spine are narrowed, putting pressure on the nearby nerves. This will probably require steroid injections and or some physical therapy. It will be an ongoing thing that will probably require on and off treatment for the rest of my life.

The pain in my thumb and pointer is partially caused by some mild carpal tunnel. This can be helped with braces. Again, something I may just have to manage indefinitely.

The mystery now is the joint inflammation. All tests for arthritis came back negative. This is good. But this also leaves me with no diagnosis. I am trying things at home without much success.

Basically, the name of the game is: adapt. Make sure I pick up things (especially HOT things!) with BOTH hands. Work on getting a new personal font that will work with my Mac, as writing is difficult. I am trying new paintbrushes and styles of painting that require less finesse. Continue to vary tasks often. Wrap my mind around another level of chronic pain added to the mix. Nothing that cannot be done.

I am the kind of person who needs answers. Now that I have them, I can figure out how to live with new limitations.

And live I will.