This morning, exactly one minute after I woke up, I got such a sweet text from Mike I'd blush right here by myself if I shared it. Later, exactly one minute after I got off the injection table, I got another text from Mike saying he felt what I was feeling, even though I hadn't even had time to text him that it was over. It's uncanny how often this happens. This good man has some kind of extrasensory timing eleven hundred miles away!
My blood pressure had shot way up to 188 over something (I usually have low to normal) and I was sitting in a chair waiting to be dismissed when his text arrived.
"Do you have any idea how rich you are?" he said later, on the phone. "You have the best friends in the world!"
To all of you who have sent texts and calls, to Joy who stayed with me all day and fixed me ice packs, to Pam who went with me to Earl Abel's for chicken fried steak (delicious!) after she'd watered my plants, to all of you who have been so supportive-- YES, I know how rich I am, how rich we all are, to have real friends!
Thursday, June 30, 2016
Stenosis of the Spine
It wasn't so bad, after all--especially having Joy as company and laugh-maker in the process. We all need someone to laugh with us when we're scared.
"Will it hurt?" I asked the doctor.
"Oh yes, it will be terrible," he said with a twinkle in his eye, but I didn't get the joke at the time or see the twinkle. "He's teasing, " Joy had to tell me when she saw the tears in my eyes.
When my baby boy was eight days old, he had to have a spinal tap. "It doesn't hurt," the doctors and nurses tried assuring me--just as they did when they did the other baby boy surgery. I didn't believe them either time. I heard the cry in the neonatal intensive care ward.
Through the years, I've heard that injections in the spine were terribly painful, so it was with a lot of procrastination and trepidation that I agreed to have a needle in the back of my neck.
It wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared. The worst part were the little shots to deaden the pain of the big shot, all done with an x-ray to guide Dr. Growney's hand to the right spot.
At the moment, there is no pain at all--and I'm planning on that being permanent!
I'm so relieved--and so grateful for the ease of a day I've dreaded for a long time. Worry is sometimes worse than what we worry about.
Stenosis of the spine is very common, he told me. "What causes it?" I asked.
"Birthdays," he said.
"Will it hurt?" I asked the doctor.
"Oh yes, it will be terrible," he said with a twinkle in his eye, but I didn't get the joke at the time or see the twinkle. "He's teasing, " Joy had to tell me when she saw the tears in my eyes.
When my baby boy was eight days old, he had to have a spinal tap. "It doesn't hurt," the doctors and nurses tried assuring me--just as they did when they did the other baby boy surgery. I didn't believe them either time. I heard the cry in the neonatal intensive care ward.
Through the years, I've heard that injections in the spine were terribly painful, so it was with a lot of procrastination and trepidation that I agreed to have a needle in the back of my neck.
It wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared. The worst part were the little shots to deaden the pain of the big shot, all done with an x-ray to guide Dr. Growney's hand to the right spot.
At the moment, there is no pain at all--and I'm planning on that being permanent!
I'm so relieved--and so grateful for the ease of a day I've dreaded for a long time. Worry is sometimes worse than what we worry about.
Stenosis of the spine is very common, he told me. "What causes it?" I asked.
"Birthdays," he said.
The Dreamer Self
I had a dream in which I was driving the tiniest Mini Cooper--even smaller than those adorable vintage ones in England. In the dream, I was on my way to pick up Elena after school, but the car kept going the wrong way. Suddenly, it would lurch into reverse, then neutral, then drive. I believe it was a stick shift, not automatic.
Thank you for indulging me in telling my dream! Other people's dreams are among the least interesting conversational topics, I know. But they are made by the Self for the Self's entertainment and/or enlightenment, and this one was easy to interpret.
In a class on dreams led by Marga Speicher, a Jungian therapist in San Antonio, she said, "When a dream comes, always ask 'What gift do you have for me?'"
According to Jung and his followers, every element in the dream represents the Self--so my dream is quite transparent. Even a novice dream-reader can read this car dream.
The dreamer feels she is in a small and unreliable carrier at the moment. She's on her way to pick up a little girl--a younger version of herself. But she can't get there; she's frustrated; other drivers are impatient with her for twirling around in the roadway, not moving forward.
This dream was probably inspired by the nightly reading I'm doing in Hauntings, a Jungian analysis of how the Self can sabotage itself. This is a profound book and I may write about it more later.
For now, however, I'm getting ready to go and get the dreaded shot in my neck, hoping for good results. I am, I admit, very anxious about a needle in my neck and will be glad to have it over with.
In my conscious waking hours, I'm not feeling much anxiety--but the dreams of the last few weeks tell a different story. Dreams tell the truth in coded language, and if we pay attention, we learn something new about ourselves.
Thank you for indulging me in telling my dream! Other people's dreams are among the least interesting conversational topics, I know. But they are made by the Self for the Self's entertainment and/or enlightenment, and this one was easy to interpret.
In a class on dreams led by Marga Speicher, a Jungian therapist in San Antonio, she said, "When a dream comes, always ask 'What gift do you have for me?'"
According to Jung and his followers, every element in the dream represents the Self--so my dream is quite transparent. Even a novice dream-reader can read this car dream.
The dreamer feels she is in a small and unreliable carrier at the moment. She's on her way to pick up a little girl--a younger version of herself. But she can't get there; she's frustrated; other drivers are impatient with her for twirling around in the roadway, not moving forward.
This dream was probably inspired by the nightly reading I'm doing in Hauntings, a Jungian analysis of how the Self can sabotage itself. This is a profound book and I may write about it more later.
For now, however, I'm getting ready to go and get the dreaded shot in my neck, hoping for good results. I am, I admit, very anxious about a needle in my neck and will be glad to have it over with.
In my conscious waking hours, I'm not feeling much anxiety--but the dreams of the last few weeks tell a different story. Dreams tell the truth in coded language, and if we pay attention, we learn something new about ourselves.
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
The question before the house...
This morning, GrandeCom took all morning to hook me up--the first time in several years that I've had regular TV. This deal comes with a TIVO box that allows me to record programs, fast forward, and all that--none of which I plan to do., but who knows? Either way, it's going to be a culture shock--turning on the TV and seeing what's on live. I'm remembering the stations I like to watch on motel TVs--CNN, MSNBC, HGTV, PBS--and planning to enjoy my 30 day trial and see what's now playing.
As I was cleaning out drawers today--due to the delivery of a beautiful new piece of furniture--I found, much to my chagrin, a passport that doesn't expire for two years! So in a couple of weeks I will have two valid passports for two years, one of which will last for ten years. I have no memory of updating my passport in 2009--though now that I think of it, that must have been the year I renewed the old one to go to Montreal. I will just chalk it up as a temporary memory lapse--or disorganization.
At Middle Georgia College, a political science professor began every class with these words, "The question before the house is...." He had a deep, serious, Virginia-accented voice and he pronounced house so that it almost rhymed with noose. I don't remember a single question he raised, just his daily opening words. I wonder now if perhaps he fancied himself the Speaker of the House, his students members of Congress.
But I think of those words often when I'm faced with any question. "The question before the house today is...." What's on TV these days besides The Donald and Hillary? (I have to read a whole welcome package booklet to figure out how to use the remote control.)
Good things today: Gerlinde got reassuring news from a medical test--and can now take a trip to Germany! Carlene had a stress test and passed with flying colors!
Good things yesterday: Cindy invited me to join her at her son's house for a delicious dinner; Kate and Charlotte helped me (that is, did it all themselves) move in a new table, extending my kitchen counter space by six feet: and Pam came to say "Ah-Woo!" when my new hutch from the estate sale was delivered. (Carlene always says it's important to have a friend come say that when you get a cool new thing.) And yesterday was Day and Tom's 19th anniversary.
Good thing tomorrow: Joy is driving all the way in from Medina Lake to take me to get a cortisone shot in my neck--which, hopefully, will relieve the pain from a pinched nerve. The good things are the hope that it will work and Joy being with me for as long as it takes!
Good thing right now: The cable guy is gone and I can take a long, long nap....
As I was cleaning out drawers today--due to the delivery of a beautiful new piece of furniture--I found, much to my chagrin, a passport that doesn't expire for two years! So in a couple of weeks I will have two valid passports for two years, one of which will last for ten years. I have no memory of updating my passport in 2009--though now that I think of it, that must have been the year I renewed the old one to go to Montreal. I will just chalk it up as a temporary memory lapse--or disorganization.
At Middle Georgia College, a political science professor began every class with these words, "The question before the house is...." He had a deep, serious, Virginia-accented voice and he pronounced house so that it almost rhymed with noose. I don't remember a single question he raised, just his daily opening words. I wonder now if perhaps he fancied himself the Speaker of the House, his students members of Congress.
But I think of those words often when I'm faced with any question. "The question before the house today is...." What's on TV these days besides The Donald and Hillary? (I have to read a whole welcome package booklet to figure out how to use the remote control.)
Good things today: Gerlinde got reassuring news from a medical test--and can now take a trip to Germany! Carlene had a stress test and passed with flying colors!
Good things yesterday: Cindy invited me to join her at her son's house for a delicious dinner; Kate and Charlotte helped me (that is, did it all themselves) move in a new table, extending my kitchen counter space by six feet: and Pam came to say "Ah-Woo!" when my new hutch from the estate sale was delivered. (Carlene always says it's important to have a friend come say that when you get a cool new thing.) And yesterday was Day and Tom's 19th anniversary.
Good thing tomorrow: Joy is driving all the way in from Medina Lake to take me to get a cortisone shot in my neck--which, hopefully, will relieve the pain from a pinched nerve. The good things are the hope that it will work and Joy being with me for as long as it takes!
Good thing right now: The cable guy is gone and I can take a long, long nap....
Sunday, June 26, 2016
A windfall of clothes!
After Show and Tell, on my way to the library, I stopped by an estate sale in Olmos Park. As always, I assumed that the last owner of the house must have died....(When that is the case, everyone walks around and talks softly, feeling that mix of curiosity and sadness that comes while invading the rooms of dead people.)
But no: a young couple and their two teenaged children had just picked up and moved, leaving all their personal effects and furniture to be sold. I felt better. Knowing they had abandoned their house by choice, I just felt like Goldilocks, the bears out in the forest somewhere.
There were several brand new cameras, at least five sofas, furniture in every room of the house, and closets filled with designer clothes, some with the tags still attached, never worn. Who are these people? I wondered. And why did they not take their clothes and cameras and paintings to their new address?
The sweaters were all $25, one with a $280 price tag. The jackets and blouses were marked $45, the pants $24. And everything I tried on fit!
Because the estate sale clerk and I struck up a conversation, she gave me the 50% discount that's supposed to start tomorrow, so I walked out with four spectacular jackets and blouses and two pair of pants for practically nothing.
I can't stop thinking about the woman whose clothes I will be happily wearing. Will she miss them? Did she ever even wear them? (Her closet was larger than my bedroom.) I don't know one designer from another (never having bought designer clothes) but the woman in the closet trying on clothes with me was duly impressed. Seven evening gowns for $3000 apiece? Even with 50% off, I wasn't remotely tempted.
But no: a young couple and their two teenaged children had just picked up and moved, leaving all their personal effects and furniture to be sold. I felt better. Knowing they had abandoned their house by choice, I just felt like Goldilocks, the bears out in the forest somewhere.
There were several brand new cameras, at least five sofas, furniture in every room of the house, and closets filled with designer clothes, some with the tags still attached, never worn. Who are these people? I wondered. And why did they not take their clothes and cameras and paintings to their new address?
The sweaters were all $25, one with a $280 price tag. The jackets and blouses were marked $45, the pants $24. And everything I tried on fit!
Because the estate sale clerk and I struck up a conversation, she gave me the 50% discount that's supposed to start tomorrow, so I walked out with four spectacular jackets and blouses and two pair of pants for practically nothing.
I can't stop thinking about the woman whose clothes I will be happily wearing. Will she miss them? Did she ever even wear them? (Her closet was larger than my bedroom.) I don't know one designer from another (never having bought designer clothes) but the woman in the closet trying on clothes with me was duly impressed. Seven evening gowns for $3000 apiece? Even with 50% off, I wasn't remotely tempted.
Show and Tell at Lyn's Studio
Once a month, Lyn Belisle hosts a Show and Tell at her studio. A studio-full of women and two men showed up today for conversation and inspiration. It's a wonderful thing!
"Are you soaking up or sharing?" Lyn asked. I was one of the empty-handed soakers.
The first sharer was Vicki who showed a necklace that included a laminated bird she'd colored in a coloring book, some plant holders made with styrofoam wig stands, and beautiful hand-painted sunglasses, the proceeds going to Meals on Wheels.
Then another woman showed her collection of amazing dolls collected throughout decades of world travel.
Lyn passed around little packets of napkins scented with different essential oils. Did you know that a mix of lavender and tea tree oil can increase your energy? For more on this check out her blog: Chemaroma.com
Lyn's husband "Chef" Mike always prepares delicious foods for the Show and Tellers. Today's included guacamole and chips, baked salmon with dill sauce, and a table filled with treats.
I'm so inspired! I'm hoping to be a sharer at the next meeting in August. Except for today (being Sunday) and July (when there will be no meeting), these fun gatherings happen the Last Saturday of every month from 2 to 4. If you live in San Antonio and want some inspiration, or a place to share your work, mark your calendars!
"Are you soaking up or sharing?" Lyn asked. I was one of the empty-handed soakers.
The first sharer was Vicki who showed a necklace that included a laminated bird she'd colored in a coloring book, some plant holders made with styrofoam wig stands, and beautiful hand-painted sunglasses, the proceeds going to Meals on Wheels.
 |
| necklace with laminated bird |
 |
| Earrings made of drapery pieces and crushed bottle caps glued to the neck. The way the paint works on the styrofoam, this piece looks like an African sculpture. |
Then another woman showed her collection of amazing dolls collected throughout decades of world travel.
 |
| This is a Spirit Doll made by one of the members of today's group. (I wish I'd gotten the first and last names of all the participants and recorded more of the history of these dolls.) |
Lyn passed around little packets of napkins scented with different essential oils. Did you know that a mix of lavender and tea tree oil can increase your energy? For more on this check out her blog: Chemaroma.com
Lyn's husband "Chef" Mike always prepares delicious foods for the Show and Tellers. Today's included guacamole and chips, baked salmon with dill sauce, and a table filled with treats.
I'm so inspired! I'm hoping to be a sharer at the next meeting in August. Except for today (being Sunday) and July (when there will be no meeting), these fun gatherings happen the Last Saturday of every month from 2 to 4. If you live in San Antonio and want some inspiration, or a place to share your work, mark your calendars!
Air BnB: to do or not to do?
I went back to sleep early this morning reading Hauntings--an excellent book but not a light breezy read. I read and underlined, then had to rest a bit to let it soak in.
When I woke up again, I saw that Gerlinde had sent me a link to this New York Times article about a former Air BnB host near Austin: http://www.nytimes.com/2016/06/26/travel/airbnb-host.html?rref=collection%2Fsectioncollection%2Ftravel&action=click&contentCollection=travel®ion=rank&module=package&version=highlights&contentPlacement=6&pgtype=sectionfront&_r=0
It gives me pause. I think for a while I'll just stick with renting my casita to people I already know and like. But maybe soon I'll be ready for strangers, I don't know.
When I woke up again, I saw that Gerlinde had sent me a link to this New York Times article about a former Air BnB host near Austin: http://www.nytimes.com/2016/06/26/travel/airbnb-host.html?rref=collection%2Fsectioncollection%2Ftravel&action=click&contentCollection=travel®ion=rank&module=package&version=highlights&contentPlacement=6&pgtype=sectionfront&_r=0
It gives me pause. I think for a while I'll just stick with renting my casita to people I already know and like. But maybe soon I'll be ready for strangers, I don't know.
A firefighter named Woody
For weeks and months after September 11th, I watched the tragedies and rescues through the lens of a mother of a young firefighter. When innocent children were murdered at Sandy Hook, and I imagined them sitting in their desks drawing, writing stories and learning math for a future they wouldn't get to have, I listened with horror as a grandmother of young children. When teenagers were killed in a theater in Colorado, same thing. We all grieve vicariously for those who are our children with different names and faces.
Last night, a brave and big-hearted man name Woody died of leukemia--one year after his stem cell transplant. He was one of two San Antonio firefighters recently diagnosed with a form of leukemia that may be associated with the chemicals used in their work.
I met him one afternoon about a year ago at Helotes Elementary. Will, Elena and I were waiting for Nathan and Woody was waiting for his daughter. Will and Woody had once been students at Helotes Elementary, and both chose careers in the San Antonio Fire Department.
I listened that day as Will and Woody talked about Woody's upcoming treatment plan and hopes for a recovery. I watched as his little girl ran out of the building to meet her daddy. Then Will and Woody shook hands, calling each other "Buddy" as firefighters do.
Ever since I heard the news of his death, I've been thinking about that little girl and how bereft she must be today.
When one of their own is sick, firefighters and their families pack hospital corridors to wait with the sick and comfort their families. When an active firefighter is ill, his "brothers" take over his shifts.
I read hundreds of Facebook postings about Woody this morning, written just a few hours after his death. "God got himself a good man," someone wrote. Others wrote messages to Woody, words of love and respect.
I've never seen the kind of big-family closeness in any profession as what I see in fighters of fire, first responders, and rescuers. Maybe it's because they are prepared at any moment to put their lives on the line together. Maybe it's because they've seen so much suffering and loss that they are united in their love of living and each other.
Last night, a brave and big-hearted man name Woody died of leukemia--one year after his stem cell transplant. He was one of two San Antonio firefighters recently diagnosed with a form of leukemia that may be associated with the chemicals used in their work.
I met him one afternoon about a year ago at Helotes Elementary. Will, Elena and I were waiting for Nathan and Woody was waiting for his daughter. Will and Woody had once been students at Helotes Elementary, and both chose careers in the San Antonio Fire Department.
I listened that day as Will and Woody talked about Woody's upcoming treatment plan and hopes for a recovery. I watched as his little girl ran out of the building to meet her daddy. Then Will and Woody shook hands, calling each other "Buddy" as firefighters do.
Ever since I heard the news of his death, I've been thinking about that little girl and how bereft she must be today.
When one of their own is sick, firefighters and their families pack hospital corridors to wait with the sick and comfort their families. When an active firefighter is ill, his "brothers" take over his shifts.
I read hundreds of Facebook postings about Woody this morning, written just a few hours after his death. "God got himself a good man," someone wrote. Others wrote messages to Woody, words of love and respect.
I've never seen the kind of big-family closeness in any profession as what I see in fighters of fire, first responders, and rescuers. Maybe it's because they are prepared at any moment to put their lives on the line together. Maybe it's because they've seen so much suffering and loss that they are united in their love of living and each other.
Sunday Mornings
Sunday mornings are for Brainpickings and going back to bed with "a cup of coffee"--even if you don't actually drink coffee...
I've posted links to Brainpickings before, but it's a worth a reminder: http://us2.campaign-archive1.com/?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=0506706136&e=7940cd5ca2
I'm also reading a provocative book by Jungian analyst, James Hollis: Hauntings/ "Dispelling the Ghosts Who Run Our Lives."
"...We are all, much of the time, prisoners of history, haunted by the spectral 'instructions' that float up from the past to inform, color, dictate our choices in this new present."
"Sometimes we repress stories and their presence may only be surmised when they leak into our dreams, our bodies, our children, our anesthetizing addictions ...."
Saturday, June 25, 2016
Black and White
I don't believe I've ever seen a better "Depression gauge" than this one by my good friend Nellie, posted on Facebook yesterday. She said I could share it.
(Actually, I've never actually seen ANY depression gauge--but I think she's done a great job of breaking down some of the nasty couriers of depression.)
And today, cross my fingers, I'm in the white zone again!
I also like the Chinese symbol of Yin and Yang--in which a spot of black is in the white, and vice versa. Even the black has moments of white, even the white has moments of black.
(Actually, I've never actually seen ANY depression gauge--but I think she's done a great job of breaking down some of the nasty couriers of depression.)
And today, cross my fingers, I'm in the white zone again!
I also like the Chinese symbol of Yin and Yang--in which a spot of black is in the white, and vice versa. Even the black has moments of white, even the white has moments of black.
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