A Bad Case of the “What Ifs” ~ by Sam

I have a long-standing chronic case of the “What-Ifs.”  Every time I see a new freckle, or dimple, or pucker, lump, or bump I’m thinking, “Oh, God, What If…??”  I can’t help it, there’s a lot of Cancer in my family.  Every time I fall, I wonder if something is broken, because 9 times out of 10, something is.  With a track record like that, you start to get nervous.  Every time I start to cough, and my chest feels rattly, I think, “geez, what if this turns into bronchitis, or pneumonia?”  Because, you guys, I don’t have time for that.  Nobody’s got time for that.  Look, I have asthma, and the chances that my cough is going to turn into something like that are higher than those of a person who doesn’t have asthma, so it’s not just totally crazy for me to think that.  When my kids cough, I think, “What if…??” FOR EXACTLY THE SAME REASONS.  And, like, they’ve already missed roughly three million days of school.  And that was probably just this week. There’s probably a truant officer at my door right freaking now.  I’d answer it, but I’m on hold with Kaiser because the automated system kicked me to the wrong option when I coughed.  It’s not my fault.  I might have pneumonia.

Basically, I’m a mess.  Pretty much always, and I know it.

Recently ~ and by recently, I think I mean since like the beginning of April ~ I have been chronically congested, and my nose has been sore and chapped.  It’s super attractive.  I figured it was probably allergies.  I have allergies.  I have never found a daily allergy medication that works very well.  Usually, at some point, I end up with a sinus infection, which I was dreading, and trying to avoid.  I also have a Eustachian tube malfunction in my left ear, which is not the ear in which I use a hearing aid ~ I hate to call it “my good ear,” because my other ear is just as good, despite being somewhat deaf ~ this means it almost always feels sort of plugged, and like it needs to pop, but it doesn’t pop.  Like, ever.  And this affects my hearing in that ear.  It sounds like everything is underwater, sometimes for hours, sometimes for days.  Anyway, it had felt this way, and I was kind of used to it, but it wasn’t terrible, to be honest.  I haven’t ever had any pain associated with the Eustachian tube thing.  Maybe, sometimes, it feels a little full, like a little pressure, but never pain. Then, last Saturday, as we were driving home from Accepted Student Day at Hallie’s college  ~ OMG!  Did I just say that?!!  My middle child is headed to college in the Fall!!  How crazy is that??!!! *deep breath* I’ll have to post about that later ~ my ear popped, just a tiny bit, but it HURT.  I mean, it really hurt.  I had to grip the steering wheel, and grit my teeth. Then, it continued to hurt through the day, and into the evening.

I figured, maybe that was sort of normal with the Eustachian tube malfunction; but, when I looked it up online, I couldn’t find anything about pain being associated with it. So I did the smart thing, and decided to wait a few days, to see what happened.  You see, by this time, I had decided, probably nothing was wrong, and I was worried for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

But…

WHAT IF…?

What if I had a really bad ear infection, and I didn’t get it checked out, and I permanently lost hearing in my left ear?  What if my eardrum was ruptured?  I mean…On the one hand, I guess, if I thought through both of those scenarios, I’d have to say, “So?”  Like…”So, if either of those conditions already exists, HOW IS NOT CALLING THE DOCTOR GOING TO HELP??”  Also, I do get that, if I were to lose some (or even all) hearing in my left ear, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.  It would just be a change from what I’m used to.  It’s weird that the idea freaked me out so much.  I think, maybe it was the possibility that something (like an infection, or ruptured eardrum) might be very wrong that was most upsetting.  I think, in situations like this, I still have a tendency to go into small-child-survival-mode. Like, maybe if I don’t call, it will go away, and then it will be like it never happened.  That’s how life works.  I’m so good at being a grown up, you guys.  Right?  I’m reminded of the time, when I was 5 years old, and a needle I’d stepped on broke off in my foot.  I just didn’t tell anyone.  That resulted in surgery, so you can see how this plan has worked for me in the past.  It makes sense that I’d stick with it.

Like the needle, this just wasn’t going away.  I couldn’t hear.  It hurt.  People would talk, and I’d ask them to stop yelling.  It was bad.  And you know how when something is wrong with your ear, your balance is off, and you feel sick to your stomach, too?  Yeah.  That, too.

So, I finally bit the bullet and emailed my doctor.  Emailed, because I didn’t even feel like making a phone call.

I got a phone call back from the nurse.  She was a bit taken aback that I had not called, and said that doctor wanted me to come in as soon as possible to be evaluated.  You guys, I was on the phone with this woman asking, “Are you sure?  We can’t possibly do a phone appointment, can we?” and she had to say to me, “No.  The doctor needs to see your ear, dear.”  I know this.  I know all of these things.  I know I needed to call.  I probably needed to call Saturday, let’s be honest.

*sigh*

Well, my ridiculous story has an equally ridiculous, but happy, ending.

I have really bad allergies.  And a Eustachian tube malfunction.  They don’t like each other very much, so they don’t work together well.  There’s no infection.  My eardrum is intact.  I’m trying new daily allergy medications, in hopes one will work.

Everything still sounds like it’s underwater.  And, sometimes, it hurts.  But at least I’m not as worried about it as I was.

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Having a Day ~ by Sam

You ever one of those days? You know the ones.  When you thought you were just having a moment, but then, you looked up, and it was, like, 4 or 5 hours later, and you’re STILL having the same moment, so you really had to admit to yourself, you were having A DAY.

I don’t mean in the sense that, say, you and one of your very best friends have chosen your absolute favourite thing to do, and said to one another, with great enthusiasm (in cartoonish unison, for maximum effect): “Let’s make a day of it!”  That actually sounds like fun.  I would love to have that kind of day.

I mean, you know, having a day. 

Like, when nothing in particular is wrong, but, it’s just…look…maybe you just really don’t like eggs.  You don’t, okay?  And so, you know what?  Screw eggs, and why are they one of the, like, 19 foods you can eat without feeling terrible?  And of those 19 foods, why are there only roughly 4 proteins ~ and why did one of them have to be eggs?!  The truth is, you never liked eggs; and now you have to eat them all the time, and you’ll be damned if it’s not making you feel a little better, which is particularly frustrating.

Then, you know what else…if you’re gonna hate eggs, maybe you don’t like walking all that much, either.  You were a runner, for crying out loud, and walking is not running.  It’s really not very fun, even on a good day, and maybe your foot hurts; or maybe walking is just slow, and kind of boring, to be honest.  Maybe you just walked a little bit farther than you intended, and now you have to walk back home, and, frankly, you’re just not enjoying it.

By now, you’ve probably made it to the evening.  Perhaps, you think it might be a good idea to try to unwind with a little yoga, but there are things you have to do first: things like laundry and dishes, and other chores, which ~ let’s be honest ~ nobody likes doing when they’re already feeling grumpy.  (Well, I don’t know.  Maybe somebody does, but it’s not me.)  Then there’s PT, and then, finally, you can probably do some yoga and try to relax.

But you probably won’t enjoy it.   Because it’s the same day, and you’re still having a day.

Yeah.

It’s one of those days when, for no particular reason, you just wanna stick out your tongue at the whole world.

And you didn’t even win the lottery.  Again.

Luckily, I get to try again tomorrow.  I mean, not to win the lottery.  Just, you know, with the whole day thing.

But I think I’ll skip the eggs, just for a day or two.

 

Food & Stuff ~ by Sam

(in which I swear once, which is not a lot, since I am talking about food & stuff)

Alas, it was not meant to be.

I really thought Marian might pull through, until I awoke one day to find nothing but two bare stalks.  I think, this time, she truly is a goner.  I am so sad.  The next time I was at the nursery, I asked what I might be doing wrong for my maidenhair ferns, and was assured that I have done exactly what I should.  It seems my home just might not be the best environment for them, for whatever reason. It was suggested that I try a different, heartier variety of fern.  We selected this lovely sliver lace fern, which i promised to not to name, just in case…then promptly name Mathilda as I was pulling out of the parking lot.  Apparently, all of my plants will be named after literary characters.
Mathilda

I am going to try to refrain from buying (or killing) any more houseplants for some time.  Instead, I will work on trying to keep alive the ones I have.

In the interest of posting about something other than houseplants ~ ‘though I do love them ~ I thought I would share some of the meals I’ve been eating.  Because no one ever does that on the internet.  It’s a totally revolutionary idea.

I know.  Like, half of you ~ more than half of you ~ already walked away.  That’s okay.  The rest of us are still here, and we like each other just fine, thank you very much.

But food. Well, you know, food and I have a storied history.  I loved food when I was a kid.  I loved some foods other people might find really weird.  I ate stuff like butcher bologna and fried brains (no, really, y’all ~ I tell my kids I’m actually part zombie, as a result of this culinary adventure), and slim jims, and those hot sausages that came in wrappers like slim jims.  I still love red beet eggs,  and my mom’s ziti and shoofly pie ~ all of which I am pretty sure I am not supposed to eat, and that is a travesty, by the way.  I ate crabs and scallops and lobster and shrimp, and clam chowder.  I mean, I grew up in Maryland.  We ate seafood.  It’s kind of a thing.

Now…well…

First, I had an eating disorder.  When you have an eating disorder, you don’t hate food.  I think that’s a common misconception.  Maybe it’s more of a love/hate relationship.  I became positively obsessed with food.  I knew everything about it.  I was obsessed with what nutritional value of everything, how many calories it had, what was the fat content, sugar content, serving size… Not that any of it mattered.  I wasn’t actually eating much of it.  I did love to cook it.  For other people.  And watch them eat it.

Then, I became (and have remained) vegetarian.  That’s working out okay for me.  I mean, y’all can have your brains.  I have to say, I am pretty much over that.  I was vegan for about 8 years, and I felt pretty good at the time, but I’ll admit, it was difficult, especially when I got pregnant with my first child.  That’s about the time I decided to start eating cheese again.  I really like cheese.

Which totally doesn’t matter.  Cheese hates me.  With a passion.  It turns out, I am allergic to milk protein.  So, some years (yes, it took years ~ many, painful years), and many health problems later, I gave up all dairy products.  I miss cheese so much it hurts ~ but you know, not as much as that feeling in my throat when I ingest it, so this is really much better.  (I’m also now allergic to shellfish, which I had already given up eating, for what it’s worth, which doesn’t impact my diet, but is a weird side note considering that I ate it as a kid, I guess.)

Also, (and, well, really, I should have thrown this part in a while ago, because it originally reared its ugly head in high school), I have IBS.  That’s Irritable Bowel Syndrome, in case you didn’t know, and, as is evidenced by the name, it is just a festival of fun times, as I am sure you can imagine.  I won’t go into detail.  I mean, it involves your bowels, being irritable.  You can figure out what that means.  Or, you know, google it, if you want to, but I really can’t imagine why you would want to do that.

So, here I was going along, doing my thing, trying to be healthy ~ and I was really making a concerted effort, too, because I had some long-standing terrible habits to break.  Habits like not eating breakfast.  Forgetting meals altogether.  Eating chocolate for a quick burst of energy to get me through to the next meal, and then not taking time for the next meal.  Eating things like the crusts of kids’ pizza, the ends of their poptarts, and the few green beans that were left in the pan, and thinking, “That was probably a meal, right?”  Drinking a frappuccino instead of lunch.

I figured this was bad for me, bad for my body, and a terrible example for my kids, and I decided to do something about it.  I started doing things like eating more vegetables and fruits.  I love roasting vegetables ~ broccoli, asparagus, brussels sprouts, cabbage ~ especially with lots of fresh garlic, balsamic vinegar and olive oil.  I love artichokes.  I don’t like fruit, but berries are good for you.  I ate berries, even though I don’t like them.  I actually like pears, and some kinds of apples, and I can eat about half of a banana, sometimes, but only half.  I was trying with the fruit.  I started drinking coconut water. You hear so much about how good for you it is.  Man, I really bought that.  I used coconut milk in my coffee drinks, instead of soy, because I know too much soy is bad for you, and I already use some soy.  I was eating whole grains.  Oh, and beans.  I was trying to make sure to get enough protein, but from a variety of sources ~ nuts and nut butters, seiten, quinoa, seeds, tofu and tempeh, some commercially available meat substitutes, and beans.  I love beans.

For some reason, my digestive issues got worse.  At first, I thought, maybe it was just that I was eating meals that were too large, so I started eating smaller, more frequent meals. Then, I thought maybe it was just that was still getting used to eating well ~ maybe my body was adjusting to digesting all those fruits and vegetables and stuff.  Maybe it was too much of a transition all at once.  I even thought maybe it was a medication side effect…or maybe it was a symptom of something else.

The truth was much simpler: my IBS was completely out of control.

So, after one doctor’s visit led to another doctor’s visit, which led to some labwork, and a referral to a gastroenterologist (and more labwork ~ with more to come), I find myself on a very restrictive diet.  I am currently on a gluten-free low FODMAP diet, and it is the most restrictive diet I have ever had.  I am forced to be obsessed with food again, which is a little bit scary, to be honest, and I have to be careful not to fall back in to old patterns.  I think the key, in that regard, is to keep eating the food.  That, and the fact that the goal this time is to keep the food in my body and maybe actually gain some weight, which is really weird for me.  But it must all look frighteningly familiar to people who  have known me through all of this, and it must be worrisome for them, too, because here I am, again, very thin (due to medication) and obsessing about food.  My understanding is that at least some of this could be temporary, and then we can start trying to figure out what foods, specifically cause problems for me.  For now…

Ah, well, it is what it is.

If you are interested, you can look up the low FODMAP diet. For me, it’s basically like this: Make a list of all of your favourite foods. Write: “DON’T EAT THESE” at the top. Now, start eating eggs again.  What?  You don’t like eggs?  Fuck you.  Eat them anyway.  You don’t eat meat, and there are only like 4 other protein sources on this list that you’re allowed to eat.  Eat the freaking eggs.

If you have IBS, or another digestive disorder, you might want to talk to your doctor about whether or not this plan might be helpful to you.  I know, I just made it sound super appealing.  (sorry.)

Here, to entice you are some pictures of things I have been allowed to eat, to prove that it is not actually terrible:
IMG_5274
Vegetable curry w/ quinoa

IMG_5304
Maple walnut oatmeal with bananas & cinnamon

IMG_5302
Baked potato topped w/ veggie chili and avocado

IMG_5336
Egg salad, avocado, red pepper & olives

So, maybe I make it all sound very dire, but I am eating a lot of beautiful, delicious foods.  Most importantly, I seem to be getting it right, most of the time.  Eating out is still difficult, because it’s a bit of a craps shoot.  You know, you order the potatoes, and hope they aren’t seasoned with anything your gut’s gonna hate.

Feeding the whole family is a challenge, because my needs often require a little more creative meal-planning ~ and it does get a little bit redundant, sometimes.  I’ve hit on some recipes I can make that we all like, and, at the very least, I can often make a meal from which I can easily adapt something for myself.  If not, I usually have leftovers in the fridge, because I tend to cook for more than one meal at a time, anticipating that need.  I am still learning, but I’m getting there.

In the end, if I feel better, am able to keep the foods I eat in my system long enough to actually process the nutrients my body needs from them, and do important things like socialize with other humans, take my medication and, you know, absorb it so that it actually works, I think that’s a vast improvement.  You know, when things like that start working, the hope is that I will be able to do more of the things I want to be doing.

I would say things are looking up.

Today, for instance, I was able to get up and go with Shane to help sort Girl Scout cookie orders at the warehouse, and bring back all of the cookies Kaia intends to sell this season.  I loaded and unloaded cars, grabbed a coffee, came home and practiced banjo, cooked dinner, sat down and wrote this very long blog entry.  Now I intend to clean up a bit, and try to get my PT done before bed.  It might not sound like a lot, but I think it’s not bad for a Saturday with chronic pain and a digestive disorder.  I mean, let’s be honest: there are still a lot of days when I just want to pull the covers back over my head as soon as I wake up, but, you know, I have a Girl Scout, and those cookies aren’t gonna drive themselves home.  My banjo’s not gonna play itself.  I mean, come on ~ I’ve got stuff to do.

cookies

 

A Good Egg ~ by Sam

I keep trying to convince myself that I like eggs, because they are approved for my diet. The thing is, I don’t; and, to be honest, I am not convinced they like me. They are high in protein ~ although the reasons for this freak me out somewhat, and I am probably a wannabe vegan, having been one for about 8 years in my youth ~ and the rest of my diet is so limited that I feel I really should give it the old “college try” (but not “college,” really, because some of college would account for part of my vegan years).
 
Anyway.
 
I’m trying. To like eggs. I like egg salad, but I am very particular about it, I have to be in the mood for it, and it probably has to be my egg salad, in just the right amount, and probably on toast, maybe with a tiny bit of lettuce. Usually. The other day, I scrambled a single egg with all of the vegetables I could find that I could possibly eat, and some fresh herbs. I added salt, pepper & nutritional yeast, then put on the lid and let it sort of steam a little at the end. It took on an almost soufflé-like texture. The only reason I could tell there was egg involved was because it stuck together. That was okay.
 
Today, I cooked diced potatoes, carrots, and Beyond Meat grilled chicken strips in a skillet. Then, I cooled them and mixed in finely diced egg and all of the ingredients I would to make a curried chicken salad (except that I didn’t have any chutney, which I am not sure I could have anyway, which would be tragic, so let’s not think about that). So, it’s basically like egg, potato & (vegetarian) chicken salad all rolled into one ~ and seasoned with curry.
 
I scooped some in to half of an avocado, and put away the rest to have tomorrow. I think the potato, chicken strips, carrots, curry and dressing did a fine job of disguising the flavour of the eggs. I will eat the rest tomorrow. I am pretty sure the combination of egg and chicken strips must be fairly high in protein.
 
I am still not convinced I like eggs.
The jury is out on how they feel about me.

Out With the Old…

I am not going to pull any punches, 2017 was a tough one.

I know, at the end of a year, we are supposed to stop and count our blessings, and, as always, our year has been filled with those; but I would be lying if I sat down and wrote a post about how great the year has been, and pretended it hadn’t been hard.  It’s been a hard year, in a lot of ways, for a lot of people I know.

I am not talking about politics.  I know that the social and political climate has been difficult for a lot of people to navigate, and that has put real strain on familial relationships and friendships.  I know there has been a great deal of social upheaval, and stress, and anxiety, and real life consequences as a result of what is happening in the political arena, because those things impact us all every day.  I don’t want to discount that, or for anyone to think that I am not taking those issues into account ~ they are part of the reason this year has been difficult for a lot of people.  In fact, for some people, that is the primary reason this year has been so difficult; because, for some people, those issues directly impact their daily lives so profoundly that they can’t help but think about them every single day.  So it’s hard for me to come here and say, “but that’s not what I’m talking about.”  Perhaps what I meant to say was, “That’s not all I’m talking about.” I would be remiss not to mention it at all.

There were deaths in families, and deaths of long-admired celebrities, as there always are.

Here, in California, we recently had the fires, and so they are fresh in my mind, but all over there the world, there has been disaster, and violence, and so much suffering, anguish, and frustration.  It’s difficult to even know what to say.  Some days, it felt like the world had gone mad.  It was hard to want to read the news ~ there was a genuine fear there.  What else could possibly have happened?  

On a very personal level, it’s been a difficult year for me, in regard to my health.  If I were to say, “I don’t talk about my health much,” you would probably think I’m being ridiculous.  It seems I talk about my health all the time.  But, really, I don’t.  Or, perhaps, I do more than most people, but there’s a lot I keep to myself.  So, when the CRPS started flaring up, I didn’t mention it, because, frankly, I feel like all I ever do is complain about my health issues, and, quite frankly, people must be tired of listening.  Nevertheless, it did start flaring up.  I figured it was probably because I had slacked off on my exercise routine.  I wasn’t doing my PT every day, and I wasn’t walking as much as I should.  Oh, and also because I had cut the dosage of my daily medication down just slightly because, in combination with the other medication I take daily ~ for that other issue that I am still reticent to discuss, because I STILL don’t have a diagnosis, so I feel weird about actually saying much about it ~ it was making me VERY SLEEPY; but only at night, after I took it, and upon waking, but this matters, when you have school-aged teenagers, who might still need your help, sometimes…and they do, sometimes, and I am their mom, so I want to help. (Do I win an award for that run-on sentence?  I think it was fairly spectacular, ‘though I am not convinced it was actually a sentence.)  So, I decided, first, to try doing all of the Right Things.  I exercised.  I took my medication.  The CRPS kept flaring.

I did the logical thing.  I kept going to my class taking kids to school, doing chores, attending performances, meetings, shopping, driving all over town, picking up, dropping off, running errands… You know, all of the usual “mama” stuff.  I kept tie-dyeing things, and playing my banjo when I had time, but it kept feeling like I had less and less time.  Everything felt like it took so much longer.  You know, because it did.

While all of this was happening, other things were happening, too.  I wasn’t the only one having a hard time.  Other people I knew were having hard times, too; and, while I am not at liberty to share other people’s hard times, you know, when people you care about are having hard times, you want to help, and you probably try to, and I hope that I did.  I think, at least, I tried.  I keep trying, and I will keep trying.  I feel like, a lot of times, I fall flat on my face, or my back.  Sometimes, I feel like I started there, and, if we are both there, maybe we can just lie there, hold hands, look at the stars, and know that, whatever is going on right now, it will all be better someday.  It will.  I promise.  It always is.

Also, while all of this was going on, I was having increasingly terrible digestive issues.  I’m not going into detail, because nobody wants that (and also because I don’t have all of the answers yet), but, basically, it breaks down like this:  I was diagnosed years ago with IBS.  I hadn’t had a lot of symptoms for a very long time.  Then, in recent years, I started having trouble again.  This year has been the absolute worst.  (This is NOT the undiagnosed issue I’m not talking about.  That’s still something else.  Sorry to keep being cryptic about that.  If you know me, I’ll probably talk to you about that ~ I just feel weird putting stuff down in writing and out on the internet about that one.)  So, I saw a gastroenterologist who has put me on a low FODMAP, gluten-free diet.  I was skeptical, but cautiously optimistic.  I have to tell you, after two weeks on the new plan, not only are my digestive problems virtually a thing of the past ~ as long as I stick to the plan, which is very restrictive, and difficult to stick to when I am away from home, and can’t cook my own food ~ but, now that my digestive issues are under control, the medication I am taking for that other (cryptic) issue seems to be working well again, because my body is actually able to absorb and process it.  I still need to return for a couple of tests to make sure we aren’t missing anything, but the good news is, things are much better.

So…back to the CRPS:

While I was busy getting everything else under control, it was still flaring out of control. To the point that I was having difficulty getting around to complete simple tasks like a trip to the grocery store.  Pain was interfering with my ability to concentrate, focus, sleep, eat, remember things.  It was bad.  Worse than it had been in a long time.  I contacted my neurologist and my pain management doctor ~ to see if there was any way we could change either medication, since, in combination, they made me SO SLEEPY.  To make a long story short (and remain as cryptic as possible), neurologist said something like, “This medication is controlling your symptoms, so NO.  We won’t be changing that.”  Upon reviewing that situation, we all agreed, this was a good plan.  After an examination, my pain management doctor determined that the CRPS was not just flaring up, it was progressing.

As you can imagine, this is not the news I was hoping to hear.  He scheduled me for a lumbar sympathetic nerve block, as soon as possible, in hopes that I would get some pain relief, and that we might stop any further progress.  That would be December 21st, and I would need to rest for several days after the procedure.  Perfect timing.  I hadn’t been able to accomplish much shopping, due to pain, and now, I had to be completely done by the 20th, so I could rest until Christmas Eve.

But, there was nothing else we could do, and just that little glimmer of hope that, maybe, we could stop it from progressing…or, at the very least, get a little bit of relief.  So, I agreed.

It’s been 10 days since I had the nerve block.

I think I must be in that “might get worse before it gets better” phase.  This hasn’t happened to me before, but I am trying to be optimistic.  They say you might not know until at least two weeks after how effective it will be.  So, I am waiting.

During all of this, there was this whole swirl of life events going on around us, and, quite frankly, I couldn’t keep up.  I tried.  I tried to attend to events I could attend.  I went to the performances and parties, I smiled, I chatted, I tried to make small talk, but, you guys, I am an open book.  I’m not good at this.  I am a terrible liar.  I don’t just wear my heart on my sleeve; it’s stamped all over my face.  Which is weird, because I’m an actor, right; or, well, maybe I was, many years ago.  But I think that’s different.  I like to think, in my real life, I’m not assuming a character when I interact with people for whom I actually care; and so, it’s different.  In real life, I am an open book.  If I am upset, or angry, or tired, or sick, or sad, or anxious, or lonely, or in pain, the whole world will know just by looking at me.  I thinkI have been every one of those things this year.  I suppose we all have, at some point, every year.

Some great things happened this year, and others are still in the process of happening.  Justice finished her Child Development certificate, and CPR and first aid training, and was accepted to the Music Performance program at her college.  Hallie is a Senior in high school this year, and is busy earning A’s in classes like AP lit and Digital Imaging (things I couldn’t even grasp in high school ~ and let’s review the fact that I didn’t make it through Senior year of high school, so kudos to kids who do), and looking into art schools for after graduation.  Kaia finished middle school and moved on to high school where she is participating in and loving Marching Band. She finished her Computer Science class early, and was allowed to move on to the AP course in independent study.   I took my first ever ASL (American Sign Language) class, and finished with an 87%, which is a B, but a high B, so I’m cool with that.  I probably can’t take another class just yet, but I will keep practicing what I have learned, so I don’t get too rusty before I can continue.  I do plan to continue.  Shane has worked on so many projects that I just can’t name them all ~ and I probably shouldn’t here ~ but I can say that he was recently able to purchase a used 1999 Jeep Cherokee 4×4 that appears to be in very good condition (fingers crossed).  I bought him a repair manual, so he can maintain it.  It’s a vehicle he’s wanted for a long time, and it means that, with Justice’s busy schedule, and with us on the brink of having a 4th driving in the household, we finally have a 3rd car.  I think it should make think easier for everyone.

There have been weddings, and engagements.  There have been children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, grandnieces, grandnephews ~ oh, heavens!  Not all mine!  I just mean, in the world, there have been these things. In lives of my friends and family members, I have watched them unfold.

So, as I look forward ~ ever forward, never back…well, occasionally, wistfully, back, but never, ever with regret ~ it is with the very highest of hopes.

Here’s to 2017, and all of it’s challenges. Here’s to the tears we’ve wept, and the losses we’ve suffered.  Here’s to the lessons learned, and to every victory, every happy memory, every blessing and every joy this year has brought with it, as well.  For some, this might have been the best year yet.  For some of you, this was the year you were married, or the year your child was born, the year you finally bought your first home, or brought home the pet that filled that hole in your heart and made your life complete.  So here’s to 2017, for everything it’s been to every one of us.

2018, we see you on the horizon, and we have pinned our hopes on you.

We’ll see you soon.

 

 

All That Glitters ~ by Sam

IMG_4854This morning, while Shane took George the cat to the vet, and found out that he is, most likely, allergic to plastic, making him even more perfectly suited to our family, with all of our allergies and specific dietary needs, I decided to take a long-awaited bath.

I mean, well, that is to say…

I had bathed recently, for heaven’s sake.  I just hadn’t, like, soaked in a hot bath.  After the recent nerve block, I was told I had to wait for a couple of days ~ or maybe it was only one day, and then time got away from me, because it was the Holidays, and I would say I was busy, but, actually, I was lying around doing next to nothing, because I had recently had a nerve block, and was under doctor’s orders to lie around and do next to nothing for a few days…but THEN it was actually Christmas, and I was actually busy, SO, as I said: I had bathed, as in had a shower, but I hadn’t taken the time to relax and soak in a bath.  It’s a completely different thing.  This morning, I decided to run a bath, and relax, for just a little while, before driving Shane to work.

We only have one bathtub, in the kids’ bathroom, and I happened to notice, before I ran the water, that there was some glittery residue left from a silver bath bomb Kaia had used the last time she’d bathed.  It looked like the tub had been rinsed, but there was just some glitter left behind.  So, I gave it a quick once over, rinsed it again, and ran my bath.

I’ll tell you, that glitter is tenacious.

To my surprise, floating atop the water, was a fine glittery film.  Now, I suppose I could have emptied the bath and started again, but I’ll be honest: by this time, I had already cleaned the tub once, Shane was already at the vet, so I was running short on time and already starting to feel a little less relaxed, and I kind of like glitter.  For those of your worried about how sanitary this might be, I will say this once.  I was in a bathtub with hot water, literally washing the glitter.  It’s all going to be okay.  I promise.  Also, if you are uncomfortable with me and my glittery bathtub, that’s totally okay, and you can leave.  I promise we can still be friends.  Or not.  Or, I mean, if we weren’t ever friends, that’s okay, too.  I mean, sorry.  I’m not trying to be mean.  I mean, it’s all okay.  Me, my glitter.  You, your uncomfortable feelings about my bathtub glitter.

You know what?  I’m just going back to my story now.  You can work out your own issues.  I’m sorry.  I tried.

Okay.  SO.  I got in the bathtub, with the glitter, because, honestly, I was too tired to start over, I really needed a bath, and I just wasn’t going to get one any other way.  And besides, it’s glitter.

I slipped into the bath.  I figured, what’s the worst that could happen?  I was right.    Nothing bad happened. I just…took a bath.  I came out a little bit glittery.  Sparkly, you might say…or “farkly,” a little girl I knew would have said, many, many years ago, when she was very, very small.

Then, I cleaned the tub again.

Thinking it was funny, I told Kaia about my glittery bath, and sure enough, she apologized, saying she, too, thought she had washed away all of the glitter.  Glitter is like that.  You never really get rid of it.  Tenacious, I tell you.  I think there’s still glitter around my house from projects the kids did in preschool.  I don’t mind.  Glitter always makes me smile.  I told her so.

I think there’s something in the tenacity of glitter that touches me.  Something in its ability to reach back to the recesses of my mind, where memories aren’t always so forthcoming, and find them.  Something about its ability to elicit a smile, something about that tiny twinkle of uplifting light.  That sparkle.  As I said, it’s tenacious.  Some of our glitter came home from preschool on art projects and survived, like, 8 moves.  We’re still finding it in our pillowcases, even though the kids are practically all grown.

Good grief.  Are they really?

They are.

At least they are still leaving glittery rings in the tub.  For now.

Later, I happened to sit down at my computer to check my email, read a little news, check my messages…and that’s when I saw…it was a reminder that popped up as a Facebook “memory” from a year ago today.  If you use Facebook, you’ll know that they do this thing, where they remind you of posts you made on this day a year ago, 3 years ago, 5 years ago, etc.  This particular memory happened to be of a post I made on this day one year ago today with a link to an article about Carrie Fisher’s death, and I thought, Well, then.  How appropriate that we should find ourselves accidentally covered in glitter on this of all days.  

I said something to that effect to the kids, and wondered aloud why it was that people started #GlitterforCarrie in the first place, and we decided to look it up.  Do you know?  If you don’t, you should.  We did.  Look up why people wear glitter for Carrie Fisher.  There are some great stories, and I won’t bother retelling them here, because they aren’t mine to tell, and they are already all over the internet, anyway.

This is my little story.

I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you find ways to make your world sparkle.

What’s in a Name? ~ by…someone

“What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title.”

So says Juliet, upon discovering her true love’s despised moniker, and perhaps it rings true.  After all, it is our character that truly defines us.  Isn’t it?  We could be called practically anything, but it is our actions ~ how we choose to conduct ourselves ~ that really matters.

Why then would I find myself hopelessly bereft over the notion that I might be in danger of forever losing my name?

This occurred to me earlier this week, on the heels of yet another call from yet another healthcare provider calling me “Kathryn.”  Only doctors, police, the DMV and IRS call me Kathryn.  Well, and my dad, who calls me by my full name, sometimes, and that’s okay, because he’s my dad.  I have never been Kathryn.  Aside from the first day they called role and I corrected them, even teachers didn’t call me Kathryn.  I was Kay when I was little, then Katie, and, ultimately, Kate.  Everyone back home called me Kate, up until I started college.  Except my dad. His nickname for me (when he wasn’t calling me by my full name) was Sam.  But then, being an adolescent girl, I got, well, you know, adolescent, I guess, I demanded he stop calling me that, because it was NOT MY NAME!

And so, he did.

But then, I felt kind of rotten about it.

So, I told him that, when I grew up to be a famous author, I would use it as my pen name.

Obviously, you can see the odds of me being a famous author are quite high.  Did you note the wry wit?  The affable charm?  The effortless prose?  It’s inevitable.

Then, I went on my merry way, being a Katie, and then a Kate.

I did all kinds of things.  Strange, awkward things, really, because I was, not surprisingly,  as strange and awkward a teenager and young adult as I am a full-grown human.  Also not surprisingly, I have not yet become a famous author.

What did happen was I went to school.  Well, everyone goes to school, I suppose.  Well, not everyone; but most everyone in the U.S. who falls above a certain tax bracket, anyway, after a certain point in history (after which I was most definitely born) has some kind of education, and so, I did go to school.  I even almost finished high school.  Wow.  What I meant was I went to college.  Junior college first, and, in fact, I liked it so well, I went for a very long time.  It’s either that, or I wasn’t very good at it, and I had to spend a lot of time working out the kinks.  Whatever the case may be, during my seven illustrious years in junior college, I pursued acting.  I did quite a lot of acting at school, and even outside of school.  Since, during that time, I found I wasn’t getting any closer to becoming a famous author, but I was acting quite a lot, I decided to use Sam as my stage name.

The thing is, when you do a lot of theatre, it tends to lead to more theatre, which leads to more theatre, which leads to more theatre…and, well, pretty soon, most of the people you know are people you met doing ~ guess what ~ theatre!  So, pretty soon, I had a lot of new friends, all of whom were calling me “Sam.”  I was having a grand time, making friends, doing shows, going to parties, trying to remember to do my homework because ~ whoops! ~ that’s what I went to college for!  It really was great fun. Some of the best years of my life, to be sure.  I made some of the best friends I have ever had during those years, and I have even managed to keep in touch with some of them.  I learned so much.  I landed an incredibly important (to me and my future) job that ended up shaping my career, completely changing the path I thought I wanted to take in life and helping me find the direction I had lacked.  There were so many great things I accomplished as Sam.

But it was always great to go home to where the people who had known me and loved me since I was a little girl still called me Kate, because, somewhere in there ~ strikes breast ~ I will always still be Kate, too.  You see, I like Kate, and I never meant to lose her entirely.

When I transferred to Arizona State University to pursue my Bachelor’s Degree in Theatre Education, I got a job at a childcare center to help pay rent and bills.  I used the name Kate at work, and Sam with friends.  When we moved to California, I initially used Kate when I was teaching and at places like the children’s school and our church, and   Sam friends, but I found, as the children got older, it got confusing.  It probably wasn’t confusing for the kids yet, but it was confusing for me, and for others around us, and I worried it would be confusing for them.  What would happen when someone asked, “What’s your mom’s name?” and they gave a different answer than the name by which that person knew me, or the name they had on record?  It was too much to expect a kid to remember.  It was too much to expect me to remember.  Now, what name did I tell THESE people?  And so, gradually, I just became Sam.

Looking back, now, I don’t know why I became Sam, and not Kate.  At the time, perhaps, it felt comfortable, because I was used to it.  It hadn’t been long since my college days.  Maybe I longed for the days of rehearsals and greenroom chatter and late nights at Denny’s.  Maybe I just wanted to be different, because I was still young, and kind of ornery.

But now…

Well, now…

Now, I think, with the advent of social media, we don’t talk on the telephone as much as we used to.  So I don’t hear the voices of my family and friends back home as often as I once did.  They don’t hear mine, either, because I don’t call, and I should.  I mean, I think I should.  They might be reading this and thinking, “Oh, dear God ~ now she’s going to call me!”  I like hearing people’s voices.  Unfortunately, I think our lives have all evolved in ways that don’t allow for telephone conversations often.  I fear…or, no, not fear, exactly, but suspect…I strongly suspect we are all now hardwired in to social media communication, which is a wonderful convenience, and I am thrilled to have it, but I do miss the voices.  I miss hearing them say my name.  It’s old-fashioned, I know, and, perhaps, a little bit self-centered.  I can accept that.  I have lived a very other-centered life as a wife, mother and teacher, so, on this point, I can be the tiniest bit self-centered. I think it’s been a little bit too long since my last trip back to Maryland, and I want to hear people say my name the way they have said it since I was a little girl.  People like my mom, my siblings, my cousins, my childhood best friends.

Then, of course, there are the ones that will never say it again: Grandma and Grandpa, Aunt Fran, Uncle Frank, Aunt Dody, Uncle Jack, Uncle Jim, Uncle Joe, Aunt Eleanor, Aunt Kay, Uncle Tony, Aunt Dee…  I haven’t even named them all.  I could never name them all.  It’s too hard.  I feel bad.  I keep thinking of people I need to go back and add. Geez.  That’s a lot of people.  And it’s probably still not everyone. What do you do about them?  I can still hear them, clear as a bell, in my mind, so, sometimes, that’s what I do.  I just close my eyes and listen.

What occurred to me recently, I think, is this notion that I am losing my name.  That, if I don’t hear it ~ if fewer and fewer people are calling me Kate, and no one out here in California calls me Kate ~ I will just gradually stop being Kate.  I felt like Alice, walking through the forest with my arms looped lazily around a fawn, both of us blissfully unaware of who we are, because we’ve lost our names.  As if somehow I will simply cease to be Kate altogether, when I know well and good that all the Samming in the world couldn’t un-Kate me.  I mean, let’s face it: once a Kate, always a Kate.  Am I right?

In the end, I might have to take exception with Juliet’s opinion on names.  While I don’t think our names necessarily define us, I have to admit, there is something decidedly “Kate” about me, and there always has been.  After much consideration, I am not ready to completely divest myself of my Kateness.  I suspect, like Shakespeare’s Kate, I have and will be called “plain Kate, and bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst,” and I can live with that.

I’m not asking any of you to change anything.  If you call me Sam, continue to call me Sam.  If you call me Kate, call me Kate.

And, you know, if either of us ever has a minute, we should probably call each other.