Sister

Before I begin my real blog post, I want to give the reasons for being absent so long

1.  I started this blog in an attempt to justify my existence when I thought my private practice was tanking.  Every time I figure its a forgone conclusion, I get a referral so I get busy

2.  I hate typing and Dragon is not as fabulous as I thought.  I'll dictate "under no circumstance"  but I will get "udder know surgum stasis" and I'll just have to fix it anyway

3.  I always think of something else (usually play a game or go shopping) that I would rather do

There are more reasons, but they sound whiney and irritating when I think of them, so I'll spare you

Here's the reason I'm back today

I missed sister day on Facebook and I wanted to make up for it.  I actually think my sister deserves better than a blurb in my status.  The relationship I have with my sister is glorious and complex and complicated and wonderful.  It, too, deserves more than a FB post.

I know I have written about my sister before so you are probably aware that she is an actor and an acting teacher.  She is also one of the most beautiful people you will ever meet in real life. She is intelligent, funny, kind, and did I say beautiful?  Sheknows how to challenge and motivate students in classes at her private studio and with her high school students. She creates and produces shows with limited budgets and resources.  In other words, she is the whole package..pretty close to perfect.

she was pretty gorgeous even as a as a baby

My very first memory ever was of my sister. I thought we were playing hide and seek, but apparently she had taken a potty break.  When I found her "hiding" on the toilet, she let me know we were no longer playing by reaching out with her foot and slamming my finger in the door, severing the tip of my middle finger and prompting a trip to the emergency room where my finger tip was sewn back on just a little crooked.  Any future dreams of becoming a hand model were thwarted. 

  

Most of my earliest memories revolve around my sister. 

I remember an Easter egg hunt when I followed her around looking exactly where she looked for hidden eggs.  She missed one or two, but needless to say her egg count was much higher than mine.  That was a pretty good harbinger of things to come.

Being in Beth's shadow was just inevitable.  Once were were going to Six Flags or some place like that and the person in the ticket booth told Beth she was the prettiest little girl she'd seen all day.  I'm sure my parents said something about both of their girls being beautiful, but the message was clear.  Beth was the pretty one.

I didn't have any animosity about her  beautifulness then  It was just so obvious to me that she deserved that title.  She had a heart-shaped pixie face, and her eyes were huge.  My hair was stick straight and my head was shaped like Charlie Brown  I had curly hair only after sitting through being given a torturous, stinky permenant by my grandma. Thankfully, I don't have any pics of that particular frizzy hair don't that probably just pointed out my perceived homeliness.   

But, being beautiful was only one thing that made Beth so intimidating and wonderful as the same time.  She was the best playmate, coming up with the most creative and imaginative games, mostly involving acting and putting on shows.  She was also my biggest defender.  Don't get me wrong, she could be as cutting and cruel as any other big sister in the world, but when someone was picking on me she would put a stop to it.  She even defended my when I was just being a brat.

We had a backyard swing set.  One day when we were playing, some neighbor kids came over and tried to use the swing.  I don't know what was bugging me but somehow, it just didn't sit well with me and a had a screaming crying tantrum to get those bewildered kids of my damn swings.  I was sitting on the swing pouting as I listened to my sister tell those kids a very made-up story of those swings being given to me by some dead aunt or something.  I don't remember the exact story, but I do remember being very impressed with her ability to come up with and deliver such a convincing lie in order to save my reputation from being the neighborhood brat.

I could go on and on ad nauseum about grade school, high school and present day squabbles and rivalries and ultimately loving and fabulous memories.  I may write more of those stories later, vut for now, I want to just tell you this about my sister.

She is better than me in every way and I begrudge her none of it.  She is more beautiful, smarted, thinner, more talented and accomplished.  But I have one thing on her.  My hair color is still natural, and she has to dye hers to cover the gray!  Thanks for being my best friend!

Yesterday was a good day.  One thing actually happened, and the other was a good discovery

I want to make oyster stew on New Year's day.  It's supposed to  be good luck, but I just want it because it's yummy. ( Milk, cream, oysters;  how could it not be good!?).  So Eli and I went to a new (to me ) grocery store that has oysters and duck (I also want to make duck l'orange.  Duck breast is one of the main reason I still eat poultry!)

I am not naming the store because I want to keep my semi-guilty feelings to myself.  If you know the store, you may feel like reporting me or something, even though I didn't do anything illegal.

The butcher shop also has seafood.  It is not self service.  The poor girl waiting on customers did not have any help which is probably why the good luck thing occurred.  Oyster stew call for 2 dozen oyster (my recipe does, anyway).  They only had un-shucked  blue point oysters at $1.29 each. Yikes! 30 bucks! Oh well, it's once a year.  First the butcher/seafood lady told me she didn't think they had any oysters even though I was looking as them in the display window. After I pointed them out, she put 24 of them in the bag and put the price on them

We also got a big old duck which was 6 pounds at 3 dollars a pound.  This was turning into an expensive experience, but, again, it'sonece a year.  We got a few other things, but couldn't find shallots.  Someone will have to make a trip to Trader Joes (that not where we were, btw)

When we went to check out, the man in front of us actually was buying shallots.  Maybe he got the last two in the store.  I wasn't really paying attention to the clerk as  he ran everything through, but when he got to the oyster, he said "This say $1.29.  That can't be right."  I said, "Yes that was the price, and I got 24."  He said, "Okay, that's what is says."  I thought he was commenting on the high cost of making oyster stew, but when he gave me the total for the entire order ,  he said "Your total is $24.75."   He had rung up the entire bag of 24 oyster as $1.29.  For 24 oysters. I paid the bill and calmly walked to the exit.  Eli started to say something about the cost being awfully low, but I told him to shut up and keep walking.

So that is why I feel guilty about my good fortune...but not guilty enough to go back and fix their mistake.  I am just thinking that this oyster stew will be the most lucky one we've ever made.  I have decided that, to ease my mild guilt, I will think of this as a flash sale of buy one oyster and get 23 free.


My good fortune continued with my discovery about some earring I already own.  A few years ago, my mom gave me a bunch of bead leftover from her bracelet making craze.  Actually, I think she was going to throw them out and I rescued them, thinking I would use them for play therapy.  But when I looked through them, I realized they were really cool and starting making my own stuff.  Because I can't keep myself from thinking I need to accumulate even more stuff than I need, stuff, I started scouring thrift stores for jewelry I could take apart and repurpose.

I was in Jefferson City visiting my parents, and found this big old vase stuffed with jewelry.  It was $30, but It was really cool and I figure it was cheaper than buying actual beads at a big box craft store.  I was right about that, but I also discovered some really good jewelry amongst the stuff to take apart.  In that first vase, I found three stretch bad rings that retail for about $7 each and a 24 K gold chain.  I was hooked!

The Goodwill near me is close enough that I could walk to it , if I could walk.  I buy a lot of stuff there.  I buy almost all my tops and sweaters there.  I've found at least 10 really nice cashmere sweaters there.  I'v also discovered the art section.  There is a lot of crap in the mix.  Bad poster, prints from target, and a few paint by number on velvet.   However, I have found tons of originals including original oils and water colors and several signed and dated lithographs.  One I saw listed at an art gallery for $300!  Quite a good return on an investment of $4.

 But now comes my good fortune from yesterday.  I have probably ended up buying about ten of those vases full of jewelry.  I actually really do use the beads and other finding in my own jewelry making.  But in a few of these thing I found silver and gold chains, sterling silver bracelets with gemstones and some very nice earring.

With many of the earrings only one of a pair has made it into the vase.  Lots of times they have a Clairs tag on them or they are just hideous  .But this one pair....

I found the first one, and immediately felt how heavy and well-made it seemed.  It was covered in some white substance that I do not care to found out what it was.  I gave it a basic cleaning.  It looked and felt like silver with a brass X on top.  I finally dug through the vase and found the second earring.  I thought they were pretty enough even with someweird substance on them  They're pretty heavy, so I took them off and put them in my pants pocket.  I then sort of forget about them until I emptied the washing machine. Ooops...

They were pretty clean after their trip to the laundry.  I could see that there was a mark inside.  It said 14K.  Now, I know that silver is marked 925, but never 14k. Maybe this had gold on silver instead of brass!

Sometimes I am able to find things on ebay that are pretty comparable to some of my finds, so I tried my luck  with the earrings,  Searching for silver and 14k hoop earrings

Guess what!  I actually found the exact earrings, and then guess what?  Someone is asking $650 for the very same pair!  Score!  I will no longer feel bad about spending $30 on a vase of "junk" jewelry!

Here are the earrings on the left along with a silver ring with fire opals and a silver and gemstone bracelet

Hello

It's been awhile.  I have been over-thinking.  I have been dithering about subjects to explore and whether I can be interesting or deep or insightful.  I have lost the essence of blogging, which, to me, is to write what is on your mind... and I have a lot on my mind,  I am political and emotional.  I am concerned about my future and whether I am doing anything that matters.  I am wondering where my life is going and how will I  manage my increasingly more annoying and debilitating MS symptoms.

So rather than trying to come up with some interesting topic for you, my small and simple blog, I am going to try to make this an actual blog and give you my current thoughts feelings and occurrences. I don't want it to be a diary because my day to day life is just not all that interesting.  

So here is what is on my mind right now

I have come to realize that I have two of the most n-sentimental men in my family.  My husband used to be at least a little enthused by things like birthdays and Christmas, but somewhere along the way he became a curmudgeon extraordinaire!  We put up a tree for Christmas, but the rest of the decorations sit in unopened storage bins.  I know what the problem is, but he won;t say it  even if he is aware.  He is the one who does the lion's share of the work.  If I do it, he gets mad because he is concerned that I will hurt myself or break something.  But if I don't do it, it doesn't get done.

My son is not much better.  We left his ornaments off the tree until he got back from school, and I had to basically beg him to hang them up on Christmas Eve.  Plus, he couldn't come up with anything he wanted as a gift, and he  s not the most gracious gift  recipient.  Where did I go wrong?!

We went to see Star Wars on Christmas day.  We saw it at the I-Max in 3D which was way cool.  Dana got miffed at me for eating popcorn.  I know the sound was annoying him, but it is annoying to me that he didn't just suck it up or eat some himself.  It is unnatural to not have popcorn at the movies!.  I really wanted to get a picture of the three of us in our 3-D glasses, but there was not even a glimmer of cooperation for this particular photo op.

So as usual, my friends and family have lovely pics of festive homes with big family dinners and general Christmas frivolity, and I got nada.  

All right.  It sounds as if I don't appreciate my family.  I do.  They are phenomenal in so very many ways, and I am no picnic for them to manage, I am sure.  Just need to vent regarding my sad little holiday celebrations.  There are more important things than Christmas decor, most of the time!

Hello again

Here's something to know about me.  When I disappear for a long while, it is because I get into a low place.  Not depression, because I still able to function and do what I need to do,  Ie,  change my self talk, distract myself, etc. I can's say that just chucking it all and leaving the planet hasn't crossed my mind, but there are just too many things to consider and by the time I do consider them all, the idea has passed.  Plus that Dorothy Parker poem plays in my head and I realize it would be too messy for the people who would have to clean it up.

For reference the poem is:  Razors pain you.  Rivers are damp.
                                           Acids stain you.  Drugs cause cramp.
                                            Guns aren't lawful.  Nooses give.
                                           Gas smells awful  Might as well live.

Here are the thoughts that put me in a low place.  "I am a burden.  I am worthless.  No one would miss me.  I am lazy and sort of dim..."  You get the picture.  The other thought that makes me feel like a big steamy dog turd is "If you were a stronger person, you could follow a diet/exercise plan, and you would have more energy, walk better, be less fatigued etc...

These last few thoughts are particularly harmful and soul sucking.   These thought are called "victim blaming" or even "victim shaming."

Here's the deal. I have and am taking supplements including iron, vitamins D and B.  I go to yoga, physical therapy, and weight training.  I do as much aerobics as I can.  My diet could be better because, even though I have not eaten red meat since I was 25, I still like the occasional chocolate bar or a Culver's concrete mixer  (in lieu of Ted Drew's or , better yet, a Junior delight from Central Dairy in Jefferson City).  Despite my best efforts, I am still a good 30 lbs. over weight, and, oh yeah I still have MS and it is slowly progressing the way MS does.

Every time someone tells me that I should try the Wahl's protocol or go gluten free, or eat Paleo, I am being told that MS is my fault.  I know it is well meaning, 100% of the time.  But, I have heard of these diets.  I have seen Terry Wahl's TED talk touting her miracle diet for curing MS and pretty much everything else that ails you.

What I have not seen, however, is empirical evidence validating that these diets will have a similar effect on everyone who tries them.  The only research I've seen regarding the Wahl's protocol is that, in a very small clinical trial, there was on overall improvement in the subjects subjective sense of fatigue.  This is a giant leap away from being a cure.

Now, I am not saying that diet does not play a huge   our health, but it is one piece in a ginormous puzzle that creates wellness.

And sometimes a disease happens because you got dealt a shitty hand.

Be aware that if I knew for sure that some particular diet would "cure" me, I would be all over it like a cheap suit, but until I hear the news from a well developed clinical trial, I am not willing to make my life more difficult and less enjoyable for the off chance hat I may experience some minor alleviation in one area.  Until, then, I will do the best I can with what I have, from where I'm at, and I will call out myself and others when they unwittingly blame me for not being cured with diet.
                                         

This is a rant

I am taking time away from my life stories because I am sorely in need of some rant time.  I have talked before about what a lovely place denial can be.  For many year's I could almost pretend that MS had a very limited role in my life.  Occasional exacerbation and some mild hearing loss were just small bumps Annoying, yes, but severely problematic? Not so much.  Then problems began to be more of an actual issue a little at a time.  MS is a progressive disease, and it certainly has progressed.

 My handwriting, never really all that legible, became undecipherable, even to myself.  (Why are ipps on my grocery list?  Oh.  Eggs...)  I used to like to go on long walks around the neighborhood.  When Eli was an infant, I must have pushed him hundreds of miles in his stroller.  Then, one day, I walked several blocks by myself, and realized that I couldn't continue without resting.  Even after a ten minute break, I was limping and unable to stand upright by the time I got home.  I still didn't need a cane, but any walking I did was significantly curtailed.

I also remember the time I tried to run.  My sister was in town, and we were playing outside with our sons.  I tried to run to catch up with them, and realized that my legs were totally unable to respond to my request to move faster.  I think I may have even fallen.  I was laughing at how funny I must have looked, but it was an unnerving moment of realization that there was another thing I would never do again,  I was about 38 years old.

So my abilities have become fewer and fewer over the course of the past 20 years.  I continue to find denial a lovely place, but I have moved into the fourth level- I know I have MS. I know I am always going to have MS.  It has a significant impact on my life, but  I don't have any feelings about it.  I pop out of denial when I am tired or frustrated or angry and do the emotional work that is part of grief.  I grieve anew every time another ability to lost or another dream dies.

I think people dealing with MS or any chronic disease has enough crap to deal with every day.  I struggle to get in and out of the car.  I struggle to type this. I watched West Side Story on tv and wept.    I remember being able to sing those songs and hit those high notes.  Age is a culprit in taking my range, but MS took the muscles of my vocal cords.  I miss being able to sing.  And, my least favorite struggle, it trying to get to the bathroom on time.

I realize the incontinence is not uncommon in MS and is or even uncommon in the general population.  I have come to terms with finding the right incontinence pads and the neurologist has prescribed medication,to curtail the worst of it.  However, I still find myself with mortifying spots and having to change clothes in order to keep away offensive smells.

So now comes the real rant.  I am taking 20 mg of something called Oxybutinin.  I am supposed to take one in the morning and one in the evening.  I have discovered that, if I take them both in the morning, I can keep leakage to a minimum and am able to be more successful in getting to the bathroom before I have a problem. However, this means that I don't have one for the night and I have to get up more frequently,which disrupts my sleep even more than it is normally disrupted.  So I asked my very competent and well educated neurologist if I could increase my dose to 30 mg.  He listened to my concern and said, that it is okay to increase that articular med by that amount,  Cool!

 I want to the drugstore to pick up the med, but it wasn't in yet. I'll have to chew out the neurologist for taking so long!  Then I got a call from his office. Unfortunately, the insurance won't pay for the higher dose.  Someone, somewhere who is NOT a doctor has decided that I don't actually need this medication at that dose.  So something so incredibly humiliating that can be held off a tiny bit with a simple mediation increase, that my DOCTOR said is okay, that would help me feel a wee bit of dignity when so much has been taken by this dumb illness, is being denied to me because the for-profit health care system doesn't want to hurt it's bottom line.   There is something truly reprehensible about that.  So I am going to box up the content of my adult diaper pail, and mail it to my insurance company.  I may keep doing that every month until someone understands that , yes, IT IS medically necessary.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest

Moving ahead

I want to write this next blog while the zeitgeist of the nation is freshly focused on race relations and marriage equality.  I won't be talking about the latter specifically, but the supreme court just made Gay marriage the law of the land, and I wanted to give my congratulations to all my gay friends who have gained a huge victory today.  I'm so happy about that!

 But this blog is focusing on race relations.  Here is the class picture of my fifth grade year.

I am  the girl with gasses on the bottom row.  I want you to note the difference between fourth and fifth grade.  My fourth grade class was incredibly homogeneous, as white as can be.  In fifth grade, the demographic was  beginning to change,  I mentioned the the kids from the Children's home attended my grade school, and indeed I recognize at least two girls who were residents of the Home, and they are both white.  The brown faces you see where simply a reflection of the changing community.  I mention this because fifth grade was my first real experience with blatant bigotry and discrimination,  And it was perpetrated by a friend.

Just to give you some background on my understanding of race in general, I want to tell a somewhat embarrassing story.  When I was little, we had a topsy-turvy doll.  It was one of those rag dolls with a big skirt, and if you turned her upside down, she had a different head where her legs should have been.  This particular doll was a "Nannie-Nellie doll- black Mammy (I know that's not PC, but that's what it was) on one side and a little white girl on the other.  Since it was all one doll, I figured it was all one person.  I concluded that, somewhere along the line we all just turned black.  I asked my startled mom when was Grandma going to turn black.  She let me know that black people were born that way and that was the end of that particular cognitive distortion! I think that times were so segregated that the only black person I had ever seen was an elderly black man.  Thus I created that very odd delusion from my doll!

Fast forward to fifth grade.The two black girls were Tracy and Clara.  Tracy was sweet and a little quite and Clara was bold and outspoken.  While they were not part of my inner circle of friends, I always felt somewhat proprietary and protective of them.  I wanted it to be my job to make them feel part of the class.  I think they were exotic and different to me,which isn't necessarily very sensitive or flattering, but it was better then hostility displayed by some of the other kids.

I was fairly popular and a leader at Harrison school.  Teachers liked me and kids liked me so I had no problems standing up for myself.  

My teacher that  year was Mrs, Movshin, who I adored.  We was firm but fair and gave us interesting assignments.  we were reading a story about a girl who attends a progressive dinner.  Progressive dinners are parties were you move from house to house for the different courses; so appetizers at one house, then go to the next for salad etc.  While we were discussing the story, one of my friends said "We should have one of those!"  We were talking about who could do which course, and Clara said "I could do dessert!"  My friend Lori say, "you can't be in it you're an N word" only she said the whole thing.  I guess I had heard that word before, but not in my house.  I didn't think about how insulting that was  I just looked at her, put my arm around Clara's shoulder and said "She can so be in the party!"  Because I was a leader, and Lori was my friend, she just glared at me and said no more about it.  

Skipping ahead several months, my Dad took the job as the pastor of the church in Jefferson City.  I have talked about this transition in other blogs but I haven't mentioned the send-off my teacher gave me from on my last day,  I was in the middle of reading the Laura Ingalls Wilder Little house book.  I think  I had read them all except one- "Farmer boy".  As a going away gift, the class gave me a hard cover copy of that book. All of the kids signed the inside of the dust jacket.  By far, the largest signature was from Clara who added "Your friend" before her name.  

I think I may still have that book around somewhere, but the dust jacket-and signatures-is long gone. 

I always wonder what it meant to Clara that I stood up for her.  I wonder if that iis why she thought of herself as my friend .  I hope she remembers me.  I certainly remember her and, although I didn't realize it at the time, I remember the lesson of how much she had to struggle for inclusion.

School days continued

My fourth grade teacher was Mrs. Stroessner.  Or I should say she was my teacher for most of the year.  Mrs. Stroessner had a baby and moved to Jefferson city.  This was probably when I began to realize that teacher were human beings with lives outside of the classroom.  I think, other than that, fourth grade was rather uneventful.

 My mind remembers the strangest things!  I have a clear memory of finding out about Mrs. Stressner's pregnancy at the class Christmas party.  Everyone participated in the gift exchange and everyone brought a present for the teacher.  My mom, having been a teacher, understood the importance of NOT giving teachers another "worlds greatest teacher" mug. We always gave the teacher stationary, which was useful for writing thank you notes for "World's greatest teacher" mugs.

One of the presents Mrs. Stroessner received that year was a toy bunny and some other baby related items.  I think she saw this as an opportunity to announce her pregnancy.  I am sure I have collapsed the two events (moving and having a baby) into a single announcement, but whatever the timeline, I knew she was moving on and I spent he rest of the day being sad.  After school I tearfully informed my sister of loosing my teacher to pregnancy and the move.  She told me I should be happy because having a baby was a miracle.  I thought, #1. No it's not and #2.  This was a stupid unhelpful thing to say.  I kept both of those thoughts to myself, of course.

The other thing I recall from that day is really odd. Everyone at school got a Christmas gift bag with candy, pencils, and other trinkets.  One of the items was a furry ornament with googly eyes, hung with a piece of elastic.  I immediately called a Bippy,  Remember on Rowen and Martin's Laugh-in how they used to say "You bet your sweet bippy"?  I'm sure they were not referring to a hairy ornament with googly eyes.  But the thing just seemed to be a bippy to me.  The odd thing about this is that I remember Beth (my sister) showing me her pink furry ornament (mine was yellow.  Why did she always get the good color?) and saying, "Look! I got a bippy!"   I distinctly remember thinking how weird it was that we both independently call these goofy things by the same name!  So while her advice regarding how to manage my feelings was trite and contrived, we still maintained our cosmic connection.!

The teacher who took over for Mrs. Stroessner was Mr. Hulsey.  A male teacher was a curiosity to me, but I remember that he was kind and funny.  The only thing that bugged me was how he pronounce the name Phoebe.  Mrs. Stressner had been reading a book aloud to the class as a sort of time filler I think.  She would read a chapter at the end of the day, and she was about half way through when she left.  The main character's name was Phoebe, but Mr. Hulsey pronounced it
 Ph-o-be with a long O sound.  We were too polite to correct him, of course, even though I am sure I am not the only one who noticed!

So now, not only was I aware that teachers were actually real people with real lives, I also realized that they were fallible, too.  So maybe fourth grade wasn't as uneventful as I thought!