Posted on in autoimmune disease, Sjogren's Syndrome, Uncategorized

Puddles Pity Party

Do you ever watch America’s Got Talent? After a particularly trying day…a day in which I struggled with pain, doctor’s offices, medications, my freakin’ eyes and ever-changing vision, I lumbered exhaustedly into my awaiting, comfy bed and mindlessly flipped on the boob tube. Didn’t matter what was on. I was done. Calgon take me away.

Suddenly, but slowly HE shuffled on stage.

puddles-pity-party-americas-got-talent

With shoulders stooped and a wrinkly-unkempt costume, this mute clown act was a sure-fire candidate for the giant X-buzzer. “Good luck, Puddles!”

The controlled baritone began quietly. I immediately recognized he was singing the Sia song, Chandelier. I knowingly chuckled and mocked the television from the fluffy bed.

It’s been DONE, Puddles! This song is cliché!

Can’t feel anything, when will I learn. I push it down, push it down

Ok, maybe this sad clown can sing a little. So what?!

1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3 drink. 1, 2, 3, 1 ,2 ,3 drink

Hey Puddles! Why don’t you bring me a stiff drink about now? Ready to forget the day I just experienced.

I’m gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandel-LIER!!

I’m feeling your pain, Puddles. You’re so pitifully glum and your full-throated and melancholy baritone ain’t bad.

I’m gonna fly like a bird through the night, feel my tears as they dry.

Where’s the Kleenex? Where is it!?

I’m gonna live like tomorrow doesn’t exist…..cause I’m just holding on for tonight.

Damn you, Puddles!! This ugly cry is on YOU!!

You probably know the end of this story. He received 4 ‘yesses’ from the judges and the crowd adored him. Of all the spectacular acts appearing on AGT…..death-defying stuntmen….leaving-you-breathless magic acts…..auditorium-filling opera voices…..why did folks respond to Puddles? Why did cynical-I like Puddles?

Because some days are hard. Some days are sad. I’m not clinically depressed. I’m counting my blessings. I’m staying on the sunny side. I have lots of fun things on my plate. I have a fantastic family and wonderful friends. But some days, when I’m struggling for relief from this stupid disease (It’s called Sjogren’s Syndrome, and it’s ridiculous), when I feel my own body betraying me, when the meds aren’t relieving the pain, when I feel the mist from this fearfully-approaching, slow-rolling disaster of a tsunami…..these are the days I totally relate to Puddles.

It’s OK to have a sad day. You have them, too. Went to a funeral yesterday and was struck by the lyric, ‘Sometimes I’m up, sometimes I’m down…but still my soul is heavenly bound’. It was a terrible day for my friends. God bless them.

Hope your weekend is brimming with fun and glad things. But, maybe that’s not your reality today. That’s OK. I get it and so does Puddles.

Heavenly-bound love to all.

P.S.-I’m preparing for a grand adventure. Something amazing that God just threw in my lap. I’m a chronic over-sharer so get ready for some blogs describing my journey. Info to follow soon. xo

Posted on in God, inspiration, Uncategorized

sculptor

Discovered my inspiration this week. I’ve admired this piece for a few days now.

bowl
art-it’s what’s for dinner

Perhaps I love it because Sprout #3 made it on his lathe and gifted it to me. Plenty reason enough!

 

lathe
the wood chips are a-flyin’

 

Maybe I love it because it’s simply beautiful. Each of the bowls’ perfect imperfections combines to make it singularly unique. I’m mesmerized by the yin of the smooth wood and the yang of the rugged, rough-bark edge.

The Sprout explained each block of wood is called a blank. He mounts the blank, sets the lathe to spinning and patiently applies his trusty bowl gouge-and voila!….a bowl is born. Although the bowl has entered existence, it must undergo certain time-consuming steps to becoming its best bowl-self. It must dry and cure in wood shavings. The wood needs to cure, but not too rapidly, to prevent future cracking. After it has dried for some time (months), the woodworker must diligently sand, apply sealer, sand, apply sealer, sand and….well, you get it. This entire process reminds me of the Michelangelo quote:

michelangelo1

My life spins like that wood block on the lathe lately. Events happen and I don’t comprehend. Enough with applying the bowl gouge already, ok? It’s painful and I’m not privy to the intricacies of the process. I didn’t attend woodworking school. The wood chips are swirling. Some days I want to jump off that lathe and return to my previous carefree tree-self. Is this my drying out phase so I don’t split later, or is this the sanding and re-sanding part? I don’t know.

I do know these struggles are not unique to me. We ALL have ’em. For me right now it’s health issues but your struggle might be your broken relationship with your parents or children, your spouse’s alcoholism, your sexuality, a cancer diagnosis, your depression, your lonely empty nest, your dead-end job, your failing marriage, your barely making it from paycheck to paycheck, your PTSD, or the unexpected death of someone dear to you. It could be a crisis of faith.

I adore this bowl because it reminds me of the Master Sculptor. I’ve put my life in the hands of the Wise Woodworker. The Brilliant Bowl Maker. The Lord of the Lathe….enough alliteration…I can’t stop myself! However clumsily I phrase it, I trust the process of becoming and I’m assured my life is in loving hands. One day I’m going to be a gorgeous, one-of-a-kind bowl! Yessir! A bowl with rings closely spaced to indicate I stood proudly during the tough, drought-y years. A bowl with widely-spaced rings to testify I raised a glass to the wet and bountiful years. A bowl large enough to hold a lot of cool things.

bowl4

Today I’ve been looking up.

 

bird_in_flight
photo-public-domain.com

 

Here’s a reminder on my desk. Do you ever feel like you need Cliffs Notes for daily life??

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You are becoming quite a handsome bowl, in my opinion. Yes….you’re looking more and more like ART to me. I like that.

The bowl with the rough edges? Yeah….it’s me. How’d you guess?!

Lumber-y love to all.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted on in Uncategorized

crying time

 

To everything there is a season…..Ecclesiastes 3

This has been a devastating and crushing week for the Texas Panhandle. The fires of Monday feel a lifetime ago. Today dawned appropriately gray and windy. Yesterday was a glorious, blue-sky, sound-the-trumpets kind of day and it felt like a mocking slap after the glum news of the week. How could the day of the first funeral of one of our beloved fire victims be so glorious after the relentless winds and scorching heat of Monday? Joke’s on us, I guess. This feels like a mourning day to me.

Had to put down the grandkid’s pony yesterday. Peanut had a condition affecting her feet and I watched her be dead-lame for over a week. As a conscientious caregiver of animals, it was my responsibility and my call to make. No one else could make the decision for me. On Wednesday night, I knew it was time. My bedrock Sprout #1 helped me with all the details. I love him for dealing with me through this. I know….I know, it’s not a huge deal in the scheme of things and especially in the context of the tremendous losses this week. It’s just a tiny drop of sadness in a river of grief. I realize that. I’m glad God made a mini paint horse named Peanut who delighted in all the littles. So, I’m taking today to let my tiny grief-drop flow to the ocean.

peanut2

 

Many of you know I’ve been dealing with a giant mound of health issues in the last few years. I don’t have cancer….and boy am I grateful!….but I’ve had repeated issues of one form or another. I’ve felt crazy, morally and physically weak, exhausted and confused. Just when it seemed I stomped out one health fire, another would flare-up and char my resolve. Oh…and I’ve visited doctors and specialists from all over the state of Texas. I’m grateful for physicians too, even though they can be infuriating. My medicine cabinet is stuffed and overflowing with the drugs and supplements supposedly helping me. Yesterday after visiting with my rheumatologist, I finally have a name for what ails me. Maybe I’m not crazy after all? I won’t say the name of it….you’ve probably never heard of it. It’s an auto-immune disease. My confused immune system is loaded with ballistic missiles and targeting healthy areas of my body for battle.  My favorite celebrity sports hero now is Venus Williams because she has this disease, as well. Looks like she’s doing pretty great lately, doesn’t it? Gives me hope. So today since it’s okay to mourn a little, I’m taking the time to grieve the loss of the person who didn’t have to take multitudinous pills. The redhead with endless energy whose joints didn’t ache. She was cool and I miss her today. I’ll empty my coffee cup of sadness into the river and let it unite with the Peanut-drop.

The Panhandle of Texas is a flighty and sometimes cruel mistress. We suffer under the illusion we’ve tamed her. The events of this week prove otherwise. All of us in agriculture/ranching realize those who perished could be our sons, daughters, fathers, mothers….you name it. We know the reality of caring for livestock, of diving in head first to help our neighbor and the price of replacing burnt fence. We choose to live here. We’re the insanely hardy offspring of the Dustbowlers! We’re certain better days are ahead. The rains will fall, the grass will sprout, the wind will settle and the content momma cows will have lots of babies. This attitude is embedded in our DNA.

sky

Today I’m allowing myself to shake my fist at the sky, to curse the wind and crumble to my knees and ask why so many animals and salt-of-the-earth people must suffer. Why children must grow up without a daddy, or why parents have to bury their children. It’s my designated sorrow-day, so I’ll take my biggest soup-pot of grief and tears for all of this ridiculous suffering and stir it a bit. When it feels right, I’m pouring it in with the Peanut-drop and the coffee cup of sadness and watching it bob and swirl away.

It’s okay. It’s our crying time and we’ve earned it. Don’t worry, we won’t camp there. We know better. I’m inviting God into our ashy brokenness.  He’s already here with us anyway. If I see you out and about today, don’t hide your watery eyes. Mine feel watery, too.

Strong Panhandle-love to all.

Posted on in Uncategorized

new glasses for Lent

Had an eye exam a few days ago. Got me contemplating having new specs. Mine sit askew on my face and they drive me crazy (I hear you….short drive! har). I poured through a popular eyeglass website to find the perfect pair. A pair that would project my superior intellect, but not hubris. One that could project my quirky sense of style, yet still earn me respect. A style screaming, “I’m with-it-and-not-old” without my seeming to try too hard.

Here’s my cures-what-ails-you, impossibly chic, older-person choices.

yellow-glassesmetal-glasses

Attended Ash Wednesday service last evening. The topic of Lent spurred my thinking, “What should I give up/add during Lent to properly prepare my heart for Easter?”

I need modern Lenten glasses. A new super-duper powerful x-ray pair that can laser into my heart and sift my motives. I donned a cool pair possessing the special power and nervously explored.

Do I need to cease consuming ice cream, carbs, doughnuts or chocolate? No…that doesn’t feel right for me. For others maybe that may be the large E on the eye chart, but luckily food is not an issue for me.

Do I need to give up TV, the interwebs or the cell phone in order to be more productive and commune with God? It might be the best thing for some, but the chart still appears fuzzy when it comes to going cold-turkey with the electronic devices. I could spend LESS time and life might be better, but it misses the mark for me as a giant issue.

Liquor…..what about liquor??! Nope, still out of focus….that’s not it either. Giving up one drink a week doesn’t seem like sacrificial service.

I peered deeply through my magic glasses. What is it? What character trait could I give up on my way to becoming? Becoming more me, more like Him?

The x-ray lenses shifted and I finally spied it! Two things I can give up, throw out, wad up with the stinky trash and say “sayonara suckers!” Two items I clutch like a grimy security blanket. Two things I pick up over and over again when I shouldn’t, even though my fingerprints are burned invisible from repeatedly picking up this bitter-hot casserole dish.

What do my special-wizard Lenten glasses reveal I’d be better without? Negativity and regret.

Negativity can be my first and most familiar reaction. I understand the ‘whys’ but I need to stop. It’s OK to not always contemplate the worst-case scenario. I think I’ll let someone else handle that for a while. Whew. Focus on the fun things like grandkids, golf, tennis and wiener dogs. The blessings of my friends and family.

026a

Oh…and Mr. Regret. What have you ever done for me? What is it good for? Absolutely nothin’. Huh…listen to me! Good God, y’all!! Oh wait….those are the lyrics to Edwin Starr’s rock ballad, ‘War’. Sorry, my bad.

Life’s a struggle. It’s wonderful and kooky and surprising….but a struggle. I know so many hurting right now. I hurt, too. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

I leave you with a song we practiced in choir last night. It sums up how I’m feeling today. I hope you like it. If you want to listen, check it out on YouTube.

Jesus draw me ever nearer as I labor thro’ the storm. You have called me to this passage and I’ll follow tho’ I’m worn

May this journey be a blessing, may I rise on wings of faith. And at the end of my heart’s testing, with your likeness let me wake

Jesus guide me thro’ the tempest, keep my spirit staid and sure. When the midnight meets the morning, let me love you even more

Let the treasures of the trial form within me as I go. And at the end of this long passage, let me leave them at your throne.

Hip-spectacle love to all.

 

 

Posted on in atrial fibrillation, Uncategorized, walking aids

walking aids

The last few months have been eventful. Inky  (the fitful octopod) was starting to get the best of me. Some of you know I was diagnosed with a heart arrhythmia that slowed me down. Good news was, I was put on the list to have a cardiac ablation that could possibly cure the condition. I was pumped (har-har….heart humor!) for the opportunity to have my heart worked on by the good doctors at Texas Cardiac Arrhythmia in Austin, Texas.

octopus
I wanted Inky gone from my chest cavity!

 

While I was waiting for the surgery, the Texan came down with a nasty strep infection in his right knee. This required two surgeries to ‘clean the knee out’ and two hospital stays where he was given massive doses of antibiotics. I administered IV antibiotics at home to him for 4 weeks. It’s the Texan’s story, and I won’t go into all the gory details. We became intimately acquainted with the spectrum of walking aids.

wheelchair
We discovered the handiness of getting around in a wheelchair.

 

The Texan graduated to this walking device very quickly and stayed on it the longest.

walker
The beloved walker. I could hear him coming from miles away. The Texan required a walker for super-tall people. The grands loved pushing it around.

 

We had a trip to Florida planned to meet with our Dallas family, and generally hang out with the grands. I told the Texan I didn’t think he should go. The distances were simply too great for him to cover with his walker. He would be exhausted just trying to make it to dinner! Sprout #3 had that predicament totally covered. When we arrived in Florida, we had this zippy mode of transportation waiting for us.

scooter
Ah….the scooter! We were pretending to be sad about it, but this little thing saved our bacon. The Texan loved it, and it let him conserve his energy.

After the Florida trip, we flew to Austin for my surgery. As we traveled around the hospital for tests and doctor’s visits, the Texan used the wheelchair because of the long distances we needed to travel. Most of the doctors/nurses addressed him as the patient. He had to explain numerous times he was my caretaker.

My surgery went very well, and our family in Austin rallied and saved our lives.

kathyhospital
Nothing better than a narcotic-laced selfie…..except maybe my narcotic-laced texting. Look how serene I looked! The general anesthesia was the best sleep I’d gotten in 6 weeks.

 

 

After the surgery, I was instructed not to lift anything. This made trying to get to the airport with our suitcases and a wheelchair-person daunting for me. I shouldn’t have worried. God provided a way to every difficulty we encountered. Our family has been heroic. We are blessed.

That’s where we are today, people. Both of us recovering. Have I mentioned the Texan has graduated to a cane? I’m very proud of him! This entire episode serves as a reminder that God really does provide a way. He sends people to help out at the most opportune moments. No worrying required.

I’m learning.

Getting-well-love to all!

Posted on in Uncategorized

enter in

welcome

For sparkling cottages smelling of pumpkin bread and cider.

wienerinthewindow

For elves-on-shelves, cranberry-popcorn garland, and Mannheim Steamroller reminding us it’s December.

Dear Christ, enter in.

For drab and drafty homes and for inhabitants with gnawing guts. For the Charlie Brown tree and the bare floor underneath it.

Dear Christ, enter in.

For the vibrantly healthy who appreciate the wondrous beauty of an impeccably manicured golf fairway. For those who are working on their serve. For those able to scale a mountain and run for the sheer fun of it.

Dear Christ, enter in.

For the friend recently diagnosed with a brain tumor. For the gaunt mother sporting a colorful scarf wondering who will take care of her children. For those awaiting diagnosis and longing for ‘normal’. For the unwanted companion of constant pain. For those in brain fog. For those who feel invisible on their ride west.

Dear Christ, enter in.

For those who fa-la-la-la-laaaah and proclaim we better watch out. For the bakers, candy-makers, meat-smokers and nog-drinkers. For those who proclaim good news. For the generous shoppers and surprise-planners. For impeccable gift-wrappers and those responsible for flawless and impressively large bows.

Dear Christ, enter in.

For the alcoholics, drug-addicts and homeless street-wanderers. For the confused song of those raging in addiction. For the children of alcoholics surviving in the war zone. For the abused spouse. For the father trying to decide whether or not to post bail one more time. For the regret of a life lost one drink at a time.

Dear Christ, enter in.

For those with newborns. For those assisting proud and aging parents. For exuberant children sliding down bannisters on Christmas morning. For ruddy-faced tots experiencing the chill of the first sled ride. For those juggling responsibilities of a large family.

xmas2014 049a

Dear Christ, enter in.

For those who never got to bring the baby home. For those questioning if they did everything they could before mom died. For the widow wondering why the second Christmas is harder. For those finding it difficult to stay married. For the patriot soldier. For the selfless military family experiencing an empty chair at the table.

Dear Christ, enter in.

For the stable and the aroma of animals and hay.

graham and pnut

For those who care for dogs and cats. For those who run animal shelters and for those who care for livestock.

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For those who know the love of an earnest dachshund.

sweetdoxy

 

 

Dear Christ, enter in.

Wishing you a Christmas filled with peace. Wishing you serenity and confidence in knowing Christ walks with you, this season and always. xo

Welcome-mat love to all.