That's my dad!

A young man stands up among thousands of loudly cheering people. He is beaming as Tim Walz, his dad, is about to accept the nomination for a very public office. His pride and love for his dad has him so overcome with emotion he is moved to tears as he exclaims to the crowd, “That’s my dad”! The crowd might not have heard his exclamation because of their own joyful cheering.  The cameras did not spare this young man’s very personal and loving response. 

It was raw. It was heartfelt and full of unconditional love.

I found Gus Walz’s reaction to his dad’s acceptance of his vice president nomination on that stage refreshing. How many 17-year-old boys are self-aware and confident enough to be so openly emotional? As a culture many boys are sometimes brought up to not cry or show emotion that might be perceived as weakness. 

It is bullshit. 

                                                

Within minutes Gus Walz was ostracized by small minded and mean people who have no fffing idea what it is like to have a neuro-disconnect. A disconnect that can impair one’s ability to appropriately function in situations that can trigger overstimulation.  

Auditory hypersensitivity may cause one to overreact to sounds or overly noisy places, especially arena noise. If it can’t be filtered out the overload is mentally and emotionally challenging. 

I know first-hand what this is like. I have a grown grandchild who suffered a TBI as an infant. He leads a productive life, but noise can be a trigger, especially if he’s tired. It's brain fatigue. Dyslexia haunts a few in my family. My oldest granddaughter has found a way around her type of dyslexia by challenging herself to specific learning modes. Noise is not her trigger but she has learned how to navigate what does overwhelm her through her working life. I know myself as a brain tumor survivor. I don’t go anywhere without my noise filtering ear plugs. 

Neuro fatigue is your brain’s signal to take a break. It is a very real thing. But sometimes one can’t control the environment. Noise and crowds are sometimes a part of life. 

Whether or not neurodivergent how many 17-year-olds are equipped to know how to control an external environment especially of crowds and noise? There is no handbook or manual. We have to figure it out as we go along and we have to accept it.

Unlike computer code there are no patches to fix what the brain lacks but only workarounds. 

I wish for all those that said mean and obviously uneducated remarks never have to figure out such workarounds. 

Have a nice quiet day. 

Breast Elegy: Breaking Up Will be Easy to Do - Surviving vs. Thriving

Breast Elegy: Breaking Up is Easy to Do - My true Breast Cancer Journey set to rhyme. 

 

It’s been 20 years since we started this dance

And now I decided you are not worth the chance

 

This relationship has been deteriorating for a few years now

I have decided to end it with a quiet kapow!

 

It wasn’t a difficult decision for me

Some won’t understand or be able to see

 

This journey started with lots of anxiety 

That soon dissipated with time and propriety

 

Advances in medicine are quite subjective

Treatments and results depend on perspective

 

And so this relationship has taken its turn

It’s some peace this time, for which I  yearn

 

That’s not to say that I’ll never miss you

Right now you’re not much more than tissue

 

Adios, dear boobs, it’s time for heavenly ascension

I need no more negative apprehension

 

Although you’ve made it hard for me to forget about you

I plan to spend more life without you than with you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Grammy, An Angel and "Todzilla"

Advent: The Coming of Something Momentous.

Advent for me is always what the definition is: waiting, lying in wait for something to happen. Growing up in the Catholic Church, my memories of Advent are of the dark purple vestments the priests wore for the four weeks at Mass, the Advent wreath, the hymns of waiting for the Savior’s birth (“Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel”), and the bare altar that suddenly exploded on Christmas eve into a stage of brilliantly lit Christmas trees and holly lining the altar and a spectacular manger scene complete with the Holy Family, a crèche with lots of blessed hay spread around, shepherds and angels in diaphanous white gowns with wings that looked like Michelangelo himself had created them. Fast forward into my younger Mommy years, and immediately after Thanksgiving my Advent was coupled with that feeling of “lying in wait for something to happen”– and always with the angst of did I get it all done?! right up to midnight of Christmas Eve.

In my Grandparent years I still feel the “lying in wait for something to happen.” But the angst is replaced with anticipation for how I’m going to knock the socks off my grandkids with an experience they might not have had the opportunity to enjoy with their overbooked and exhausted parents. Sometimes it’s an expensive event, but the memories are priceless. This year it cost me less than $25 for my granddaughter Meghan.

Meghan is tiny in a family of non-tiny people. She is also “affectionately” nicknamed “Todzilla,” and lately, “Toddy.” She actually is proud of the moniker. Her small size is a shrewd disguise for her huge temper, the volume of her articulate voice and not the least of all her razor sharp intelligence. Her brain never shuts down. I find it amusing more often than not, but she gives her parents an emotional workout.

An application was sent home  for which role a child would like to be in the Nativity play. My daughter Kate asked Meghan if she’d like to be something different this year, maybe a shepherd or a reader. Meghan’s response was without hesitation, direct and terse: “No! You said I could be an angel.” Okay, we won’t dwell on the double entendre in the statement, but this is life with Todzilla, and angelic is not one of her characteristics .

Meghan’s mom was in that very place of anxiety I remember so well. When she called, I could hear in her voice the restrained panic: “Toddy wants to be an angel in the Nativity play, we don’t have a costume. The play is in two weeks.” We dug out last year’s costume. Because she is so petite the angel dress still fit her. But then we found the homemade wings and the halo. Toddy looked at them and stated, “I thought we threw those away.”

It was a set of fairy wings we purchased at the Dollar Store and covered them with foil. The only thing we could find were pink ones and had no time to find anything else. Meghan had declared she could not have pink wings in a white gown, so we improvised. We thought our resourcefulness of using the shiny foil did the job, but apparently other parents’ angels were adorned with real feathered angel wings trimmed in maribou. There was nothing homemade about their wings. Meghan looked angelic throughout the Nativity play, but she continued throughout that evening about how she was the only one with “silver wings.” That was last year.

This year, Meghan’s had no change of heart about the homemade wings and halo. We tried to convince her that her wings were special because they were different. But Toddy wasn’t having any of that nonsense and walked away, arms folded and chin out. With two weeks until the play, I was confident I could find a set of angel wings that would be suitable to Meghan’s standards.

Naturally, I consulted the internet. The initial search resulted in a lot of “sold out” or “out of stock” findings. It was beginning to look bleak. The feeling of anticipation and confidence that these wings were going to be a slam dunk was ebbing. After taking a break from the search, I went back online, determined we were going to have feathered wings for Todzilla in time for the play. Thanks be to God for persistence, patience and OrientalTrading.com: feathered angel wings, trimmed in white maribou, $8.50. Expedited shipping was more than the cost of the wings, but it did not matter.

They were delivered as promised and when I displayed them for her, Meghan exclaimed “Oh my God! They are HUGE!” Although the wings are almost the same size as Meghan, they are beautiful and look like real feathered angel wings.

The halo never fit well on her head, so we’re going to forgo the halo and go with a trimmed white headband. Toddy is just fine with not wearing a halo. As she so astutely observed, “it’s always slipping off my head.” YEA, No kidding.

Merry Christmas

 

 

I've shared my feelings on leaves before in Leaving the Leaves back in 2014.

Every year I have the same argument with my family. Every year, as soon as the leaves begin to change color, one would think we are expecting a blizzard. The anticipation of how much of a mess the leaves will make is unbearable to them. They linger by the windows, gaze out and watch for days into weeks, seeing and monitoring how the leaves are falling and wonder out loud how and when the leaves will be cleaned up. 

 

Every year I say the same thing, “Leave the leaves.” Their reaction is the same every year too, “WHY?”, more a whine than an inquiry. 

 

I never understood the purpose of raking up dying leaves only to expose the drying grass. It seems to me a dumb and wasted effort. 

 

Autumn is my favorite season and personally, I have always liked the look of a pile of leaves. I like the crunch under my feet as I shuffle through a nice pile of tawny crisp leaves just waiting and ready to be pulverized for their end purpose of food for the earth. Then there’s the smell of moldering leaves, musky and woody, to remind you that it’s almost finished its life cycle and ready for the last stage of their seasonal performance. Why not wait until the show is totally over? 

 

The best collection of falling leaves is under our maple in the back yard. Over the years this Maple has become a grand old lady. Every year it is a spectacular transition of dark green to blazing red to a brilliant yellow that almost glows in the sunlight. When the leaves begin to lazily waft to the ground they go from the yellow to a rich tawny gold where they collect in an almost perfect ring around the base of the tree, like a skirt that’s just dropped from a waist. 

 

I insist we leave the leaves where they fall and will eventually break down over the winter. It’s only natural.

 

Happy 50th Anniversary to Us

I was once asked,  “What’s your greatest accomplishment? What are you most proud of?” 

My immediate response was, “my marriage”.  The person asking the question responded, “Wow, your face really lights up when you say that.” 

 

I never really looked at my marriage as an “accomplishment”, but in the grand scheme of things, compared to what some other people experience in marriage, we have been very lucky and blessed that ours seems to have been relatively effortless. It’s not that there have never been bumps in the road and rough patches, those times where you look at one another and think quietly but smarmily to yourself, “GAWD, I can’t stand that you are breathing the same air as I do.” That is the reality of what happens when you live with someone. A person can not share a bed and a bathroom with the same person seven days a week for years and expect to always think they are the best thing to come along since unlimited texting.  We’re only human. And let’s be honest, only one of us is scrubbing the toilet and shower!

 

There is some personal sacrifice in every relationship and a great marriage is no exception. The ‘rough’ patches were brief and ended up being the glue that we didn’t know we needed at the time. Stuff happens. Time might heal, but moving forward as a team and a united front is one of hallmarks of our marriage. It hasn’t been hard. 

We were children when we got married. At 18 what could we possibly have known what life had ahead for us? What did we know about real life? When it’s said, “ignorance is bliss” I think it was our ignorance that became our bliss.  

 

On another occasion, a friend whose marriage was coming apart and soon ended asked, “Don’t you wonder just how long it’s going to last?” Well, no. It never really crossed my mind that being married was on some kind of time clock. 

 

Without knowing it early on, we nurtured our marriage like a family member. We ‘took care’ of each other and each other’s feelings. We were blessed with good health for the first thirty years and when illness paid us a couple visits, we took turns in stepping up and taking over the other’s role of caretaker, without pause.

 

Marriage is never a 50/50 proposition. If you’re lucky it can be 60/40. Sometimes, you get the 60. Sometimes, you give the 60. Then there are the times when it is 90/10, hopefully those times are few and far between, but it happens. Nobody is exempt. 

 

Our 50th anniversary is here. We both expressed that saying we’re married for fifty years sounds a lot longer than it feels. 

Awesome! That feels like 50/50!

 

About Harry

Very recently we lost a very dear friend to a sudden tragedy. Harry and half of his seven siblings were friends with my own siblings since grade school. Harry was godfather to my brother’s daughter. He was more than a friend. Harry was family. Harry travelled with us  on a big family trip to Ireland and Scotland.

Harry retired for the third time this past April. He was well-traveled and through much of this past summer he traveled almost non-stop and shared his possible plans for what would finally be his retired life. The next in his plans was maybe a move to Myrtle Beach, refining his golf game and enjoying the Carolina coastlands and as much golf as he could get in. 

After a visit with one of his sisters who also retired to Myrtle Beach, he could see this as his next step to a comfortable retirement. With a move to Myrtle Beach, after years in military service and a few career changes, it was a well-deserved plan for his retirement.

We came from a similar upbringing; city kids, big families, lots of interesting personalities and a daily dose of drama. We called it family dynamics. There always was and is somebody to talk about.

Harry was a single man and never married. Over the years he opened his home to one of his sisters and her son. The was a time when his mother needed end of life care and he brought her to his home. There was no way he was going to allow his Mom languish in a facility.

Harry’s sudden death left an emotional hole in many lives. For me, Harry was a regular for our weekly dinner at our local watering hole. He would sometimes razz my brother that I was his new bar buddy. We lived less than two miles from each other but my brother lives much further, like another state. 

Harry was my “plus one” for golf scrambles. He drove the ball, I putted. I don’t play much golf, but when with Harry there was no judgement, just good company and commiserating about our similar beliefs, mostly about political theater.

Harry was one of the most generous and caring people I have been blessed to know. I miss him. Harry was 66.

Black Holes and Role Reversals and a New Year

 

Black Hole image from EHT

I can’t say that 2021 was a year to forget because there are a lot of things I can’t remember. I don’t remember because I had a huge non-malignant brain tumor that was apparently affecting my personality, my walking gait, my short-term memory, instant recall and most notably I was forgetting my words while speaking. Friends and family are just recently telling me of how they felt I was “off”. Something wasn’t quite right, but they never relayed those feelings to me.

There were apparently several private conversations about me but nobody said anything to me, except my husband Mike who would repeatedly look for some material reason for this ‘slip’ in my usual daily spunky personality. His was the opinion that just one of my many pain medications was the primary cause, either that or early onset Alzheimer’s. I was and still am treating for Psoriatic Arthritis. I have come to realize and reluctantly accept that “Mister Arthur R Itis” and I have an arranged lifelong marriage. There’s nothing to do except to manage the marriage and try to find what works in finding some comfort and ease in daily tasks and mobility. I have resumed my yoga, some meditation and embraced alternative medicine and analgesics and with the start of Medicare pray that my current biologic treatment gets pre-authorized. 

Navigating Medicare is mess. I believe it’s by design to make it difficult.

The Pain management program I was prescribed is no longer the preferred supposed panacea for me.   I   must be able to function.

The Black Holes are just that, blank spots in my memory and recall, some huge, some brief snippets of time, but there is much I feel I’ve lost and have no hint at what it is that I’ve lost. Maybe that is best but it is no less disorienting and frustrating.

Role reversal was something that automatically happened. My husband took the reins I usually held. I often say, He makes things happen, but I make them better. This time he did both. I found after the surgery I was just fine with this. Recuperating from brain surgery was and is major thing, a BIG FFFing DEAL.

I was not prepared to be almost totally dependent on being taken care of by another. That was usually MY job.

Patients with brain tumors usually have to become reliant in a caregiver, because they’re not always able to do as much as they want to or were previously able to do, due to the side effects from the tumor location.

The incision was long around the top of my head, held together with staples. I am a relatively fast healer and was staple free in one short week. I had the mistaken assumption that this was going to be a recovery of a few weeks, not months if not the better part of a year.

It’s a disappointment I still struggle with, but I still move on.  

I welcomed 2022 at a New Year's eve party in the middle of the eastern Caribbean, on a cruise ship appropriately enough called the Reflection. It was a fun celebration, as I remember it. 

Here’s hoping that I have fewer black holes in 2022.

Happy 2022!