The night before the night before the night before....

My daughter is fascinated by the idea of "eves"...the naming of the night before the big day.  Of course, as some fascinations are wont to do, it's gone a bit too far.  Right now she is making a list of the 'eves to come in 2011'...we are up to 22 and she is only through March.  Next, she says, she will make a menu for each of the eves.   I ask her, what about the next day?  "Those days take care of themselves, Mom.  But someone has to take care of the eves..."  Interesting theory--or just another reason for her to ask for baked potatoes, mashed potatoes, blue cheese, brie, olives, salami and the rest of her "best of" menu.

In any case, I share her delight in the night(s) before, there is something to be said for the cuddly anticipation, the quiet innocence of the unknown yet to be that comes before the loudness of the 'day', whichever day it happens to be.

And of all of the eves, I, probably like thousands of others, have a special place in my heart for Christmas Eve and all of the eves that run up to it.  The nights of Bing and Rosemary, with the lights off, the candles lit, the soft lights of the tree in the corner.  Hot Chocolate to my right, a book to my left and a pile of wrapping in the middle.  The fun of shopping with the kids for each other and their Dad, always ending with hot chocolate, even when it's 75 outside.  The hopeful whispers upstairs talking through the 'what if's' of boxes that arrive daily.  These are the eves of my adulthood.

The eves of my youth are distinct with memories of serious cold, of tires crunching across snow, of signing every carol we knew while driving up the hill to Butte Falls from Medford.  The heater in the old blue station wagon making you drowsy so the singing becomes that wonderful drone in the background of your dozing--until one of your four brothers and sisters yells that you are in their seat space...and then inevitably, the magic dissapated for a bit, sometimes for good, as the night became not so silent.  In our case, the irony of multiple instances of taking the Lord's name in vain on the heels of 'Oh Come All Yee Faithful' often got lost in the ensuing melee.

Which, as it happens, is history repeating itself as upstairs, the soft silence of my eve of the eve of the eve is broken because the older brother caught wind of the "Eves of 2011" production that is occurring and is repeatedly telling his little sister that "...it doesn't work that way, you are making all of this up..." and I'm waiting for the....yup, there it is, "Mooooom!  And, ooohh... I just heard a 'dammit'....  Here is an eve memory we'll all remember for different reasons.

Luckily, the hot chocolate to my right goes well with the Peppermint Schnapps in the cupboard.

Oh, My Body, My Body, Part Deux Or Headcase, Anyone?

So, I havent' written since I've been back to work.  I've been struggling with how to manage it all...but here is the kicker--The struggle is all in my head.  Irony.

The work itself is easy. I'm good at it.  I love it and it energizes me in a way that I'd taken for granted.  I've had no problem working up to my own standards.  I've had no problem setting boundaries as to how much I'll allow on my plate at any given time.  And, I've been just as, if not more effective. Awesome.

The taking care of myself?  Yeah, not so much. I find it easier to fall back into the craptastic schedule I was keeping before September 30th.  So disappointing and disappointed...actually more than that.  I'm totally pissed at myself.  But, like horses, bikes, bulls and relationships, you just gotta jump back in and/or on and that's where I'm at now...jumping back in/on.

See, the first week went great.  I got up, walked three or four miles, got back, ate a good breakfast, took my meds and got to work at a reasonable 9 am.  Worked, had my banana/slimfast shake and almonds for lunch.  On the way home did my yoga or rowing.   All of this in the service of managing my chronic headache from Occipital Neuralgia....the weight loss was a bonus.

Realized quickly that all night exercise will have to be moved to the morning....I'm too exhausted after work to get anything good out of the rowing or yoga.  So, figure out the new schedule, no problem...plenty of options for me. Feeling good.  Feeling upbeat, yes, even a little cocky.

Second week, Monday.  Sabotage....Self-Sabotage.  The voice inside my head that was saying, "heya, the pain is managed, don't worry about it"...so I slept in and scurried out the door without being able to look my husband in the eye when he asked if everything was fine.  "Totally Fine", I said. Which is actually code for "Totally fucked".

Second day followed the first day.  Except I did the utterly unthinkable and stepped on scale....gained a pound back.  Spent the fourth day talking to my therapist about how I am so angry at the self-sabotage and reminding myself that this is not about weight, it's about my head.  Nothing changed over the next few days....except Tuesday of Third week, I wake up with my head pain at about a 8 or 9 when I had it consistently down to a 4 or 5. 

My fault. No exercise, wrong food, not enough sleep.  So sucked it up, went downstairs and jumped, okay, shuffled, into family life.  Later, a nap, shower and pain pill and we were out and about.

All of these years, it's been about the vanity of weight, with good intentions wiped out by evil little voices, laziness and fear...the justification of "I can still do anything."  Of, "I like being a little cuddly."  Of "Reuben had it right, red hair and curves."

Except it's not about that anymore....exercise and diet are just a way for me to manage the real issue with is chronic head pain--something that actually does keep me from doing things with my kids, my husband, my self...now and in the long term. 

So, back in the saddle, old girl.  Or as my daughter said to me the other night, "My brain gets me into trouble too Mom. You just have to wait until the right moment when it's not looking and then do the right thing."

So, for the next six weeks or so Brain, "look away, look away"!

Subjective Pain, Yo Yo Ma, Porcupines and Soofganiyots

photo by Lowell Lipton

I have found just enough amusement in the words "migraine pain is subjective" to just let it go.  60-some days in with an unrelenting headache/migraine I find myself on the cusp of going back to work in a week--there are a lot of questions I'm asking myself about this, but the main one is, "will I be able to work up to my own high standards?"  Will I be confident and comfortable with the product I put forward?  God, I really hope so.

I often thought I'd go crazy at home not working, but I found that to be an artificial construct I created to make myself feel better about not working.  The reality is I needed these two months and quite frankly I need more time to work out the kinks in my pain managment routine--you see I can get to about 3 pm right now with the pain at about a constant 5 (with 10 being the worst).  If I take a nap, then I can extend that to about 7 pm...but at that point...zoooey mama...it ratchets up and I'm wanting my pain medicine, a dark room and a comfy bed.  All of this is in the context of me not reading, driving or being in any stressfull situations.  Add those three things back in and well, I'm not sure what it going to happen.  Someone once told me to "get comfortable on the edge of the unknown--to be curious about what is coming...".  I think that lesson was for right now.

So, since the FMLA folks find headaches and migraines "subjective", I'm back to work a few weeks earlier than I had hoped.  It will take a lot of planning and management on my part to make going back to work, well, work--both for myself and my teams--not to mention my clients and I want it all seamless, hidden from them because it's not their issue and I don't like feeling weak or "less than" in front of others.  Of course, this is silly because I'm not even back to work and I'm already adding stress.  Excellent.  Good Plan. 

So, we'll see.  Curious about the unknown and all of that. 

During these two months off I struggled early on with the idea of not having a "purpose" other than getting well and I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish.  Of course, I wrote that list in a journal and thought I could journal all about accomplishing this list.  Oh, belly laughs for sure. Serious hysterics at this one.  The list mocked me from afar because I didn't touch the friggin' journal past week two.  That, however, does not mean I did not accomplish a few things.

First, I did learn how to knit. It is not calming for me, but I did it anyway. I can knit basic scarfs with one stitch...if I try to pearl it all goes to hell.  So, all the scarves I'm knitting are knitted, no pearls.  For those of you getting them for a holiday gift...deal with it.

The office, after two years, did get organized. It felt good, but not as good as I thought it would.  Big let down.  Basicially I realized that now I have to keep up the organization.  Not so much a silver lining for me. 

And, I did go through all of the kids schoolwork from the past three years and put the items we thought 'keep worthy' into their memory trunks...along with tiny underwear, baptism outfits and the pregnancy diaries I did keep when I was "round for a reason".  Now my daughter is creating 'memory boxes' for Big Spitty our deceased cat, for her favorite stuffed animal and for the 'first grandparent to die'.  Lovely.   "Monster creation" was not on my list, but I could go back and write it in and then immediately cross it off just to feel that sense of accomplishment. 

I've gotten into an exercise routine...walking, yoga-ing and rowing...I feel so much better for it.  And my iPhone is chock-a-block full of new music for this new 'Exerciser Rene'.

Which is how I figured out that Yo Yo Ma is for Fall...especially Fall mornings that are kinda foggy.  He works really well then. And, I found that I prefer walking to singer/songwriters and alternative music as opposed to rock, pop or techno (unless it's Gavin Froome and then it's good.)

Speaking of techno, that's what my 8-year old daughter wants for Christmas.  That and a giant (bigger than her) stuffed Penguin.  My son wants "30 books and a porcupine".  Seriously, 30 books!  He didn't even get to put the Mac Air on his list...it was no sooner out of his mouth than the laughter began.  First time in a while my husband and I laughed so loud, so hard.  We had to thank him for that.

Back to the porcupine. His best friend has two ground hogs and a hedgehog, so my son figures, what is better than that?   Obviously, he got his critical thinking skills from the other side of the family.  :)

Tonight, the eve of Hanukkah, I made Soofganiyots or Israeli Doughnuts for the kids to take in to their classes tomorrow.  While my Jewish husband had never heard of these, I know they do exist and that they are for Hanukka because they are in "1000 Jewish Recipes" cookbook that was given to me when I married my husband.  So there!    My son, who was helping me for a bit, did ask why we didn't have a "1000 Catholic Recipes" cookbook for me, so I quickly took the conversation back to the porcupine...much safer and easier discussion.

It's about 10:30 pm...we sent my daughter to bed about 2 1/2 hours ago.  She just peeked down the stairs and asked me about Mad Cow disease. 

All I can think right now is, thank goodness I learned recently that pain is subjective.

The Paper Chase: Things to be Thankful For And The Sergeant's List

So I was going through all of the paper floating around our house today--paper that our children create on and with in their various activities throughout the day.  Not just school related, it was found falling out of backpacks, stacked on desks and chairs, under beds and yes, even (and already) in the bathroom on the floor by the toilet.

At first, it was just a regular chore, me the memory keeper sorting through what goes in the trash, what each child might want to keep and what I might want to put in their memory trunks for later, you know, when they are grown ups and I want to embarrass them.  However, about half-way through I found myself sitting in the craft/music/sports room reading through some of these--some making me laugh, others making me cringe and some just plain old confusing me as I couldn't 'see' the child that created the thing I was looking at...it wasn't a child I was acquainted with obviously.  Even if it was my kid.

First, I'm happy to see in the "Things I like About"  booklet by my daughters classmates that all of them find her funny and amusing.  A few of them even find her awesome, wierd, nice and terrific.  I agree with all of that (although the spelling was changed to for the sake of her second grade friends) and I 'm happy to see all of these great descriptors.  However, I was most impressed by two of the children who said that she is a 'good friend".  These are not children that my daughter mentions much or has play dates with and I only knew them from the class list or the mentions on the class blog.  So when I asked my daughter about it, she just said that some of her classmates aren't that nice to these two kids and she "kinda takes care of them' sometimes. I asked her to tell me more about this and, with a good amount of impatience, she just said, "I make sure that no one is putting rocks in their shoes at recess, and that they don't get pushed out of line."

Rocks and recess lines...I remember when making and being a good friend was just that easy and without getting to sappy, I told her she was a good kid and that I was proud of her and gave her a hug.  "Whatever, Mom.  Are you sure you didn't take too many of your headache pills today?"  And......scene.

Not that she knows it, but she somewhat redeemed herself later when I read her "Things I am Thankful For" list, because it was pure "her"...sweet, funny and a little wierd.  And here it is:

1.  Food
2.  Making Food
3.  Uncle Charlie

4.  Air

5.  Mom and Dad
6.  Teachers
7.  Brother
8.  Cousins
9. Hearts
10. Life

And in her own "Spinal Tap" moment, she added her own number 11.  More Food

I'm just glad I made the list and I've used logic to be okay with the fact that we came after "air".

Later, I came across an oddly important looking document entitled, "Sargents Test" (sic).  It was obvious from the writing that my daughter had written the questions and my son had answered them, part of some game they had been playing in the park earlier.  According to the document, he passed his "Sargents" test, although the "tester" told the "testee" that he still needed to come up with a better "Sargent" nickname.  But I'll get to that later.

Page one of the test was the stuff that threw me--although I don't really know why.  Boys, even boys like ours who have not grown up around guns, and who aren't allowed to watch movies like "Kill Bill" even though their friends get to, play their version of soldier, cowboy, lawman, etc.  It just blew me away that either of them knew enough to ask and answer questions about "flanking maneuvers" or that the 'stock' is the main body part of a gun.

I was happy to see that he had only 'killed' 4 men and that he'd left (or kept...it wasn't that clear) 69 men alive.  That made me happy and hopefull...hopefull that he could see the 'human' factor of a war and not just the 'cool stuff' like guns and flanking maneuvers. Happy in that he might have actually listed to some of the talks we've had when we thought the 'war' stuff was getting a bit too intense.

We've seen him grow into a solid historian about WW II. He's read "Band of Brothers", "Diary of Anne Frank" and about a million other fiction and non-fiction books about WW II.  He has looked up his Grandfather, Rear Admiral Charles Beasley who was in the Pacific theater of the war on a destroyer and he idolizes my father, Lt.Commander John Huey, a fighter pilot off carriers through 1968.  And, because it's who we are, and because we want him to be able to understand and discuss war and soldiers on a different level,  my husband and I make sure to talk to our kids about the wars they've grown up with--the why's and how's of Iran, Iraq and Afghanistan and especially the human factor of the war in terms of our troops and their families, as well as the civilians who are living through all of this on the other side of the world.

I knew all of this, had participated in all of it, but I don't think I knew what it meant to him, or rather what it meant to his character. And I'm not sure I do now.  But I'm going with the fact that "men killed to alive" ratio was 4 to 69...that my sweet boy values life even at this pretend level. This is something we'll keep talking with him about--that both as a budding historian and a boy who plays war in the park, it's easy to read about shooting and killing and it's easy to play at it, but he can never forget that it all comes down in the end to two things...his understanding of the value of humanity and the choices he makes about that value as he continues to build his character..

On another note, I have to agree with my daughter (the "tester") about his choice of nicknames:  Fish Eye and Dead Claw just don't have any, well, meaning or panache.  He'll have to work on that as well.

Melancholy, Baby Or The Soundtrack of A Painful Morning on Short Term Disability

It probably doesn't help that I'm listening to Holly Golightly signing "Slowly But Surely", or that it's a grey, grey day, or that I'm still at home with a migraine/headache that has been constant since September 30th. 

This is a new and unpleasant experience for me...me from the family of "no blood, no foul" and my personal favorite, "you can find sympathy in the dictionary between shit and syphillis".   Me of the marriage to the man who is disabled with a chronic pain/neurological issue for the last 6 or so years and deals with it well.  No matter what, I was always the type of person to get up, find a way to fix things and move forward...that is what I do.

But right now I feel stymied by the cage of bureaucracy I find myself in--stuck between the bars of doctors and insurance companies and short-term disability organizations that all move on their own timeline regardless of what the other company, or patient needs.  I thought since I've been diagnosed finally with Occipital Neuralgia things would get easier with the paperwork, but actually not.  Go figure.

Am I receiving good care?  Yes, I believe my doctor has a firm grasp on the issues and is working a conservative, but smart course of treatment. And, as a bonus, I like and trust him.

But I'm realizing that "care" is a complex entitity for me.  Just like with your children when they are sick, medicine is never enough--they need the right blanket, the right stuffed animal, the right lap to be cuddled in.  The right story at night, the right whispered conversation in the middle of the night and the right silly movie from the couch in the middle of the day.

I doubt it's just me, but adults on short-term or long term disability need our own version of these things:  

My own version of my "blankie":  a call from the boss to check in on you, to let you know that you are still a part of team. Calls and notes from friends and families...not about getting well, but about connecting you to things outside of your own head and body. 

Things you can count on:  like the right records being faxed to the right entity without having to check and double and triple check.  Promised updates on your 'file' coming through when they are supposed to.  Knowing when you are going to get paid so that you can take care of your family.

Things you can accomplish: whether it is cleaning out the junk drawer in the kitchen or trying something new like knitting.  I've spoke of this before on this blog, but it's about having a "purpose", whether big or small, aside from getting better or well.

(Egads, now Richard Thompson is singing "Beeswing"--I've got to play something a little more chipper.)

Luckily, I have a great "blankie" with my friends and family, and I've got a good list of "purposeful to do" things that don't make my headache worse.  The "things I can count on" are a bit more problematic and cause anxiety which then rachets up the old headache....viscious circle.  

(Okay, Lords of Acid, "Let's Get High and Have Fun" sounded better in theory than practice...Now I'm back to Nina Simone, "Four Women".) 

The worst part of it all is feeling like you are being judged for taking Short Term Disability for something like a headache....even when I explain that it's been constant since the end of September.  Even when I explain the double vision, the nausea, the speech dysplasia, the pain that makes me want to grind my knees into a rocky asphalt road while hoping for a car to come by and just clip me a little.  It didn't help when my first doctor asked my husband, in the context of the FMLA paperwork, "How many times has she tried this?".  Me, a 60-70+ hour worker, who is always there for the people I work with and for!  Lowest point, definately. 

But I know where to find sympathy, right?  And relatively, I've got it easy...there are bigger problems in the world and people more worthy of an "emotional blankie" than little old me.  Besides, I've got Yoga tonight...that's good for at least two or three good giggles at myself.

So, I'm ending this with Hello Saferide and "Last Bitter Song". Fitting.

Yoga Made Me Cry, And The Rest of the Week

About 60 minutes into the 75 minute class, the teacher asked me to "grasp my sucess" or something of the like.  I couldn't.  In fact success wasn't just eluding me, it was fearsomely mocking me.  I felt like crying or puking, knowing me probably both at the same time.  We had just got done doing this meditation that required me to fold my right hand together with the thumb under (think about it as the exact wrong way to make a fist when you are punching someone or something), squeeze it tight as you can while attempting whistling and focusing on the end of your nose at the same time--and I think there was a special type of breathing that was supposed to happen at the same time. For me it was like trying to tap my tummy and rub my head at the same time--nothing came together and at the end of the 11 minutes I felt like a complete and utter failure.  I can't whistle, I kept forgetting to look at the end of my nose and I think I was breathing in when I was supposed to be breathing out.  The only good news is what I could hardly unclasp my hand and it hurt, (Yoga Claw!) so I gathered from the feedback that this was a good thing.

The teacher, who was actually amazing, soothing, funny and more made some mention, in general, at the end of the class about being a pre-beginners class and I' m pretty sure it was meant for me.  But no, I'm going stick out the regular old beginners class, so next Saturday I'll be there, fire breath, yoga marching and trying to direct it all to my third eye. Oy vey.

The rest of the week had ups and downs, but overall I'm feeling, finally, like I'm moving forward through this whole migraine from hell medical leave.

UPs: 

• The Austin Weather!  Cool, crisp with the scent of wood fires in the air.  At night, there has been the hint of moisture, so a little fog.  To me, this is perfect weather and I could live year round in it.  It makes for especially nice walks, both in the morning as a workout and at night meandering around the neighborhood with my husband. 
• The Fushigi Experience:  my daughter had been asking for the Fushigi (an anti gravity ball from a long-form commercial that promised magic, delight and it was theraputic!  After three months of mentions, she gets it for her birthday.  Twenty minutes later, the screams of "It's a rip-off" bounce around the house.  You ask why this is under an "Up"?  Well, first, it's funny as hell to hear your 8-year old ranting righteously about the magic ball being a rip-off.  And secondly, it's a good lesson for her to learn.  The Fushigi Ball now holds a place of prominence--a silver, glowing sphere on the mantle under the television.
• New Neil Diamond album!  "Dreams".  I'm not an undercover fan at all.  I love Neil, especially the stuff from the last decade or so.
• Deep Relaxation Yoga.  I have to admit that I've allowed myself to fall off the edge of curiosity  when it comes to yoga and I'm comfortable  building my wings, mistakes and all, on the way down. I even went so far as to by a CD and a lavender eye-bag so when I can do it at home.  The first time my daughter was interested in joining me and it was going well until the voice on the CD asked us to direct our energy to the "right buttock, the left buttock".  Sophia, standing up from her little rug, snorted and said, "I can't learn anything from a guy who doesn't know that people have just one butt!" and marched off to her room.  I wasn't sure if I should let that energy expand into the universe, but I figured it couldn't hurt.
• Halloween was fun!
• Something Is Working:  Whether it's the medications, the cortisone treatments, the better eating, sleeping, exercise or yoga...or all of it together.  My migraines/headaches seem to be leveling out.  They haven't gone away yet, but the seem to be settling into a manageable mode.  I'm looking forward to the next round of procedures and what positive outcome they can bring!

Downs

• In one of my first Deep Relaxation Yoga classes, the teacher asked us to think of and talk about a person in our lives, but who had passed away, who we tried to model ourselves after.  The majority of the women in the room, of all ages, and including me, brought up our Grandmothers and described them as "fearless, fierce, confident, strong, takes no bullshit".  It made me wonder if this generation would be described the same way by our granddaughters.  I'm not sure--I think we have a lack of good role femal, pracital and strong role models, quite frankly and are afraid of the "bitch" label.  When I think of strong and practical women, I have quite a few in my personal life--but only two in my global life (Hillary Clinton, Rachel Maddow and Eleanor Roosevelt).  I must find more, or as Eleanor said, "You must do the things you think you cannot do."
• I'm sick to my stomach and heart about this 'sound bite' society we live in now.  We all want things fixed faster than fast--the economy, healthcare, jobs, education, etc...yet we don't take responsibility for the fact that we all had a hand in creating the fiasco, and it took us a long time to screw things up so badly.  So instead of sticking to the person we voted in, we start searching for the next group of people who, regardlesss of their good intentions, won't be able to satisfy the needs in the time we give them.  It's a vicious circle that concerns me more and more and personally, I blame anyone 40 and younger...we should be smarter than this and we should have the determination to work the hard work to get it done right.
• Finally, and related to above, after living through this mid-term election I look back to something else Eleanor said and find it even more true today, "Sometimes I wonder if we shall ever grow up in our politics and say definite things which mean something, or whether we shall always go on using generalities to which everyone can subscribe, and which mean very little."  I think we all know the side we are erring on.

So, no books yet, obviously, but I'll get there.  As I will with the Yoga...hopefully without tears or arguments over whether there is one buttock or two with an 8 year old.  I just gotta keep remembering...in the future, I'm awesome.

Things That Are Supposed to Relax Me Actually Do The Opposite

Okay, a month now of consistent migraine, cluster headache, occipital neuralgia or whatever it is.  New Doc, new drugs, new possibilities, day by day I'm muddling through.

I'm trying to read each day, but it makes the headache worse more times than not, so it's a crapshoot.

I was able to sew up my daughter's school Halloween costume (Hobo)--as opposed to the one she is trick or treating in (skeleton), which was fun.  And we made two cakes together for her class Cake Walk at the school Fall Zamborree.  Loads of fun in the kitchen with frosting---thanks to Top Chef:  Just Desserts we even carved and other fancy stuff.  The pumpkin looked like a nice carved pumpkin.  The skull?  Not so much.  It was probably the last cake forced upon some wary winner.  Oh well, we are pretty sure it tasted good.

But these are very small moments in between a lot of sleep and a lot of cursing silently in a darkened room.  Not the way I want to live my life even for a short period of time.

There are two things I've been told time and time again by literally everyone that will help keep my brain free of pain:  exercise and things that relax you.  I now believe that "litterally everyone" hates me.

I walk because running is out...anythiing that bounces my head up and down or back and forth is out, which is problematic on a whole other level, becuase THAT relaxes me.  Irony much?

So, on the manufactured relaxation front I'm trying two things.  One, Yoga.  Not the bendy yoga for reasons mentioned above, but a deep relazation yoga and one called Kandalini (sp?).  Secondly, I'm attempting to take up knitting.

Knitting.  Or as I call it these days, 'Fucking Knitting".  Edvard Munch once said, "No longer shall I paint interiors with men reading and women knitting. I will paint living people who breathe and feel and suffer and love.".  If he was painting me, he could paint a woman knitting and suffering!  A two-fer for old Edvard...what a bargain for him except I think he already painted it...you know, The Scream.

I did the right thing...I bought what the internet said to buy in terms of needles and yarn and then I picked up Knitting for Dummies because someone said it had the best pictures.  It might.  In fact it probably does.  But the fact is that I didn't shoot low enough...I should have bought Knitting for the Absolute Idiot and maybe then I would, after a full week, be able to do more than cast on a few stiches before it goes completely to hell, along with my language.  This is neither satisfying nor relaxing and I end up back, cursing silently and possibly more inventively, in a darkened room.

In fact, this whole knitting debacle is so pathetic my husband is out right now at Wal-Mart attempting to get me a different set of needles and a different type of yarn...I love him for it, (and lord knows, this proves he loves me) but I'm not holding out much hope.  He also found and showed me the best apps on the iPhone for knitting, probably in the hopes that I'd stop muttering on the couch like a crazy woman.  I even went so far as taking my 8-year olds advice and called my Mother because as my daughter put it, "She can knit and talk to people, including Grandpa who is deaf, so she must be good."  I called, she was out, but my Dad got a great laugh out of it.

I will continue to work at knitting.  Probably, knowing myself,  for the sheer need to conquer it although I do hope to find some sense of accomplishment and moments of relaxation.

I'm not ready to talk about Yoga yet.  I'm trying to give it time.  All I have to say is that Deep Relaxation Yoga is painfully like what I do the rest of the time:  lie down in a darkened room cursing silently.

The Blessing of Double Vision!

I was trying to read the NYT online today, and it didn't go as well as hoped--glary double vision and all.  However, in the Fashion & Style section of all places (hello, Sports?), it did ask me "Can Paul Rabil Make Lacrosse Sexy?". 

Do they need to ask, seriously?    It reminded me of a line I read a while ago in a romance book that made me giggle: "He smiled then and made her heart spring like a lemming flinging itself into the sea." Best. Line. Ever.  And I could see it applied to my double-visioned person of beauty. 

And, maybe he'll be the one that will bring some positive press to the sport.

I know It's All Relative: I Cheer for the Chilean Miners, but Me? I'm Angry and Icky and Bookless!

Twelve days ago I got hit with my first migraine ever. Knocked me on my ass...hard. I drove myself to the hospital. Not the smartest move ever.  I don't remember much but some honking, so am assuming I drove really slow. Cause that's how I was feeling...sloooowwwwwww, distorted, like a off-kilter sound-wave.

I got to one hospital and got transfered to another and then spent five days on Dilauded (sp?) ...lots of it. Dreamy. I gotta say that for the first time I understand the whole addiction thing.

Got sent home cause I was "healed"...but unfortunately still have migraine. Saw some new doctors and they want me to wait for their new meds to take effect--up to two weeks. This makes me angry...I'm taking notes on how their meds are affecting me and I've got some suggestions, but no....I'm just the tottering, squinting, slow-talker they will see next Tuesday. 

There are a lot of sucky things about this...first is the fact that I don't know when this is going to end.  Everyone says it won't last much longer.  Everone else says they can't believe it's lasted this long.  So, I'm trying to stay on the edge of curious, but I don't do well when I can't see what's out in front of me. At all.

I guess it's not all bad.  My son did get some laughs telling the story about how Mommy projectile vomited all over herself and the passenger seat of the car when we were all stuck in rush-hour traffic on the way home from the doctor. He did not like giving up his shirt to me so I could wipe my face off, but that's the price you pay for funny.

Everyone, and I do mean everyone tells me to not worry, about anything. Is that possible?  Seriously?  How do I not worry about how the pressure is affecting my husband who is disabled and about how tired he looks, that my son has suddenly developed a lot of tummy aches, my daughter is suddenly obsessed about fairness in terms of good and bad people, about falling behind at work and putting pressure on an already understaffed department.  I am not the type of person who can lie still in a dark room not worrying about stuff even though her head would feel better if I smashed my hand in a car door.  Twice.  Hard.

Along with the pain in my head, my body feels gross.  I'm eating less because chewing hurts.  I can't stand the taste of my elixir of life, Diet Pepsi anymore, so I'm drinking more water than is possibly good for you.  Yet my skin is blah, my nails are cracky, my hair is so-so.   I find myself getting weepy when shows like Criminal Minds and NCIS use emotional quotes.  So you can see I'm a disaster.

Personally I think it's because of two things...First, I got no 'purpose'...it's not like I'm taking time off to "be at home" or anything, so short of trying not to puke when I move, or playing my new favorite game, "guess which of the double-vision objects is real", there's not a lot of reason in my life right now. I do NOT do that well. 

The second thing is that I can't read right now---I have multiple books just waiting for me to read them..and not just books, magazine articles, web articles, etc.  They are calling to me...all of that knowledge, all of those ideas that are waiting for me to find them. All of those wonderful phrases, sentences...the tempo of a beautifully written paragraph.  Sigh.  All of those bits of information that I put aside until they are ready to be useful for a friend, a client, my family.  It's driving me batty!!!!  More importantly, I feel lost without them on some level.  I do get to listen to my daughter read to me from "Alex and the Ironic Gentleman" by Adrienne Kress.  A really fantastic book for girls of all ages.

So, three hours later, I finish this one tiny blog...more than twice what it usually takes.  Mainly because brain is slow and cranky and double vision typing sucks...and I'm still without...without an end in sight, without an answer as to what to do and dammit all, without a book to read. 

But the fantastic news is that tonight when I totter off to bed, I will quietly kiss my kids goodnight, both of each of them

Guest Post by Luke Sullivan: Never Shop At A Book Store When You Are Stupid

NOTE:  I am lucky enough work with Luke, so I get to read his stuff all of the time.  I thought this was a nice partner to my previous post, so I asked him if I could publish it on my blog and he graciously agreed.  Luke is the author of "Hey Whipple, Squeeze This", his take on creating great advertising.  



You’ve probably heard that saying: “Never go grocery shopping when you’re hungry.” Well, it makes sense. You end up buyin’ all kinds of junk food that looks yummy, or buyin’ way more than you planned on.

Which reminds me of that time I went to a liquor store sober.

Dude. Big mistake. (“Awww, man, gotta get me some of this vodka. And this gin. Get some gin. Ooooo, tequila, get that.”)

 Well, wouldn’t you know it, just the other day I walked into Book People here in Austin…. and I walked in stupid. Because there is so much that I don’t know, well, suddenly I’m reachin’ for every stinkin’ book on the shelves.

(“Gotta get me the new Franzen book. Oh, man, and lookit this new Blackwell title, ‘Outliers.’ He’s so smart, gotta git that.”)
Man oh man, I nearly flattened the embossed numbers on my Mastercard.

You know what might cure me of this book problem?

The new Kindle. Reason I say that is because the ads say the new Kindle can store 3,500 titles. Three thousand five hundred titles?

Here’s the thing. I’m a pretty fast reader. On vacation, I’ve been known to put away a book a day. But even at my best, … 3,500 titles? Polishing off that digital bookshelf would take nine and a half years of constant speed reading. Even Evelyn Wood, the speed-reading queen herself, man, at around book #1,954 … wouldn’t she just blow up?

Do I really need to carry 3,500 books on vacation? A guy named Barry Schwarz wrote a cool book called The Paradox of Choice. His main thesis: “We assume that more choice means greater satisfaction when it fact it means less.” He posits that a massive number of things to choose from can make a person feel bewildered, then anxious, and ultimately less satisfied after taking a purchase decision.

I think I know what Mr. Schwarz’s talkin’ about. Can you imagine if the first iPod’s commercials promised “A Trillion Songs In Your Pocket.” Man, I’d just tip over at the concept of a mathematical eternity burnin’ a hole in my pocket. I’d blow up.

Don’t get me wrong, I happen to love my e-reader (an iPad). But I don’t think the main promise of a Kindle or an iPad is a Brobdingnagian memory. Just gimme a digital L.L.Bean tote’s-worth. Just enough books to get me through the Labor Day weekend.

Reading Requires All 5 Senses!

I read today, online ironically enough, that the Oxford English Dictionary will NOT EVER be printed again--only being available online from the 4th Edition forward.  (see amazing note at end)

Last night, my 10-year old son looked up from the book he got from the library earlier and asked for a Kindle. (Such a funny kid)

The apocolypse is upon us...no one will have to burn books anymore, they'll just have to delete them. Not as dramatic for those doing the burning/deleting, so hopefully satisfaction in that will go way down and thus will go away...but I digress.

The point is that with the move towards electronica, we risk losinig the context of touch, the meaning that comes from the visceral nature of books and not just from the act of reading it.  I agree with Anna Quindlen when she said, basically, "...that she'd be happy if her kids idea of decorating is building enough bookshelves."

Books have a feel, a smell, a heft, a non-biological warmth to them that not only adds to the experience of the read itself, but they add a context to the space they reside in as well--reading Anna Karenina would not have been the teenage pivotal experience (trite, I know) it was for me if it weren't for my ability to remember the weight of it splayed on my stomach as I dozed on the couch in the sun thinking about what I had just read, the feel of the pages under my hand.  Those visceral memories are a direct link to my growing understanding of language, literature, love, loss, and family--and now, simply knowing it is there in the house, occupying the same space, gives me comfort among other things.  
 
George Robert Gissing said it best:  "I know every book of mine by its smell, and I have but to put my nose between the pages to be reminded of all sorts of things." 

Later, giving my son a back scratch before bed, I ask him why there are so many books in bed with him, on his bedside tables, under his bed.  "I don't know Mom, I just like the feel of them, knowing that they are there with me."

"Would you feel the same way if there was a Kindle next to your lamp or on your bed?" I ask.

"Mom", he say disgustedly, "sleeping on a Kindle would be painful.  Besides, I like seeing them around me."

"Exactly."  I smile and kiss him goodnight, knowing that when he has his own house, he'll have lots and lots of bookshelves in it.  And that makes me happy.



Amazing note: The 3rd Edition of the OED has been in the works for 21 years and will take approximately 80 lexographers another 10 years to finish!  Wow!

Ch- Ch- Ch- Ch- Changes, or Not

On the way to her first day of second grade I was a-joshin' and a-jokin' my daughter because she looked and sounded grumpy.  She sounded grumpy a little louder and so I told her I was trying to get her to smile and be happy on this, her first day of second grade.

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen, Mom."  Sarcasm, drip, drip, drippin' with each of her little steps.

Ahh....I guess things haven't changed that much.  Because that's what I was afraid of...things changing.  So, with her attitude firmly in tow, my daughter left me at her classroom door feeling happy and secure.

At the dinner table...even more security!  My son made new friends and could tell us that they were all democrats and were into music.  My daughter's new friends set themselves apart, one because he dressed really cool and the other because they had a "cool dead tooth".  She with her red striped hair fit right into the little group.

And now, my son is singing about going to school tomorrow and my daughter is grumping about getting up early. He's reviewing his math, she's writing her reading minutes in her reading log.  She's got tomorrow's outfit selected and he's only planning on changing out his socks from today's outfit.

Sighhhh, normality.  Happiness is me.

You see, I'm not actually that good with change.  It makes me feel uneasy, out of control.  Not necessarily a good thing either as a parent or in, well, any career. I first noticed this when I was in school.  In elementary school, I felt I would get used to one teacher and then the next year, a different one with a different approach. I would worry about not doing well, that I would do something wrong.

Then, as I became a bigger reader, I found I was more comfortable with historical novels (still am today) than with those that "looked forward", like Orwell's 1984, Aldous Huxley's Brave New World and Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451.  All books about a dystopian future--places I know I wouldn't do that well, quite frankly.  I hated reading them...I could never get comfortable in their skins.

And while time and experience has taught me that change isn't as scary as I make it out to be, making it easier for me to work through, I find myself happier when I'm realizing that things haven't changed as much as I've feared. 

This is not the best role-modeling, I know. And I definately don't want it to be one of the things I pass on to my kids.  But then I glance at my bookshelf and you can see Rubicon by Tom Holland and almost any biography of John Adams, Jefferson, Roosevelt and more.  With fiction, I see The Children's Book by AS Byatt,  The Help by Kathryn Stockett, heck even the romances I read are typically Regency.  I'm surrounded by the past, very little present and absolutely no future.

Now I know these two things probably are loosely tied, if at all. Or maybe not...maybe they are very closely tied together.  Who knows?  Regardless, it is the way I am and is my comfort zone.

So, baby steps...new school year, new things:  tonight, my daughter and I have embarked on reading Gregor the Overlander together.  While ostensibly set in present day, I can pretend it's set in the future and feel like I'm going hog wild in the change department. 

Which is all I can handle given that my son didn't turn bright red tonight when asked about new girls in his class...a definate portending of big changes a-comin'.

Gulp.

This Week, for What It's Worth: A Worthy List

My list for this week, in no particular order:

I miss tiny babies. Mine are older now and I miss their tiny, squishy, cuddly, cooing, baby-powder smelling bodies.

Looking at kids looking at art is awesome.

1/5th of Pakistan is under water. How can that be? 1/5th of an entire country!  It's hard to think about that, Haiti, the Gulf, the Middle East and troops in harm's way without becoming overwhelmed and upset.

Being Muslim is not equivalent to being a terrorist. Not all Christians, nor Jews, Budhists, Russian Orthodox, Sikhs, Hindus, African Diasporics, and/or Neo-Paganists, etc., are the sum of the worst acts of those that practice their religion. C'mon America...let's get this right—there should be mosques and temples and churches, libraries, museums—places of beauty and learning and freedom to help us deal with the horrible things/honor the people that died on 9/11.

I would like to elect people that govern and not politicians.

Funniest line in a romance novel ever: "He smiled then and made her heart spring like a lemming flinging itself into the sea." Best. Line. Ever.

Best advice I gave my son this week: If a girl sees you picking your nose, you can never, ever, ever recover from that with her...or with any of her friends.

I'm re-reading the Brother Cadfael series by Ellis Peters. So well written, such well plotted stories.

When my daughter wears her Scharfen Berger chocolate t-shirt that states "Extra Bitter" on the front...it's a statement of fact.

Read the Mistress of the Art of Death series by Ariana Franklin. Stunning historical novels with a protagonist that puts any modern day forensic scientist to shame. Sorry Bones!

My kids hate it when I sing everything I say to them. I'm funnier than they realize. 

I have good friends. I am lucky.  This week was the Clay Pit in Austin and a bottle of good wine at 50% off.

We do get better at some things with age and practice. I'm just sayin'. Sighhhhhhh.

I am anxious to read "The Blasphemer" by Nigel Farndale. One of the best British books of 2010. Second chance stories...they make me hopeful.

The Economic Security Index says that 20% of American households are facing "utter economic devastation".  Look around folks, we are them.

I love the Allstate "Mayhem" commercials.

School starts next week. Happy and Sad.

I love Laurell K. Hamilton and her Anita Blake, Vampire Killer series.  Great suspense novels that happens to have multiple and complicated love triangles among Anita, a Christian necromancer, wearwolves, vampires and the such. 

My daughter believes that my life gets better every time she enters a room.  She told me this when she woke me up the other day at 1:30 in the morning.  Ta-dah...my life was better.

Where You Are Affects Who You Are, or Back To "The Geography of Bliss"

After every vacation the kids will talk about their favorite moment and this time was no different. 

Elephant seals, dolphins in Santa Cruz, the Musee Mechanique in San Francisco, surfing and boogie boarding in Encinitas, riding horses north of Santa Barbara, the safari tents, Bart's Books in Ojai, marbles with Uncle Ethan, Aunt Heather and Grandma Bonnie and betting the ponies at Del Mar.

These were the agreed upon highlights, and when they ask me what my favorites were, I agree with them that all of those were great, but my super favorites were moments like the one in this picture.  Sitting on Moonstone Beach near the tide pools sifting through the stones, all of us finding "the one" over and over and over again. 

If Eric Weiner, the author of The Geography of Bliss is right, then as he stated in an interview (http://www.twelvebooks.com/)  you can "change your environment and you can change your life. This isn’t running away from your problems but simply recognizing that where we are affects who we are."

I agree with him and even though his book is about more than the vacational-geographic moments of bliss attached to a fleeting experience, I think the idea holds just as true.

As a working mom I don't often have the variety of experiences with my kids each day in which I can be a variety of people with them, but on vacation I can be "professor mom" at the California Academy of Sciences, "silly mom" at the Musee Mechanique, 'football mom' on the beach in Encinitas, "tickle monster" in the pool  and "fire cooker mom" at El Capitan Canyon north of Santa Barbara, "crazy betting mom" at Del Mar....I love these experiences because it is the geography that allows me to be completely free of expectations other than my and their own.

And, no longer how many years go by, I know I can look at the picture above and feel the blissful person that was me in that moment, in that place.

"The Wonderful O" or Freedom Is Just Another Word...

Who knew that a horrible accident with a porthole of all things would drive a man to become a pirate and outlaw freedom, love, honor and valor from an island nation.  Actually he just outlawed the letter "O", but without the words, the ideas, ideals and people didsn't exist any more either.

This is the premise of a book I've been reading and re-reading with my daughter lately.  Both of us love the story and the surface silliness of it all...trying to talk without o's is quite funny.  And, as she tends to ask insightful questions, I think she gets the deeper idea of the book and how important that is.  But most of all, we love the act of reading it...it's a fun, sometimes rolicking, always lyrical expereince.  Take this excerpt as an example...the pirate Black, having outlawed the "O", hired a lawyer named Hyde to put it into practice and this is one of his rulings (read it fast and fun and loud):

"Almost all the fruits are yours to eat, from the apple to the tangerine, with a good two dozen in between. I'll stick to those that start with P to show you what I mean: the pear, the peach, the plum, the prune, the plantain and pineapple, the pawpaw and papaya. But you will yearn for things you never ate, and cannot tolerate - I know you women - the pomegranate, for one, and the dull persimmon. No grapefruit, by the way. I hate it's bitter juice. I have banned it, under its French name, pamplemousse."

The first time we read it we got to the place in the book where the people were gathering in secret, planning to overthrow Black and his pirate pal, Littlejack.  Led by the poet Andreus and the beautiful maiden Andrea, they were talking about all of the important things they were beginning to miss now that the letter "O" was no longer and the most important things they would get back by defeating the pirate Black  They had listed Hope, Love, Valor and were trying to remember just what the fourth word was and they couldn't quite get there.  As the characters were making their list for the fourth word, so was my daughter--here is her list:

1.  Dog
2.  Soup
3.  Soccer
4.  Potty
5.  Pools
6.  Horse

And on and on...the only word that overlapped between the book list and my daughters list was "money".   And, when we got to the part where they unveiled the fourth word, "Freedom", my daughter was slightly underwhelmed.  She liked some of the words the characters came up with....

"None of these is right," said Andrea. "I'll know it when I hear it." And so, until the setting of the moon, they tried out words with O — imagination and religion, dedication and decision, honor, progeny, and vision. ... And they spent the rest of the night searching for the greatest, trying youth and joy and jubilation, victory and exaltation, languor, comfort, relaxation, money, fortune, non-taxation, motherhood and domesticity, and many anotherhood and icity. But Andrea shook her lovely head at every word the people said, rejecting soul and contemplation, dismissing courtship and elation, and many anothership and ation.

As we talked about it some more, I tried to explain the importance of freedom relative to the other ideas they and she listed.  She just rolled over and asked, quite snarkily I might add, if she was "free to go to sleep now".

I sighed and said yes. 

"Just Okay"

"Just Okay".

The answer my son gives to everything so far on the 3rd Annual Lipton Family Driving Trip. From the absolute wild splendor of Big Sur to the quiet dusky golden hills above Santa Barbara from a tent right before the sun ducks behind the far hill. The only times he's been enthusiastic are: 1) in the Musee Mechanique on Pier 39--a pier full of mechanical games from Europe in the 1800's; 2) Everything about Point Lobos; and 3) the breakfast at Deetjens Big Sur Lodge.

It's annoying, especially when I'm having such a wonderful time, but like the book I've been reading "The Geography of Bliss", it's all relative to the person who is experiencing the place. My husband and I are satisfied by the beauty of mile upon mile of craggy cliff...to a 10-yr old, probably not so much.

But today it all came together on the pier at Avila Beach and later at the safari tent at El Capitan Canyon...I cooked our dinner over a campfire, aided by a nice bottle of local Pinot Gris, and smores rounded out the night as the kids played with the kids from the tent next door. As we settled down for the night our kids asked questions about the bears and cougars the signs warned about. We told them that's why they were in the bed next to the tent opening...ahhhh, the lol on their little faces.

Tomorrow is horse back riding and sea kayaking...while I will be happy in both places, I'm not holding out for more than an "okay" from my son...and a chicken cluck from my daughter (which is a whole other story), but of not, then I have no doubt that his bliss will be found a mile or two or 100 down the road.

We all have a geographic place of bliss in each of us, even when we don't know it until we are right in the middle of it.

Where is the Fisherman Dwarf!

My daughter was extremely disappointed to find out we'd been saying "wharf" and not "dwarf" today. It's 5 hours since the "realization" and she's still pretty bitter....although good food at dinner might have dented the haze of disppointment that surrounded her most of the afternoon. I haven't asked her what she was imagining...quite frankly I'm a little scared...so we'll all just keep our own fisherman dwarf pictures in our own heads.

I love a restaurant that meets you at the door with a glass of good wine. That's what we found tonight at the Pacific Cafe on the Inner Richmond tonight. Amazing staff, great food---the salmon bisque, calimari steaks and Turbot cooked in paper was all to die for...luckily we walked around for 8 hours today because the food was big and yummy.

The kids had a great time working on a three-masted schooner this afternoon--raising the anchor and singing old sea shanties was pretty cool for all of us...that's the power of our National Park service...right down among the crowded tourist muck of the wharf is a national park with all kinda of refurbished boats from schooners to paddlewheel tugs and more...the presentation of information kept both kids interested, not to mention both parents.

No books today but found two culture magazines that I promptly subscribed to: Giant Robot, which mostly focuses on Asian pop culture and DAMn which is about international contemporary culture. Both arecworth looking into.

One kid is asleep , the other just asked "If you had a piece of chalk and were drawing a line, how long would a minute be?". I swear we didn't hit The Haight again today, but from where I'm sitting right now, I kinda wished we had. Off to answer the unanswerable.