Don't Buy Crap

We have only one large indoor corporate mall in my town, and that's probably one too many. Thankfully, Vitamin World is the closest store to the entrance by the food court. My infrequent forays into the mall usually involve nothing more than a quick trip to Vitamin World for the 7-Keto DHEA that I need to function on a daily basis. I'm in and blissfully out in mere minutes.

Tonight, however, I had to venture deep into the mall on a special mission: to find a relatively cheap shirt for tomorrow's "Hawaiian Shirt Day" at my husband's office. ("You're kidding, right?" I said.) After some negotiation, I agreed to scope things out while he ran other errands.

Would you believe that Sears, JCPenny, and Macy's were completely out of Hawaiian shirts in size XXL? I dragged myself to the Bergner's wing and up the Bergner's escalator to menswear. Bingo! One Hawaiian shirt in XXL marked down from $68 to $19.95. Thank You, Universe. Then it was back to the food court to collapse on a bench and wait for hubby to rescue me.

I learned a lot from this evening's excursion. I learned that:

• When American women dress for the mall, nothing is too short or too tight.
• There are a lot more conservative Muslim woman in this community than I knew. When the heat index is 100 and you're draped from head to toe in heavy fabric, an indoor mall is probably you're best shopping destination.
• I need a lot of tissues when walking the mall because of my allergic reaction to the multitude of stores devoted to smelliness: candle stores, perfume stores, bath stores. Ack!
• Eddie Bauer and Starbuck's aren't there anymore but Asian guys soliciting people for seated massages are. What??
• Some stores now have fat manikins in the fat ladies clothing section . . . but the clothes still suck.
  
• Despite losing 20 pounds, seeing my reflection in full-length windows does not make me feel good.
• Seeing a lot of tiny Asian women in cute tiny clothes does not make me feel good.
• Incessant calliope music is more annoying than you'd think.

One thing I did not learn (since I already knew it) is that the mall is full of crap: jewely crap, clothing crap, housewares crap, amazingly useless crap . . . . And I was reminded of something very important that I learned way too late in life: don't buy crap. (Hawaiian shirts notwithstanding.) You can waste a whole lot of money buying a whole lot of crap. Instead, spend that money on a few top-quality items. How much nicer it is to have less stuff that works better, looks better, and lasts longer than all that crap. And it doesn't clutter your house.

Of course, if we didn't buy all that crap, what would we do with all the Wal-Marts, mega-malls, and sweatshops?

These Fabulous Days

What a weekend: perfect temperatures, light breezes, and spectacular skies. I have never seen a mountain or a desert that moves my soul like the broad, beautiful horizons of the Midwestern United States.

It was hard to spend any time inside. The beauty of the days brought back so many memories of times when I was young, fit, and full of adventure: sharing hot summer nights in a pup tent with my dad's dog, steering a boat across open waters with the wind whipping through my hair, relaxing by fabulous camp fires under star-dense skies, dancing for hours in the rain with high school friends. Life was hard then, but never have I been so alive--in body and spirit.

I miss those days. Friends and family who shared my love of nature are all gone now, moved away or passed on. My body is tired and my joints are stiff and painful. But I am still blessed with the opportunity and the ability to enjoy a beautiful day when it comes along. I am all too aware that, as Jane Kenyon would say, one day it will be otherwise.

Otherwise by Jane Kenyon.

So, How's Your Day?

Why does everything happen at once?

ONE THING
My husband was headed out to work a couple of days ago when he made a startling find. "Honey," he yelled, "You have got to see this!" He stepped from our utility room into a small room that attaches the house to the garage and found himself face to face with a creature perched above a cabinet.

I knew it was a bird but, aside from that, I was at a loss. It was hard to make out its body shape; it was all puffed up. My husband translated the body language: "Watch out! I'm a BIG bird!" The weather has been nasty, and the bird was smart enough to find its way to shelter through our broken dog door.

ANOTHER THING
A couple of weeks ago, it was the roof. That's still not fixed. The crazy wind continues to bring up more shingles. At least we have a tarp over the worst of the damage while we wait for a roofer.


BACK TO THE OTHER THING
Long story short on the bird, I was able to determine that it's a white dove/homing pigeon from Indiana. It's living in our mud room in a dog crate, dining on Finch food and fresh water. We still have to clean up all the poop it left everywhere before we persuaded it into the dog crate.

When the weather is good, we plan to let it go. These birds are supposed to find their way home on their own. We tracked down the owner from the band on the bird's leg, but no word from them, despite emails and phone calls. Because it's a banded homing bird, no vets or rescues will take it in.

Here's what this gorgeous creature looks like when it's not trying to scare us.


AND ANOTHER THING
So, yesterday at 6 am, Samantha, our Vizsla/hound mix, was raising Cain outside. Hubby went out in the nasty cold and wind to get her. She was covered in mud and tearing up the siding near our bathroom window. The nature of her bark and intensity of her purpose told us she was on the trail of a wild animal. What the?? How does an animal get up under the siding of the house?

Later in the day, I started hearing banging, scratching, and scraping under our bathtub! The initiated will know where this story is headed, and it ain't good. We called a wild animal capture service. The owner confirmed it: a momma raccoon looking for shelter to give birth. I really can't imagine how raccoons get into the places they find for shelter, and goodness knows what we'll have to do to get them out. The bathroom will probably be torn up this afternoon during the extraction effort.

I haven't even finished cleaning up the mud clods Samantha tracked in.

GET ME OUTTA HERE
Dirt and disrepair; noise and chaos; rain, wind, cold; and chores piling up so fast my head is spinning: that's my day. Couldn't I just be sipping tea on the warf in Santa Barbara . . . p-l-e-a-s-e?

OK, OK, I know what you're thinking. I'm still mighty thankful we have a roof over our heads and shelter for the animals we want to shelter. I wish everyone had as much. Some of us in this house are even pretty spoiled.

POST SCRIPT
Oh, did I mention that Samantha tore out the screen door this morning in her eagerness to go raccoon chasing? She's also having an allergic skin reaction and needs a vet visit badly. The grass in the side yard is 8 inches tall now. You can almost see it grow. I think it's taunting me, daring me try mowing it. And dishes are growing mold in the sink. Now that I'm working, there's no time for all of this nonsense. I have more important things, like envelopes to stuff for $10 an hour, damn it.

Deep breath, in and out.

Thursday Ramblings

THE HUBBY ET AL
My husband is home today working on an assignment for grad school and doing laundry so he can pack for a business trip. He needed help getting chocolate out of a pair of socks. Wouldn't it would be easier for a middle-aged man to get chocolate out of his socks than to get chocolate on them? How does that happen?

His morning routine involves listening to local radio while getting showered and dressed. That happened later in the day today, at a time when the local station carries (cringe) Rush Limbaugh. Rush was picking apart the President's ESPN appearance in excruciating detail. It takes a lot of hatred to obsess about something like that to such an extreme. Dick Cheney, Rush Limbaugh: who gives a rat's ass? They're not relevant anymore.

CHANGES
I got a job. Can you believe that?

For some of us, life has an interesting way of changing our perspective. Four years ago, I was an Associate Director in charge of technical support for a major administrative unit at a large university. The money was damn good for someone with a BS in Social Science. Then I got sick--too sick to work.

I had good insurance, but the doctors had nothing to offer but drugs and platitudes, both of which were more harmful than helpful. I'm better now, thanks to medical people who refuse to succumb to the AMA and Big Pharma Borg. I still have a big medical bill with the local Borg clinic and monthly expenses for "alternative" care that is not covered by insurance. And we are struggling financially. So, I started looking for work.

Part-time is all I can manage. I found an office job that seems well suited to my needs and abilities. It was such a fluke; there are so few jobs available and most are too physically demanding. I had to negotiate to get the pay up to $10 an hour. I'll bring home one-tenth the take-home pay of my last job. And I feel very fortunate to have it.

Apologies to the Blog-o-Sphere

I've committed the unforgivable blogger sin: I stopped blogging. I didn't mean to do it. It just happened.

Oh, there are plenty of reasons for it:

• I had so many thoughts and ideas spinning in my head that I couldn't sort them out. Things happen so fast. There was the election, the GOP meltdown, the economy, wars and terrorist attacks, a psycho-Elvis-wanna-be Governor, healthcare issues, the often sorry state of "modern" medicine, etc.
  
• I haven't felt well in recent weeks. (That's code for 'barely functional.')
• The holidays . . . busy trying to make gifts.
  
• I started a new blog project, TraumaBody. For a couple of weeks, that's all I did. Then I crashed. Productivity comes in spurts. My passion for the project is so huge that it wears me out.
• Lots of ISP and power outages in this cursed cold and icy winter.
• All else was failing, so I got wrapped up in bead weaving. I love bead weaving. Aside from being relaxing and gratifying, it's probably a waste of time. Not much return on investment. (Could I sell you a bracelet?)
  
• And so it goes . . . .
  

Anyway, at least one prominent blogger has removed my blog from her blog roll. It doesn't take much to lose ground in this environment. I'm surprised anyone still has me on their blog roll. To those of you who do, it feels like an act of downright kindness that you've kept me on. Thanks--I needed that. I really needed that.

I just keep doing what I can as best I can. The chips will fall where they may.

Kindness and Love: It's a VERY Big Deal

This post is for everyone--but especially for the devoted daughter of the woman who shares my mother's nursing home room. Your disapproval has been duly noted. Your mother is a lovely person. I bet she was a lovely mother. You have been blessed--more than you know. Thank your mother. Thank her every day you wake up with a normal, healthy brain.

Never abuse a child.
Be careful how you judge.
You may have no idea . . . .

Wounds That Time Won't Heal

Oh, Oprah....

Bless her heart, she means well; but sometimes she speaks about things she doesn't understand. Once I saw her interview a famous actress who went through a terrible depression and battled thoughts of taking her life. Oprah said she can't imagine having such thoughts.

The other day, I saw a video clip of Oprah with Eckert Tolle as they responded to a question on depression. Oprah said, "If you're depressed, it's because depression works for you." Oh, Oprah....

You know, some human beings are prone to adopting lovely, simplistic philosophies (that 'work' for them) and then measuring everybody and everything else through that belief system. I tend to think their lives have been too easy or their experiences too narrow.

No, Oprah, depression does not work for depressed people.

My Personal Hero: Bruce McEwen

Dr. McEwen is a researcher at Rockefeller University who has researched and written extensively about the impact of stress and trauma on the brain. Of special interest to me is his explanation of what happens to the developing brain when subjected to repeated neglect and abuse. He gets it....and he's trying to educate others. Bless you, Dr. McEwen.

Brain researchers have gained substantial ground in this area, but clinicians, sadly, are still very much in the dark. That needs to change.

Promoting brain health: The Dana Foundation
Learn about the brain at The Dana Foundation Cerebrum pages.

Personal Rant: Work Life

Wow, it's been over a month since I've posted. November and December were extremely busy, making and trying to sell jewelry, attending Holiday events, and getting ready for both Christmas and our wedding anniversary. Christmas was wonderfully quiet and peaceful, but afterwards I caught a nasty bug and have been out of commission since then. Now, it's back to life, with Spanish class starting on Monday and my husband starting grad school (in addition to his full-time job). Things are getting back to "normal." (Normal - ha!).

I was prompted to post today after having a hot button pushed one too many times. While listening to an otherwise inspiring program about women who run highly successful businesses, I heard one entrepreneur say, "To be successful, you have to do something you love."

Oh! That's so easy to say, if you're one of the charmed few who is able to do something you love. But what if:

• you don't have the credentials to get into a profession you'd love and don't have the money to get the education/training/certifications to get the credentials?
  
• there are few (or no) paying opportunities to do what you love?
• you are ill or disabled in some way the inhibits your ability to do what you love?
  
• or . . .
  

I did something I loved once--for four years--and the profession chewed me up and spit me out. I loved my work and was extremely good at it, but the profession draws a lot of hard, dysfunctional people--mostly male--who crave power. It broke my heart and broke my spirit. So . . . that was that. I moved on. (If you're wondering, I worked as a juvenile probation officer.)

I moved on to smaller and lesser things--a meaningless hourly job that barely paid the rent for a tiny apartment; but it left me with some sanity at the end of the day. I worked hard at my job and went back to college to begin working my way into another profession. Twenty years later, I had a position with a title and a good salary, but one that I hated to face every single day. Nevertheless, as one of my friends said, "A girl's gotta eat--and get a new pair of shoes now and then."

I can't do that anymore. No more grueling days in jobs I hate. No more working for nasty bastards. After thirty-eight years of working (forty, if you count babysitting), I'm still trying to find the thing I love to do that I'm capable of doing (now that I'm officially disabled) and that pays actual money. I'm searching and researching, but God knows what it might be. At least I hope She does.

A Bit About Me & PTSD

I currently spend most week days with my beads, my dogs, and my computer. If I'm not home, I'm probably visiting with friends, showing my beadwork, going to medical appointments, or just drinking tea at Panera (well..., ok, maybe eating a bagel, too). To some of you, that may sound idyllic (except for the medical appointments). Two years ago, I would have said I'd give "anything" for that life, but I had no idea what lie ahead or what it would cost.

Not so long ago, I had a job with a title and a good salary. It was chaotic, stressful, and full of challenges. My entire life had been full of challenges, and I'd always been able to 'go deep' and rise to the situation. But the days were becoming harder and harder. I began to see signs that I was in trouble: losing my temper, inability to remember things, difficulty following conversations, not being able to focus on tasks, and becoming hopelessly disorganized--all things that were the opposite of my normal personality and performance. The harder things were, the harder I pushed and the longer I worked. Despite all the strength I could muster, things kept getting worse. I began to feel that I was hanging over a precipice by a small thread.

Something had to give. I talked to my husband, my boss, my doctors, my colleagues, asking for support, assistance, or relief of one kind or another. Nearly everyone responded with anger or denial ("take a day off, you'll be fine" and "you have obligations and responsibilities, so just get over it"). One high-level administrator became so angry that she hit me with a full-blown personal attack in a meeting with my boss. So, I tried one more time to regroup and push on; but this time, the thread snapped. I collapsed and was hospitalized with complete mental and physical exhaustion. I no longer had the strength or the will to keep fighting.

Over the course of the following weeks and months, a very surprising picture emerged. For starters, I found out that my thyroid had become under active. That alone can be debilitating. It was another three months before my thyroid problems were addressed, but the debilitating symptoms persisted. In fact, I wasn't any better. So, I pressed on looking for answers. Several months and many expensive tests later, I learned that I have a neurological problem involving the prefrontal cortex of the brain (governs higher cognitive function) and the HPA axis (controls hormone levels that underpin health and vitality). The shocker: it can be caused by life-long stress and/or a history of trauma in the critical developmental years of infancy and childhood.

Since then, I've learned a lot about the brain and the long-term impact of childhood abuse and neglect, as well as the effects of adult stress on brain function. PTSD is not just about memories and feelings--it's about serious alterations in the brain's structure and function. Complex PTSD is even more devastating; problems can multiply exponentially with repeated or prolonged trauma and stress.

For more information, see:
Does Stress Damage the Brain? by J. Douglas Bremner, M.D.
Trauma Spectrum by Robert Scaer, M.D.
Observations on Traumatic Stress, online article by Robert Scaer
Waking the Tiger by Peter Levine
Reading list by Dr. Bryan Post
Any books or articles by Bruce McEwen

POSTSCRIPT:
More than a year after I made this post, I was able to have my adrenal glad tested and learned that it was (and is) not functioning normally. Major improvements came upon beginning supplementation with an adrenal hormone and a mix of bio-identical hormones. It's by no means a cure, but it has made an enormous difference.

Drink Your Tea

I love tea -- good old black tea, not fruity tea or herbal 'tea'. A fine black tea with honey and lemon is so sublime. Not any tea will do, however! I'm picky about my tea. It's hard to find a good cup or glass in the USA. The best tea I've found is Typhoo, which is imported from England. It ain't cheap, but it's worth it. The decaf tastes just as good as the regular, which is almost too good to be true.

A simple cup of tea is one of life's pleasures. It has plenty of health benefits, too. Take time to smell the flowers and savor a cup of tea. And if you add lemon and honey, notice how the bitter and the sweet combine to make the most marvelous flavor. Think about it.