Tag Archive | Labels: art

I Don’t Even Know What To Title This

Stuck on being Stuck?

I am even unable to find the right key with my fingers, each finger feels like two, I am unable to even find words. Me! And now I cannot even find a title for this piece that I am also not even sure I can execute.

Something should be forth coming from this brain of mine to my fingers, whether they are typing or using my favorite pen. I should be able to come up with what it is I want to write about, or what I want to say in my ongoing project. But it’s not happening and I have no clue why. Most of the times this has happened it’s been explained away by myself, to myself. This time I am stumped. And I am stuck. I am so stuck I cannot even find inspiration to create a title for this.

I need to be able to write. I know getting stressed about not being able to find words is not helping. And that just letting it go is what I should be doing. Like walking away from the project that is not going well. Getting a clearer perspective. And it feels like on many cross roads that there is a force working against me. I cannot even keep my font on the same style or color to save my life. I’m sure it is because my laptop and WP have not been shut down for the last 36 hours. Tired laptop or WP, which I am not sure.Tired operator maybe? I don’t know.

But I keep telling myself that being tired is not going to be my excuse. It can’t. If that is the case than being tired is going to get in my way too often. I cannot afford to let getting tired matter. I have too much I am interested in doing. It’s not even about having TOO MUCH TO DO, it really isn’t. The idea that I am passionate about so many things and not being able to do them because I am tired does not thrill me. Though it may be a reality of mine it does not have to be one I settle for. I have the freedom and choice to make my reality change alter my reality from what it tends to want to be. 

My choice?

My choice to use the time that I am given by God, and by medicine to use for the people and the things that I am deliriously passionate about is what I cannot afford TIRED for.  NOT finding TIME; or in my case most often not finding “The Spoons” necessary to succeed this leaves me feeling deeply saddened. By that which I am not able visit my passions wears on me. I’m wondering if that is what is bothering me, why I am finding myself at this block. I need to express myself in some way almost daily. Either through my mind with words, or through my hands in creating something that can be touched. I need these outlets like I need water and sunlight. I am not meaning to be dramatic, just needing to find a path back to where ever my creative wings were dropped.


Finding myself without words is unsettling. I know, you find it unsettling too that you are finding me say that I am wordless.  People that know me are going to be laughing at the mere suggestion of this. I am really good about filling pages with idle chatter and maybe there will be a good topic and some common sense in amongst what I chatted about. This being at a loss for words is not the norm for me. But I could move past that.

While not finding the words was leaving me feel a bit unsettled as I said I thought that since, especially since, my cool husband had shined on the fact that I had art supplies all around my LazyBoy that it would be appropriate to try working on a greeting card. I had elements I’d made sitting aside for one that I had left unfinished before my cervical procedure.  So I thought a piece of cake right? Despite orders from medical headquarters, to not us my arms away from my body for the 6 weeks of healing post the cervical procedure. It’s hard to be creative with your hands while holding your arms next to your body. Holding your arms next to your body is not hard, it’s the natural pose you want to strike while guarding that which hurts. But that which had been hurting wasn’t hurting as much so my thinking was Cool! I can work at my table for a bit.

Making a card is what I wanted to do. I did it. It turned out fine. I did not turn out fine so much the next day. I woke up unable to move not just my left arm and shoulder, but my right shoulder opted to join in the revolt. They were ticked off at me!

I had a great time making the card. It’s one of my passions. It feeds me in ways nothing else can. Much like writing does. I have been stuck for words it feels like for much too long. I am hoping the card making session will unleash creative flow for my writing passion as well.

Ironically I am finding that several people I know are dealing with a very similar problem. Their creative wings have been clipped as mine seemed to have been. But then that is the most wonderful thing about your wings just clipped. They grow back nice and strong with your flight wings firmly intact and stronger than evet before. 

Also writing about losing that feeling is Chris Donner. Her fabilous blog is quite a read, I invite you t read Chris’s post called  “Strong Writing Mojo” at Chris’s blog Chris Donner Mystery Writer which can found at this link: http://chrisdonnermysterywriter.wordpress.com/2012/06/17/strong-writing-mojo/#comment-973

I’m just waiting for t~hose creative wings to grow back so that my creativity may once again soar.





Some Kind Of Wish ~ Something More

I’ve been pondering some about the idea behind Christmas Wish Lists lately. It’s that time of year after all.

Are they a tradition in your family? Your inner circle, your tribe? I’d really like to share with me if you do Wish Lists and what’s on your list.

I’ve been wondering what a woman of my era who really does not need or want a thing in this world; and who despite having a tendency for an occasional bout of melancholy am basically happy. What do I put on my wish list this year? Because typically in my immediate family there is no getting around not providing a wish list to each other. So what does a woman who has it all ask for?

A personal wish?

I could ask for better health, for some magic elf to find the solution to the chronic pain & fatigue which has enveloped my life at times. No always, but most certainly at times. I could wish for better things for my children and grand children because God and their parents know how much they could use the help.

But this year my wish list is being a bit more earthy. A bit more along the philosophical kind. And I don’t mind. I’m not even ashamed. No guilt trip to be ridden.

This year I am putting one thing and one thing alone on my Wish List.

The one thing I am listing and wishing for maybe Santa alone can deliver. I believe. Not just this year,I am a woman who believes in the magic of Old Saint Nicolas. Or Santa Claus to some.

♪♫♪ My only wish for Christmas this year. ♪♫♪

” What difference [does] it make if the thing [I‘m] scared of is real or not?” ~ Toni Morrison”

I have but one wish this Christmas. It may be a difficult thing to find, but I am wishing anyway.

My wish is to finally find comfort in who I am. To no longer have the fear that one day the real “ugly” authentic me will be unveiled. My wish is to put away all childish things, including such self-doubt after all these years.

The fear that the niceness of which I have always strived to express will one day burn out and the new light will shine on the true honesty of my feelings. No more cover-ups of niceties just to save face. Really. Meet head on the more unkind feelings I may own.

In no way do I mean or intend this to be about pity, pouty, or even self-serving. Not in any way. Just the facts.

The fear that I’m really not good enough, smart enough, likeable enough, healthy enough, pain-free enough,….blah, blah, blah… leaves me with still feeling the need of being the nice guy. So much to make up for, don’t you know.

God forbid someone see me being angry, hurt, or feeling lost even amongst a crowd. The finality of all of my authentic self who has been afraid to come clean about what I really may be feeling is frightening enough that putting a fake smile on my lips has become habit. Becomes who people see.

I am frightened that if I let that cat out of the bag there will be insult, offense. That if a true emotion is expressed it may hurt or offend, and there for be a justified reason to turn away. Even without intent on my part I discover I am afraid to show what is real for fear of abandonment of any kind. Doesn’t matter in what way, a perceived slight could make me ponder for days. I know where this comes from but it makes little difference in how I address this fear.

If I am not all those things, pretty, smart, always kind, healthy, pain-free, wear a smile not a frown, NICE, if I am not all those things and more how can I possibly be liked, let alone loved? If I keep up the front no one leaves, no love is pulled, I am truly loved at last. Right?

The question that wisdom still fails to answer for me is why is my spiritual faith not enough to heal the scar that has left a life long fear? I am never worried or fearful of God abandoning me. This may be the one perfect pure thing I know and trust. This I know. Yet it’s disturbing my authentic soul that I’m still almost waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me. I realize now that the quiet buzz of anxiety is about this old childhood fear. Or is it a childhood fear alone?

This is the wish I have this Christmas, Dear St Nick: This my biggest fear. And even though I am wiser than I know, I am still unable to get over this one. That love/people can be pulled away in an instant if you’re just not good enough is teen angst, and I am far from being a teen. It’s been far time to give up this childish fear.

Yet it thrives, this fear.

Despite for instance; having my soul mate as my life partner and spouse for over 40 years I still live with the fear that one day he’ll get fed up with the REAL me and just bolt. One would think that after 4 decades there would be a sense of trust developed between the two.

And This has nothing to do with him or his actions. He’s the most kind loving man any woman could pray for.

There is, and always has been trust on every level but this deep authentic layer of myself that I am still trying to excavate from the ruins of my past. This is my stuff, my unhealthy issue. The frightening worry that after having to cope with a partner in life whose been chronically ill for more years than we’ve been married is one day he’ll just burn out. This is my demon from long ago and it still screams at me in the dark.

Yet he faithfully and devoutly puts up with me and all I encompass.

Knowing that I am a women of substance and abundance; and believing that I need to get past this to a point where I am able to finally accept the passionate woman I am, this is my wish this Christmas.

To get past this, to give it up once and for all-knowing all along it’s been nothing but my own negative tapes playing from long ago. Without shame or embarrassment, and with trust with no doubts that I am the woman God intends me to be. To live my life with intention and faith in all things good, even me.

The smile I’m wearing today is one that I wear with simple honesty and transparency, just as I wear a face of sadness on days that I may feel low or in more pain than I can hide. This is me.

With warning I can say that who I am, who I have grown to become is someone who should maybe come with a kind of disclaimer:

Possibly a road sign:



My wish is to just be me. To not fake smiles, or accept hurtful unkindness from others like it’s my place to be dumped on. As if it’s purposeful to take it with a smile. To be the kind and loving woman I am without having to pretend is my wish.

My wish and hope this Christmas is I get into my own skin, like it there just as it is. And wear it proudly. No need to make changes just so others always see the sweet kind Baroness. It’s time to put away the childish ways with fake smiles, and bring out the authentic grins that come from the more truer me.

To trust myself enough to stop being so damn nice to others just because I’m afraid of what they’ll think of me. This is what I wish for this Christmas. The gift of the Authentic Me~

So when I’m smiling you’ll know it’s real, it’s honest. The smile is meant for you because you touched me in a way that creates honest laughter and joy within my heart.

Inspires a smile so real, and so from my heart.


{Random thoughts spoke out loud become purposeful dreams and aspirations on a sleepless night.}


A Borrowed Love Song~ Because I Need You Now!

Dearest Grandson T; (I will not use your name here only so that I do not cause you any embarrassments of discomfort.)

I miss you this cold and windy day more than you’ll ever know. You’ve brought so much sunshine and warmth to my world and to have you now gone is sometimes more than I can bear. I have little doubt that you’re happier where you are and I saw this coming. I was just not prepared for it so soon. It’s not anything I want you to ever feel responsible for but I cannot help but miss you more than I hurt. The empty hole in my heart that was left behind shocks me, you’re not that far away and visits will happen often. The one I was counting on tonight has left me down, left me feeling like I really need you now.

This love letter and borrowed song may seem to you like these two things should be saved to be given only to lovers.To boyfriends from girlfriends. Not true. My heart has grown with so much love for you the baby boy who was born into this family, and the young gentle man you have spent the last 12 years growing to become. I’ve watched in fascination and delight. Never raising a boy before and only having girls I am often amazed at how different yet amazing boys are. This kind of letter and the dedication of this song below are only meant to express to you how much I need you now in my life, and always will.

The family traditions that we’ve played out each year I have discovered where not for me, maybe not even for anyone else in this family. I may have been fooling myself. They were and are for you and your only cousin on this side of your Nana & Papa’s family. Without you they are not what I thought they were. They are not the traditions I know without you. This is why I need you now. You Master T. & Ms K. are what it all was for. All about your shining eyes and willing hearts in the days leading up to any holiday would leave me with awesome anticipation and excitement at the thoughts of cooking and baking together, playing games, fighting (deciding) who will say grace that year, and the meals we shared. Sitting across the table from you and being reminded just how much I love you and that I need you in my life, in my world. That when I said as a little girl: “I want to be a grandma” it was because of you. The need of having a grandchild just like you.

I am not as selfish as this letter seems. I promised you that I only want what you are looking for to make you happy, to keep you safe and successful at what you choose to do. And I am able to keep that promise, to put your feelings and wants ahead of mine almost every time. Usually without any exceptions, questions or doubts.

 Except when I’m needing you now.

Having just this tiny family and watching it dwindle down is like losing someone you love very dear and not being able to stop the actions of others causing it to happen. I know this is all more mature than some might think good for you, but I know you T. I know how you were raised. I know that honest feelings were always spoke out loud and not shoved under some false idea of what is proper, and what is not. You were protected and kept safe, but not sheltered. I pray, even as I miss and need you now that those things you learned as you matured are things that will allow you to stay true and authentic to yourself. And to this relationship we’ve so lovingly nurtured and spent time together growing. The kind patience we have discovered with each other. Remember the dried apple? How long did it take?

It may be something not said much any more between grandparents and grandchildren, especially between the Nana’s & the grandson’s of this modern world. This is a different time. Loving you as honestly and passionately as I do I am concerned this open letter to you will cause some embarrassment at your tender age of manhood.  An age when you’ve not grown into your masculine skin completely yet; and not enough to know this letter is something that I need you to know now. Waiting to write this until your 18 may be too late in life and I’d be saddened to think you’d never know how much I needed you now. Then, now & always. So I write this now and in this way.

The tears are falling on my face as I write this my dear grandson. I’ll not get to hold your hand while we pray this year. I’ll not smell the hit of the cold fresh Autumn air in your hair when you sweep in the door. This is just as much a part of loving you as is hearing your newly husky voice cheering on the game with your mom and papa, while I pull the warm fresh rolls you love from the oven door. I’ll not be making fresh rolls this year for the table. I cannot. It’s a silly gesture I know. Maybe so a  love letter between grandmother and grandchild. This is how I express when I am unable to do so in real-time, or in person.  But I cannot and I will not apologize for who I am and how I do things. This is who I am..

I need you too much now.

I was not expecting this grandson. I was never expecting you to leave this closely knit friendship we created so soon. I know you never expected it either and as a 12-year-old young man this need of mine will never be shared with you until you’re old enough to know what it really means. To know, even though it’s a selfish act of a need of my own,  it’s one that is pure and honest. There is something really special about God bringing you to our lives, to this family, to this grandmother who loves you so much. That God would finally bring you, a young baby boy to my world and I can say with pride that my own grand baby boy is a gift by grand design. A design that shows me yet one more time that God knows what He is doing in our lives. How HE continually Blesses in ways we don’t expect.  I never expected to love you this much, never expected I’d need you so much in my life.

 Yet I was not prepared to have you gone so soon across the mountain pass. To be so far away and yet as close as only a phone call away Or a couple of hours road trip.. But I still miss you and when I put all my Thanksgiving eggs in the one basket and made them all about you being here this year I set myself up for great disappointment. It’s only because I miss you and need you now. I was not ready to experience this Holiday without you – thought when you’re were coming across the mountain pass all would feel right. If even it was just for the 4 day weekend, in our world with you here all would be as it should. I’d have you here to watch, listen and to learn from. The first year with you gone might have been easier to feel the changes happening with having time being spent as a family again, and time to adjust to you living across the mountain pass. I’m sorry I’m still not there yet.

Without sounding too whiney or pathetic; and without practicing a pity party for one, let me tell you that this letter and dedicated song below are just my way of expressing the pain and fear I am feeling with you gone from the world  I knew. The one with you a big part of it. Slowly and definitely your cousin Ms K left this side of the mountain pass too. The busier and more wild side of larger cities that you both find yourself in are worlds apart from the one here in this small hometown in the high desert that you knew. With exciting and new events happening daily in your life away from this small town I fear your need for this Nana will not linger as I’d always hoped it would. I wasn’t expecting this my grandson.  I just was not ready for you to move on across the mountain pass yet .~

I’m just not ready yet, I’m not ready for you to move on and no longer need me.  Not ready for me to no longer cross your mind.

I miss you terribly, I love you so.  And I need you now.  


 Lyrics and song  BY:  LADY ANTEBELLUM:  For you my favorite, and my only grandson: (Love songs are not just written and sung for boyfriend and girlfriends. Love songs can also all about the love between a grandmother and a grandson.


Picture perfect memories Scattered all around the floor Reaching for the phone ’cause I can’t fight it anymore
And I wonder if I Ever cross your mind For me it happens all the time
It’s a quarter after one I’m all alone And I need you now Said I wouldn’t call But I’ve lost all control

And I need you now

 And I don’t know how I can do without I just need you now
Another shot of whiskey Can’t stop looking at the door Wishing you’d come sweeping In the way you did before
And I wonder if I Ever cross your mind For me it happens all the time
It’s a quarter after one I’m a little drunk And I need you now Said I wouldn’t call But I’ve lost all control

And I need you now

And I don’t know how I can do without I just need you now
Whoa, whoa Guess I’d rather hurt Than feel nothing at all
It’s a quarter after one I’m all alone And I need you now And I said I wouldn’t call But I’m a little drunk

And I need you now
And I don’t know how I can do without I just need you now I just need you now
Oh baby, I need you now



PS. of course you know that this is just a song and though the words mean so much not all is relevant to you & I. It is a love song and My Love I love you more than I ever thought possible. You are the one and only young man I’ll watch from day one until I can watch no longer. You are such a gift and joy to me. I hope one day you’ll understand why this song. I hope you’ll always remember too that despite this song singing about missing a loved one it also and is speaking of drinking whiskey and being drunk; know that I am grateful you’ll know that is not who I am. That you never saw me drunk.  

Some Story Telling

These are a few of the scrapbooking layouts I created in 2009. I’d love to eventually move all my images of my mixed works here in one place. we’ll see. That’s a large chore and I’d rather be writing or actually creating new pieces. So no promises to myself. I am challenged by seeing the progression I’ve made as time goes on. But then maybe I should not be so ready to see what I may be war of.

Hmmm… whose your own worst critic?

  My son and daughter-in-law’s wedding photo in the apple orchard of B. C. ~ 2009

Family Joy ~ 2009 ~ My youngest daughter and her baby. He’s 12 yrs old and over 6′!  His goal?  To be an NBA star of course.

My Bestie in the best place on earth. ~ 2009

Two Sister’s Strike a look a like pose ~ 2009 ~ This is my youngest daughter and step daughter hamming it up.

Strange Irony in Logic

I am aware that I have been really kicking myself while doing an awful lot of self loathing this week because physically I am close to rock bottom. But while spending most of my time reading because it’s the least painful distraction at this point I realized that a quote I’d read some time ago really is true for me. Then & Now. The words returned to my brain & while circling loudly reminding with a forceful nudge to get off my pot. If not…. well… you all know the rest of that one.

The quote: ” No [woman] was ever ruined from without; the final ruin comes from within.”

I’d forgotten, that while peeling another layer from my emotional skin during times of incredible stress I tend to look outward. I’d let myself forget or go into denial that this is a disturbing pattern I create for myself. I’ve been tending to blame some in my team who I know from past experiences have been able to provide me answers. The fact that this is not happening now is where I chose to put my energy, if you can call self loathing an energy. Instead of setting aside the fact that prior help is no longer available where in the past it had been, and moving forward I have instead stuck my head in the mud and have been practicing a pity party for one.

The irony I find in what I have been doing in sticking my head in the mud and trying to distract away from a body that hurts like hell; is that no matter where I turn I find other stories, blogs, paragraphs, quotes, even music and art that speaks to me on the same point. Weird. I look for distractions and find threads that are hanging there creating the impulse to pull the thread, only to keep discover that what I am trying to distract from is being met head on only with that which I am trying not to see.   

I know maybe not so weird. But an irony that I’ve yet to figure out for myself. Call me a late bloomer.

  I have tried to go in search of something delightfully sunny and as far from pain as I can, as I can think of, and within minutes my brain starts associating with just a fragment of what I am exposing myself to.  Even a lovely 1950’s B & W film noir movie that I have seen at least 50 times in my life time. (not exaggerating) Seriously, the herione had chronic migraines. Why or how did I never not associate this before, and why this week?  One of life’s strange ironies I do think. 

I know there is a perfect logical explanation for this. And there is also a spiritual explanation to this.  Some times logic and spirit have a tough time riding together in my world. Other times they gel so well.  I have been hiding my head under my pillows along with myself this week because I feel like my world has been slowly and painfully spiraling out of control again. I thought I had fought this battle one last time and from that point on if need be breaking out the heavier weapons would not take massive red tape. The logical mind in me says that I know from 27 yrs. of experience what works, and what does not work. I’ve dealt with “Step Therapy” with my insurance company and suffered through 13 weeks of physical therapy because that’s what my insurance company required of me before the next step in treatment modalities. 13 weeks of PT for a Fibro patient with cervical & thorasic spine disease before any attemting injections into the spine and nerves in hopes that would bring relief. This is just one of my issues that I see as illogical

  Another strange irony.

So I take my self on yet another journey today for my authentic self.  The me; the self I can not and do not lie to, or in denial with.                        

 I guess my authentic self knew the day was coming when I would face the music during a pity party for one, and recognize that the real irony is that what I am looking for comes from within myself. The authentic me. Not the one who is altered by pain and the corruption that comes with trying to remain a productive and significant soul in the society she lives in. There is strange and sad irony in that everywhere I turned today looking to strip away another layer of the illogic that runs through my life, like my blood does through my veins I saw not much difference. I run into the same thing, the same truths but with different faces. The illogic in that although there is medication that has proven to work, that has caused me zero side effects, that took me from being completely disabled by pain to a functioning person. One who even went back to work part time (okay in a pottery studio, but I was paid & had set hours), to someone who was able to take my life back, to jump back into her saddle with more zest than I ever thought was possible. More than I had in about 13 yrs.  That was in 2005.

Four fabulous years. I even decided upon my own that since my pain levels were doing so well and so stable that I’d start decreasing the pain med dosage. It was a smart move. If I did not longer need that level of medication why take it? Right?  Logical sounding right? I thought so too and continued for a year in lowering my dosages with the help and support of my pain specialist. By the time I had dropped down to almost nothing the challenge was given to me to see what it  would feel like without. This made total logical sense since it had been sometime since my body knew what it was really feeling. I dropped one med completely, the one for breakthrough pain, and the other I lowered to just 5 mgs and was still doing really well. I finally went down to nothing. No opiate pain medications at all. To say it was a physical struggle, is the least I can say.

   I lasted all of three weeks.  During the time of no need on my part for medication my pain doc was quite enamored with my success.  After three weeks of struggling every minute of the day, every night laying awake in pain instead of sleeping I gave in.  The need for 5 mgs in the morning was met with no resistance and in fact I was told just how proud she [doctor] was of me, that I was “her poster child” and that she was bragging and telling her colleagues about [my} success.  I was actually quite smug with myself too truth be told. Here I was someone who was lives waking up to pain every day, goes to bed hurting every night,  does not sleep because of pain have been prescribed all kinds of medications and other treatement modalities over 27 years, have used opiate medication for years and have never had a problem with it, never had a negative response,  never had to fill early, never built up a tolerance so increasing spikes in dosage was never an issue for me, never lost an RX, never have given my physicians or pharmacist one iota to be concerned. I too was feeling like a success story. I’d done all these things, continued to do many, and have made so many life style changes to succeed in having some semblance of a normal life.

 I am not being illogical or unreasonable with what I am looking for out of life. To be able to be with my family & friends and not have to worry about the next event with them. Will I be able to attend, to join in?  To be a supportive friend and mate to my best friend & husband of over 41 yrs, To be able to be a constant member to what ever is going on with my kids and grand kids, to have the energy and pain “LESS” times to work on my art, and to have time that I can spend with my friend’s who are my tribe and also help keep my saddle on straight. Even when I am not in it.  To have the stamina and energy to continue my work as a CASA (advocating for children through the court system where they have little to no voice).  Is that asking for too much? I was doing all of this and more while at the highest dosage of my opiate medications,  and I have been doing this at my lowest dosage. That was up until a year ago just this month.                

 Then the boom of illogic was lowered again.

This time in the form of a long awaited road trip. We’ve not had the gift to travel because of my health. I won’t even go there in all that it implies. Suffice it to say that for me to travel brings on a host of issues. Even in my best of times.
Well it was too convincing. We told ourselves that after 4 good years a road trip was most doable.
Seven hours later and arriving at our coastal destination everything seemed fine despite. The expected sore body and a neck that could not look from one side to the next. Carefully through the next week we went doing as much as we wanted within guidelines that kept me moving. No horseback riding, no dune buggy rides, no hikes along the rocky coast line. That’s okay. I took art supplies, my camera, our kitty Truman who was the beau of the resort. Yes, our cat road trips with us.  I was a happy and free camper. Okay.. not so much camping really in a lovely suite. But I was happy. And I was feeling free.
Then 7 to 8 hours back home. I drove some of the way hoping it would help ward off some of the muscle stiffness that had worked its way back out during the restful week on the beach.
Back home exhausted and in the need to recover from our vacation. Who does not need to do the same? I recall days pre-CP (chronic pain) when returning from vacations it always took me a couple days to recover from being on holiday. I recall conversations through out the years with my peeps about such phenomena. Serious fatigue post vacation.
So the first vague feelings of being tired were natural. It was just as natural for me as part of my illness, just as pain comes with my health conditions so doe chronic fatigue. To talk about both out loud runs the risk of being doubly labeled.
But so goes the stigma of the illness of chronic pain. And fatigue.
For two days I listened to my body, I altered my routine as I normally do when symptoms flare their ugly heads. Then by the third day I knew. I was hit over the side of head, up each sides of my neck, slugged in my Left shoulder & arm, and tiny fierce pinches in my mid back, all of which left me out of breath and flat out of my saddle. 
The logical reason for why this was happening was my road trip. This is not so logical sounding to most. I get it. But this is part of what a chronic illness is like. Major changes from the norm. 
Fast forward one year later. I am no better. I am maybe even in worse shape concerning the spine disease. It’s progressive. That is logical.
What is not logical is that I am still in so much pain it’s having a deep effect on my life. I am powerless over my pain, over my body, over my disease.  I admit it.   I understand logic has no place here. I logically have put in place every life style change I could make, every skill I’ve learned to use to cope, every distraction I’ve developed over time that helps minimize the exposure of the chronicity of my pain to my emotions. All to no avail. I am now becoming pissed. I don’t get this way often. I am normally a sunny person, one who sees the positive.
But what I continue to find extremely illogical is there are treatments including medications that can help bring me back to some sense of a productive day. That can minimize my pain enough that focusing on something, anything else is possible. It’s part of my tool belt. Distractions. But there has to be a place in my brain where I can set aside the pain, at least for awhile. To have the ability to focus on something else means the pain has to be put in the back saddle.  Because I know it will not completely go away. It hasn’t for 27 yrs.  I have been watching in slow fascination this time the progression of my doom. As heartily as I fight this deep deadening attack on my norm the unmanaged pain fights with even more venom to take all that I’ve known away.
Medicine is supposed to work on logic. Really?  I find this to be one of the most ironic, illogic,  personal happenings I’ve ever come to have such an influence on myself.  
It’s illogical, it’s ironic and it’s not who I am.
This altered side of me.

Handcrafted Atumn 2011

Spidey Webb ~ For my grandson

Inspired Rose. ~ One of my hand-made flowers, a hand crocheted doily by a friend who soon after had a stroke. (thinking I’m going to remove the blue ribbon, never noticed how funky looking it is.)

No explaination needed. ~

Please practice self exams.

Note: hand-made paper rose made by my BF.  Amazing student, yes?

Thank You!   ~  This is another hand -made flower of mine, silk leaf and under is a geoform.





Thanks for peeking~

Name something you’d like a lifetime supply of.

These paper petals will make great paper 3D flowers some day

Easy answer for me.  Paper! Any paper would do but I am partial to pattern papers, hand-made papers, papers with some weight such as card stock, velum, onion paper… I’d do just fine for the rest of my life with paper. I could even do without scissors or a trimmer of some sort, and could do without scissors.
I can tear the papers, and even make glue with flour. Not exactly archival but whose looking when it’s using your life time supply?