Thursday, April 30, 2015

A Needle Here and There and Dr. Crackback

I've been dealing with back pain ever since I awkwardly hoisted my one year old granddaughter out of the big girl bath tub. That was almost 13 years ago.  Since then the back pain has worsened, eyesight and hearing are beginning to dim, I can't really straighten out my right arm and my left foot cramps up when I walk even a very short distance.  I could tell lots more about the alarming changes in my aging body ; for instance, certain areas of my skin have taken on odd colored markings in various neutral shades and so on but I'll leave these details to your own future imagination.  I'll just give you a little hint:  The act of sitting down on the toilet will some day be nothing you will ever again take for granted.

It was fairly easy to deal with the back pain for many years.  A little while on the heating pad and maybe a Tylenol or two and I would be good to go.  That is no longer the case.  And you  might recall that I got up every morning at 5:00 am and quick-walked two miles before school if I wasn't at the pool swimming laps for 30 minutes.  Those activities are in the distant past.

Now I am in the middle of what I'm choosing to call "functional exercising" which means I move around in ways that will keep me simply mobile for the longest possible time left to me.  I go to my personal trainer once a week, work out on my own once a week and attend a flex class every Saturday morning.  Now that my heart has been tuned up again, I'm gradually incorporating some cardio work back into my routine.

In the last year, I have visited my general practitioner, a neurologist, a podiatrist and a physical therapist.  I have chosen to work on my back pain and foot cramping but have experienced little to no relief.  So I decided to try alternative medicine. I've also proclaimed April and May to be months of  alternative wellness.  April was devoted to the chiropractor. I had several sessions and have had my back manipulated many times.  One of those times I was able to cruise the mall right after the appointment with no foot cramping or back pain.  The rest of the time I figured out how really smart Dr. Brad is and grew familiar with his patient table that can SNAP my pelvis back into alignment.  I also downed a whole bottle of his special elixir of fish oil.  

This week I received my first treatment of acupuncture and had the second of two sessions with my hypnotherapist.  I had the needles stuck into lots of places on the left side of my body and a few on the right side.  I reclined peacefully for an hour in a darkened room listening to white noise while the needles did their thing.  I felt an occasional warm swirl of some kind of energy here and there in the approximate places of the needles. I left refreshed and I can just say " reactivated" as I left what I can only describe as a place from my past somewhere in the 1960's.

Hypnotherapy caused mild yet positive shocks to my thinking skills.  I uncovered and verbalized some surprises from my past, was "under" for 40 minutes, and brought home a CD of my session so that I can go to my happy place any time I want to.  I know it all sounds pretty iffy, but I have to say that I am getting some benefit from these centuries old ways of caring for the body. When I get weirded out by anything in these treatments, I just let myself be amused and try to keep an open mind.  May will consist of more acupuncture and at least two visits to my massage therapist.  Go ahead and be skeptical, I'm only just saying. (And I will continue to try to get that last phrase out of my vocabulary since we have no way of knowing what it really means.)

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Looking For Hayes

A few weeks ago I did a fast read of one of those high interest beach books that features a hero with the somewhat odd name of Hayes.  He zoomed into the foreground of my life picture in a very special way because  I decided to look for him.  I didn't even begin to imagine how challenging this little project would be.

Hayes is 6' 4" tall, weighs 225 pounds, has chestnut colored hair that falls just to the nape of his neck, and has unusually intense blue eyes. He's in his late 30's, maybe early 40's. He wears tight jeans, hiking boots and a flannel shirt with a heavy ski jacket because the setting is winter snow.  He's muscled, coordinated, and agile.  He's clever, funny, sympathetic, and treats women with twinkly eyed charm. He can cook, shoot firearms, chop wood in minutes, change sheets, and tend wounded guests.  He can make accurate judgments about other people with a quick read of body language.  He jumps higher, hits harder, runs faster and looks better than most male contestants in any kind of sporting event. You get the idea. Oh, yeah-he really likes to read. All the walls of his cabin are lined with full bookshelves.

I looked for him at the grocery store. The men there were all older or younger and were dressed like they just rolled off the couch to quickly replenish the beer supply during halftime. I looked all the way to Gresham and back while transporting grandgirls from one place of fun spring break activity to another.  He didn't drive any of the trucks I saw or work in any of the garden centers I passed.  Home Depot!  Of course, he'd be there for sure I thought as I trailed behind my husband who was  looking for some sort of special electrical equipment.  Some of the guys here were hard to see because they looked out from faces coated with paint spray or sawdust.  Hayes would never do that.  He'd use a handkerchief from his own pocket to clean off his face and slap the sawdust off his jeans before he entered the store.

I was really hoping I'd find him Friday morning when we regularly meet our friends for breakfast.  Nope.  He must not care to eat in a loud, kid-filled egg and pancake house smelling of hot syrup and bacon.  His breakfast is probably lean and healthy and he puts it together in his sleek bachelor kitchen.  Maybe I'd spot him at the riverside bistro where we went for dinner that night.  I looked everywhere.  There were some possible candidates but they were all really too old to fit the bill and besides, they were sitting at the bar trying to make small talk with the bored servers who just wanted to get on with the night and meet their boyfriends later.

Let me tell you, I grew more and more determined to find this man.  But  a few more scouting forays caused me to give up figuring I'd have to go to southern California or maybe Manhattan to find this particular guy.  I concluded that such a male exists only within the exciting pages of a mystery romance or lives somewhere close to where people regularly get their bodies and faces recreated by their plastic surgeons. He's for sure not anywhere in  my world unless he's in the ski lodge at Timberline, maybe?  A cattle ranch in Central Oregon?  A helicopter pilot at the Coast? Owner of a large and successful business downtown?  You tell  me and I'll go find him.


Friday, March 6, 2015

B to D: Making Sure Your Cups Are the Right Size

My longtime friend Andrea is one of those women who can do magical things with scissors, fabric and a sewing machine. She has her own dress form which she adjusts according to need and recently completed a gorgeous quilt with an Hawaiian theme which she made out of old sundresses, her husband's shorts and even an old swimsuit.  She's that talented.   Last week she spent a few days in her own kind of  heaven in Puyallup WA where she attended a stitch and sew expo.  Not only did she browse through many hundreds of vendors' booths stunned by all the exotic sewing notions she suddenly found she needed to have, but she took some classes as well. She shared some of what she learned with our other longtime friend JoAnn and me at her house over tea and chocolate dipped fruit earlier this week.

The most unusual class she described for us was "Bra Making."  Yes. You can make your own bras. After all, according to her teacher, most American women are wearing the wrong bra size and don't even know it although constant tugging and strap shuffling should give us a clue.  Apparently, European women figured this out a long time ago and take their band and cup measurements way, way beyond even the 42 D level. A proper fit is the key and a knowledgeable fitter will make sure every bit of "tissue" (that's the term they use rather than "breast") is cinched and maneuvered into its rightful place thus producing a never before level of comfort. For your own personal amazement, take a special trip to Nordstrom or some other ridiculously expensive store and have yourself fitted.  Don't cheat and go to Target or Fred Meyer because the girl who works in that department is over there temporarily from Paint and Electronics and has only worked there for a week anyway.  Besides, you will be tempted to buy the "Barely There" pullover bra which is on sale and even has a coupon to go with it. No,no, no.  No pullovers; don't buy anything without an under wire even if your nose touches the wall before your chest does.

The fitter at Nordstom knows all the tricks, as I found out during my recent visit. My tissue has all been relegated to proper placement although the cost compares to all  the other bra expenditure of my entire  lifetime.  Andrea's teacher says I should feel much better about my body image and "should never again struggle with those pokey bras that are all day bothersome." Just to be safe, I kept the sleek handled shopping bag and the discreet receipt just in case I can't get used to this new, compacted feeling in my chest area.  Andrea is seriously considering buying the bra pattern. I bet she does.      

Monday, February 2, 2015

Thumbing Pages

I have always liked to read magazines.  I've subscribed to The New Yorker for over 45 years and find something to think about in each weekly issue if only to laugh at the cartoons.  Sometimes the lead articles are too obscure to have any meaning for me.  They must be intended for smart readers who live on the East Coast.  This last week, just for example, there was an article about Jeb Bush that I've been over twice in a mostly futile attempt to figure out how he represents his interest in education and what that might have to do with his candidacy for President.

Good Housekeeping has intrigued me since I was young.  I used to read it for its recipes and the yellow pages toward the end of each issue that used to contain good hints and advice about what to buy or wear or do about seasonal illnesses. I always enjoyed the book condensations at the end.  That magazine is very different now.  The recipes are still there but they're too trendy for me.  I liked the old ones that highlighted comfort food prepared in easy, new ways that the whole family might enjoy.  I'd be laughed out of the kitchen if I served "parsnip chips" or "baked pepper jack quinoa skillet." The sections called "YOUR LOOK" and "YOUR BODY" don't work for me in any way at all. In years past,there weren't sections so blatantly presented to pique the interest of the self-absorbed; articles about appearance were more inclined to offer suggestions about looking clean, fresh and well put together. And never mind a magazine called Self.  Good grief.

I've tried to enjoy the Oprah magazine called simply O since its inception, but I'm always put off right away by the cover that features Oprah herself in glamorous, expensive clothes wrapped around an air-brushed photo-shopped body that relieves her of the extra roundness that she really has.  And there's too much self promotion that even includes highlighting the activities of her best friend, Gail,who wouldn't be in the celebrity circle at all if it weren't for her famous friend.  In between all the ads for skin care, hair products, and what will be featured in the next issue, you can study some of Oprah's favorite things to buy (and then market to others) that include jewelry pieces or jaunty tee shirts or maybe nifty gift ideas that are so exorbitantly priced that I wonder how many readers actually choose them to give.  Sandwiched in between these subtle advertisements are the serious articles that address our fears, cares and other ego problems that the modern woman must be struggling with on a moment to moment basis.  Everything is presented in colorful, intricate graphics that are mostly just difficult to understand in terms of how they relate to the subject. But don't get me wrong; if Oprah were to run for President, I might seriously consider voting for her.

My guess is that magazines are fighting a desperate and losing battle against the digital age.  Why read a magazine when you can consult an app or view Pinterest about your female concerns? But if they disappear all together, what will we look at in the dentist's office besides the aquarium?  Actually, I recommend studying the fish and their small but real environment.  A small connection to nature is probably a better way to wait than reading magazines that feature articles about the advantages of this neck cream over that one.

Thursday, January 1, 2015

Points South

Our travel plans for 2015 are firming up.  Our special friend Sarah is getting married May 31 in Clarksville, Tennessee so we'll head there to help her celebrate and also spend a bit of time in Nashville.  All I know about Nashville is the airport and that it is a country music mecca.  I also know that Pat's best work friend lives there so he wants to meet up with him.  So what would be the best way for me to spend some time on my own in Nashville since I know almost nothing about it?

Then we'll head south to New Orleans with a night's stopover in Meridian.  We could make the trip in a day's time but we both get bored, restless and cranky after three or four hours in the car.  We can only chat, listen to music or work crossword puzzles only so long before we start taking verbal pot shots at the tedium of the drive which escalates into bashing life in general.  Not a healthy situation so we'll rest a night in Meridian.  I don't know one single solitary thing about Meridian except that I  once read a book of the same title.  It had something to do with civil rights in the 60's, I think. If you know of something not to be missed in Meridian, Alabama, let us know.

We should arrive in New Orleans in the early afternoon.  There are many, many things we want to do and see in this famous city.  We'll have to decide within the next few months so we can cut down our list. We'll be there for four or five days and want to eat the best local food, see the most interesting architecture, and otherwise soak up the local southern hospitality and culture in an orderly and time saving manner.  I want to take a steamboat ride on the Mississippi and for sure see Magazine Street, the French Quarter and hear some jazz.  I don't like the heat so how should I prepare myself for that?And what are  must-sees and -dos for New Orleans, Readers?

We're still thinking about a fall trip along with our usual week at Black Butte and a couple of weekends here and there.  I wouldn't mind another bus tour.  The one we took in New England was fabulous.  Maybe it's time to see something in the middle of the country?

Monday, December 1, 2014

Happy Holidays!

Holidays at my Mom and Dad's house were exactly like you would picture a scene from life in the 50's.  Dad was at the head of the table, Mom at the foot and several relatives and friends in between. The feast was the traditional one that is featured in Good Housekeeping magazine and we ate until we could barely move ourselves off our chairs.

What you didn't see was the sweat on Mom's brow, the kitchen counters full of dirty dishes, the relatives who were not speaking to us that year, and "friends" of my Mom and Dad who looked like people whose next abode would probably be under the Marion Street Bridge. I figured it out when I got older that these folks were people my parents felt sorry for because they didn't have a holiday dinner destination for various interesting reasons.  Over time, these guests included the checkout girl at Safeway, Mom's hairdresser, Larry from  the night shift at work, and my Dad's cousin Frammy who used to be married to my aunt and so on.  I learned over time not to feel uneasy around these strangers even if some of them did make several trips out the their cars to "check" on something and came back smelling funny.

No matter the company, Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners were traditional warm gatherings where the hostess served wonderful holiday food that was lovingly and perfectly prepared. Mom and Dad have both been gone for a long time now and try as I may, I can't replicate the scene. For one thing, I am not allowed to host either event because, as my daughter puts it, I "turn into a bitch." Well, so what?  So did my own mom but she still had the gracious smile on her face when she sat down at the table (last one to sit, of course). Apparently, my true feelings after the kitchen marathon are not of the "gracious smile" type.

Nowadays, my daughter and her family go to the other Gramma's house for Thanksgiving but we do get to go to her house for Christmas.  We each bring an appetizer and dinner's ready.  My husband, sister and I go to my son's house for Thanksgiving where the turkey has been prepared on a Traeger. We are instructed that we can arrive any time after 4 and must be gone by 8:30.

My sister had a stern talk with me a few years ago letting me on the news that no matter what, we cannot replicate holiday meals from the past.  "Accept them for what they are now and let the rest turn into special memories of times past," she told me.  I'm still working on that and it's becoming easier since my daughter-in-law (the vegan) lets me bring the dressing, the gravy, and the pumpkin pie.  And even though I'm a good cook and watched and helped my mother cook many a holiday meal, my current dinner contributions don't cut the mustard, so to speak.  Even though I read up on how to prepare my assigned items and talk to experienced cooks, my dressing tastes like somebody tried to resurrect a dish from stale bread and funny tasting broth.  The gravy is either too thin or too thick and tasted one year like wine you can buy at the outlet grocery store for a couple of bucks.  The only thing that really turns out well is the pumpkin pie which unfailingly comes out looking like a magazine ad and tasting even better.  My pie crust is superb.

So what I take away from all this (thank you, Sister) is that each holiday is its own special event and needs to be enjoyed for what it holds THIS year and not for what it was like in 1959.


Sunday, November 2, 2014

This and That

I'm having trouble settling on one topic for this month's entry so I'll offer up some thoughts on random subjects.

First is ebola.  I can't figure out how much to worry about this. The media is really putting lots of energy into dramatizing the horror that is occurring in parts of Africa and following the stray bugs that have made it to the USA.  Am I supposed to be reassured by the photos of medical personnel wearing those hazmat suits or should I try to find one of my own?  I'm almost certain we could go online and order our own suits from Amazon or some other random site. Should I put a lot of focus on hoping the CDC will influence big pharmaceutical companies to pound out a vaccine?  But maybe we should just rely on the notion that more people will die of influenza than will die of ebola.  I am really anxious for good information about this.

Second is parties.  As far as I'm concerned, the holiday season is HERE.  Anybody can tell that since Costco has moved its Christmas decorations from the fringes of the store where they've been since August to the center of the store.  And Halloween is just over and with it the first parties of the season, right?  Soon to follow will be Thanksgiving parties with a quick transition to the party central time of Christmas.  I'm not all that comfortable at parties.  These events make me more conscious of how I look than at any other time of the year. No matter what I might buy to wear, I am not going to look like a Chanel model and not a single person will comment on how much weight I have or have not lost.  And what should I talk about?  I wish someone would come up with a short list of topics for what to talk about at any party.  That would really help.

Third is ants. We are experiencing a strange invasion.  We've lived in this house for seven years without a single sighting but now all of a sudden these little black irritants have chosen our kitchen for a new campsite. I can't tell you how many times I've Cloroxed the counters.  And now with the help from our neighbor Chris, there are "ant balls" resting in plain sight in the kitchen.  He had extras and was glad to share.  Pat thinks their presence can somehow be tied to the coming of Standard time and the change of light. WHAT???  So let me know your favorite remedy.

Fourth (and last) is Boobs Clea and her sister Boobs.  I don't think I reported on their doings last summer so here's the scoop:  Mrs. Clea lost her head due to the overenthusiastic behavior of a play date friend and the Clea girls have pretty much been out of action since.  As a matter of fact, the whole Barbie population is aging and are far less active than they used to be now that Mary is entrenched in middle school. They only rev up when Alicia's friend Emily is over and only sometimes with Mary.  We all went out to dinner a week or so ago but I had to carry the Barbies into and out of the restaurant so nobody would see Mary holding one.  It's sad.