And Now for Something a Little Different

I was standing at the beginning of the trail, looking down the long and winding road. This was a number of years ago and I was teaching kindergarten. One of my colleagues loved taking the children for long hikes in the mountains and I tagged along. Once there, I knew I was in for a challenge. Walking is not my forte. But before I knew it, one of the dads was standing beside me, waiting. “I want to hold your hand”, he informed me. I knew that he didn’t have any romantic intentions. He would just be there if I fell. I did alright, with a little help from my friend, until we came to a hill. I slipped a little and thought to myself, “Please, hold me tight! Don’t let me down!” Another parent held on to my other arm and the three of us made it down the hill together. “I’m glad you’ve really got a hold on me!” I said. “I thought I was sure to fall.”

We also went to the Berry Patch Farm every year to pick raspberries and strawberries. It is a large farm and by noon, I felt as though I had been walking through strawberry fields forever.

Two summers ago, I decided to go to the Renaissance Festival with my family. I should have known better. After walking here, there, and everywhere, I wondered out loud whether they would sell me a ticket to ride in one of the horse drawn wagons. That was a big mistake. My daughter began chanting “Bring out your dead. Bring out your dead.” I informed her that I was not yet dead.

Some days, it’s all too much.

It’s getting better, partly due to the leg braces that were suggested by my physical therapist. But I’ve learned something else, too. Music can be magical in helping me to move. Usually, my speed is that of a geriatric turtle, but if I am listening to music that is rhythmic, my legs tend to follow along. If the music is faster, my walking will be, too. The therapist suggested listening to music with headphones, but then I tend to not pay enough attention to what I am doing and I walk into walls. I f I’m going to walk into walls, I’d rather slow down. So I try to just sing quietly to myself.

The only problem is, I can’t think of any songs.

(my apologies to the Beatles, Monty Python, and Mark Gordon)

Menagerie

6/19/2008  

I found another dreamer. Poppi confessed to me that she is thinking of buying some land so she can build a studio. She also recently bought sixteen chairs, SIXTEEN of them, to fix up and resell. She doesn’t have room for them so there are chairs everywhere, even in her entryway. Friends are asking her is she is moving. I can’t imagine her crocheting lace doilies. She has power tools.

In other words, she’s a gal after my own heart!

When Chris and I were first married, we talked about our hopes of buying land someday. We wanted room to have a small farm, grow our own vegetables, and have animals. We wanted our children to grow up around the natural world and for them to have real work to do. There is nothing like a farm to provide real work and plenty of it! We are now down to three rabbits and one guinea pig, but for a number of years, we were able to fulfill our dream of having our children grow up taking care of animals.

We were never able to buy a house with land in the country so we did the next best thing. We bought a house on nearly half an acre, in the middle of Wheat Ridge, Colorado. Wheat Ridge is a small city and a suburb of Denver. If we travel half a mile down the road, we cross into the city of Denver. But here in Wheat Ridge, we have a little oasis. It’s changing now, so people who move into the city can no longer have farm animals, but when we moved in to our neighborhood, the only animals that were not allowed were pigs.

That spring, when our sons were 7 and 9 years old, we invited a few of their friends over and went out to purchase ducklings. We bought three ducklings and brought them home in a box in the car. We nearly didn’t make it home. It made me wonder about the city rule that did not allow pigs. I had always heard it was because of their unique odor. I must tell you, pigs have nothing over ducklings where smell is concerned. We opened the windows and the boys all held their heads outside, plugging their noses and making rude comments that, I must admit, were terribly appropriate.

Once we were home, we went about preparing a place for the ducklings and for the chickens that would eventually arrive. The chickens soon multiplied, as did the ducks, and we also added geese. The geese were always my favorites. They are very sociable animals and loved to follow us around the yard as we did yard work, stopping when we stopped, looking up to us and chattering away. We talked back to them and, if anyone had looked, they might have been convinced we were having a real conversation. Maybe we were.

A couple of years later, my father gave me a goat for my birthday. I was thrilled and even more thrilled when I found out she was pregnant! A few months later, I found out I was pregnant, too, so it was a shared experience. We got grumpy together. That was the year of babies at our house. Chicks hatched out and one chicken sat on a duck egg and hatched a duckling. The poor hen about went crazy trying to teach that duckling how to scratch. She also had a hard time keeping him away from the water. In April, twin goats were born, both female. Now we had Blossom and Buttercup with Bonnie, their mom. We had dozens of chickens, ten ducks, two geese, three rabbits, and two dogs. Meal times were complicated as the ducks preferred dog food and the goats liked to steal the chicken eggs and eat the rabbit food.

Our daughter entered the menagerie…I mean family…in July, and we were kept very busy. It’s not surprising that she loves animals, too.

Eventually the goats had to find a new home as they became expert escape artists and when I discovered our elderly neighbor had been luring them back into their pen with dog biscuits when we were away, I figured it was time for them to find a farm.

When our daughter was in first grade, I decided that she needed an animal to ride. And the perfect animal for her wasn’t a pony, it was a miniature donkey. Stormy spent 7 years with us before she recently retired and found the good life on our friend’s ranch. She now has a best friend, a horse so tall that she can run under him easily.

At some point during this time, I visited my Aunt Margaret in a Milwaukee nursing home. She had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease about ten years earlier and now was dependent on others to take care of her. The Parkinson’s had also robbed her of her ability to speak. She still listened intently, though, and I wondered how much she was really taking in. I described our little farm and at one point admitted that my husband thought I was crazy. For the first and last time during our visit, my Aunt Margaret spoke.

She said, “I think he’s right.”

(Note to Poppi: GO FOR IT!)

For Crying Out Loud!

6/8/2008

My disability benefits were recently approved. In record time, too, as they were approved in less than a month from the time I applied. That’s not supposed to happen! I was told that I’d undoubtedly be denied at first, then I’d have to employ a lawyer, then it could take up to two years to be approved. But that didn’t happen. They saw my records and decided I was disabled enough to not be able to work. They approved this even before seeing the letter from my doctor.

Then it hit me. Was I really that bad?

I rebelled. I cleaned the garage and moved furniture. I gathered trash and another large pile of old things to give away. I pushed myself all day. And then I was flat on my back, exhausted, and couldn’t move for a couple of days. I cried.

It’s embarrassing how easily I can cry. I cried at the end of Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan. I mean, geez, Spock saves everyone’s life and now he’s dying and there’s that emotional scene where he’s talking to Captain Kirk and no one can do anything to save him. I cried. And I was really grateful that I was alone. And it was much worse whenever I was pregnant. Then I could watch slapstick comedy and tear up. It didn’t take much. I don’t mind crying, actually. If I am sad, it’s a wonderful release and I feel so much better afterwards. Often I can solve problems more quickly after a good cry, too. I rarely can stop tears from coming if they’re going to come, but I will also admit something else. I would really prefer not to cry in front of other people.

Crying in public is not cool. People react. They pat your arm and say something sweet and comforting. They offer you a drink of water and generally do everything in their power to get you to STOP crying. They think you’re upset about something. And maybe you are. Usually, I’m just pissed off that I happen to be crying in public – again. Then the pats on the arm and the sweet words aren’t much help. I rather swear. Or maybe hit something.

If you cry in front of your doctor, you are generally offered drugs, which is fine if you really want drugs. It’s even legal.

It seems to me that since crying is something that humans have done for thousands of years, there must be some purpose to it. And if there is a purpose to crying, why should we be embarrassed or try to hold it back?

I was curious enough about this that I did some research. I wanted to find out if there are any physiological benefits to crying. My research was thorough and complete. I looked it up on Google. I found two articles (you’ll find many more, I just read two), one by Charles Downey and the other by Dr. Kevin Keough. In the first article, I learned that crying in public was considered normal until the Industrial Revolution. At that point, we suddenly needed diligent, focused workers, not emotional ones. Crying became a solitary activity. Before that, even our heroes cried! Odysseus cries in nearly every chapter of Homer’s Iliad.

Dr. Keough talks about the chemistry of tears. It’s amazing!! When we cry out of sadness or frustration, our tears actually contain stress toxins and stress hormones that would otherwise be affecting us physiologically in a negative way. In fact, it is those stress hormones that attack the parts of the brain that are responsible for mood disorders. Crying helps to get rid of those nasty buggers so that our brains can feel safe. And it was even found that the tears that come when one cuts up onions are not the same as the tears that come when we are sad. It’s those tears from sadness that are so healing. Holding back our tears, on the other hand, is not at all healthy.

My mentor teacher always asserted that crying helps prevent head colds. I believe this is so because I have had only one head cold in the last six years. Every time I get the sniffles, I hope that something will make me sad. I don’t like head colds. So far it has worked very well.

After a good cry, there is something else I need. The pat on the arm is fine. The sweet comforting words are also okay. But what I really want at that point is for someone to say something totally off the wall and make me laugh!

Another wonderful release, laughter is like the rainbow after the rain.

People who keep stiff upper lips find that it's damn hard to smile. ” Judith Guest

Dreaming……..

6/2/08

Did you ever have one of those days when you just knew you could do anything? You feel good and confident and if anyone asks if you’d be willing to help with something, you immediately reply, “Of course I will!!” and you mean it.

I must have had one of those days a while back because now I find that I’m responsible for writing the names of all of our high school graduates on their diplomas in beautiful calligraphy. And, that’s not all. The person who writes the names on the high school diplomas also writes the names of the 8^th graders on the certificates that they are given at Continuation. I will get them done and I will probably even enjoy it, but there is some humor in giving a calligraphy job to a person with Parkinson’s disease. I’d better be fully medicated when I begin this!

From time to time, I am pretty realistic about what I should and shouldn’t take on. I have learned not to volunteer in a classroom all day or I will be thinking murderous thoughts by the afternoon. That’s not good. I have learned that any heavy work has to be done in short increments, like a minute and a half. Then it’s time to rest. I don’t say that I CAN’T do something. I just find ways to do it little by little.

Then there are other times when I just dream. I get ideas all the time. I suspect it drives my poor husband nuts, but I can’t help myself. I know full well that 98 % of my ideas won’t fly and I don’t expect them to. The fun is in coming up with the ideas to begin with.

When I left my job, I had all sorts of plans. I looked into a number of job possibilities and then looked into going back to school to get a degree in special education. I researched every angle, calling the advisor at the college and figuring out how I could work half the day and go to school the other half day and get my degree in four years – somehow, without having murderous thoughts by the afternoon. I decided I would build a new chicken house and raise chickens, ducks, and geese again. I also looked into putting a walkway in our garden, building up the vegetable beds and planting roses along the fence. I plan on having our garage completely cleaned up and organized by the end of the summer, a bread oven built in back of the garage, a deck built by my studio, and my workroom cleaned. I also want to do volunteer work, travel, pose nude for a life drawing class, and learn to play at least one musical instrument well. I have a wide variety of interests. And these are just the tip of the iceberg. I haven’t even included anything about the long list of artistic projects that I simply must do someday soon.

I did accomplish one goal. We have semi finished our little “studio” building in our back yard and it is home to a few art workshops. I don’t hope to make a living with my art work, I just want to open up the space and invite people to come and work and learn with me. I enjoy creating art with other people.

Now I also have all sorts of advisors coming up with ideas for me. My former colleagues would like me to make crafty things for their classrooms. One friend has been trying to convince me (unsuccessfully) of how much I would LOVE skydiving. I have a new exercise coach who has told me that I WILL start doing Tai Chi. He’s a big guy, from Delaware, and he’s into Martial Arts. He’s going to be calling me regularly to make sure I’m following through, so I think I will. Another friend feels that I should be relaxing and watching lots of movies. He also checks up on me regularly. And my younger son says I should go back to college, but not yet.

When we drive down Federal Blvd. in Denver, there is a large billboard showing a photograph of a woman receiving her college diploma. The ad announces “The World’s Oldest College Graduate: Nola Ochs, age 95.” My son wants me to beat that record. He wants me to go back to college, but not before age 92. Then after four years, I’ll have my degree at age 96. He’s also added another idea. “But mom,” he says, “you really should live in the dorm.”

I still keep my hatchery catalog. Maybe someday I WILL have a nice chicken house again. I will also keep my gardening books, my wood working books, and my college catalogs handy. I plan on coming up with lots more ideas, too. If it happens that we do have more than one lifetime on this earth, I’ll be in good shape. I’ll have enough to keep me busy for a long time!

But first, I’d better get those diplomas finished.

Choices, Choices....

May 15, 2008

Years ago, while teaching kindergarten, I caught a couple of the boys eating iris blossoms on the playground. A frantic call was made to the Poison Control Center and I found out that iris blossoms were not on the list of dangerously poisonous plants. I was asked to watch them, however, as there really wasn’t much information listed about the effects of consuming this particular flower. Not many people would consider doing this. In fact, probably the only people who have ever experimented with the wild notion of eating irises would be five year old boys who wanted to make purple spit. I passed that bit of information on to Poison Control and for the next few minutes, I couldn’t make out anything they said. Maybe it was a bad connection.

I thought of this story not long ago when I was prescribed a new medication. Among the side effects was that it “turns all your bodily fluids orange”. COOL! If only I had that medicine all those years ago, I could have been the coolest kindergarten teacher on the planet – the one with orange spit.

My doctor is extremely good at explaining medications and their side effects. This is good because my body tends to be just sensitive enough that if there are side effects, I’ll have them. It’s nice to have at least a little bit of warning. And if they are not explained to me in a healthy way, I tend to freak out. That happened a while back with a (now former) nurse practitioner who prescribed a drug that, when I read the literature, I found had a possible side effect of “falling asleep without warning while doing routine daily activities, such as driving.” As I was then driving 17 miles on the freeway each way to work, I called and talked with the nurse practitioner. She tried to reassure me by saying, “Don’t worry, if it happens once, we’ll take you off of it.” I told her that if it happened once, it probably wouldn’t be an issue. After that, I went through my neurologist whenever I needed to ask about medications.

My neurologist, by the way, is a lovely woman who listens to me and respects me as a person. She is obviously very intelligent, articulate, and I am sure she is one of the top doctors in her field and deserves a raise. If I have DBS brain surgery in the future, she’s the one I will trust. She also reads these articles. Did I mention how intelligent she is?

So, at my last visit, I was prescribed a couple of new medications and my doctor very carefully went over all the side effects with me. “Oh, and it can cause compulsive behaviors, so if you experience anything like that, please let me know and we’ll adjust your dose.” She went on to say that while it sounds humorous, she knew of patients who had spent all of their savings on shopping sprees while on this drug. The compulsive behaviors could include compulsive gambling, shopping, or even sexual behavior. She also said that some people try to direct this compulsiveness into a particular area, such as crafts. They might work on their crafts to the point where they forget to feed their family.

Oh boy.

Of course, if that last one is how this manifests with me, I’m okay. My family wouldn’t notice. I’ve been doing that for years. But it made me wonder. Could I possibly direct compulsive behavior in a way that it would be beneficial for me? What would I choose?

I’m afraid that gambling and shopping are out. We definitely can’t afford that. I will give all my credit cards to my husband and also have him change the passwords on my internet accounts so I cannot click and spend.

Compulsive sexual behavior is also out. That would be way too complicated and way too much work.

My kids would probably prefer that I become a compulsive baker and spend hours every day baking cookies and cakes. The only problem is that compulsive baking would lead to compulsive eating which would ultimately lead to the need for buying bigger clothes which would lead to compulsive shopping which is out already. Sorry kids.

My husband might suggest that I become compulsive about cleaning. This actually sounds good and if I could pull it off, that might be the way to go. I’m not sure that we can direct compulsive behaviors to something that is totally against our nature, but it’s worth a try. If nothing else, I would be busy for months. The thought that someday MY house could be sparkling clean and neat with no piles of papers anywhere and nothing out of place…? I’m sorry. I’m just having a hard time even imagining that one.

Perhaps I’ll try compulsive gardening. It wouldn’t matter how many vegetables we eat and that would save us money in the long run. And I would love to see neat rows of plants with no weeds growing in the pathways. I would also have our lawn and flower beds perfectly manicured. This sounds good. I’ll have to let you know how it goes.

Oh, and we have a large bed of iris that desperately needs attention, too.