The Memories of Tea

It was regular black tea for me back in the early sixties. I remember being six, and my mother allowed me to drink it. Coffee was taboo, of course. I’m sure she didn’t know that this particular type of tea packed more caffeine than coffee. I didn’t care. There was something special about being able to drink it. My Sunday mornings were earmarked by comics, rye toast and a cup of tea.

When I was a little older, around 5th grade, tea and Yahtzee became a thing with my best friend and I. Back then, there weren’t any special teas filling up the aisle. It was simply Tetly, Lipton, Red Rose, and the store brand that filled the shelf.

When we became reaquainted with three other girls on our block, high schoolers now, tea was part of the equation. Whether we were playing games, watching TV or gossiping about boys, tea was always the accompaniment. We added sugar, sometimes lemon and sometimes a dash of cream. It was still the black tea kind. I think it was in the mid to late 70’s when the herbal tea flavors arrived. By then, most of us girls had gone our separate ways, myself off to Arizona and then Oregon.

I would occasionally drink tea as I got older, but by then, I became a coffee addict. At work, it would give me the fuel needed to get through. It was there at break time, fresh pots beckoning with enticing coffee bean flavor bursting through the quick drip machines.

When I was newly pregnant with my first child, I discovered herbal tea. I started work before the residents got back to the group home. Oftentimes, no other staff were around yet. There were lots of herbal teas to choose from. I still think of those late fall, early winter, gray days. There was that chill in the air, rain falling, and nothing like a hot cup of tea to get my shift started. Tea was my friend back in those days. I had all-day sickness in the first trimester of pregnancy. The herbal teas were one delight I could enjoy without repercussions.

And now, this wet, chilly autumn day reminds me of those times at the group home. I have chosen Lemon Ginger today. Watching the rain, I gently sip, feeling my inside warming after having gone through the cold shivers of a shopping day. I get hot doing even the slightest chore, but then, when I cool down, the cold sweat chills me to the bone. There’s nothing like tea to turn that around and warm up my innards. It’s like a meditation to sip and savor and be one with the moments as they go by. Tea is still with me sixty years after the tradition started. It will carry me through however many more years I have left on this earth. Pinky up!

Fire Scare

September still feels like it never happened, but it did. The surreal 10 days we had here in the western part of Oregon were enough to cancel out the remaining 20 days. I sit here today, very grateful to be able to be in my home and to see the brightly clear blue sky and the very white-with-snow, Mt Hood.

In my dreams, I had been through the drill many times. Fire approaching, hurry up and pack! In those dreams though, it always felt like I had a long time to gather things. How different was the real thing.

We did have enough time to evacuate. There was no fire breathing down our backs, though the smoke was very thick. It was maybe miles away yet, but the fierce easterly winds were fueling the so-named Riverside Fire with a vengeance through acres and acres of fir trees. Being night time, we had to pack and be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

I was frantic in my search for our family album, the one we like to browse through and enjoy the babyhoods and childhoods of our kids. Why hadn’t I looked for this album before? The thought had crossed my mind several times that I needed to have it at the ready. Afterall, living in a mobile home court means being vulnerable to other people’s accidents. All it would take would be one spark . . .

In fact as we did indeed hit a Level 3 evac notice (Go Now!) that next morning, neighbors were scurrying around loading cars and trucks, and we learned some sobering news. One of the mobile homes had their wood stove stoked and running! This in the 70°F night during a heat spell. One spark would have done us all in.

At any rate, a month has passed now and we are fine, though the fire was only 5 miles away. The wind miraculously stopped at some point in the early hours of September 11th. I am keeping the photo album handy now. I hope we don’t have to go through this again any time soon. And my heart goes out to the people who’ve lost loved ones, pets, livestock and/or their homes.

Pictures are from the day before evacuation and evacuation day both.

If at First You Don’t Succeed, Yada, Yada, Yada

Where have I been? How could words not have been pouring out from within? Does shell-shocked excuse me? Because I truly believe that’s what I had been up until maybe a year ago.

Lost in a new world, foreign and alienating on the one hand, yet relaxing and homey on the other. 2016. Moving, climate change — and not in the scientific sense — plus abhorrent neighbor to boot. I froze the first time I heard John yelling out and cussing the neighbors. What fresh hell had I entered? Our manufactured home had a gorgeous view of Mt. Hood, but thank you very much, no one had told us about the lunatic behind us.

John hated barking dogs. He called our site manager the effin c word. He confessed he wanted to throat punch her, set her house on fire. Oh holy eff. Whatever had we gotten in to? My husband was nicer than I was to John. Jim would hear John out. Let him grouse & bitch & grumble. Me? I dreaded returning home & seeing John on his porch. I’d say a quick hello or goodnight & duck into the house.

Though I have been in the company of those with mental illness, my sensibilities set off alarm bells. Afterall, John admitted to teasing “retards” in school and still laughed about it like it wasn’t egregiously wrong. His hollering out and cussing out people and barking dogs in our vicinity was very unsettling. I knew our turn was coming.

Sure enough, after getting a new heat pump installed at our home, John went bizerko over its noise that summer of 2017. Yet the new pump was quieter than the old! John slammed doors, cussed and then on my husband’s and my 34th anniversary, cranked up his stereo louder than he ever had before. Jim & I left to enjoy some semblance of peace in a dinner for two, and in the meanwhile, an officer confronted John about the stereo, even saying his ears were still ringing.

John was chastined after that. He finally took inventory and realized he couldn’t afford to be evicted. $515 was pretty damned good for monthly rent. And yet, I think John missed his outlet for cussing and calling out people. He was stymied. Someone had finally called his bluff. John, who had been abusive and neglectful to his own mother, had finally been put on notice.

He died on February 10th of 2018. I wonder still if it wasn’t some form of suicide. Without being able to cause havoc in our hilltop burb, John no longer had purpose. I think he quit taking care of himself

It took me over a year to register the door closing next door and not being jumpy that it was John. We’ve had super new neighbors whose grandfather helped buy & fix up the place (and grandpa & grandma are our across the street neighbor). The couple who now occupy John’s house are young and in their early twenties. Oh my gad, you would hardly kmow they’re there! How sweetly things have changed. I felt like I was a prisoner in our new home in that I hated having to encounter John whenever we went out the back door. Now, no fears!

And these days, a whitish dove sits on the antenna of that house, perching there often. She is a symbol of peace. Her partner and she have been gathering twigs for a nest. How nicely things have changed in two and a half year’s time.

April Inspired

It’s time for me to come out of the gray doldrums.  After a week back on Weight Watchers, I’m already feeling better about my eating habits.  Yes, I’ve been here before and on Weight Watchers, but so be it.  Even if it takes 5, 10, 20 or more times, then that’s what it will take. Besides, I think there’s some positivity to yo-yo dieting. For all those times I stopped and pushed the reset button, I never let myself get over a certain weight.  I ate healthier for long periods when during that same time frame I could have been binging crazily.  Right now I might have been halfway to being on the show “My 600lb Life” (TLC network) if I hadn’t stopped overeating. So yes, here I go again, but at least I’m going to do something.

My motivation is not only to feel better, but the carrot stick this time is to be slimmer for Disneyland.  If I lose weight, and get in better shape, I may be able to give up a wheelchair while there (I cannot stand on forty-minute-plus lines and walk all over and stand some more). 

It was indeed spinal stenosis that had me in the chair the last two times.  When we went to Disneyland in September of 2015, my joints hurt so badly that the only thing that helped was to take a steaming, hot bath at midnight.  There were a few times walking when it felt as if someone was kicking my legs out from under me. That was the stenosis that I didn’t know was starting to invade the spinal cord.

I promised myself that if I don’t lose weight, there’s no way I’m letting my daughter, Jana, push me at a heavier weight when she has back issues herself. So I’m going to start walking.  Not easy for me only because my nose runs like a faucet, and I get super hot and sweaty. That’s a miserable feeling.  But, I have to do it or try hard.  If it’s too much, then I’ll return to swimming at the club in our old town.  Time will tell.  

My motivational pictures: 

My girl, Jana, in front of Paradise Pier Hotel’s lobby Christmas tree. And above, the pier at Disney’s California Adventure

We have another Disney trip in the planning stages for this December.  I have eight months to get my shit together.  It won’t be easy, but anything worth time and effort in succeeding is never a breeze.  At the very least, I’m wanting to start out at Disneyland using a walker with a seat on it.  Rolling up my sleeves and going to get to it now!

Finding Quiet

There is peace here in this town library which I have finally ventured out to explore.  Ducks swim amicably in the creek outside the window, while a fireplace cozies up the inner sanctum, almost church like in the quiet.  I came here to escape and will probably continue to come here when things at home get too loud.

Our old neighborhood had workaholic neighbors on both sides of us.  One would spend hours mowing, leaving the riding mower idling for five or ten minutes at a time for several times during the mows.  It idled loudly right outside our dining window.  He also enjoyed sawing and drilling, though those hobbies weren’t as strong as they were when he was younger.  And the other neighbor?  A man with a temper who worked on cars, ran a business from his shop, pressure washed often, and ran a leaf blower whenever he ran out of things to do.  He’d yell, cuss, throw tools just to name a few things.  He and his wife would get into ridiculously loud and embarrassing arguments, so much so that I’d be forced to leave the yard because I felt like an eavesdropper.

Now we live in a mobile home park.  It’s much quieter than our old place.  I have a nice quiet reading room, though haven’t discovered an outdoor nook yet due to the fact that it’s wintertime.  There are the manager’s dogs that frequently bark at anything and everything, especially when she’s not home, but honestly, they don’t bother me that much.

The neighbor behind us is a different story. He’s sixty four years old and lives alone and is quiet for the most part unless the neighbor’s dogs bark too much.  Then he hollars out at them or the owner.  I don’t blame him.  But Henry* also likes to blast his stereo once or twice a week.  The drumming loud bass does me in.  It creates a migraine like nothing else.  He did it earlier this week and he did it again today, so I finally decided to introduce myself to the library, and am glad I did.  

It’s not a match made in heaven:  a chronic migraine sufferer and radio blaster living next door.  However, I understand that Henry needs that booming stereo as much as I need my quiet.  It’s his outlet for anxiety and I will not be the person who tries to take that from him.  Instead, I shall take cover in town somewhere, and this cozy library isn’t very far from home.  

There’s a goose honking up a storm out by the creek, disturbing the ducks. Always someone in the crowd making noise, I suppose.  Such is life.  Peace out

*Henry is not his real name

An Awe Filled Surprise

Through weeks of worrying about whether we would ever get to close on our old house, and more concern that we would find a manufactured home to suit our needs, finally we are renewing the neglected mobile home.

This home looked good in the few pictures that were shown.  When we went to scout it out, we were happy that it was tucked away inside a small mobile home park in the middle of the country. How tranquil this would be for dealing with migraines, I thought.  Jim and I both wanted this house on outside view alone.  To be sure, we had looked at the few other options out there, but nothing thus far compared to this one.  So we pestered the listing realtor for an appointment, but it took three weeks before we landed one.

Things are not always what they appear on the surface.  You know the old adage of “don’t judge a book by its cover”. Yeah, that one.  On the day of the appointment, we waited on the wooden steps with the realtor as dogs barked inside, and it sounded like yapping chaos.  The scattered woman behind the door tried gathering the dogs while her mother, who’s a stroke victim was outside tending to a garage sale on the small patch of front yard.  When almost twenty minutes passed by, the realtor announced that we were coming in.  

I nearly fainted upon entry.  The house had a terrible stench to it.  Four dogs had run amok in this house, destroying the carpet and flooring.  It was hard to see everything as it was in such disarray. And yet, we knew we wanted it.  We made an offer on the spot.  

When we took possession less than two weeks ago, we took stock of what we were up against.  It was a sorely neglected house, but we knew with some tender loving care and repair, it could be transformed into the home it deserved to be.

This is what the carpet looked like: filthy and horrible smelling

One of the bedrooms.  The spots on the wall were where a greasy head pressed! 

The smell.  Oh the smell!  It stayed in my nostrils all day.  No one could stay in the house for very long.  We had the junk team come in and remove leftover furniture, dirty dishes in the sink, and clothes left wet in the washer just to name a few things.  There was even dog poop left on the carpet!  

Once the carpet was removed, however, the smell disappeared.  Yay!!!  And then came friends and relatives to help us out. They have been our life savers, each and every one of these kind, hard working people.  For the last eight days, the house has been undergoing major freshening up.  New paint is still being applied, flooring is going in.  Carpeting will be installed on Friday.  We can finally move in on Sunday.  All because of everyone helping.  Without them, this wouldn’t be possible.  

Today was sunny for the first time we’ve been at the house.  I was painting door trim, when I took a break and sat back in one of the camp chairs.  All of a sudden, I saw it!  I couldn’t believe my eyes! Beautiful Mt. Hood was visible from one of our family room windows.  How I’ve always wanted a view of this mountain again!  I had one for the year I lived in an apartment when I could see it if I stood at my bedroom window.  And now, the mountain is right here framed in our window. Unbelievable.  I couldn’t be happier.  This mountain.  No words.

Through the screened window, majestic Mt. Hood 

Too Soon Autumn

Barely September, I wrap myself in a warm zebra print blanket and turn the heat up.  This is me I’m talking about: constantly overheated and embracing coolness.  But the first smell of furnace permeates the house like smoke. Autumn is here, too early.

Usually it comes in small whispers.  The first hint of cool in an August breeze prepares me for autumnal grace.  This time the whisper was a loud rush of wind, rain, gray and cold.  I’m not ready to say goodbye to a summer I’ve hardly held on to.  

Yet it must be time.  Not only for goodbyes to summer, but goodbye to this house.  If all goes according to plan, in two weeks from now, I’ll be cleaning out the remnants of nearly twenty-five years as we leave for good.  

This house has never been loved by me, yet the memories contained here have filled it with a better kind of love. My children have grown up here.  Rode the big yellow school bus until they got licenses.  Jana had giggly sleepovers, while Tim’s friends had more rambunctious nights.  They went to proms.  Each launched from this house to venture out into their own worlds, to create new memories.

A view from where I sit outside in front of our home

I say goodbye slowly to this house that has been more than four sides.  In the yard, we had barbecues, volleyball games, fireworks and golf putting contests.  The kids slid down the snowy slope in sleds and a silver scoop until the teenage years when they navigated with their snow boards.  We all sat on the swing that’s tied to one of the big cedar trees.  Now, the new people’s little girl has already found her joy on that same swing.  It’s time to pass the torch.

I’m ready for the move.  The new place will be bigger to allow for gatherings during holidays or card games.  I’ll have a pantry and — wait for it — a dishwasher!!! Our kitchen was too set to allow for a dishwasher, and I’ve missed out all these years on something most people take for granted.  Maybe I should have put my foot down long ago, but I didn’t push.

As my husband Jim mowed the lawn a few times ago, I stood at the kitchen window and waved.  He won’t have to mow again.  I will miss the cute smile as he rides by.  I will miss the patterns on the bathroom tiles in our shower. There’s a horse, a buffalo, a terrier, and rabbit to name a few.  I will miss all the good times, but these I can wrap up and take with me wherever I go.  Perhaps I’ll visit this house in my dreams as I do my old childhood home in Little Neck, NY or our first home together in Gresham, OR by the high school.  

I hope the new family has as many wonderful memories as we had here.  I wish them well.  It’s time for us to make new memories in a new home.  And I am so ready to load up the dishwasher! 

River Balm

The mighty Rogue River languishes before me on my balcony perch in Grants Pass, Oregon.  People drift past in kayaks, tubes and inflatable rafts.  Here the river is lazy, stretching out before it channels through rocky narrows and turns tumultuous.  And so I watch and soak in the beauty, the quiet, the soulfulness of this busy, but uncrowded area.

The river is like a balm, soothing the anxiousness and worry away that I have been carrying for what seems like all this year.   Most of the anxiety stems from selling our home of twenty-five years.  It sold without being listed, our inspection went well, and once the appraisal comes through, we’re pretty much good to go.

Only where do we go?  We have an offer hanging out there like a dangling carrot, but until our appraisal comes through we can’t promise some $60k in cash to buy this manufactured home we set our hearts on. So if the people get an offer better than ours, we have 72 hours to counter.  I try to forget about the fact that the phone could light up any minute with such news, yet I remain hopeful.  

The house was in an outer area of a smaller town.  It smelled like the stinky canine foursome owned by this woman and her daughter. In fact, the smell lingered there all day in my nostrils!  The carpets, flooring and paint all need to be replaced or redone. So I’m hopeful no one else will want a non turn-key, smelly home, especially this weekend. By this coming week, the appraisal on our house should be done, and then we can confidently go ahead with our offer (without the contingency that our home must sell).  

So much to process right now.  I’m still recovering from the spine surgery.  Am doing quite well, but I still feel most comfortable with a heating pad practically attached.  I worry about a family member who has cancer, but I know he’s going to beat it.  It hurt so much to see him suffering and not have his usual strength.  Now that his chemo blasts are done, he’s recovering his strength and mobility.  Am so glad.

It’s been a tough year.  Losing my son’s girlfriend was like losing a family member.  I wish what happened hadn’t. I can’t get the closure I would have liked, but I didn’t make the choices she did. My son and she were having troubles before the shit went down, but I just wish the shit never came down the way it did. I know it takes two to make a mess of things, but yeah, what can you do?  I’ve always stepped back and been able to say “this is not my script”.  And it isn’t.

So the river is there washing some of my angst away.  It doesn’t pay anymore to get into the who said what and did what or didn’t do what.  It is what it is. 

A river balm.  Amen.

Trying to Gain Foothold

This year so far has been a challenge much like rock climbing.  What rock looks sturdy enough to hold on to in order for me to advance?  One false move and I could lose my place, swinging out on the safety ropes, which luckily keep me from plummeting all together. 

As I regroup after spine surgery, I realize that my back will never be the same.  For sure it’s so much better than the last few months of terrible pain.  The fact that I could barely put my own clothing on and would get stuck in my own body — a tight pinching throughout the lower back and down both legs — was really scary.  I’m free of that now and ecstatic about it, but there still persists a deep aching pain and a slight pull when I stand.  I hope it’s just a matter of needing to fully recover from surgery, yet I’m a bit afraid this could become a new way of life for me.  My back was in worse shape than I expected.  Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting.  I knew something was worse than a muscle pull, but I didn’t know I had weak vertebrae in addition to the “stalagmites” or bone spurs growing on the back bone.  So be it, or it is what it is or might be and I’ll find out more when I get staples pulled out on Monday. 

There are already a few things I’ll miss out on, such as a jet boat ride down the Rogue River, but I’ve realized over the years with chronic migraines that I need to create my own joy.  It’s better to focus on the things I can do rather than cannot do.  So I will relax on the hotel deck in the morning, watching the river pass by, and in the afternoon stroll the streets of Grant’s Pass or perhaps hitch a ride with another “left behind” person and go to the casino up north from GP.  It’ll all be good.  No matter what. 

We all have to find our “new normals”.  It happens frequently in life, whether happy or sad.  A new job, new home, new partner, new baby, winning a jackpot — these are all usually good things but they’re life changing.  It’s the same with having to deal with a new disability, losing a loved one, being laid off from a job.  All of those are hardships, but we try to persevere so as to survive in a world that’s constantly moving forward with or without us.

I’m still looking for the next foothold.  It’s as if I’ve been climbing on automatic pilot and now I realize I’d better get with the program and start being productive.  We’ll be moving soon.  I have to get going and start packing.  So I’ve resolved to get squared with what to expect going forward with this old back.  I hope on Monday, I’ll be given a new lease on life, but if not, I’ll have to obtain the lease on different terms.  Maybe the result won’t be palacial, but even a tiny cubby hole works for some 🐁🐁🐁.

Validation

It has been a symphony of droning lawn mowers on this holiday Sunday.  I try not to focus on my head.  For the first time in months I haven’t been logging migraines.  After six years of so doing, not recording migraines is freedom to me.  I have taken my power back.  How long I can rebel in my older age against the tools that neurologists use, I don’t know.  It seems all for naught, as migraine pain is pretty much disregarded.  If you don’t respond to any or all of the treatments, then you must be doing something wrong.  Endless months of an average of 20 days a month of mostly sixes on pain scales is seen by the doctors as “you seem to be doing okay”.  Well, no I’m not.  Having headaches nearly everyday is bad enough.  Worsening into even as low as a 3 on a migraine pain scale can be debilitating.

Truth is, migraines are incurable at this point in time.  There are things that can help the sufferer feel better, but doctors have cried foul in the last five years whenever I’ve ask for 20 – 30 pain pills a month.  “Causes rebounds” they say — or they invoke the latest phrase “medication overuse headaches”.  Then why do the migraines continue on in their near never ending stream if I don’t use pain pills?  What is wrong with this picture?

I believe I am done seeking help for migraines anymore.  What help?  Basically I interpret lack of pain relief as lack of humane care.  I could be in a zen spot all day looking at birds (per my last neurologist) and while that might make me feel better about my migraines, it doesn’t do anything to make the migraines feel better.

And now I feel like I have an ace up my sleeve.  Recently diagnosed with spinal stenosis, I was automatically given pain meds and more, no questions asked.  All this because an MRI validated the pain I was in.  There’s no such measure to show migraine pain unless you have something visible going on in the brain — tumor, traumatic brain injury or concussion to name a few. 

My back can hurt like holy hell, but the migraines can too.  So why is the back pain addressed with pain meds (surgery is going to be scheduled as soon as all the pre-authorizations come in) but migraines are not?  It isn’t fair.

However, just a few weeks before my back pain was officially diagnosed, I began using marijuana.  My regular doctor never prescribed anything for my back, not even after I asked for prescription ibuprofen or a stronger muscle relaxer since we were embarking on a 21 day road trip.  I didn’t dare ask for pain medication.  That seems to be a big no-no at this clinic. When I returned from the trip and called to say my back was worse, I was sent to physical therapy.  Three weeks in, with the back still locking up, pt only made a dent of a difference, so I scheduled another appointment with my pcp.  I was immediately referred for an MRI, but it would be another 10 days to get one scheduled.  Still no meds prescribed and was told to continue the pt.  So at this juncture I’d endured ten weeks of pinching pain affecting walking, bending, sitting, standing.  Ten weeks too many.

Instant validation from the MRI.  There’s  calcification and arthritis narrowing the spinal cord.  I’m not a doctor, but maybe the MRI should have been done when I came back from the trip?  Instead I was thrown in to physical therapy.  I went for four weeks and they still wanted me to come back for more.  It turns out no amount of pt would have unkinked the spinal cord.  I could have saved the $80 a week in co-pays for the pt till after surgery. 

But at least finally, an MRI showed that I had a reason to be in pain.  I was believed!  I’ve become so used to being in migraine pain with no validation, that I was afraid to stand up and say that the back pain really, really hurt.  I wondered if I had a low threshold for pain tolerance and began doubting myself when I wasn’t progessing through pt.  Now I know whole heartedly that I’m not an exagerrator.  I just wish there was some way to show that my migraines are real and that they hurt. 

I’m afraid I’m at another juncture of having to find another pcp.  My husband is very upset with the current one.  He has been witness to what I’m going through and he feels I’ve been failed.  One step at a time though.  Surgery first, then pcp search.  I know there’s an opioid addiction crisis, but where does that leave some of the rest of us?  I believe we have a right not to be in pain.  And the pcp had the MRI results a full nine days before I met with the neurosurgeon, yet I was offered nothing.  It seems like an injustice to me and I know I’m not alone in this.

Disclaimer:  This blog and post are my opinions only.  Seek the help of a physician for any problem.

Marijuana is legal in my state.