Chronic Pain Lifestyle

Dirty Little Secrets

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior.  As a child in Ashland, I didn’t really understand adult secrets.  They were always saying things I didn’t understand.  It was ok , their secrets seemed to be over things and people I didn’t know.  The one thing I knew for sure, everyone had a secret.

In our house on Third Street we had several secrets.  First, my Dad was sick.  In addition to his health problems, he was also an alcoholic.  Those are the secrets you don’t tell anyone until you are grown up enough to understand it yourself.  As  much as we loved him, we couldn’t save him and he died so young.

But that was our family’s secret.  We kids never discussed it, until after he was gone.  I know one thing, I loved my family but I hated all the secrecy.  That’s what made it so awful, you couldn’t tell anyone.  Not even your best friend.

My best friend Angie and I spent almost all of our time together.  When she would come over, we would spend hours together, listening to records, playing Monopoly and talking.  The games went on all day.  I would lend her money if she ran low, I just loved playing games with her and talking. 

Often during our all day games, Dad would knock on my bedroom door and hand us a tray of ice cream sundaes or popcorn and soda.  He had problems, but his heart was in the right place and Angie loved being at our house.  She didn’t have a Dad at her house and her Mother worked full-time to support her kids.  Besides, Dad really liked Angie and he loved teasing her.  He would stand and talk to us and ask us what we were going to do, like he was going to join in.

I would roll my eyes and tell him that we were going to listen to records.  He would laugh and pretend he was going to join in.  I really don’t think Alice Cooper was his favorite artist, but Dad did have to listen to it almost every day.

My Dad and Mom always had nice things to say about Angie’s Mom.  She worked hard and was a good Mom.  She didn’t let her kids run wild and none of them was in trouble with the law.  Well, not any real trouble anyway.  (see previous story regarding police cars and getaways)

Angie and I had one fight when I was 13.  We didn’t talk for almost a year and then my Grampa Berg died on Valentines day and shortly after that Clare got Angie and I to make up over a game of hopscotch.

Angie had secrets too.  Secrets I only recently found out about.  Angie’s Mom and Dad never married although they had 3 children together.  Her Father was already married and had another set of kids with his wife.  I knew all of that stuff, but this is the part I didn’t know.

He never helped Angie’s mother in any way to support their kids.  Angie said she always felt like she came in second because she was told his kids were more important.  And she always felt like she was his “dirty little secret”.

When she contacted her father recently, she told him she wanted to talk to him.  Maybe find out about her health issues that she may have from her Father, and maybe get to know each other.  Now that Angie’s mother is gone, she has no one else to ask these questions.

He responded to her that he did not want to talk to her or meet with her.

So Angie, sent letters to his kids.  And one of her half-sisters agreed to meet with her and talk.  She is on Angie’s side and she thinks it’s time to stop all the lying and uncover this dirty little secret.   

This man has had over 40 years to talk to his wife and he never did.

In retrospect, I admire Angie’s courage and I am so angry that this went on so long.  Living your life, being ashamed your whole life over something and then being denied by your own Father.  We may not have had a perfect childhood, but I knew I was loved and I knew that even if he didn’t say it a lot, my Dad loved me.

I can’t imagine growing up feeling like your own Father never even bought you a birthday gift or even yelled because he was mad about something.  I love my Mom and Dad and I know that being a parent isn’t all about hugs and kisses, it is also about discipline and sometimes you got yelled at.

Like playing your Alice Cooper album Love It To Death really loud in the morning before school, every single day.  Sorry about that Mom and Dad, I really love that album.

My best friend in this whole world, is not a dirty little secret.  I will probably spend the rest of my days telling her that.  It would be hard not to feel that way when you lived so long with this secret.

If you have a secret that is making your life hard, unhappy or sad, get rid of it.  Tell someone.  Call one of the free hotlines in the phone book, send a letter to someone annonymously, but do it.

Secrets that hurt are made to be broken.  They are only powerful in hurting you while they are a secret.  Once you’ve told someone, they can’t hurt you anymore.  Tell someone, a friend, a priest, anyone.  But stop the hurt.  Life is too short to live under the spell of a secret.  Only you have the power to rid your life of the spell.  You are in charge of your life and you can throw off the shackles of any secret.

And no one, and I mean NO ONE is anyone’s dirty little secret.  Especially not my best friend Angie. 

And if by some chance her “Father” and I hesitate to call him that is reading this, you should be very happy that I am disabled otherwise I would make sure that you apologized to my friend and her entire family.  You are not fit to even share this Earth with wonderful people like Angie and her family and I have a feeling that in the very near future, your entire tale of misdeeds will come forward and then you will be living with the result of YOUR dirty little secret of a life.

You see it’s not Angie that is the dirty little secret, it’s you.

Thanks for listening.

Anne

To Every Season, Turn

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior.  Ashland is at the very top of Wisconsin, between Minnesota and Michigan.  Back in the ‘60’s and ‘70’s, the only local news we received via television, was from Minnesota.

For the longest time I knew that Rudy Perpich was the governor of Minnesota, but I could not tell you who the name of Wisconsin’s governor.

The same was true of sports coverage.  I knew about Bud Grant and the Vikings and I had been to a University of Minnesota homecoming football game.  I have to admit,  I was never a huge Packer fan.

After attending the University of Wisconsin where I was teased almost nonstop for coming from the other end of the Earth, I began to cheer for Wisconsin teams, namely the Badgers.  I was still not much of a Packer fan.

In my working years, I became very well acquainted with Packer fans.  A lot of my friends were, big Brett Favre fans.  Even my sister and her family  are all Packer fans.  TJ and Adam both have Packer shirts and now that Adam is actually 4, he loves to wear his Brett Favre jersey.

In January of 2006, I went to work for the last time.  It was just another work day for me.  I was working on projects, trying to “put out fires” and fix problems all day long while keeping my cool and getting other things done. There was just one problem.  I wasn’t feeling well.

My back was hurting a lot. I had back surgery in 2003 and after a long recovery I was back at work full time.  I had 6 pain free months in 2005, but by October of 2005, my back started to hurt and it hasn’t stopped.  It was also hurting more and more each day.  I kept working through the pain and started using vacation days to try and regroup. 

And then on a normal January day, I got to work and looked at the clock and wondered how long I could sit there, before I could go home and take my meds and lay down.  I only made it one and a half hours.

By the time I got home, I was shaking and sweating and the pain was so bad I was in tears.  I took my meds and went to bed.  And that was the end to my 20 year career in the insurance industry.  No press conference, no cake, no watch, no speech, just the end.

For the next 5 or 6 weeks, I got up every morning and got dressed for work, or at least I tried to, but I never went back.  I always thought I would feel better and I would be returning to my job just as soon as they figured out what I could do to feel better.  There had to be something to stop the mind-numbing pain and still allow me to think clearly and get my life back on track, but there was no relief.  There is still no relief.

And so a few days ago, I read an article in the paper about Brett Favre coming back to work, he wants to play for the Packers again or for anybody.  He is still physically able to play the rough game of professional football and no-doubt has some good games  left in his arm. 

But Brett had a tearful press conference announcing his retirement at the end of last season.  It made front page news in Wisconsin and many folks were upset to the point of tears.  And now Brett changed his mind and he doesn’t want to be retired, he wants to keep playing. 

Well Brett, join the club.  The club of adults forced to retire before they are ready for a variety of reasons from health issues, to caring for a family member, etc.

I would give anything to be able to return to my old job and be able to spend my days doing my job instead of spending my days looking around and hoping I find something to make the day go by quickly.  I spent yesterday shredding our personal mail I saved up and polishing a copper trivet.

I understand the panic that set in when the training camps began gearing up and Brett has no where to go.  It’s the same way I feel every morning when I see my husband and our neighbors get in their cars and drive to their jobs.  I see it every morning and every morning I wish I was going with them, but I can’t.

Even if I did return, it wouldn’t be the same.  I can’t work like I did in the past. If I could still do it, I would never have stopped working, but I did stop, I had to.   

I can’t tell you how many mornings, I tried to get dressed and go out the door and drive myself to work.  I ended up in tears and my husband kept saying “maybe tomorrow” even though he knew as well as I did that tomorrow was not going to be any different than today.

So Brett, I understand the feeling of growing older and the loss of what you were proud of...your job.  But there is a time for everything and although you still feel like you could play, maybe your first instinct, retirement was a wise one and perhaps it’s something you should take seriously.

We all want to play, we all want to feel like we did 20 years ago when we ran around and worked hard and played hard and never gave a thought to retirement.  Believe me, no one wants to be retired in the prime of their life.  But that’s the way it is sometimes. 

You are lucky Brett, when you stopped working you were able to say goodbye publicly and thank all the people that supported you and loved you.  Now is the time to remember that day and think back to what made you decide to retire.

I wish I had the opportunity to retire and choose my date instead of leaving my coworkers abruptly and never having the opportunity to thank any of them for helping me do my job better and for being my friend.  I didn’t get a press conference, everyone in the state did not wait with bated breath wondering if I was going to be able to work anymore, my husband and I were the only ones who witnessed my struggle to let go of my freedom, my independence and my job.

It’s time to move on Brett and not to another team.  Let the legend you created, remain in Green Bay where it belongs and return to the game you love in another capacity.  Perhaps an assistant coach?  or a high school coach?  or maybe just a volunteer parent at your children’s school?

You can’t play forever and even if you do get another job as a quarterback, you can’t turn back the clock, you do not get a “do-over” for your career. 

Be proud of what you achieved and move on.  It’s the right thing to do.

Thanks for listening.

Anne

My Sister Mary, The Storyteller

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior.  In my little town of Ashland, we lived in a big house on the corner of 11th avenue and 3rd street west.  It was a lovely old house, with lots of rooms for play and slippery hard wood floors to skate on.

I was the 3rd kid, I have an older brother Mike and a little sister Clare and my sister Mary is the oldest.  Mary was named Mary Suzanne, so of course everyone called her “Suzie”.  Why this was, I’ll never really know. 

I always thought it was because of my Dad’s sister.  Her name was Mary Ellen.  So I guess calling my sister “Suzie” would stop any confusion of them sharing the same first name.  Except of course, we called my Aunt, Aunt Suzie.  Two Suzies and neither of them have that for a first name.  The only explanation I can give is that we’re Norweigian.

Mary being the oldest often taught us things, took us places and watched over us when Mom and Dad weren’t home.  i guess watching Clare and I probably wasn’t the most exciting thing, so maybe that’s why Mary became such a good storyteller.

She would read to us when we were little.  She took us swimming out to Long Lake when we were bigger and once in a while, she took us to Duluth to go shopping or to the drive-in for a movie and to share her great homemade pizza.

It was on a trip to Duluth to go shopping that I remember one of Mary’s stories.

We were in the back seat, Clare and I were fighting as usual.  Clare asked Mary what the squeeking was from the car engine.  And Mary told us all about how she had squirrels in her engine that run around in one of those hamster wheels and that it turns the car wheels.  She said she feeds them nuts.

Clare and I looked at each other to see if this was true.  We heard that noise, we knew about gas stations, but I guess it could be true so we believed her.

And thus began a long list of stories that Mary told us, and we became the most gullible kids ever born.

I was in the 8th grade 14 years old and Mary was working as a housekeeper for one of the dentists in town.  I was watching TV with Mary and that commercial from the 70’s came on , the big Coca Cola commercial.  It showed literally hundreds of people standing single file on a mountain top, holding hands and singing “I’d like to teach the world to sing.....”.  I got the record off the back of a cereal box.  Those were great days, cut the record out of the back of the box.  Pretty cool.

Anyway,  I’m watching this commercial, everyone was young, attractive, wearing cool bell bottom jeans, headbands, hippie shirts, beads.  Then Mary tells me “you know where they got all those people from don’t you?”  and of course I said “no”.

“Well” Mary said, “those people are all convicts.  They got them all from prisons all over the country.  You didn’t think they would really pay that many people for a commercial did you?”

She sounded believable.  So I bought it.  I bought a lot of things over the years.  I’m probably the most gullible person you would ever meet.  I believe just about anyone, unless I know them well enough to know they’re lying.

Mary, Mary, Mary.  did you really think after all these years that Clare and I had forgotten about the squirrels in the engine and the prisoners in the commercial?

Surely you know that we would never forget!!

We also never forgot how you took us and our friends to get pizza after dark with all of us in our pajamas.  And to movies, to the drive-in, to Long Lake to swim in a warm lake and to Duluth on shopping trips and to see concerts.  I saw my first concert with you and Clare and Mom,  Creedence Clearwater Revival in 1971.

We went to see Sanatana and Seals & Crofts.

Then there was the Alice Cooper concert, Clare and Mom and I were on the main floor in the back, you had tickets in 7th row center and when you saw Clare and I way in back, you and Vickie gave us your seats.  I’ll never forget that you did that for us.

Over the years, we may not always live in the same hemisphere, but you will always be close in my heart.

Thanks for the stories, the laughs, and the loving care.

Thanks for listening.

Anne

Tilt-A-Whirl

It’s the beginning of summer here in southern Wisconsin.  The weather is warming up and the sounds of summer are in the air.  Kids riding bikes, fireworks going off, teenagers whizzing by in their parent’s car with the radio turned up and the windows down.  Here in the great Midwest it’s the beginning of the fastest three months of the year.

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior.  Ashland’s summer never started by Memorial Day weekend, it was still pretty cold.  But eventually it would warm up enough so we could be barefoot and in shorts.  By mid-June we braved the icy cold but very clean water of Lake Superior.

Summer days flew by when I was a kid.  We were on a dead run from the last day of school  until the end of August when you got fitted for new school shoes and your school supplies were purchased. 

In between those two events, we crammed every bit of adventure. There were trees to climb, bikes to ride, swimming and diving for clams in the lake.  There were lemonade stands, wiffle ball games and croquet.  We played in sandboxes when we were little and in the ravines when we were bigger.  We helped Grampa wash his milk delivery trucks and had water fights with the hose in his backyard.  When it started getting dark, we played Kick The Can in the alley between our back yard and the Carpenter’s garage.

And every summer the  carnival came to town around the 4th of July.  At least that’s the way I remember it.  One year it was set up in the parking lot of Monk’s Bowling Alley.  Monk’s is the only bowling alley in town.  It is down at the western end of Third st.  I grew up on Third street so it was a straight shot to go to the carnival.

Clare and I collected money we had saved.  That’s a lie, Clare saved, I begged.  Anyway, we went to the carnival together.  I remember Mom and Dad spent time in the nice cool bar drinking beer while we ran around spending money on rides, games and carnival food.  Clare loved the games and came home with a wide array of prizes and of course a goldfish.  I was more of a ride girl and I liked corndogs, we called them pronto pups.

The carnival reminded me of the story of the Pied Piper of Hamlin.  When the rides start going and the lights come on and the smell of junk foods and sweets are in the air, every little kid within miles, was drawn to it.  Even if you didn’t have any money you went to the carnival.  I remember even after our money was long gone we still went down there to watch other kids on the rides and see if anyone got really scared or really won the $5 bill on that ring toss game.

When we were little we would watch the big kids go on the scary rides.  One ride called the rocket, looked like a ferris wheel, except the cars were all enclosed and when you started to go up, your car could spin around upside down.  We heard that if you didn’t hold on and the car went upside down, you would be killed and your body would go through the top of the car just like a meat through a grinder.

Now, I don’t know who started that story, but I’ve never gone on that ride.  The rumor was enough for me even though I know it is not possible for that to happen.  It was enough that some kid said it.  I didn’t want to prove it right or wrong.

The tilt-a-whirl was my favorite ride.  We sat 3 in a car and we would spin around and around  We loved it.  I thought it was a lot more fun that the scrambler.  All that ride did was make you smash into the person riding with you.  What fun is that?  I smashed into my little sister at home and it didn’t cost anything.

AS I got older, we even ventured onto the scariest ride of all, the Round Up.  On this ride, you stand up and your head is on a padded cushion and you have a belt that is fastened in front of you and the ride starts spinning round and round, pinning you to the back of the ride and then it starts going on it’s side so the only thing holding you on the ride is the centripetal force.  I was so afraid of this ride it took me years to get on it.  But I did and then I felt fearless, except of course for that rocket ride.

Life was good, the carnival was here, Mom and Dad were handing our quarters like they were free and Clare and I were deep into the Soddom and Gommora of childhood, the annual carnival.  We ate cotton candy and foot long hot dogs and carmel apples. 

With full bellies, we just kept eating and then we decided to go back on the tilt-whirl.  And this is when the story takes an ugly turn.  Clare and Jody and I were all on the ride together.  Clare was in the middle.  The ride started and after just a few turns I looked at Clare and she didn’t look very good.  She looked kind of green.

Before we knew what was going to happen, I put my hand up to her mouth and she threw up.  All over me......I felt bad for her.  All those quarters in junk food and now she’s on a ride with an empty stomach and she’s sitting next to someone covered in vomit.

So we did what anyone else would have done.  We jumped on our bikes, peddaled home as fast as possible.  Changed clothes, washed up, got the rest of our allowance that we were saving for something else and went right back to the carnival.  I don’t think Mom and Dad even noticed we changed clothes.  WE didn’t tell them about this because if you threw up, you had to go home and to bed.  That’s just the way it was when you were a kid.  No one thought one bit about what caused the person to be sick, you just knew you had to go to bed if you threw up.

It didn’t seem to bother Clare much.  Actually she probably felt alot better after she threw up because she was never much of an eater and with an empty stomach she had a lot more fun.  We ran and ran until it was dark and then we went to the fireworks like everyone else.  And then home to bed and our dreams full of ups and downs and rides and noisy music.  And finally off to our deep sleep to recover our energy and renew ourselves for the next day full of adventure.  Another day in our childhood that was going faster than any carnival ride.

We drove past a carnival last week and I thought about the tilt-a -whirl and the round up and that rocket ride.  I don’t think you could get me on any of those rides anymore, but I do enjoy a corn dog now and then or as we called them back then Pronto Pups.  Face it, even when you’re a grownup, carnival food is really good.  It may not be haute cuisine, but who the heck really likes that stuff anyway?  I much prefer a soft serve cone and a Pronto Pup.

And then there’s the other thing, the little kids.  Whether it’s at a parade or a carnival, I love the kids.  I love the way their eyes get so big when they see something new.  I love the sounds of laughter and the squeeling when they are on a ride.  I love the hugs and kisses from a dirty little kid when they say hello or goodbye. 

Skinned knees, cotton candy, sticky fingers, dirty faces clutching a little bag filled with water and one poor goldfish who’s days are numbered.   Nothing says summer better than a fist full of dandylions, or a sticky kiss on the cheek from a dirty little kid.

So, empty out your change jug, or pony up your gas money and go to the carnival.  It will make you feel like a kid again and who knows, you might be the one giving out sticky kisses of your own.

Thanks for listening,

Anne

Is It Ever Really OK?

It’s another summer morning here in the great midwest.  The dog on my right is snoring and the one on the left is dreaming, both of them look very comfortable and content. 

Every day, people ask me how I’m feeling and how is my pain today.  Sometimes  I hear this from my friends, my husband, my sister, my Mom and one thing that is certain, I normally give them all the same answer,  it’s OK.

But is it really ever ok?  IS there really a time when any of us feels ok?

When is that OK time?

Looking back on my childhood, I would never describe it as OK.  It was filled with so much adventure.  For a small town girl, we did a lot of exploring and racing on our bikes and climbing and jumping and swimming and running.  We learned about friendship and fairness and saying “I’m sorry”.  We played ball, we had fights, we made up.  No day was just ok. 

Then as a teenager, I don’t remember that as being ok either.  I wasn’t at all happy in high school.  There were and still are my good friends, my friend Tracey and I walked literally hundreds of miles together in our high school years. I figured it out, it was roughly 1,872 miles not counting extra trips back to school to play in the pep band for basketball games or all the way over to the old high school to play at football games.  That’s a lot of walking.  And a lot of time to talk to a good friend about being a teenager, and being jealous of the popular girls and never having a boyfriend.

Then there was college and my twenties.  That wasn’t ok either.  Moving to a big city far away from home was quite an adventure.  Learning how to read a map, another adventure.  Keeping up with football games, dances, movies, protests (every Friday at noon on Library Mall) and oh going to classes too, all part of the life of a twenty something.  It was hard and it was fun.  Tears, laughter, all the emotions of being on your own for the first time and having my first long term boyfriend. I wouldn’t call that part of my life just ok either.

And then the working part.  I had good jobs, bad jobs, good bosses and bad ones.  I had great things, bad things, low pay, big raises and hard work always.  That wasn’t ok either.  I loved the working part, the finding out what I wanted to do and doing it.  That feeling of accomplishment and the feeling of failure.  I’m lucky to say I had all of those things in my working years.  None of that was ok either.

And now this new part of my life that I never expected.  The not working, but not really retired part.  I’ve had a lot of happiness and good things happen in the last few years.  I’ve learned my husband loves me even more than I thought he did and I’ve learned that I can not do some things anymore.  And that’s not ok either.

Wouldn’t it be sad if your life was really OK?  Just OK is not good enough for me and I hope not for you either.  Life is too precious for anyone to ever consider it to be OK.

So next time you ask, I’ll probably say OK, but just so you know I don’t really mean it.  How can I be just OK, with wonderful friends and a loving family like all of you?  Thanks to all of you who are reading this, I’m better than OK and have been all my life.

Thanks for listening.

Anne

Choose Your Rut Carefully, You May Never Get Out of It

What was that advice we got in the ‘70’s?

Hang loose or was it everybody must get small.... no that wasn’t it either.  It was the decade of decadence, nothing was small or quiet about the ‘70’’s with the possible exception of Tiny Tim’s voice.

We had big hair, big platform shoes and big bell bottomed pants.  We had big long beaded necklaces and big causes.  There was the war protest, the long hair protest, the clothes protest, the being an individual protest. It was the mantra of “don’t trust anyone over 30”. It’s amazing we had time for anything else.  But then again, I was only 10 when the seventies decade started.

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior.  In the ‘70’s we didn’t have many protests, but we were not completely oblivious to the war protests.  There were hippies and Jesus people all over the place.  Northland College in Ashland is an environment college, lots of tree huggers.

I was only 10 when the decade started, so my take on it was a little different than most adults.  I wanted more than anything to be Mary Tyler Moore or Cher.  Those were the two women I admired most.  People that know me are not at all surprised.  I had long hair and worked hard to get the perfect tan.  Actually I achieved the perfect tan after I moved from the shore of Lake Superior to Madison, WI.  It’s 300 miles to the south, it is an enormous climate change.  Trust me.

So what was a girl with a good tan, long brown hair to do with herself?  What did I want to be?

I wanted to be a Mom with little kids, a station wagon and a little ranch house in a little town or out in the country and a husband.  That’s what I wanted.  I wanted to be there when my kids came home from school or when they were putting on a program at school.  I wanted to keep my house nice and tidy and I wanted to have a lot of friends.

I wanted to drop the kids off at school and go to my tennis lessons in my wagon.  Then I wanted to have lunch with my friends, go shopping and get home in time for the kids and in time to make dinner and help them with their homework. That was what I wanted.

By the time I was finishing college, the ‘70’s were gone and so was that dream.  First, there was no MRS degree directly following my BA degree from the UW-Madison.  I wouldn’t be getting married right after I graduated and worse yet, I was dating a guy, the wrong guy for me and I knew it. 

So there I was, just out of college, no husband, ranch house or even the specter of one in my future.  So what did I do?  How did I get from Point A to the Point B , my dream of a home and kids and all the rest of my wishes?

It sounds so hard, but I did what all adults do.  I made my own way.

One thing was obvious, if I wanted to make my life fulfilling and happy , I needed to do it myself.  If I wanted a nice little ranch home and a wagon well, I had better get a good job and meet someone who shared my dream.  No one was going to be waiting on the other side of the stage in the Field House with keys to my new house and wagon.  No man was going to be standing there with a diamond ring, if I wanted those things, I had to make it happen.

That’s the part they don’t teach you at the UW, you need to make things happen.  That piece of paper with your name on it, will open a door, but it won’t make the big jobs appear magically. If you want better pay and promotions you need to make this happen, with all of the courage and convictions that sent you to school in the first place.

Going out into the work place was almost as scary as entering the Stock Pavilion that first day to get my registration form in Madison.  The only difference is the work place doesn’t keep the bulls**t right out in front of you on the floor like they do at the stock pavilion. 

At work your bulls**t is usually wrapped up in a disguise.  Sometimes it is disguised as that really nice person who wants to be your friend, but ends up stabbing you in the back.  Or an outwardly hostile person who doesn’t care that you are new and just got out of college, you are not going to tread in her area.  It’s like walking in a mine field.  But you get through it.

Before long, you start to hit your stride.  The promotions start coming and the money improves.  Life is good.  You are not yet 30 and you are already achieving some of your goals.  Much more to reach in your future.  You don’t have any idea how far you can go, but with the right person by your side, you can climb higher than you ever thought possible.   I was lucky to have that right person for me.  Jerry has no idea how much my promotions were due to his encouragement and belief that I could do anything. Jobs are not just the way to pay for stuff, they become your career, the thing you are proud of the thing you do because you love it and want to do more.

By the time you are reaching your early 40’s the house, car and nice vacations are on board.  You are living your dreams and you have a good life.  You pray, you are thankful, you give to causes, volunteer when possible, seek additional education and give back to your community.  You are doing the things you must do and the things that you want to do.  Neither of them outweighs the other, it’s all part of your busy life.  You love your full life, you’re too busy to worry about anything.  You can’t imagine things getting better.

And then something happens and you begin a cycle that changes your life  and steers you in a new direction.  I hurt my back, I took some time off.  I had surgery and I thought I would be fine.  Little did I know that in 4 short years I would no longer workout daily, go to school, work long hours, go shopping alone or drive myself anywhere I pleased.

It’s like a sandbar that pops up when you least expect it and your boat is swamped.  It’s the fly in the ointment, the annoying little headache that won’t go away.  Only it’s not a headache.  It’s the burning, stabbing, take-your-breath-away pain in your back, hips, legs.  It’s the sensation of never being “unaware” of your own body.  It’s never forgotten, the sensation is always there but thanks to narcotic pain meds, the pain is bearable.

Sound familiar?????  I thought so.

I’ve been struggling with this disease and trying to make heads or tails of my life.  I lost my plan and I lost my goals and frankly I didn’t know what to do.  But then I remembered the 70’s.  I remembered that thing....sort of a do your own thing or Keep on trucking or something similar.

If you want anything in life, you have to make it happen.  No one is going to stand there right outside your surgeon’s door and tell you that along with your new disease you will get this new and improved life plan.  New goals, different job or no job at all.  There is no plan for this life either and the worst part?   you don’t feel good enough to even make a plan.

But then again, there is no plan for anyone’s life.  Try as we might, we are all in the same boat.  Even people that are not disabled, face similar problems and have the rug pulled out from under them too.  It’s not just us, it’s not just the disableds.  Healthy people are just as much in the dark as we are.

Now I didn’t take the obvious straight line course to my goals.  I had jobs that were not ideal, I dated a man after college who was completely wrong for me.  Luckily I met the right man while working one of the less than Ideal jobs.  Wearing that awful polyester brown waitress uniform, hair in a ponytail and there he was in my section sitting at my first table, my very first table, the very first night I worked there.  I can still remember asking my coworker, “who is that guy?”  And Margie replied with her usual candor “That’s Jerry.  He’s all hands, you don’t want to have anything to do with him.”  I was head over heels before he even asked me for a refill of his coffee.

Now it wasn’t magic, it took me 8 1/2 years to get down that aisle and it took another 5 years to get the ranch house and just 3 years ago I got my wagon.  Nobody handed those things to me.  But with Jerry to help, we achieved all of the things we wanted.  We have the house we wanted, in the town we wanted and we have an apple tree, nice neighbors and two dogs.  What more could you ask for?

So what’s next?  What’s my plan?  More importantly what are my goals?

The goals are to put this pain in the back of my life and not out front like it is right now.  I don’t intend to hide from my disease, besides that doesn’t work.  I just don’t want it to rule my life like it does right now.  I am not a diagnosis or a symptom.  I’m a person and just like every other person, I still want things and I still want to accomplish goals.

I want to do as much as I possibly can to relieve this pain.  I am going back to the pain clinic, I’m trying to get a referral to the Mayo Clinic and I want to be considered for some experimental treatment they are using on some chronic pain patients.  Now I may be completely wrong for this study, but I want to go there and get another opinion on my diagnosis.   

I know it won’t be easy to make this happen, but I’ve taken the first steps and I won’t give up.  Maybe it will help, maybe it won’t but thanks to the encouragement from my family (THANK YOU RICHARD!!) I won’t be alone when I go and we will try to fit in a much needed shopping trip to the Mall of America.  What a brilliant move, put a world renown clinic only miles from the Holy Grail of all shopping destinations.

As soon as this pain thing is under control or gone, I want to go back to work.  Maybe I won’t be able to work full time, maybe I will.  I don’t know.  And maybe I’ll choose to do something different.  Whatever it is, it will be something I want to do, not something I have to do.  As much as I would love to go back to my job, I know they just had their first layoffs and business is not booming.  Who knows, maybe I’ll fulfill a dream of mine and become a writer.  I think I have a jacket with elbow patches someplace...hey at least I’m not still set on being  John Wayne.

Life is kind of funny sometimes.  But when you think about it, with every change, you just make course adjustments and keep going.  No one’s life ever turns out as they planned it and wouldn’t it be boring if it did?

Remember that poster of the kitten holding onto a bar for dear life?  The caption was “Hang in there, Friday’s coming.”  Well, that’s what we have to all do sometimes, just hang in there, Friday is coming and it’s never too late to make that change in your life that will set you free of the sandbar and back on your way.

Thanks for listening.

Anne

Catching Childhood

This morning I sat at the kitchen table, taking the pills that make me a little dry in the mouth, but also help with the pain.  I was watching our neighbor’s kids waiting for the bus.  I’m lucky enough to live in the house where the bus stops.  I say lucky, because every day I’m reminded of how wonderful this world can be.

This morning the sister and brother took off their big backpacks and chased each other around their driveway.  It was 7:18AM.  The bus was due in 2 minutes and being kids, they couldn’t just stand and wait.  So they ran in circles, started flapping their arms.  And as the bus pulled up, they put on their heavy packs and climbed aboard for another day at school.

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior.  Ashland is a long town, it runs along Chequamagon Bay.  Our house was 3 blocks from the lake and 5 blocks from my elementary school.  The only time we took a bus was to go to a beach on the other end of town, or to go to college.

In the summer, we ran all day, stopping to ask permission to drink out of a hose when we were thirsty and thanking whoever let us do that.  When we were hungry we grabbed an apple from a tree, a stalk of rhubarb or carrot or peas from the ground.  They were the days of skinned knees and worn out jeans.  Of mosquito bites and dirty faces.  Nothing was too hard and everything was new.

We played softball and wiffle ball, we had arguments, do-overs and broken hearts and apologies.  All in the day of a kid.  We didn’t know then how quickly our childhoods would slip from our grasp.  The days of running and swimming and riding our bikes like we were flying a fighter plane or a space ship.  Floating on a pulp log on Lake Superior, we were pirates, coming ashore to look for treasure.

The feeling of the ice cold lake on a warm summer day, the sand squishing between the toes and the way your feet looked in the water.  Laying on the sand to dry, before going home for supper.  Running like we just couldn’t wait for anything

The sights and sound of birds and fish and deer and cats and dogs.  They were all around.  We watched out for cars and tried not to do anything that would require a visit or call to our parents.

At night we ran inside and ate our dinner as fast as we could.  We were hungry.  Not hungry from stress or boredom or because we spent the day watching fast food commercials.  We didn’t have fast food then.  I guess fast food was when you had a peanut butter sandwich instead of waiting for dinner.

After dinner it was time for baths.  Most importantly, it was time to wash our feet.  Most of our adventures took place with no shoes on.  We didn’t need or want shoes in the summer.  You would just have to take them off when you went swimming and you might lose one.

After our baths, we were tucked into the clean cotton sheets and while it was still light out, we sang ourselves to sleep.  Many nights our Mom and Dad requested that we not give them a nightly concert of Beatles songs, but we were happy kids, and tired and eventually sleep took over.

The next day we would do it all again.  More running and riding and playing and swimming.  More fights and tears and kissing of cut fingers, skinned knees and stubbed toes.  Mom wiped the tears away and explained that it wasn’t the end of the world, our hearts were not broken and after a hug and a glass of water we were right back outside, to pick up where we left off.

There were no counselors or mediators or guns or knives.  We knew when we had done something wrong, we knew we had to say “sorry” and we knew that do-overs were always an option.  Sometimes we were friends again right away and sometimes we had to wait until we had forgotten what we were fighting about.  Nothing was ever so bad that it ended our friendships.

In the years that followed, we transitioned into teenagers and adults and we still knew that there was nothing that we did that we couldn’t apologize for and we knew how to say “sorry” and mean it.  We knew that it wasn’t ok to hurt anyone or anything.  Kids or animals, it was all the same, we were all God’s creatures and we respected that.  Even if we didn’t know what respect was.

And much to our surprise, we grew up just as fast as we ran.  We were always in a hurry to go to the next thing.  That is how your childhood is, you run and run until your wish comes true and you are an adult.  And the irony is, you wish you could do it all over again.

But thankfully, every now and then I see little kids doing something and just like that  Kenny Chesney song “I Go Back”.  To days of snarls in my hair so bad that scissors were used, bath times when Dad helped us wash our feet that were so dirty, we couldn’t go to bed until some of the black had been removed. 

And after our “now I lay me down to sleep....” a kiss on the head from Mom and we were asleep.  In our bunk beds with our Snoopy bedspread that declared Happiness is a Warm Puppy  and our Snow White and the Seven Dwarf pillowcases.  We left the world of our awake adventures and entered our deep sleep.  And God indeed kept our souls until we awoke.  She still does.

And every morning we have the promise of a “do-over”.  Everyday dawns with a perfect morning, we all have the opportunity to live just a little better than the day before and try our best to make our way in this world.  Through the ups and downs, the good and bad, the laughter and tears we go on and we try everyday to make the day the best one we ever lived.

So go on, make this day the best one of your life.  Don’t let anything hold you back.

Thanks for listening.

Anne

HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW?

It's garden beginning time for many of us, especially in the South. How and what to plant was confusing for me. I was so much wanting a container garden on my patio. With just a walker I couldn't even go into the yard at all and my husband is a  just let whatever grow grow until the neighbors complain. Then use the riding mower and weedwhacker. We have huge trees so limbs always need picking up but they love doing it at their young ages. But the 12 year-old has determined that it is WORK now. Due to climate change we cannot get anything to grow in the front yard except 3 huge trees over 30 years old. They shade the entire yard. Last summer the four grandkids did manage 9 Aloe Vista plants and I tried to repot my 2 indoor vines I'd had since Mother died in 1997.

One of my sitters did know about all that stuff and I have a bucket of daffodils now in my front yard. Not bad with all the cold, rainy spring we've had. However the money ran out to grow a patio garden but that's OK cause broken limbs (on me) stropped it.

But my puny indide one is growing great! I have a long but narrow bay window just where the dinnet sits so it gets sun all day. When it came time to bring the vines in my largest one--don't even know his origin--had to have a table all it's own and it is grown up past the curtains and started toward a bookshelf.I have put  vases from previous generations around it. The morning light is great. This is the original plant. I won't bore you with my indoor garden anymore except to say I have a sweet potato vine also. I don't know their life span though.

I wish I was growing like my indoor plants---healthy for now

Wanda

Alibis and Sunday School

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior, Ashland wasn’t a big city, but we had a lot of churches.  Lutheran, Catholic, Baptist, there were a lot of churches for such a small town.  Every church had its own traditions and congregations.  I remember our church built a new church in the 60’s.  It was designed in the shape of a cross and it was very Scandinavian looking.  Lots of wood, clean lines, beautiful windows.

When I was a little girl, I went to Sunday School.  We would go to church with Mom or with Gramma and Grampa Berg.  Part way through the service, all the kids would get up and go to their Sunday School Class.  That way, we were all done at the same time.  This was essential for rides home.  More often than not, Clare and I walked home.  Especially if the weather was nice.  We would save  .15 cents out of our collection money and we would stop at the candy store across from Wilmarth Elementary School.  Funny how every single elementary school had a candy store across the street.

There were milestones in Sunday School.  The first thing I remember, is that when you were really little, all they did was send you to the nursery and you played with other little kids during the service.  There was a speaker so we could hear what was going on, but we didn’t have any real lessons to learn or crafts to make.

Then on Christmas, they got you all dressed up in robes and trotted you out to sing “Jesus Loves Me”.  We were called the “Cherub Choir”.  No matter what we sang, or how we sang it, ladies always cried.  I didn’t know if it was because of the dear little faces singing such a cute song, or if they were just so tired from trying to get us to sing that they were all having a breakdown.

Then in about second or third grade, you get your Bible.  Now in our church the way you got your Bible, was to get up in front of the whole congregation and recite a passage from the Bible.  You got to pick your passage, but if you picked something too short, the teacher would make you pick again.  You had to memorize the passage and say it in front of the whole church.

For some reason, I picked The Beatitudes.  I don’t know why I picked one of the longest passages, but I did.  I think I liked the pressure, what can I say, I was a weird kid.

So one Sunday, our whole class had to stand up in front of the church and each of us had to say our passage right into a microphone.  I was nervous, but I did it and I didn’t forget the passage, or cry and run to my Mom sitting in the pews or pee my pants (tights actually, no pants allowed in church).  And in turn I got my Bible.  Inside the Bible was my name and the date inscribed in calligraphy in gold ink.  I loved my Bible, I still do.

Another thing Sunday School tradition were the attendance sheets.   At the beginning of each class, the teacher took attendance.  Just like they did in middle school and high school, someone walked around to the different classes and picked up the slips so they could record the absences in an attendance book.

At the time, I didn’t think anything about it.  They always took attendance.  Maybe they did it to plan for supplies of Elmer’s glue and Popsicle sticks or maybe to make sure there were enough sugar cookies and Dixie cups for the Kool Aid,

Then one day, something interesting thing happened.  When Mr. Johnson, came to pick up the attendance slip, David Deeth raised his hand and asked why they took attendance.

Without missing a beat, Mr. Johnson (remember Mel Coolie from the old Dick Van Dyke Show?).  Mr. Johnson was a tall man, with a bald head, glasses and a deep voice said “Twenty years from now, if you are ever accused of a murder, we can prove that you were here.” Hmmm.

What the heck kind of a statement was that????  We were 7 years old, what did we need an alibi for?  or was this just to show God on our lifetime report card (you know, your permanent record that you were threatened with all your school years)?  Do you think God takes attendance?  And the most important question of all, why did they let this guy collect the attendance slips?

Seriously, what kind of psycho tells little kids that they take attendance in Sunday school so you will have an alibi if you ever murder someone?  Even at 7 years old, I knew this guy was a few potatoes short of a lefse.
And so we made sure we were there as many Sundays as possible so they could mark us present and thus our alibi’s were recorded.

Sunday school was fun, but nothing compared to the Summer Bible School adventure.  First, it’s warm and you can wear shorts .  As a little girl, we had to wear dresses every time we went to school and church.  I don’t think there was ever a dress code that was put in writing, but we all adhered to it.  I did until 6th grade.  We had a new girl in school and she wore jeans. I did the same thing, we became good friends.  Thank you Amy Turner, my first rebel thing I ever did.   

Summer Bible School was also the only time you could ride your bike to church. That’s something you are never allowed to do the rest of the year.   And, the biggest thing, we got cookies and red Kool Aid every, single day!!! 

You will never hear a group of little kids sing Kum Bah Yah with more enthusiasm, than 30 little Scandinavian kids singing, while the church ladies put out trays of sugar cookies and stirred the Kool Aid. 

That stuff is like crack for little kids.  You would just about do anything, including singing Kum Bah Yah for 2 weeks straight,  just to get your hands on those cookies.  Seriously, they should offer those up at confirmation classes, when you really need a reason to go to extra hours at Church.

In Summer Bible School, there were a few Bible stories every day, some coloring of Bible pictures, and some stories with the most treasured of  all Summer Bible School props, something valued even more than the sugar cookies with frosting at Christmas, more than getting to run around in the church while your Mom is at choir rehearsal, the fabled, little seen, FELT BOARD.

The felt board was a piece of felt on a board, on an easel.  During the course of a bible story, the teacher would shapes made out of felt on the board that had to do with the story.  Like if it was the story of Jesus changing water to wine, there would be a figure of Jesus, grapes, people, a wine jug , etc. 

The simplest of things, but no matter what you tried at home, you could not replicate the felt board they used at Sunday School.  It just never looked the same no matter how hard you tried.  And your shapes never stuck as good as the one they used in Sunday School.

Watching the teacher put those felt things on the board made everyone pay attention.  I don’t know why it was so magical, but it was and I know I’m not the only one who thought so.  She could tell the same story over and over, as long as she had that board she could have been reading the phone book to us.  This would have been a good opportunity to brain wash us.  Maybe they did... that would explain fashion choices I made later in life.

Summer Bible School and Sunday School left a big impression on me.  I have so many memories of my childhood wrapped up in the happenings at church.

The memories of my Gramma Berg and Grampa Berg were very special in a lot of ways.  For instance,  I remember Grampa Berg’s blue eyes and how they would light up when he was up to something.  Like teaching my little sister Clare to whistle. 

He taught her in church, on a Sunday, during the sermon. 

Yes she stood on the pew and whistled.  Grampa couldn’t stop chuckling, and Gramma was not happy.  In the pew it was Clare, Grampa, me and then Gramma.  Gramma tried but couldn’t get close enough to Clare to make her sit down, so there she stood.  A little blonde haired girl, with big blue eyes, and a pair of spindly legs in white tights, with brown knees and a blue dress.  Whistling for all she was worth.  And there was Grampa, face beat red from laughing and his blue eyes shining as bright as the summer sun.

Gramma knew she was never going to live it down.  I imagine it was all the talk at the Monday Club or the Bible Study Class meeting the following week.  And the beauty parlor was probably buzzing all week while the ladies came in to get their hair done for Sunday services.  All the blue-haired ladies in town probably heard about the little whistling girl.

And those are my memories of church.  Of having fun and making things, singing and eating.  Somewhere in the midst of our felt board stories, before the cookies and the Kool Aid, were lessons that we needed to learn.  Lessons about living and dying and praying and crying.  All of those things would take years to figure out.  Even now I’m still not sure about my God.  I know I believe and I have faith, but there are so many things I still don’t know.

What I wouldn’t give for one more day as that carefree child. A day when we were all together and the sun was out and the sky was the softest shade of blue you ever saw.  The blue color of a pair of Levis, much worn and loved, the color of an old flannel shirt or the color of my sister Clare’s blue eyes. When the sun was yellow like a ball of yarn, not harsh light, the sunlight was warm and not biting as it is today. 

Perhaps that is what all this praying is for.  Praying for the way things were back then.  Praying for guidance to try and make sense of the way things are right now.  Praying to hear once again the sound of children’s laughter carried on the wind of forty summers long ago when Mom’s yelled “Supper” for the kids playing down the street. 

Mom’s who strained to hear the familiar “I’m coming!!”  from their own little kids.  And like a change in the direction of the wind, the screen door shuts quietly with a creak and the sound is gone. 

And in the blink of an eye, the warm memory is gone and we are grown ups and although it’s not needed, we are all alibied, just in case.

Thanks for listening.

Anne

What Happened to Part 2?

Don't ask me because I typed on someone else's computer disc who was supposed to post it on my computer. Some times mistakes are better, others are worse. We all survived the storm but not without mishap. The real moral here is don't throw someone in the lake and expect them to automatically ski and don't ignore the weather signs, especially our health ones.

So many things have happened to me to bring me to this state of health and life itself that I can't write about them all. You you would be bored to death and so would I (not literry). For those new to my  world I am an older woman with a wonderful husband, kids and grand kids. I've had back  problems ever since the ski party at about age 12. Then I was given a myelogram with pantopaque which showed I had an "extra" vertabra and would need a fusion. My parents said no and I made my way as best I could because it never occured to me that others didn't hurt like me. I wasn't medicated either. Of course I didn't have AA then either.

I'm limited in time so I'll just say that I got  a "pain pump" in1989 which lasted until 2006. I got the new pump but it just didn't sem to work. We had left the old cathaerin in because it tested OK. We finally did find out it was the catheter. Time for a new one. It should have taked 45 minutes but it took 5 hours because it had "rotted" and broken and was moving out into my body in small sigments. It could have been fatal had he not gotten all those litle bits.

However the surgery has left me "spastic"-- pressure inside the spine instead of outside like AA. I have a spinal cord injury and am paralyzed from T-7 down. Paralyzed in this case doesn't mean I can't move my legs some in bed or chair but if I stand up my legs will not move at this point.

It's time for dinner and a bath which is not a pleasant experience at all.

More to come in this saga of just being a patient now.

Wanda

The River Party (part 2)

Download wanda.part 2-4.doc

It's Just a Puppy

We have a new puppy in our house.  Her name is Sammie Marie and she is a yellow lab.  A beautiful yellow lab and 100% puppy.  She trips over her paws and falls down a lot.  And she knocks over her water dish daily and eats like it’s her first meal in years.  She makes me smile.

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior.  Ashland was not the warmest place to grow up and certainly wasn’t the kind of place you would want to walk a dog in the middle of winter.

When I was very little we had a Dalmatian dog named Pepper.  I was about 3 years old and I was running around in the back yard while my Mom hung up the laundry on the clothes lines.  Pepper was running around too.  He didn’t hurt me or jump on me, but his chain wrapped around my little leg and when he heard a car go by, he ran across the yard dragging me by my leg.  That was the beginning of my fear and dislike of dogs.

All my adult years I disliked of dogs.  I was afraid of them, all shapes and sizes.  I avoided them at all costs.

When Jerry and I bought our first home eleven years ago, Kelly (Jerry’s daughter) had a dog named Dallis and she didn’t have anywhere to keep her.  We told her to bring the dog to our house and we would find a home for her, a good home. 

Dallis was half black lab and half rottweiller.  She was a big dog, she eventually grew to 95 pounds.  I asked around at work if anyone was interested in adopting a big black dog.  I didn’t get any takers. 

And then one night, I was home alone with Dallis.  She was an outside dog, but the weather had turned bad, we had freezing rain and she wasn’t going in her dog house.  I was worried about her so I let her in the part of our house that was a wood shop.  It was dry and we had blankets down and it was a bit warmer than outside.  I gave her water and shut the door.  Then I heard her crying on the other side of the door.

I didn’t know what to do, so I opened the door.  She came in and put her front paws down and her butt in the air and she wiggled and barked.  I was terrified. You should have heard her bark.  It could make the windows rattle.  I didn’t know what she wanted or what to do and then she pushed one of her tennis balls towards me with her nose.  So I pushed it back to her.  She seemed happy doing this for a while, I guess this was ok.  Playing a game with her made her happy and it made me less nervous around her.

We didn’t have Dallis for more than a few months and we emptied our savings account to fence in the entire back yard.  The biggest dog run in the neighborhood.  It was the length of the yard and went behind the house and garage.  I’ll never forget that first day we took off her chain and let her run.  She was so happy, I swear she was smiling with her whole body.  Wiggling, jumping and running.  Happy to be alive.

It didn’t take me long to fall in love with Dallis.  I took her to doggie daycare and just like a nervous Mom on the first day of kindergarten, I shed a few tears and I to called a few times to see if she was ok.  My husband was so nervous, he drove over to watch her and make sure she was ok with dogs she didn’t know and people she didn’t know. 

A year later I adopted an abused doberman.  I loved Austin with all my heart and we tried to make up for her bad start in life.  We had a lot of good years with both dogs.  Austin made great strides in her behavior , she also benefited from doggy daycare.  I loved her more than I thought was possible.

Nothing lasts forever.  We had to put Austin down in May of 2006.  We  knew Dallis had a tumor in her lung, but it she still looked good, played, ran  and jumped like normal and still ate like it was a race.

Then in September of 2006, Dallis was limping a lot after playing soccer at doggy daycare.  She normally limped for a few days after daycare every week, but this time I was worried she might have hurt her leg so I took her in for x-rays and our vet K.C. said he would call me at noon and let me know what is going on.

I’ll never, ever forget that phone call.  “Anne, I’m so very, sorry.” is how K.C. started the conversation.  “Dallis’ biggest problem is no longer her lung cancer.  She’s not going to die from that.  She has osteosarcoma, bone cancer and it’s a very aggressive disease.  Her front leg bones are already eaten up, the bone is all porous, I can’t believe she can still jump and run.”

I managed to ask if she was in pain and he said yes.  Dallis never yelped, or whined or anything.  We never knew she was hurting.  As you can imagine, the outlook was grim.  . 

In the 10 days following that call, she stopped eating, she lost 11 pounds , she couldn’t stop vomiting.  K.C. said that we would know when it was time to let her go because she would turn away from us.  And so, 10 days later, she did.

I took her back to the vet and that evening, Jerry and Kelly and K.C.(our vet) and I, we all talked about it and we all decided it was time to say goodbye to our dear girl.  And with our hearts breaking, we all said goodbye.  We held her as she died and told her we loved her.  It was one of the dearest moments of my life.  Holding my girl, while we let her go, just like we held Austin only a few months before.

I had planned on getting a new puppy for months before Dallis died.   The breeder finally called and said that our puppy was ready to go home with us.   A few days after we lost Dallis, we drove to Minocqua and picked him up.  Dino is a Cavalier, King Charles Spaniel.   Dallis had weighed 95 pounds, Dino weighed 5 pounds.  This was going to be interesting.

Dino never cried, whined or barked.  He was a good dog from the minute we got him in the car and he is very lovable.  I’m so glad we got him and I show him pictures of Dallis and Austin.  He could smell those dogs and spent time looking for them.  I had to measure his food by the 1/4 cup.  Dallis ate 5 cups of food and 2 peanut butter sandwiches each day.  I couldn’t believe how little Dino was, I was so afraid of hurting him.  But we all adjusted and in time, it seemed like he had been with us for years.

And then on Christmas Eve morning this year, I was in the backyard with Dino and our neighbor came over and leaned on the fence and said he had something to show me.  He handed me a picture of his lab Ivy and her pups.  She gave birth to 10 puppies on December 8th.  Ten yellow labs right next door.  I told him to wait right there and I ran and got my husband and said, go talk to Andy, he has something to show you.

My husband was gone for a long time, I saw him talking to Andy and then he went over to Andy’s door.  A little while later, Dino and I were in the house and Jerry came in.  He just looked at me and said, “well we’re going to have to take one of them.”

I was in shock.  Jerry had taken Dallis’ death so hard, I couldn’t believe it when he said we were getting a dog. Sammie came home with us in mid-February.  Since she was just next door, it wasn’t too long of a trip. And how this puppy has helped us, we can’t even begin to list the ways.

Sammie’s feet are very big, she trips over them.  And oh how Sammie has changed our house.  We have a noisy house again.  This ball of energy is excited and happy about everything.  A walk to the mailbox, just across the street from home is an adventure.  So many new smells over there thanks to the 3 dogs and 2 cats across the street.

Somewhere in her exploration of our backyard, she came across a basketball. A basketball I hadn’t seen since Dallis died.  It was Dallis ball.  We thought that we had thrown out all of Dallis and Austin’s toys. Dino found one of Austin’s chew toys his first week in our home.  And now Sammie found one of Dallis’ in the backyard.

Just a puppy?  No.  No puppy is just a puppy.  Sammie Marie and Dino are so much more than that.  Sammie's a big, wiggly, clumsy bundle of love. Dino is a feisty, long haired lap dog.  Sammie and Dino have helped turn our house back into a home.  I loved Dallis and Austin very much.  I still do.  But thanks to them,  I love Dino and Sammie.  I will have many happy memories of all of my dogs.  And when I’m very old and it’s time for me to take my final journey, I know that they will be waiting there to greet me, with wagging tails and sloppy kisses.

Thanks for listening.

Anne

Spring

You would never know by the landscape around here, but spring is coming.  It’s still snowing, but spring is definitely around the corner.  I can’t be the only person in this town who is tired of snow, the smallest sign and we’re praying it means spring is here.

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior.  Ashland had the longest winters.  Snow starts in October and ends in April.  My Mom said it snowed in June when she was a little kid.  I believe her. 

When I was in college, I brought my roommate home for Thanksgiving.  She was from Harlingen, Texas and when she saw the amount of snow and that big frozen lake,  it scared her half to death.  I’m grateful she didn’t quit school on the spot.

When I was a little girl, in grade school, Clare and I would walk home together every day even in the winter.  There were the necessary stops to climb snow banks and look at stuff buried in the snow.  But generally we moved quickly to get home.  Ashland had long, cold, dark, brutal winters.  I’m glad I didn’t know any better, I would have run away from home if I had known that winter isn’t like that everywhere.

Every year March came in like a lion.  And on Lake Superior, it went out like one too.  March’s bright sunny days didn’t  fool me or any one else.  It looked warm, but it was cold.  Bitter winds, icy winter days always welcomed in the first day of spring.  But in March, we always took note of the first sign that spring was coming, no matter how small or insignificant it seemed.

Every year, when the sun shines a little brighter in March, it also changes direction just a little.  When I got home from school, I noticed that the sun was coming straight in the living room windows, no longer at an angle, it was warm and inviting and our cat had found the sun’s warmth and fallen asleep.  More often than not, I would lay down right next to the cat and in the warm sunshine, I fell asleep too.

I remember loving the feeling of the sun shining through the window and warming my cold feet and hands.  I always thought my feet got cold in October and didn’t warm up again until June.  But laying there on the carpet, on a sunny March day, I was warm and that good dose of sunshine also had the added benefit of lifting my spirits.

I’m sure that as a child I was unaware of how depressing winter can be.  I thought everyone felt the same way, it’s cold, we deal with it and just wait until spring.  Nothing to really complain about, it’s not like you can change the weather.

But then I moved from Lake Superior to go to college in Madison.  Madison is about 300 miles south of Ashland and who would have thought that the weather would be so different.

I’ve written about coming to Madison with my roommate Cheryl on a Greyhound.  We were both dressed as we would have for an August day in Ashland.  Long pants, sweaters and jackets.  When we arrived in Madison, it was over 90 degrees and it was the end of August!!!  In Ashland, you have to wear a warm jacket at night at the end of August or you would freeze. 

We hadn’t brought any of our warm weather clothes, so our first call home was to say we were ok, give our parents our phone number and beg them to mail all of our shorts, t-shirts, sandals, etc.  We were sweating to death and apparently this was normal for this part of the state.

You can imagine our surprise.  We were in the same state, but down in Madison, we had warm weather that lasted into October!!  We would be in snow in Ashland.  And spring really did come in March.  Sure we would still have snow and sleet, but there were days when you could just wear a sweatshirt and no boots to go outside.  I was in complete denial that this could be normal weather for any part of Wisconsin, but there it was and I was in it.

Now here I am 30 years later and I’m wondering if I’ve worn out my welcome in this part of the state.  This year we had record breaking snow in the Madison area.  We’ve had over 90 inches of snow.  The snow in my yard is up to my hips.  I’m not talking snow banks, that’s how deep the snow is in my yard.  And it’s cold.

We’ve had the furnace on for months and it doesn’t look like there is any end in sight.  I read somewhere that this was the most snow in Madison since 1978.  1978 is the year I moved down here from Ashland.  Maybe it’s time to make another move, I’m thinking Key West this time.  If we get a record breaking snow down there, you will know who to blame.

In the meantime, until my husband retires and we can really get out of here in the winter, I’ll just have to pretend.

Tune in the Buffett, start up the blender, it’s margarita time.

Thanks for listening,

Anne

Birthday Tales

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior.  This time of year in Ashland is unbearable for those of us not happy about the winter’s snow and cold.  I much prefer warm breezes to blizzards.  Last year I was in Florida with my Mom and sister and nephews on this day.  I remember watching the waves crash on my birthday, it was beautiful.

Birthdays were a big deal when you were a kid.  I remember at Beaser Elementary, it got pretty exciting when someone’s Mom showed up with cupcakes or cookies to have an impromptu birthday party.  It’s always good to fill kids up on sugar, I love a good sugar buzz.

There is an old saying that goes “uneasy rests the head that holds the crown” and for me I guess it meant that any kind of celebration that put me at the center, was not going to end well.

For starters, I was at the boys table.  In kindergarten, we were seated by height.  I guess for a 5 year old I was tall because I was at the table right next to the teacher’s desk and I was the only girl at my table.  What a way to give a kid a complex, I felt so out of place.

It always seemed to me that I was not a very girlie girl.  I liked to run fast, ride my bike, go swimming, build leaf forts, etc.  I was not a little girl who wheeled her carriage with her baby dolls down the sidewalk.  I remember when my little sister was in the carriage.  I got a running start and pushed her and then watched her fly down the sidewalk, much to the horror of our housekeeper.  I thought it was funny, Clare didn’t seem to mind.

So there I was at the boy’s table in kindergarten.  I had to do all my schoolwork at that table, eat my snack at that table, etc.   The only break I got was at nap time.  We went alphabetical for that.

When March came around, I had already been in school for 7 months.  I was used to the boy’s table and pretty used to my teacher.  On my birthday I got a big surprise.  My Grampa Berg showed up (he was a milkman) and he knocked on the door and wheeled in ice cream for my whole class!!!

This was the most exciting thing that happened in class all year except for the time Sarah peed her pants when someone brought a puppy to show-n-tell.  It was my birthday and my Grampa was handing out ice cream.  Now all of those awful boys would see what a great person I am and all the girls will wish they were me.  I was having an almost perfect day....almost.

It was nearly time to leave school, only about 10 minutes more.  I was putting away my crayons when all of a sudden I didn’t feel very well.  I got really warm and then, I threw up all over my birthday dress (blue organdy).  I was really sick.  By the time I got home I had a really high temp and it turned out I got the mumps from one of those awful boys at my table.

To this day, I can only remember clearly the throwing up part, not the happy I had ice cream part.  I guess some folks are not meant to be the pretty dainty girl in a beautiful organdy dress.  I guess some girls are meant to throw up on the table and get really sick at their own party.

I’m 48 today.  Clare brought me cupcakes and pizza and her husband and kids.  It’s the best present I could ever have, a warm and loving family with two dogs to take care of the crumbs.  And so far, no one has thrown up, but Sammie peed on the floor.

Thanks for listening,

Anne

The Ski Party (Part 1)

After Colin gave me my very own by-line I suddenly dropped out of sight.  I have sent in a few "Wanda's World" articles telling a little about what happened in my world but I don't think they made much sense - not even to me.  But for a come back let's go back in time to the early 60's (yes, I'm that old).

We live in what's called the Tennessee River Valley, near a large lake between to hydro-electric dams.  This area is ideal for lots of fishing and water sports, but there is also a lot of large barge transport traffic.

The following event happened to me and my extended family during an outting on the lake.  Early one Saturday we met for a family day of fun on the lake, several speed boats for skiing, and several fishing boats to gather the goods for a fish fry.  This was to be my first day of "learning to ski" even though I wanted nothing to do with getting in the water.  I was happy just to ride and be a spotter.  But my dad and uncle dragged me into the water, pulled me out until I was supported by my life jacket, and attached the skis to my feet.  Then the "go" signal was given.

I was, and am, deathly afraid of having no ground under me, not being able to feel my feet on the firm and solid.  I was scared of what might be in the water with me; 50 lb. catfishes, snakes, etc.  I just did not want to do this.  I'd hated swimming lessons too.  No water over my head!  "Coward" of the family!  This could not be since I was the oldest of the grand children and had an example to set.  "GO"

So off down the river I went, for maybe 20 feet, feeling the whole time as if my body was being ripped apart, but afraid to let go.  I never got up on the skis, and I have been in severe back pain ever since.

A few months later the PE teacher in school made things worse, but that is for part 2.

(Written by Wanda, posted by Lee: Wanda is in rehab recovering from a broken knee:  no more skydiving)

Hold Them Close

We had another snow storm here in Wisconsin on this Valentine’s day.  It is very quiet as the snow is falling.  A few people walk their dogs by the house and Dino and Sammie run to the window, to see if it’s someone, or some dog they know.

I spent the day reading and looking at the beautiful bouquet of flowers my husband sent to me.  I had picked it out of an FTD e-mail a couple of weeks ago, I don’t know how he picked this one to send to me.  I didn’t talk to him about it.  Well I love it, the vase is red, the roses are red, the bow is red and there is baby’s breath and white carnations and ferns for contrast.  It’s so pretty.

My life is moving along as it should.  Sure, things were better a few years ago when I could work, but when I was working, I wouldn’t have appreciated the quiet days, the snow , or the smell of the roses on the table.  I have the time for appreciating the little things and the big things now.  I have time, it’s a luxury and I’m grateful for it and for all of the good people that make me happy and take care of me.

Jerry and I have been talking for weeks about how much fun we’ll have in Indiana in September.  We’re going with friends and we are both so excited.  We’re also excited about getting away for a car show in St. Paul in June.  At that show there are over 14,000 cars to look at for my husband and shuttle buses every 15 minutes to the Mall of America for me.  We’ll both be happy.

The dogs are napping quietly, well almost quietly, they snore and my feet are a little cold.  I started to read the news, I wish I hadn’t.

I do not understand what is wrong with the world.  We are in a war that I don’t understand, we have a crazy economy that no one understands and  there is another shooting,  17 kids this time it is the University of Northern Illinois at DeKalb.

Pray for the folks at the University of Illinois and pray for their families. Pray for our soldiers fighting  for and protecting all of us, throughout the world. 

And hold those you love closely and tell them you love them.

Thanks for listening.

Anne

Super Bowl Weekend For The Rest of Us

Well, it’s here.  The weekend that sees more pizza delivery than any other weekend all year long.  It’s Super Bowl weekend.

Now here in the great midwest, specifically Wisconsin, we may all be a bit subdued.  After all, our beloved Packers did not make the big game.  It’s certainly no fault of our beloved team.  Most Packer Backers, will tell you that without the Packers, the SuperBowl is just a bunch of great commercials interrupted by a mediocre sporting event.  Unless of course, the Packers make the game.  Then by God, we love the Super Bowl.

So what exactly should we watch, while the game is on, or the pre-game or the pre-pre game????

I have some suggestions.

1.  I am certifiably wedding show crazy.  I watch them all.  I look at the flowers, clothes, jewelry, cakes and compare them to weddings I’ve attended or even my own.  I love the dresses and the decorations.  I used to carry a little photo album in my purse of my own wedding.  I don’t know why my friends put up with me back then.

But there is a new kind of wedding show that I discovered last week.  It’s on TV tonight (Friday) on CMT (Country Music Television).  The show is called “My Big Redneck Wedding”.

Now most of the folks on this show are pretty normal people, but there are a few exceptions.  For example, tonight’s preview showed someone in a wedding dress participating in a mud wrestling match.  It also showed the whole wedding party, or most of them, tearing around through mud on their four-wheelers.  Good old fun.

Seriously last week, I laughed so hard I cried.  You know this stuff is good for the soul.  Plus I had no idea that there were stores that let you ride your horse into the store, or that you should take your goats put them in your car and take them to an auction, just so they wouldn’t be lonely. 

You can’t make this stuff up.  And honestly, there were some really sweet moments during the vows.  I have a feeling that these rough and tumble guys really do have a big old soft heart underneath their flannel shirts.  It’s good stuff.

2.  There is a Law & Order marathon this weekend.  Between the regular Law & Order and Law & Order Criminal Intent and Law & Order Special Victims Unit.  I watch all of them on reruns during the day on TNT and USA.  I’ve always loved crime shows, would still like to see Kojac come back and I lived for MacMillan & Wife.  My Sunday nights weren’t complete without those shows back in the 70’s.

3.  Watch QVC.  The shopping channels normally have really good stuff, jewelry and make-up on sale during the Super Bowl.  If you are a little angry that your significant other just spent a lot of money on a big screen TV, this is your way of making up for his outlandish purchase. 

It looks like HSN is going with jewelry and scrap booking for Sunday and QVC has beauty and gardening.  Not bad if you don’t mind watching a channel that is literally one long commercial.

4.  Go see a movie.  You don’t have to make the snacks, they sell them right in the lobby and since you will be sitting in the dark, no one will see you devour the big popcorn, large drink and super size candy.  I like Dots, Milk Duds and Raisenettes.  The boxes are big enough to make you feel really bad about eating that much, thank goodness you’re in the dark.  After all if no one sees you eating it, does it really count????

5.  And finally, go shopping.  If your team is in the big game, the malls and other stores will be almost empty.  For goodness sakes, do not go to the grocery store today or tomorrow, but on Sunday as soon as the kickoff goes into the air, the grocery stores will be all but deserted.  No more waiting for the person to decide which can of tuna is the best, cheapest, environmentally ok, etc.  Even if you get stuck shopping behind someone who is walking like they’ve never shopped before, the lines at the checkout are sure to be short.

Have a great weekend and good luck to both of the teams in the Super Bowl.  And to you Packer fans, maybe next year.

Thanks for listening.

Anne

The Rhythm of Life

I was born in a little town in northern Wisconsin.  Ashland’s population was listed as 9,615 for as long as I can remember.  It is a pretty town along Lake Superior’s Chequamagon Bay.  And no, that word didn’t end up in every spelling bee.

Growing up and going to school seemed to go on and on forever.  Day after day our childhood stretched before us in a slow and lazy pace.  We never seemed to change, neither did our friends.  Our summers were spent playing wiffle ball, swimming and bike rides.  In the winter, we would layer clothes upon clothes to keep ourselves warm in our winter playground of snow and ice.

The rhythm was beating softly and slowly in childhood.  There was no hurry to grow older.  The only things we wished would hurry were the days until Christmas or the first day of summer vacation.  We learned lessons by do-overs and taking turns.  Surely there were hurt feelings, skinned knees and tears.  But those are the things that shaped us and made our childhood important.  We did not wish to be anything other than what we were, little kids.

The carefree days of leaf piles and popsicles, gave way to AM radios, Mad magazine and braces.  Before we had a chance to even catch our breath, we were wishing to be older.  The rhythm was moving a bit faster and not quite so faint.  We wanted desperately to answer all of the questions being asked of us. 

What college will you go to?  What do you want to be?  Where will you live?  Do you think you want to get married?  What about kids?  All of  these questions swirling in the head of a teenager along with the normal wishes for new clothes, clear skin and a boyfriend. 

Before we answered all of the questions, we were out of high school and moving away to go to college.  And in four breathless years we had our first loves, college football games, dances and in a blur we graduated and we were set down in our lives much like we were the first day of kindergarten.  We didn’t know what to do, where to go or even what we wanted.  It’s a lot  to figure out when you’re in your twenties.

Then in the blink of an eye, we had jobs.  Our path seemed a little clearer as the rhythm picked up pace and volume.  There were days we couldn’t keep up with the crazy beat of our lives unfolding and unfolding, always leading somewhere and never by the path you expected to take.

And before you know it, you are married and your kids are grown and you are with someone you have spent more than half of your life with.  The rhythm of life is louder and faster now. 

We realize how quickly our childhood slipped away from us.  We find ourselves asking what happened to the little children, now replaced by young adults.  We look at old pictures and realize that we have changed a lot in the past few years.  But somehow we can’t ever see the change as it happens.

We try and hold onto memories, like snapshots of our lives.  The laughter of friends at a party you attended, the smile of your husband when he came home from work, the smell of your Mom’s bread baking in the oven and the voices of all people who shaped your life, but have traveled on to where you will meet them again one day.

The rhythm of life is the beat that drives us in this great dance we call life.  You can’t sit this one out, all you can do is dance.

Thanks for listening.

Anne

All of My Tomorrows

Remember the Janis Joplin (or Kris Kristofferson) hit “Me and Bobby McGee”?  There is a line in that song that goes:

“I’d trade all of my tomorrows,
for one single yesterday”

Would you?

If it was possible for you to go back to one single event in your life and relive it, would you trade all of your tomorrows to do it?

Would it be worth it to go back and choose a different path, to make a different choice that shaped the rest of your life?  Would you try and go back to find someone who drifted out of your life or hold someone close to you that died?

Or would you want to go back to live one day before you got this disease?

I’ve wrestled with this one for a long time.  What if I could go back and feel like I felt before I got AA (adhesive arachnoiditis), would I really want to?  I have a feeling that a lot of folks are saying “YES!!!!” of course !!! why not?

I would not want to got back to a day before I got AA.  Think about that for a minute,

I would not choose to go back to a day when I wasn’t in constant pain.  I would not want to skip this part of my life, I would not want to make different choices, I do not want to go back in, time even if it meant I could live without pain.

I think the biggest problem we all face is the wishing well.  I wish things were different, I wish I felt better, I wish I could plant a garden, I wish I could run with my dog, I wish I could go to the grocery store alone and cook a big dinner for my husband. That wishing well is a bottomless pit,  full of things that we can’t do anymore.  Heck, I wish I was 15 again so I could see my first Alice Cooper concert all over again.  But what would we really gain? 

All of the choices you make in your life every day, made you what you are at this moment.  Of course I would like to live pain free, but if this had never happened to me, I would not be the person I am today.  And as hard as it is to admit, I’m a better person now, than I was before.

Before I got AA, I was healthy, skinny, worked very long hours by choice, took care of the house, the shopping and the cooking and cleaning.  I was rushing through my life without stopping to enjoy a walk with my dogs, a day with my husband or even a movie.  My job was controlling my life.  I worked all day, came home and made notes for the next day, brought home work when I could, researched problems in my text books from technical school.  I never stopped. 

I even took calls on every vacation for 7 years.  I worked in Disney World, the Daytona 500 Speed Week, the Smokey Mountains, a car show in St. Paul, a hotel in Kokomo Indiana.  The only time I did not take calls was when I was in the hospital having back su