Chronic Pain Lifestyle

What Are Bangs?

  When we were little, my sister Clare often looked to me for answers. We are only 2 years apart, but I always felt that I was there to teach her stuff. After all I was 2 whole years older, so I had a lot of knowledge to share.

Clare and I played together a lot. There were Barbies and their clothes and cases. There were snowy days skating at the skating rink or sliding down a hill. There was a lot of swimming in the summer and bike rides. Long before the advent of X-Box, we played whiffle ball and hide-and-seek. We didn’t worry about hydration, when we were thirsty we got a drink. Usually out of someone’s hose in their yard. When we were hungry, we ate lunch. And when we had questions, we asked the oldest kid around.

It was an autumn morning in Ashland. Clare and I were playing with our dolls. It must have been a weekend, because Mom and Dad were home and our housekeeper Mrs. Johnson, wasn’t there.

Clare and i were fascinated with our new Barbies. They had pretty clothes and shoes. We would pretend they were roommates in a house and they worked in a hospital.

We got remote control motorcycles for Christmas the year before. We pried off the policemen that were on the motorcycles and we put our Barbies on them. Then we would ram them into each other so they would have to go to the hospital.

Barbie was always a casualty. Then we would make beds out of socks and kleenex (actually, one time the beds were made out of maxi-pads), and Barbie would have to stay in the hospital for a while. Then it was back to the motorcycle and back to the next crash.

It was fun, we liked it and we spent hours changing their clothes and putting Barbie in the hospital.

Clare and I were always together. She isn’t just my little sister, she is my best friend. She is two years younger than me and was born with blonde hair and blue eyes. She weighed only 5 pounds when Mom brought her home from the hospital.

My very first memory, is of the day that my Mom went to the hospital to have her. My Grampa Berg (Mom’s Dad) came to pick Mom up and take her to the hospital. He parked the car on the east side of the house on 11th Avenue. My sister Mary and her friend Phyllis took me to the window in the dining room to wave good-bye to my Mom. I don’t remember crying, but I do remember waving.

Then Mom brought home this baby with big blue eyes. She was very little and she cried a lot. I was only 2 and all I can remember is looking at her and pushing her bassinet around the dining room table to see if she would stop crying. I also remember begging my Mom “PLEASEEEEE TAKE HER BACK”. I didn’t know where she came from, but she was noisy and I wanted her to go back.

Eventually as I settled into childhood, I accepted the fact that no one was going to take her back. And she was really cute. Sometimes she was a little too cute. When we would get back from Sunday school, Clare would go over to Gramma Berg’s house and stand on a step stool and sing hymns. I swear, she did this when she was really little. She had a pretty voice too.

So there I was, brown hair, hazel eyes, not at all the little blonde angel and I was sure not singing any hymns. I was very jealous, but at the time I just thought she was showing off.

So when this little angel looked at me with her big blue eyes and said “What are bangs?” What could I do? If I didn’t show her what bangs were she would never know and it was my duty to show my sister everything.

So I went to the sewing machine and got out scissors, grabbed a hunk of her beautiful blonde locks from the front of her head and cut.

“There” I told her. “Now you have bangs”. Then she went to show them to Mom. Then Mom came to see me.

With my very best innocent, big-eyed look , I told my Mom “She wanted to know what bangs were.” “Honest”.

That was the last time I cut her hair. I did dye it blue once, but that’s another story.

Have a great holiday weekend everyone and drive safely.

Guilty Pleasures

  As the Labor Day weekend looms in the forefront, many of you are planning your last weekend of the summer. The last gasp, the last bit of freedom for the school-going kids, and the saving grace for parents who will reclaim their homes once that school bell rings.

Did you spend your summer the way you wanted? What things do you want to do before turning your attention to the change of seasons, the end of summer, the beginning of fall?

Making time to do what makes you happy is very important. After all, it’s in our Declaration of Independence, remember? The “pursuit of happiness” is one of the things the founding fathers were trying to guarantee for us.

What makes you happy? What are your guilty pleasures? What do you do to cheer yourself up? What do you do when you are happy about something and want to celebrate?

If you have to think long and hard about the questions above, you might need to make a list of your guilty pleasures. Things you do for yourself that make you happy.

Here is my top ten list of guilty pleasures.

1. Ice cream. I love it and eat it almost every day. My favorite flavor is Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. Banana ice cream with chunks of dark chocolate and walnuts.

Summer just isn’t summer without ice cream. Now that I think of it neither is spring, fall or winter.

2. Black and white movies. Movies that feature stories and acting vs. the mega-epics of today with the multimillion dollar budgets for burning and exploding things. I prefer my stories to have humans, animals and sets. They don’t need explosives, or plastic breasts to tell a story.

3. Shoe shopping. It is just as fun now as it was when I was six. My PF Flyers made me feel like a superhero, running faster than a deer.

I like trying shoes on, buying them and then putting them on as soon as I get home and walking around the house for the rest of the day wearing my new purchases like a badge of honor.

“Behold, Anne The Conqueror of Malls!”

If my life was a movie, that’s how I would write it. Women would be the conquerors and men would keep the home fires burning. Women would bring home the spoils of war and lay them at their husband’s feet, or better yet, wear the spoils on their own feet.

4. Godiva Chocolate, this needs no explanation.

6. Left over Chinese food. Why is it that when you eat Chinese take out when it’s hot it’s a meal, but when you are eating it right out of the container later that night, while standing over the kitchen sink, it’s a snack?

7. Reading. I love to read. I spend most of my time reading. Books , magazines, on-line news stories from CNN or The Daily Sun. I’ve got a lot of time on my hands so reading helps to pass the time.

8. Making lists. When I was still working, I had lists of tasks for each day at work. Now I make a weekly list. If I do 1 or 2 things on the list in the same day, It makes me feel like a normal adult

I know that it isn’t possible for me to do all of the things I did before I got AA. Small victories over completing tasks like dusting, or cleaning the oven, make me feel great. I want to be a part of this household, I don’t want to just take up space.

9. Swimming. I never get enough swimming in. I have loved swimming since I was a kid. I’m able to still swim and there is a pool nearby that I use.

10. Napping. Wanting to take a nap is a good test for measuring maturity. When you are a child, you don't want to take a nap and you hate naptime.

As an adult, we can’t wait for the nap. We think about it at work and often plan naps for the weekend. When you are little, you don’t think you need the rest so someone has to force you to rest. When you are an adult, you know you need the rest, you just don’t have the time.

Your assignment for today?

Make a list of your guilty pleasures and keep it handy. The next time you need to reward yourself, or cheer yourself up, take out your list and figure out which one looks most appealing and then just do it.

You deserve it.

Happy Labor Day and Safe Driving.

Digg Odd Ball News

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The Inflatable Chair

  When I was ten or eleven I bought myself an inflatable chair. It was red, plastic and shaped like an arm chair. I had seen the inflatable furniture on TV and thought if I could have a chair like that surely, my life would be perfect.

I remember the day I blew it up. When your a kid you can actually do things like that. I can’t imagine doing that now. It would take me all day. I remember the anticipation as it got bigger and bigger. My Dad kept asking me why I wanted to have a plastic chair I kept telling him that he just didn’t understand”. Remember those days? When your parents “just didn’t understand”? As I recall, I thought my parents were old. It turns out they were in their forties at the time. Hmmmm, I’m in my forties and my husband is in his fifties and I don’t think we’re old.

Back to the story...

So I blew up my chair and finished it in time to watch The Little Rascals on TV. They reran those classic movies when I was little and I never missed them. I also watched Shirley Temple movies on summer Sunday mornings. In the winter, we had Sunday school so we didn’t see Shirley, but in the summer, we got time off of church and got to watch Shirley.

I spent most of my youth surrounded by the classics. No I don’t mean Plato, Shakespeare and the like: I mean the classics, Shirley Temple, The Little Rascals, Abbot and Costello, Laurel and Hardy, Ed Sullivan, Jackie Gleason, Dean Martin, Red Skeleton. Those were the shows of my youth. And then, Bill Kennedy at the Movies.

We were one of the first families in the neighborhood to get cable TV. My Dad was disabled and home a lot, so Cable TV was great. We got WKBD Channel 50 from Detroit, Every day around 11, it was Bill Kennedy at the movies. Bill Kennedy was an actor during Hollywood’s golden era. He was not a leading man, but he was in some great movies, Operation Petticoat for one.

His show would feature an old black and white classic and he would tell stories about the stars, the story, everything. I can remember the wonderful stories about the Shirley Temple movies. I remember him showing pictures of her practicing her tap dance routine at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, on the stairs in the lobby. I was lucky enough to spend 4 weeks at that hotel with my Mom, Dad and sister Clare when I was 14. It gave me chills to walk on those stairs and eat breakfast in the same room where they presented the first Oscars. Bill Kennedy made me appreciate all of those things.

So the chair was finally inflated and I got my soda, turned on the TV and settled in for a nice long black and white Little Rascals show. As I sat in my modern plastic marvel, something became clear.

Plastic is not very comfortable in the summer. I was sweating and sticking to my wonderful modern chair. I was sliding around and couldn’t settle in and frankly, I was miserable. There was no where to put my soda, I couldn’t sit with my legs crossed like I did in the big comfortable chair in the family room and there was no room for a cat either.

How could this happen? How could it be uncomfortable? It looked so great on TV. I had spent $7.99 on this chair which in 1970 was a considerable amount of money. That was 4 weeks allowance. That was over 10 matinee movies. That was more than my first record album Tommy James and the Shondells Greatest Hits. How could I have been mislead?

And that’s when it happened, the moment when your childhood starts to go away. Your first disappointment that you were responsible for. My parent’s had given me good advice, they told me not to waste my money, but it was my money and I thought I knew more than they did. I was not willing to admit I made a mistake, I acted like it was a very comfortable chair. I think I sat in it two more times after that day and then deflated it myself.

When I wanted to buy the chair, my Mom and Dad both said they thought it was a waste of money. That only made me want to buy it more. I thought they were against the whole modern furniture craze. I wanted the chair, the couch and the end table. I wanted all of it. I wanted the plastic modern furniture so different from my parents upholstered chairs and couch. This stuff was great. I would buy all of it and when I was in college I would just deflate all of my furniture and move it to my apartment. It would be so cool.

But that’s not the way it turned out. I would have many disappointments after that. We all do, but it was that first one that really sticks in my brain because it was the first one that really mattered.

Life is full of disappointments, it’s how we learn valuable lessons and learn to listen to others and consider sound advice. And just like all of you, perhaps my biggest disappointment was my doctor telling me there was nothing he could do to help me. I remember thinking he was wrong, or that it just wasn’t possible to have something with no cure. I’m not a sickly person, I have a lot of accidents because I’m clumsy, but I couldn’t possibly have something that has no cure. I’m healthy and young.

Boy oh boy, the day I finally began letting myself deal with the permanency of my AA, I cried so hard I was shaking. I had read the article about AA written by Dr. Sarah Smith. It wasn’t the first time I read it, it was the first time I believed it.

The article said that although AA isn’t fatal, the life span of a person with AA is shortened by approximately 12 years and there is a higher rate of suicide because of the unrelenting pain.

I’ll never forget how upset I was. My husband came into the bedroom and asked me what was wrong, I could barely speak. I told him it wasn’t going to go away and that I was disabled. This wasn’t really news. This was in March of this year. I hadn’t worked since January, we had already discussed the fact that I may never go back to work, he thought we had dealt with it. Little did he know, I didn’t really believe it. I was just saying it and thinking that I would overcome it anyway. I thought the doctors would find something to help me and I would be back to work before I knew it. But that isn’t going to happen. And that day, I was finally facing it.

Deflating that red chair, was hard for me to do. But I faced the fact it was truly a waste of money and I rethought my furniture choices. Accepting that I have an incurable disease was harder to do. But knowing that it isn’t fatal, I’m not going to die, makes it easier. Now facing things doesn’t seem so bad. I faced this, I can face just about anything. I fell apart, but then I looked for help and I found it. There are a lot of people with AA and none of us wants to face it, but we all do.

I think my parents did a great job. They let me face little disappointments while I was growing up. That allowed me to face big ones now. Do we ever thank our parents enough? I don’t think so.

Thanks Mom and Dad. I love you.

Family minus Dad = Crip Family

       Before Pain pitched a tent in my head, my family life was fun, active, loud, funny and boisterous almost all the time.  Now it's different.  It's still these things, but in a different way,  This is a short list of tasks that were exclusively mine prior to arachnoiditis.

     1. Long distance driving.

     2. Big fun like trips to an amusement park or the beach.  Special trips, like little honeymoons with my wife.

     3.  Coaching all kid's teams.

     4. Physical roughhousing with the kids.

     5. Long weekends and day trips with my wife.

     6. Working long hours.

     7. Holding public office.

     8. Sitting on various boards committees and councils.

     9. Socializing

     10. Trying to create a neat, pretty comfortable home that made my wife proud that I was her husband and my kids proud that I was their Dad.

     It sickens me today that my wife is now the long distance driver because she really dislikes it. 

     A couple of winters back, we drove to Montreal a few days before Christmas.  We hit weather just North of Albany, so it was a tough long drive.  I hadn't yet been operated on so I was the driver.  I was pounding up the Northway with four kids and my wife in a Chevy Suburban, 4 wheel drive.  We raced into the teeth of a storm, had some bad stretches, but knew that within 5 hours, we'd be in Montreal in a great hotel.  I was driving.

     That night I'd go to midnight Mass, which in Montreal is de rigueur.  The worst that could happen would be a flat, which would be a bitch to change in this weather but I could do it.  My only worry was losing a windshield wiper. 

     We had a great time up there.  Montreal is spectacular at Christmas, particularly when it's not twenty-below.  It was about 10 degrees, two feet of snow were on the ground, and I thoroughly embarrassed myself by speaking French with the locals. 

     We'd thought of shooting up to Quebec City, but didn't do it.  Instead, we swung home through the Adirondacks, and spent a few days in Lake Placid.

     I saw figure skating live for the first time in my life, rode the luge, stood at the top of the 90 meter ski jump, and one night monkeyed around on the very rink where the "Miracle on Ice" occurred.  The place was empty and unlocked; we all walked out to center ice.  Remember the disappointment of watching the tape delay, already knowing the US had beaten the Soviets.  We skated on the speed skating oval at night.  It was fun.

     We're going to Montreal this Christmas, but without adventure or spontaneity.  We're flying.  Brining special pillows, painkillers, but leaving my skates at home.  Too bad, I love to skate, especially at night, outside.

     We're going to the beach in a couple of days.  I love to swim in the ocean when the water is cold enough for the seals to be close inshore.  Don't swim with the seals because they're nasty little bastards.  It is fun though to see their heads pop out of the water nearby.

     Problem is it's about an hour's drive to the outer beaches where the water comes straight across the Atlantic and is so cold it's, brain freeze until you get used to the temperature.  Now, I can't make it an hour in the car.

     The insidious nature of chronic pain is that it drags everyone in the family with it.  I don't want anyone to suffer with me, but I don't want to be alone either.  All seven of us, including dog, cuddled on the couch watching mindless reality TV is fun, when we've earned it after a big fun day.  One by one they'd drop-off to sleep under a quilt, and my wife and I would have time together.  These days, this just doesn't happen.  First, no "BIG FUN"; second, whatever else the family did, they'd probably have done it without me (I'm not so much fun anymore. I hit the wall too soon); last, I'd already be asleep.

     Each of the tasks I've listed above, isn't a task, it's a gift that has gradually fallen away, and my family is left with me, and what I used to be.  I'm now trying bio-feedback, prayer, shrinks, exercise, anything to get back some part of what used to be my life.

     Sure, it's a brave new life...but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want the old one back.  Hell, part of the old one. Even for a day.

     Ask my wife and kids, who bravely accept a fraction of what I used to be.  They'd tell you the same thing:  just a piece, even if only for a day.  Lord  have mercy.  Colin

It's Time To Get Back To The Business of Living

  Since January of this year, I have been unable to work at my regular job. As heartbreaking as that is, it is not the end of my world. I wanted to return to work so much that for all of January and most of February, I still got up and dressed in work clothes, Monday through Friday. I kept doing that thinking that some day I would wake up and feel good enough to go to work. It never happened.

I still get up and get dressed, but I no longer put on my “work” clothes. I’m in shorts and a polo shirt, no shoes and my trusty comfortable sweatshirt by my side in case it gets cool. I don’t even bother with shoes, unless I have to. I still put on makeup and fix my hair every day, but that’s as far as I go to get ready for my day. Then I wait, I wait to feel better.

It’s time for me to stop waiting and get back to work. I know that I can’t go back to my job as a systems analyst, I would love that, but I’m realistic now. I’m not well enough to do that. So I have to do something else, something that is not out of reach for me.

I can’t go on floating through day after day waiting for my miracle of a cure. It’s time for me to Jump Back Into Life. I’ve been reading that on my own web site for months and it didn’t hit me until today, that I'm exactly the person that needs to jump back into life. I have to start and finish each day with a purpose.

What am I doing?

For the last 3 months I’ve been writing about how I can live with this disease and that I still have a voice and I can still do things, but I keep making excuses. Every day I have lists of things I could be doing, but I don’t. I’m waiting for something to happen, something that is never going to come and I know it. I’m waiting to feel better. That’s not going to happen, I need to move on.

It’s one thing to know that you can move on with your life, it’s another thing to actually move on. So I am.

So what do I do? I’m not waiting for that thing that isn’t coming any more. I know I’m not going to wake up and feel better this time. So if I stop waiting for something that isn’t going to happen, it frees up most of my day.

I have things to do around here. I will pick one thing, each day, every day and do it.

This morning for example, I fed our dear dog Dallis, she has lung cancer and makes me think long and hard about feeling sorry for her instead of myself. I spoke to the vet, got her lab results, drove into town by myself and picked up her medication. Came home, read everything about her new meds and coaxed her into taking all 3 medications without having to force her. I don’t think I could force her anyway. She still weighs 90 pounds and can carry a basketball in her mouth. Her jaw is stronger than my hands any day of the week.

Next, I’m finishing this article and then organizing some stuff we got on our last trip. Jerry’s Mom is going to Branson, so we’re going to give her all of the brochures and maps we picked up.

After that, it will be lunch time and then physical therapy exercises . After that who knows, but at least I’m back. I’m back living my life, not wondering when I’ll get better and waiting for that thing that just isn’t coming. It’s not that I’ve given up on getting better, I’ve just given up on wasting anymore precious time, waiting for it. I’ll live my life, if I get better great, if I don’t, it’s ok, I’m still living.

What is the worst thing that can happen? That I’ll be in pain? I’m already in pain. That it will get worse? It’s already getting worse and I haven’t done anything.

So, no more lists, no more waiting, I’m jumping. Look out below!!!

Have You Visited...

Description:

      ...my first weblink friend, The Chronic Babe, who's site http://www.chronicbabe.com/ is the first site that linked with Chronic Pain Lifestyle.  I believe I'm the only male subscriber to her site.  Truth be told, I enjoy this site as much for the Babe's occassional tantrums as I DO FOR THE LIVELY COMMENTS SHE INSPIRES FROM HER READERS.  Ooops, hit all caps again.  If you're dieting, there's no better read than a cookbook; when in severe pain The Chronic Babe shares the top shelf with another of my favorites, which I'll mention in a minute.  Guys, we're not the target for this site, which makes it all the more fun.  Gals, you're all Hotties, check the site to see what this means.  Bottom line is fun, fun, fun.

     The other top shelf, "Have a little fun" sicko's, is the acerbic, hillarious, Hippest Crip on the web, is Gimpy Mumpy, who will settle for nothing less than "Crip World Domination".  Another funny, funny site http://mumpy.typepad.com/gimpy_mumpy/ .

     Both of these writers were an enourmous help to me in the begining for no good reason other than to help someone out.  Peace and love, Colin

The Eskimo Song

Oomiak, kayak, mukluk, toopic,
Oomiak, kayak, mukluk, toopic,
Oomiak, a boat for many men,
Kayak, a boat for one man.

Oomiak, kayak Eskimo words
Learn them if you can.

Ah yes, the anthem of Fourth grade, the Eskimo song. We loved singing it and learning those words. I remember telling my mom all about the words and what they meant. I was so proud of my brief knowledge of a foreign language.

Fourth grade was uncomfortable at best. My teacher was Mrs. Carlson and the classroom was in the old part of Beaser school. The part with the creaky floors and we were on the second floor. The doors were very high and so were the ceilings. And we had “cloak rooms”. Why do you suppose we still called them cloak rooms long after anyone wore a cloak?

Anyway, Mrs. Carlson, was not a bad teacher. In fact, most of the time she was really nice. She did have a little problem with a few students in the class. I’m not pointing fingers or anything, let’s just say that Timmy Fleck was in my Fourth grade class.

Everyday, we would start out the day with a math quiz. I hated those timed tests and then we would go on to music. It was always the same day after day. Then right before lunch, Mrs. Carlson would disappear into the closet in our classroom. We didn’t really know why she kept going in there, but we could hear crunching. We had seen a box of crackers on one of the shelves in there, so we were pretty sure we knew what she was doing.

Now I can’t say why that bothered any of us, but it was a little rude to eat in front of 23 little kids who were patiently waiting for lunch. It’s not like we could sneak any food past her. Mrs. Carlson, was a pacer. She paced back and forth, up and down each row all day long. I wondered why they gave her a desk at all, she never used it.

We were singing our Eskimo song as usual one day and we thought we were doing a pretty good job. Mrs. Carlson, was telling us in a kind of gruff voice that we were not singing “together”. That was always a big deal, sing together. It’s not like we were the Osmonds or anything. I really can’t imagine why it was such a big deal.

After music, we were supposed to be reading quietly. Mrs. Carlson had let us know in no uncertain terms that we were not performing our Eskimo song very well. We kind of got yelled at for it. So when she said it was reading time we were all a little relieved. At least during reading time, she didn’t yell.

As usual she went over to the closet and opened the big oak door and went inside. We were all quietly reading, afraid to even look up from our books. If we did she would just yell at us again.

I don’t know what made Timmy Fleck do what he did, but I’ve never seen such a brave little kid in my life.

Timmy jumped up, ran to the closet, put both hands on the big wood door and slammed it shut!!!

Mrs. Carlson, was in the closet with the door shut. For a moment there was silence, and as we all watched with big eyes, we saw the door knob start to turn, but the door didn’t open.

Mrs. Carlson was locked in the closet!!!

We all sat there like statues, staring at the door. She was pounding on it, yelling at us from inside the closet. Threatening the entire class. We were all petrified. What would happen when she got out?

We all stared at our books and didn’t move a muscle. She kept yelling that we needed to open the door or we would all have to stay after school. We were all so scared of her, no one moved.

We just kept looking down at our books like we didn’t notice the pounding and yelling from inside that closet.

From across the hall Mr. Suchanen came over to see what was going on. He was the other Fourth grade teacher. He was young and he was very tall. Again, I might have thought that because I was a little kid, but he looked tall to us.

He quickly realized what had happened and went to the door. He asked Mrs. Carlson if there was a key and she said yes, it was in her desk. Gee I finally found out why she had a desk.

He retrieved the key and let her out. She thanked him, while we all stared down at our books and didn’t dare move, breathe, blink, we were playing dead like a dog.

Then he left the classroom and we were left to face a very scary Mrs. Carlson. She wanted to know, who shut the door. No one moved. She said that if we didn’t tell her we would all be in trouble. I remember one little boy started to cry, he didn’t want to be in trouble. So she went over to him and said if he told her who had shut the door, he wouldn’t be in any trouble. Like a true, blue friend, he said he didn’t know who did it. He was reading when it happened.

He was the shyest kid in the whole class and she couldn’t bully him into telling. And she knew if he didn’t fold no one else would either. So what could she do?

She tried the sympathy card. She said she needed those crackers for a stomach problem. I suspected the only problem she had was hunger, but it didn’t work. No one flinched and no one told.

We all stayed after school that day. I think we only stayed 20 minutes. It was worth it.

We might not have “sung together” like Mrs. Carlson wanted, but we sure stuck together when it counted.

Loyalty and friendship are important lessons in every child’s life. And while it may not have been the best way to learn it, we learned that by sticking together we could overcome just about anything. Even a scary, yelling teacher locked in a closet.

I feel like that about my AA sometimes. I think that if I work in conjunction with my doctors and therapists, we can improve my condition. I know that at this point it is not possible to cure AA, but working with my doctors and therapists I will accomplish much more, than if I try and go it alone.
I need to be a partner with my healthcare providers to make the most of what they can do for me. After all, I'm the only one who knows what my AA feels like, so I'm the only one who can tell them what is helping me and what isn't.

I wish this was going to go away soon, but I know that it isn't. That's ok though, I found one thing that works very well, my memory. Writing the stories of my younger, pre-AA days is comforting. It gives me hope that I will get better some day, and even if I don't, I have the memories of all of those wonderful friends and family to comfort me. AA will rob us of a lot of things, but not our memories. We hold them close and huddle with them, to overcome this disease. You can't do it alone.

Writer's Block

  Over the past two weeks I’ve been suffering from writer’s block. Now when I say suffering I don’t mean physically of course, it’s kind of a mental thing I'm going through.

I keep blaming my lack of inspiration on being tired. We spent the last two and a half weeks driving first to Kansas for a long weekend and the KKOA Leadsled Spectacular Car Show and then back home. We rested for less than a week and then on to Branson Missouri for the Super Summer Cruise Car Show and midnight parade.

Kansas or Missouri either one, it was hot. I don’t mean the normal warm summer weather of the midwest with high humidity. This felt like a slap in the face every time we went outside.

I was sweating so much, I finally put on a baseball hat and put my hair up. Anyone who knows me well, knows I don’t ever let anyone see me like that. I get up and put on my make-up and fix my hair every morning, just like I did when I was working. So to actually go out in public, with my hair off of my face and a hat on my head was a hard thing for me to do.

That heat was unbearable. I love warm summer days. Growing up on Lake Superior, we didn’t have a lot of warm summer days. Here in Southern Wisconsin, we have quite a few warm summer days and I love them all. But the heat in Kansas and Missouri wasn’t normal heat. It was like an oven, like one of those convection ovens that uses hot air to bake a cake.

I felt like a cake that was baked to the point of becoming cement. We just couldn’t stop sweating and we never seemed to cool off until we spent about an hour in our hotel rooms. We found out that the headquarters hotel for the car show in Kansas was having problems with their air conditioning. Thank God, I made reservations for a different hotel. Our air conditioning worked just great.

So after these two long trips, in constant mind-numbing pain and walking far more than I should have, I find that I’m having trouble writing. I guess I should have expected that. When you’re tired it’s hard to do anything that requires concentration.

So, what do I do about this?

1. Stop trying to write. Forcing it will sound, well, it will sound like I forced it. Forced writing is what we had to do in high school when there was a question on a test and you didn’t quite know the answer but if you “sound” like you know about it, you might get a few points.

That happened to me when I was a Junior in high school. i took American Government, it was taught by Mr. Kovala. He was a straight shooter kind of guy. No nonsense.

We had a test and I knew all of the answers for the fill in the blank part and the multiple choice part. But there was one essay question worth 10 points and I didn’t have a clue.

It was a question about a part of the chapter, that was in one of those colored boxes on the page. Kind of like an extra little story about someone famous who wasn’t mentioned anywhere else.

I could see where that colored box was on the page and I hadn’t read it. He never asked questions about those colored box stories before. So I wrote a page long essay about how I didn’t know the answer to the question, but that I had only myself to blame because I never paid attention to those colored box stories. I was kind of a smart-ass sometimes.

Mr. Kovala had a sense of humor. He didn’t give me any points for that answer, but he did read it out loud in front of the whole class and it made him laugh. And it made me read all the little colored boxes from that day on, for every class.

2. Stop thinking about it and change the channel. I have been racking my brain trying to come up with a story for two weeks. I have lists of topics all of which are bad and I have 6 or 7 partially done stories. None of them are any good and I know I’ll never finish them. They’re too boring for me to even finish.

I need to move on to other things, change the channel in my brain and look at something other than words. So I bought a couple of magazines this week (fashion and gossip two of my favorite things ) and I am working on Sudoku. I have a book of Sudoku puzzles. It starts with easy ones. I did all of those, then it goes on to moderate, I’ve done about half of those and then it goes to difficult and finally, there is a category called Beware. I’m working on the Beware part. No sense not doing it, I need to challenge myself.

It’s good to fill your brain with numbers when you are having trouble with words. It’s the best way to change the channel that I know.

3. Spend time talking. Whenever I have trouble writing, I talk to someone. My husband, my sisters, my Mom or my brother. Talking about something always gives you a subject to write about. We’re always telling stories in this family and each conversation can give you 4 or 5 good ideas. So I pick up the phone and “reach out and touch someone” like those schmaltzy AT&T ads.

Remember the AT&T commercial where the soldier calls home to his Mom? That makes me cry now. i just hate being so teary-eyed, but menopause is like that. Nothing I can do but enjoy a good long cry sometimes.

4. Look back. Take the time to look at a photo album or start organizing those pictures that are unceremoniously thrown in a box. I keep meaning to actually organize our lives and I never seem to get around to it.

Pictures or old videos are a great inspiration for stories. I love looking at pictures of us from 20 years ago. Jerry and I both had dark hair and we are laughing in every picture.

I remember the night we went to his Mom’s wedding dance. It was in Highland, she married Mick Grimm. Jerry’s Dad died a few years before my Dad died. We never met each other’s Father.

Mick Grimm was a nice man, he was a farmer and the dance was in the school gym in Highland. This is a small town in southwestern Wisconsin.. i remember they put stuff on the old wooden floor so you could dance and your shoes wouldn’t stick. i think they put a little too much on the floor though, it was so slippery people kept falling down.

Jerry and I have a picture of us dancing that night. He is wearing a light blue, Levi’s shirt. His hair was black, and he has the biggest grin on his face. i was wearing a dark red silk blouse. i had dark hair, big dark hair like Suzanne from Designing Women. I always wanted hair like hers and I think I succeeded that night. We are dancing and holding each other close.

What most people don’t know is that the reason we are smiling so big is because we were trying to hold each other up. That floor was so slick and we were both wearing jeans and boots. It was all we could do to keep upright.

That picture tells the beginning of a great love story, ours.

5. I think you’ve probably figured out what this last one is. Write about it. You know what they say, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

I have trouble writing, so I write about it.

I’m that kind of person. If I have a problem, I work at it until I get a solution. I’m not the sort of person who thinks things will work out for themselves if I leave it alone. I can’t do that, I can’t leave anything alone. If something bothers me, I keep working on it until it’s fixed or broken so badly it can’t be repaired. I have to take whatever it is, to the very end. I can’t leave one cookie in the jar, one scoop in the ice cream in the bucket or one swallow in the milk jug. I have to finish it.

That’s why it is so difficult having AA. I can’t finish it. I can’t plan anything, I don’t know what is coming next, I don’t know how bad this will get . And I don’t know if I will ever get better. AA is frustrating, it’s like the book you didn’t finish and now can’t find, or the song going through your head, you remember part of it but not enough to get the title or the artist.

I want this to be finished. When you break your leg, there is a beginning and an end. When you get AA, you don’t know where or when it started and there is no end. It’s the worst kind of waiting. Every morning waking up and not knowing how bad it’s going to hurt each day and what if anything you will be able to do.

The only thing that is certain about AA is that it will hurt, everyday. Writer’s block is fleeting, AA isn’t. I will overcome a lot of things in my life, I would like to think that AA will be one of the things I conquer, but if it isn’t I’ll learn to live with it. I have to.