'ALL BETTER'

     Surgery on my back June 19.  Spent six days in hospital and that is all I want to know of Hell.  If anyone would like to hear details, phone me.  Surgeon said eight weeks for recovery and it has been every bit of that.  Three weeks ago on a Sunday, I experienced the first pain free day I have had in two years.

     This past weekend, Sunday, August 11, my grandson Josh Tolman  and his wife Kala, brought the boys to visit.  Ammon, 13, Micah and Jonah, 9, and Kanyon, 6.  I am so appreciative that Josh and Kala are thoughtful enough to do this.  Grandpa George and I are just getting too old to go traveling anymore. 

One YearLater...

    It has been one year sine I last entered my thoughts in this blog.  It has been a year that brought increasing pain every day.  A  year of numerous medical visits, procedures, and medications.  After, the diagnosis from a Neurosurgeon last April, I had almost decided to give up and become an invalid.  George was already shouldering all the household chores, except the bill paying, while I either sat in one of the two chairs I was able to, or laid in bed.  After a frustrating experience with my Orthopedic doctor saying it was my left hip causing the pain, scheduling hip replacement surgery, and then, after further x-rays and MRI's, deciding it wasn't my hip after all, on my own I contacted another Neurosurgeon.  No referral--I just phoned his office and told his receptionist my tale of woe.  She returned my call in a short while, saying the Doctor agreed to see me.  After my first visit with him, he took the time to thoroughly research my x-rays, MRI's, reports from Pain Management Doctors who had done injections into my spine, and consulted with my Orthopedic Doctor.  On my second visit, he explained where he felt my pain was originating and we agreed on another spinal injection into a specific place.  I  had the injection and it was SPOT ON!  Three weeks now, and I am experiencing only minor discomfort in my leg.  I can have another injection in three months if I need one--OR---I can elect for surgery.  The surgery would entail exactly what the first Neurosurgeon described last April, only THIS Neurosurgeon is willing to do it.  No nonsense about my age and the other objections brought up.   I have done alot of praying this  past  year.  Not only for myself, but also on behalf of my beloved daughters.  I think I was supposed to learn patience from all this.  I am often so obtuse in that I frequently have difficulty figuring out what lesson God is teaching  me.  I litterly have to get a good SMACK for my brain to be penetrated.

???The Future For My Body???

    I have mentioned before in my blogs that I have  joint replacements.  Seven, to be exact.  Osteoarthritis struck hard and early.  I was told I had not chosen my ancestors wisely enough!  With each replacement surgery, I expressed my greatfulness that parts were still available for a model this old.  Besides the new joints, I have twice had to  have repair work on my lumbar vertibrae.  This old back has exhibited painful signs of needing more attention for the past year and its demands have excelerated since January.  After X-rays and an MRI, I was dismayed to be told by the Nuerosurgeon that I was past the point of benificial  repair.  His diagnosis was couched in kind terms, but the message I got was that (a) I am too old  (b) repair work would be too extensive (we are talking about screws, bolts, steel rods, etc.) and (c) it would be better to treat the symtoms than to cure them.  This Doctor, whose opinion I have regard for, is sending his recommendations to my Primary Care Doctor, whom I will see next week.
    My reaction, before knowing what the treatment recommendations are, is:
Regarding (a) above.  I  am  only 80 years old.  I still think young!  Doesn't that count?  One doesn't just junk an aging vintage Cadillac.  It gets refurbished, polished up, and exhibited in parades and car shows!  Considering (b), so what is a little more metal in my body?  It won't make the scanner at the airport buzz any louder than it does now. So what if my back is really straight!  I only need it to bend when I sit. As for (c), I am treating symptoms now.  Taking the maximum daily dose allowed of anti-inflamatory medicine.  I have a little stash of codine based pills left over from previous surgeries that I dip into on the worst days.  Maybe THAT is the answer--just stay high!  When my little  mother was preparing to die, her doctor ordered Tylenol 3 (Tylenol w/codeine) be administered to her on demand.  The nurses at the nursing home were not very happy with that order and we had  to keep a sharp watch to make sure they were complying.  Thing is, I have way too much to accomplish before I say goodby to this life, to be in a state of "la-la land" all the time.  Besides, I can't drive if I take narcotic medication and I can't bear to have my wings clipped!
    I know I am obsessing about this before finding out what has been recommended for me. Maybe it will be weekly massages along with facials, or a week in Hawaii four times a year, or hiring someone to do the ironing.  I already have a house cleaner thanks to my good husband's insistance.
    If you are interested--stay tuned.  I will report back when I really know what is going to happen.

Thoughts on Being a Recovering Fabricholic

Good  heavens!  It has been over a year since I last felt I had something worthwhile to say. The past year has been plagued with more ill health--new ailments keep  popping up and the old ones linger on.  I feel as if all the glue that holds me together is slowly disintegrating.

Comments posted on a sewing and crafting site I visit prompted me to tell about my fabric collection.
 My fabric acquistion dates back to 1953 when my husband bought me my own sewing machine. The desire to buy fabric was fueled by twice living where unique and wonderful fabric was available, in the Orient on the Island of Okinawa, and in the Republic of Panama.  By the time I settled in Montana, I had a LOT of fabric.   After misplacing a piece of fabric and finally finding it, I went through  my entire stash, catalogued each piece on a small card and placed the fabric in numbered storage boxes. 85 boxes later (if anyone wants to know where I store them, just ask), I felt truly organized. 

Yes, I have a true fabric addiction.  My daughters tell me I need to join a support group and my husband does not allow me into a fabric store unless I am on a leash.  I determined a moratorium on purchasing fabric, but Charm pieces (5"x5" squares) assuages my addiction, and besides, they don't really count as yardage.  Browsing through my huge loose-leaf book of catalogued samples usually keeps me from HAVING to go to town for fabric.  I will never get it all sewn, but those girls mentioned above who make fun of me, can have the pleasure of sorting and distributing what remains when I am gone.  At least it is ORGANIZED!!!

Oh yes, by the way, I have a Great Granddaughter who likes to sew.  I have passed on the genes. Tee-hee-hee.

A New Era?

I broke my Alaska coffee mug this morning.  I have been sipping my ritual morning cafine jump-start from it for several years.  It replaced my Seattle mug--one I purchased when Josh was in Children's Hospital way back in 1991 (I think!).  Both of these mugs were hand crafted and had just the right kind of handles to accommodate my misshapen arthritic fingers.The Seattle mug finally cracked itself to death and just fell apart.  In 1992, I bought the Alaska mug in Denali Park.  It has held the contents of my morning fix for quite a few years, since the demise of  the Seattle mug.  Today, it slipped from my hand.  Empty, thank heavens.  Panic!  Thus began a frantic search for a mug that (1) appealed to me (2) held ample amount of beverage and (3) had a handle these pathetic fingers could fit into comfortably.  I tried out my Chokecherry Festival mug--too big.  Then a mug I acquired from somewhere just because it was pretty.  Finally, I found my Chicago mug.  It is not hand-made pottery as the others were.  In fact I suspect it was made in China.  But the skyline of Chicago outlined with gold lines, that encircles the mug is so elegant.  As the name denotes, I acquired it in Chicago, but how, brings the most pleasant and fun filled memories.  That is a story for another day.  Right now I am wondering if a new coffee mug is a harbinger of new era in my life.  At this advanced age, there is not much I haven't already experienced, except for sky-diving.  I will just wait and see.  Maybe,  just maybe, a new great-grand baby?

Dear Santa: A Time Machine Please

      Yes, I need a Time Machine. I do not want to go into the past, although it would be good to be able to go back and correct my mistakes that haunt me today.  I do not want to go into the future...it is coming fast enough.  That is the problem.  I want a Time Machine to slow time down.  It is almost the  middle of December and I am frantically attempting to complete the hand crafted Christmas cards that I started making last Christmas!  Ah!  "Procrastination"  my critics say.  I am not denying that, but what about my great-grandchildren who are growing up all to quickly?  Can't I slow that down a bit?  There are little boys I  never had the chance to cuddle, who are now too  big for that sissy stuff.  Beautiful girls turning into beautiful young women  that I would like to still be buying dolls for.  Daughters who  now are grandmothers.  It was just the other day I was sewing prom dresses.  I am aware I have an allotted time here on earth, but please, dear Lord, couldn't that time be slowed down a bit?  Yes, my very own Time Machine would work quite well--will it fit in my stocking?

IT'S ME AGAIN!!!

     Two years ago at this very same time of year I became afflicted with Polymyalgia Rheumatica (PMR). I won't go into detail about the symptoms of PMR, except to say it is very painful and debilitating.  Anyone really curious can "Google" it.  The remedy was immediate large doses of steroids--Prednisone.  The steroids make one's face puffy.  Since I have a round, fat face anyway, I looked like a Halloween pumpkin.  After the initial large doses of Prednisone, it is given in diminishing quantities until  one is weaned off it. Two years later I am down to just one gram, a single pill, a day.  This morning when I looked in the mirror I could actually see  my cheekbones and jaw line!  I'll never again look like I did at thirty and fifty pounds ago, but at least I no longer will be mistaken for a chipmunk!

The Sprit is Willing but the Flesh is Weak

     Last night I had a revelation!  For several months, with the encouragement of artist friend, Betty Miller, I have been working on, although rather listlessly, two projects of art to submit to the Houston Art Convention held in July, where, if accepted, I would teach them.  Betty wishes so much that I meet her in Houston, as she and I have been good friends ever since we met at the Las Vegas Creative Painting Convention several years ago.  It is not financially possible for me to go to Houston, unless I teach in order to pay my way.  The deadline for submissions is today, December 1.
     Yesterday evening as I was clearing the dinner dishes from the table and putting the leftovers in the refrigerator,a tremendous feeling of fatigue came over me.  Taking a step or holding my back upright seemed a tremendous effort.  It was necessary to retire to my recliner, turn the  back heat on, and just rest.  After an hour, I was able to get up, finish my chores in the kitchen, and head for bed.
     As I lay in bed, after the lights were out, I thought, "How ridiculous for me to even consider standing in front of a class and moving about the classroom  for three or four hours teaching an art class!"  This is not the first time I have been overcome by fatigue such as this in the past year.  Let's face it!  My mind and spirit is young, but my body is wearing out.  As much as I like teaching my art to others, I would be a fool to try to do it in a formal setting.
     Four years ago, I taught two three-hour classes at Creative Painting in Las Vegas.  During the second session of class, I had experienced the same sudden fatigue and back pain.  At that time I blamed it on the fact that I had shoulder joint replacement surgery just two months before.  Now, looking back, I realize it was an omen of things to come.  I have had seven joint replacement/repair surgeries--now I need to get in line for the first total body replacement!
     My prototype art I prepared for teaching will now become gifts.  I will continue to create, but without a deadline hanging over my head--and only for my own pleasure without thought of needing monetary gain.

NOTE CARDS

UNIQUE, FUN, FAST & EASY

"When I am an old lady, I shall wear purple..."

Watercolor w/Pen & Ink
Embelished mat for framing
Jenny Joseph's poem "Warning"

                                                   

Visions of Christmas Past

My youngest daughter had the misfortune of being born on Christmas Day.  As she was growing up, we always tried very hard to make sure she was not "short changed" when it came to birthday gifts and Christmas gifts.  However, just recently she expressed  that her memories of Christmas were that explanations were given to her that Santa "forgot".  Her older sibling, ten years older, and I both expressed surprise as neither of us were aware that the baby of the family with the unfortunate birthday ever got short shift at Christmas/Birthday time.  There was a Christmas that one of our children experienced a very disappointing Christmas morning, and it was not the youngest one.

The year was 1962, Kathy was 10 years old.  Barbie dolls were the big toys of the time.  And, of course, clothes to dress them in.  I was working; full time, plus still nursing our year old daughter, plus all the duties of housekeeping and caring for a home.  A neighbor, who was sewing Barbie doll clothes for her daughter and another neighborhood child, came to me to ask if I had any fabric scraps that would make suitable doll clothes.  Of course I did!  And, I also had patterns for Barbie doll clothes.  The neighbor said she would make dresses for Santa to leave at our house in exchange for the fabric and the use of the patterns.

Just a few days before Christmas, our son, Jim, had an emergency appendectomy. Between being at the hospital with him, working, being a wife and mother, I had precious little time to even think.  The day before Christmas, I went to the sewing lady's house to collect the Barbie dresses she had promised me. "Oh", she exclaimed, "I am so sorry, but I just didn't  have time to make your doll clothes.  Here is the left-overs of the fabric you gave me.  Do you mind if I keep the patterns a while longer?"  "Yes, I mind", I replied.  I must now go home and try to sew some doll clothes between now and tomorrow morning!"  I must have shown how angry I was because we were never very neighborly after that.

We brought our boy home from the hospital and had a little Christmas Eve birthday celebration with ice cream and cake.  I should  mention at this point of my story, that Jim's birthday was the 24th of December!
After everyone was finally tucked into bed, I burned the midnight oil sewing a doll dress.  I remember it still.  There was enough of a navy blue silk brocade left to make a Chinese style sheath dress.  I remember groggily sewing little crystal buttons on the shoulder about the time the sun was getting ready to come up.

Christmas Morning!  Kathy expressed her pleasure at the new dress for her Barbie.  I do not remember any of the rest of the holiday.  Many years later, Kathy told me how hurt she was when she went to see her friends to compare Barbie clothes.  She had the one new dress, and they  had five or six new dresses all made from fabric Kathy knew had come from my stash.

This memory of Christmas Past still haunts me today.  I would sew her a hundred  doll dresses if it would change anything. This wonderful girl, although deeply disappointed, has never expressed a grudge against me.  She has constantly expressed her gratitude to me for the things I have managed to do for her over the years.  Is it any wonder that I love her more than life itself?

A November Morning Glorious Adventure

       Heavy frost on the picnic table at 5:30 AM. George is getting ready to go deer hunting.  He brought me my morning cup of coffee and the newspaper.  Hazel knows he is going someplace and is prancing around excitedly, hoping she will get to go.  Sorry, little dog.  George is gone.  I read the whole newspaper and ate cinnamon toast. 
       Hazel went out after George left, and cleared all the rabbits and stray cats out of the "back forty".  When I thought she had been out longer than usual, I went to look for her and caught her running along the outside of the front fence, trying to sneak back into the yard.  She stopped short when  she saw me.  I used my meanest voice to scold her and as she ran through the opened patio door, I managed to get a good whop on her backside with the leash strap that I had in my hand.  She went straight to her kennel.  After a while, she came out, all wiggle waggles, with that "see what a cute good girl I am" look on her face.  All was forgiven, and she spent the rest of the morning snoozing by my feet.
       I spent the morning painting iridescent autumn leaves on quilt blocks and listening to Josh Grobin, Susan Boyle and Simon and Garfunkel melodies.
It is cold outside, warm inside.  I am perfectly content.  This is exactly how I imagined old age and the winter of my life should be.  I do not have to go any place, do not have to do any household chores unless I choose to.  I am still in my nightgown.
       Our beloved Crystal sent us a message on Facebook today, telling us she is out of the hospital, living in a residential out-patient unit, and doing well.  There are two new pictures of her on her Facebook page.  In one she looks just like her Mother.  In the other, she is the exact image of her Dad.  How does she do that?  No matter who she is resembling at the moment, she is beautiful.  I remember her as a little girl with dark curly hair and silver  hoops in her ears--our little Gypsy Girl.
     This may not sound like much of a glorious adventure to anyone else, but it is very satisfying to me.

Yesterday, the mail person brought me the loveliest present.  Cute "Thank You" notes from the twins for birthday cards and money we sent.  But best of all, the package also contained pictures of the boys.  I tried to post these pictures on my Facebook wall but could not get them to download.  Hope I have better luck with this Blog.

THE TOLMAN BOYS

Design

Just finished doing things to my openeing page.  Have spent the whole morning (another day wasted) playing with this Blog.  I am wondering if it is really goingto be worth the effort?

Beginning

In my first attempt at blogging, of course, as usual, I encountered a major glitch on the way.  I spent my Sabbath morning creating my first blog, and then invited everyone on Facebook to look in.  Somehow, nothing I wrote that day was saved.   For those who visited, all that was there (here) was a blank page. Grr-r-r!  When all else fails, read the instructions--my  motto for life!  I went to the Blogger site, downloaded the "Getting Started Guide", actually read it, and here goes for my second attempt.  For anyone joining me, this will  give you an inkling of what to be prepared for with my journaling.  Can anyone give me advice on getting the "Service Unavailable 503" thing?  I went to Blogger/help and all I got were umpteen thousand other posts complaining about the same thing, but no solutions offered.

Well, here goes.  I am starting this journal with the encouragement of my dear granddaughter-in-law, Kala, and the inspiration of my other granddaughter-in-law, Alyssa.  This is a picture of me and my dear companion of 58 years, George.  More about him later.  All my life, I have been encouraged by my church to keep a journal, and except for a few special incidents, I have pretty much ignored the advice.  But, here I am, at the age of 78 (in a few more days) opening my mind to the world.  I am not sure the world can handle it.   How fortunate that this site has a spell-check feature.  What learning shorthand (in high school) did not do to affect my spelling ability, studying French, and learning to "get by" in Spanish finished it off.

I am trying to think of some interesting things to but in this blog.  Things that might be interesting to others, besides myself. 

Creativity:  I spent every morning last week experimenting with making pictures to put on the  front  of note cards.  When I really should have been folding laundry, ironing, or some other long neglected household drudgery, I was very happily creating little miniature pictures with watercolors, marking pens, crayons, and pen and ink and cutting and pasting and making a big mess on my desk top.  George said not a word about the time I spent (managed to get supper on the table on time).  He thought I was relaxing.  Actually, I was making a set of cards as a thank-you-gift for a friend, and getting cards made to use as prototypes to submit to a an artist convention with the idea of teaching a class using my techniques.  This coming week, I must sew.  I will talk about that project next week.