December 2016 Update

It's been a tough year and a half. I nearly gave up, many times. I spent all of 2015 trying to recover from the illness that put me in the hospital. It was a slow recovery, and I'm not there yet.

Because I was unable to tolerate exercise, I ended up regaining most of the 30 pounds I worked so hard in 2013 to lose and all of 2014 to maintain.

Last year at the holidays I was a real mess. My sister-in-law, a nurse, found a functional medicine doctor in our part of the state who claimed to be having success in treating autoimmune diseases.

The 8-month program of a strict organic detox diet, with oxygen-assisted brain-based exercise was very expensive and my last resort. I had a wonderful return to health.

But there's no cure for fibromyalgia, and after 7 months I couldn't stomach another green smoothie. As soon as I went back to eating ordinary food (even good healthy food), I started regaining weight and the pain returned.

Last month I went back on the diet, with a detox supplement. I'm back within 5 pounds of my 2013/2014 weight. I tried resuming my workouts at Curves, but was unable to tolerate exercise. I can't work out anymore. LYRICA has left me an invalid. Seriously. I should probably be in a wheelchair by now. Instead I hobble around in pain.

So, I'm back --- would have been back sooner but was unable to get into my blog via my old computer. I'll try to catch up on what else has been happening in my life in the coming winter months --- because life, such as it is, goes on.

If You Wanna Know Where I've Been...

In the past 6 months:  

I went on Lyrica for fibromyalgia & it wrecked my life.
I went off it 12/2014, with horrid withdrawal symptoms.
I laid low in Jan/2015, so I wouldn't get the flu just in time for my big trip.
I spent the whole month of February at my favorite place: Taos, NM.
I went to the ER is Taos on Day #21 with chest pains --- they found nothing wrong with me.
I went to the ER here, 1 week after I got home from Taos, almost died!
I was in the hospital for a whole week for PERICARDITIS.
I've just come out of a long, painful 2 month recovery.

Now, I'm remembering a sweeter time, when I was young and healthy. Here I am at the Grand Canyon in 1976. My sister Debbie and I had gone out to L.A. to live, but LaLaLand spit us out! On the way home, we just had to see the Grand Canyon, straddle the 4 Corners, drive across the Hoover Dam, and stop for lunch at McDonald's in Las Vegas. Debbie wanted to hit the casinos, but we only had enough money to get us back to Illinois. Enjoyed the Colorado Rocky Mountains, made my second visit to Colorado Springs --- then we drove practically non-stop, taking turns at the wheel, all the way home. I could do crazy stuff like that back then.

I'm thankful for the memories.

That Time of Year Again!

Yesterday was:

OPENING DAY OF SHOTGUN DEER SEASON. 

The guys got skunked, but my husband has a deer in the freezer that he bagged during bow season. Maybe today will be better.

The following was first published on my POSTCARDS FROM THE HEARTLAND blog in Nov. 2011.
 
We live on 35 acres of woodland, surrounded by hundreds of acres of woods owned by two different farmers, a doctor, and a buffalo rancher. All of them either lease their woods to hunters or simply let anyone who asks hunt on them. My husband and his two hunting buddies hunt on our land.

That means the woods are crawling with hunters. It often sounds like a battle is being fought out there, with all the guns going off.  I don't even dare go outside unless I put on orange apparel.

So, for the next three days, I'll be cooped up in the house.  But even indoors, I worry about stray bullets hitting the house. I try not to go to town during the hunting season, to avoid the risk of getting shot as I drive down the road. But I guess if there's a bullet with my name on it, it's going to find me no matter what I do.

Every hunter out there is looking for that enormous trophy buck, but my guys mostly harvest young deer, which are the best eating.  People who have tried venison and say they didn't like the wild, gamey taste have probably eaten a tough, old buck.

Venison is our "beef."  We make hamburger from it, grill the backstraps, dry it for jerky, make summer sausage, and enjoy venison roasts and stews throughout the year.  Since the guys do their own butchering, the only cost is for the hunting permits and ammo. They fill our freezers and theirs every fall with some of the best eating you're going to find anywhere. I don't like beef, pork, or chicken grown on factory farms with the aid of antibiotics and growth hormones. Worst of all, I'm so sensitive, I can "taste" the feedlot or confinement of the commercial market animal. Deer are naturally lean and chemical free, and it's just about the only meat I'll eat.

Where I live, these beautiful wild animals breed in such numbers that they're public nuisances. Cars hit them all the time on the highway, and people have actually died from the accidents they cause.  Right here at home, they make it almost impossible to garden.  This year they mowed down two rows of sweet corn in our garden; we never got a single ear. They also feasted on our tomato and pepper plants and regularly ate the brussels sprouts and young cabbage and even some of my flowers. Just like goats, they'll eat just about anything.

A young doe will usually only have one fawn her first season. But after that, twins and triplets are the norm.  It's important to thin the herds of does, to keep the population manageable. If hunters didn't harvest a certain percentage of them every year, there would be so many, the herds would become diseased, not to mention the increased damage to farmers' crops and mayhem on the highways. So even though I dread it, I understand the importance of deer hunting season.

I always swear that next year, I'm taking a vacation by myself, to some place far from deer hunting.  But every year finds me manning the deer camp kitchen. Now I have to go bake my dinner rolls and prepare my green bean casserole and the backstraps (from a couple of young deer they got bow-hunting earlier this month) for grilling.  We always have the traditional Opening Day feast around 11 a.m., then the guys take a short nap before going back out into the woods for round two.

Well, it's been awhile...

... but as old Vallie used to say, as he sat down late to just about every meal:

"BETTER LATE THAN NOT AT ALL!" 

But that's not what I came here today to talk about.

My artist-friend Kathy moved away to Colorado today. I went to her going-away party yesterday to say goodbye, and Willow went with me.

Kathy designed my little friend Willow for me in 2012. 

BYE KATHY! WE'LL MISS YA!

Scenic Overlook

First published 12-5-11 in my blog Postcards From the Heartland.

Scenic Overlook, southeast of Galena, Illinois

 Everybody needs beauty 

as well as bread, 

places to play in and pray in, 

where nature may heal 

and give strength 

to body and soul.  

~John Muir~

Tree of Life

 "Tree of Life"  Wisconsin Concrete Park, Phillips, Wisconsin

Who will tell whether 
one happy moment of love 
or the joy of breathing 
or walking on a bright morning 
and smelling the fresh air, 
is not worth all the suffering 
and effort which life implies.  

~Erich Fromm~

Veteran's Day Salute

First published on 11-11-11 in my blog Postcards From the Heartland. 

Today is Veteran's Day, a day to remember, honor, and thank our veterans for their service to our country. This month, as a Salute to the Troops, I've been reading books about soldiers, wars, and the military. This isn't a genre I ordinarily read, but I realize how little I know about the history of the land of my birth, so it's time to broaden my horizons.  Some of the books I've read so far this month are:


ALWAYS TO REMEMBER - Brent Ashabranner
©1988 Illustrated with his daughter’s photography of the memorial and its grounds, the author tells the story of the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial, from its humble beginnings in the mind of a Vietnam veteran, to its prizewinning design by a 21-year-old Yale undergraduate named Maya Lin, through its construction, and dedication on Veteran’s Day, 1982.

The book also gives a brief overview of the history of the war and how America became involved in the fighting. But most of the book was about the memorial and how it brought together a nation so divided over the conflict.


OUR BROTHER’S KEEPER - Jedwin Smith
©2005 When 19-year-old Marine PFC Jeff Smith was killed in action during the Vietnam War, his family back home fell apart. His alcoholic mother blamed his ex-Marine father for his death. They divorced, and over the years his 5 siblings lost touch with each other. His oldest brother, the author of this memoir and a talented sportswriter, found his life spiraling out of control as an alcoholic trying to drown his grief.

This is the story of one man’s amazing 30 year road to recovery as he set out to avenge the death of his brother. After getting a handle on his drinking problem through the help of Alcoholics Anonymous, Smith’s first step was a visit to the Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial in Washington, DC. But that only made him more determined to find out how his brother died and to track down and kill the enemy soldier who took his life.

I enjoyed reading about the close bond the two brothers shared when they were children. The author gives a lot of family background as he explores how Jeff’s death affected his parents and siblings and led to his own failure to cope. I’m not going to give any more details because the ending is both surprising and inspiring.


DAYS OF INFAMY - Harry Turtledove
©2004 What if the Japanese had invaded Hawaii right after their surprise bombing of Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7th, 1941? That’s the theme of this alternate history novel that’s an action-packed and visually graphic look of what might have been.

Several storylines are woven into this disturbing epic, which continues to its dramatic conclusion in the sequel End of the Beginning. Jane Armitage, the estranged wife of an American officer who becomes a POW, is on her own when the attack occurs. Japanese-Hawaiian fisherman Jiro Takahashi welcomes the Japanese take-over of the islands, but his two sons who were born in Hawaii consider themselves true-blue American citizens. Joe Crosetti is a young man out to avenge the deaths of his uncle’s family at the hands of Japanese bombers by training to become a fighter pilot, eager to enter the war. And the strangest character of all, Oscar van der Kirk, a blond, American surfer-dude who goes on with his simple lifestyle, despite the war going on around him. There’s also a complete cast of Japanese military characters. I liked how the story was told through different viewpoints of people on both sides of the conflict. This is a meaty book that roars on to its finish and then leaves you hanging, eager to continue with the sequel.


I AM FIFTEEN AND I DON’T WANT TO DIE - Christine Arnothy
©1956 (translated from the French) When we think of civilian suffering during WW2, the Nazi death camps always come to mind, and rightfully so. This book is about a Hungarian family who had to hide for months in their smelly, damp cellar with assorted other neighbors when their apartment building was damaged in the Siege of Budapest, one of the bloodiest campaigns of WW2.
Although the book is a quick read, the images of starvation, rape, rotting corpses, and general mayhem leave a disturbing impression of the atrocities that both sides (German and Soviet) inflicted on the people of the Hungarian capital near the end of the war.


JOHNNY GOT HIS GUN - Dalton Trumbo
©1939 Earlier in the year I read how one of the best-loved American artists lent his talents to the “war effort” in NORMAN ROCKWELL’S FOUR FREEDOMS by Stuart Murray & James McCabe. Patriotism had to be whipped up if American mothers were going to give up their sons to the military, especially so soon after losing so many of them in WW1.

Rockwell painted proud pictures of patriotism and freedom, the way we’re supposed to feel when our boys march off to war. Trumbo word-paints the grim reality of war’s aftermath “when Johnny comes marchin’ home again.”

Joe is a young American soldier who wakes up in an Army hospital in 1918 to learn the extent of his combat injuries. As he fades in and out of consciousness, he dreams of home and family, and passes time with tender memories of the world he left behind. His reminiscences soften a story that is sometimes very hard to read.

This was a reread for me, and not one I was looking forward to. But I wanted to see if this book would have the same impact on me that it did 40 years ago when I was a senior in high school during the Vietnam War. After reading it back then, I was ready to run off to Canada with my boyfriend, who had recently lost his older brother in combat in ‘Nam. And I believe the book solidified my own feelings against war in general.

With all the global conflicts and wars that my country has been involved in since then, I can say that rereading Johnny Got His Gun has had an even greater impact than that first reading did.

Politically controversial since its publication between the two World Wars, it was revived and reprinted during the Vietnam War. Raw and graphic and bitterly truthful, I feel everyone should read this book, because we tend to take war for granted in this modern world of ours. If we truly knew its devastation and questioned its necessity, we’d all be beating our swords into plowshares.

A Good Horse Remembered

First published 12-8-11 in my blog POSTCARDS FROM THE HEARTLAND.

An old, old photo of my dad and me (circa 1958) 
with his beautiful palomino gelding, Ramone.  
We lived outside of Ramona, California,
 and I was five years old at the time.  
I learned to ride on this gentle horse 
that my dad frequently rode 
in Southern California parades. 
Daddy could turn us loose 
and Ramone could be trusted 
to take good care of his little rider.

Remembrance of Summer

First published 12-2-11 in my blog POSTCARDS FROM THE HEARTLAND.

 

By plucking her petals, 
you do not gather the beauty of the flower.  
~Rabindrath Tagore~

From God Alone

First Published 11-29-11 in my blog POSTCARDS FROM THE HEARTLAND.

It is not because angels are holier than men or devils that makes them angels, but because they do not expect holiness from one another, 
but from God alone. 

~William Blake~

Faceless Friends

"I have often thought that if photography were difficult in the true sense of the term --- meaning that the creation of a simple photograph would entail as much time & effort as the production of a good watercolor or etching --- there would be a vast improvement in total output.  The sheer ease with which we can produce a superficial image often leads to creative disaster.  We must remember that a photograph can hold just as much as we put into it, and no one has ever approached the full possibilities of the medium."

~Ansel Adams



This is a grab shot that I took of a group of my friends waiting for me at the end of the tunnel that goes under the racetrack at the Illinois State Fairgrounds.

Calhoun County Pecans

First published 11-28-11 in my blog Postcards From the Heartland.  

Grandma and Grandpa received a bag of pecans as a gift, and they shared them with us. They're grown on an uncle's farm in Calhoun County (where the Illinois and Mississippi Rivers meet). Notice how large and nice they are, compared to the store-bought (those two little ones on the plate).

Peace!

"What we're thinking about is a peaceful planet.

We're not thinking about anything else. We're not

thinking about any kind of power. We're not

thinking about any kind of struggles. We're not

thinking about revolution or war or any of that.

That's not what we want. Nobody wants to get hurt.

Nobody wants to hurt anybody. We would

all like to be able to live an uncluttered life.

A simple life, a good life.

And like think about moving the whole human race

ahead a step, or a few steps."

~ Jerry Garcia

To A Butterfly

I've watched you now a full
half-hour;
Self-poised upon that yellow flower
And, little Butterfly! Indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

~William Wordsworth, "To a Butterfly"

My Candlewood Cabin

First published 11-19-11 in my blog Postcards From the Heartland.

This is the cabin I rented for five nights in October for an artist's retreat. Just me and Beary. Dad was working the harvest, so he had to stay home.

I'm so glad I got to experience another Wisconsin autumn. The foliage colors were just spectacular.  Here in central Illinois, we don't have the variety of fall colors that they do farther north. Also, the hilly terrain with its dairy farms make for very picturesque sightseeing.

My cabin sat up on a steep hill, so I had to carry everything from the van up all those stairs. Halfway up the hill from where Beary is sitting (above) is the fire pit. The cabin was very secluded and peaceful. I wish I would have taken more pictures than I did, but the lighting was difficult inside. And being by myself with Beary, it was really hard to do any photography anyway.

I did do a little plein aire painting of the meadow that leads back into the valley where my cabin was located.  I also did a lot of reading, and took lots of walks with my dog. One day we made a long road trip around the lower Wisconsin River, and another day we visited a huge orchard for fresh-from-the-tree Golden Delicious apples.

Although there was no TV or internet access, the cabin came complete with a nice collection of DVD movies, music CDs, and a bookshelf of interesting books. The screened porch was nice, and the bathtub had a whirlpool.

I give this vacation hideaway a 5-star rating. It was absolutely beautiful and the hosts, Susan and Norbert were very friendly and helpful. Candlewood Cabins are located in southwestern Wisconsin, south of the town of Richland Center. If you'd like to see the inside of my cabin, as well as the other two beautiful cabins on the property, check out their website:

http://candlewoodcabins.com/

Revenge of The Squirrels

WARNING: This post may cause upset to animal-lovers and/or -activists. I would never harm a little critter like a squirrel unless I had a good reason. (I almost cry when I accidentally run over one with my truck on the road.) Eating up my garden is not a good reason. They NEED food, they SEE food, they EAT food. It is what it is.

BUT, chewing up the wiring in all of our vehicles IS good reason to get out the squirrel gun. They are stupid animals to think plastic, copper & whatever other man-made material wiring is made from, is food. Since they can't distinguish between organic & inorganic, right from wrong, their numbers must to thinned.

Selfie with bruise

I've bagged eleven now, and we've had a nice squirrel-noodle bake, but I just don't see how I can continue OPERATION: SQUIRREL PATROL when my squirrel gun does THIS to me!

And the painful bite of the tiny flying squirrel the other night (see below) is another sign to me that room should be made in the garage, for the vehicles' protection. New, automatic garage doors/openers would be ideal.  After all, that's what garages are for, right?

Service With a Snarl

First published 11-16-11 in my blog Postcards From the Heartland:

It's a good thing we don't exchange Christmas gifts anymore.  We decided years ago to drop out of that rat race. The holidays for us mostly start and end on Christmas Day when we go to Mass, and then gather with family for a feast. You can't believe how refreshingly easy getting through the 10 weeks of Christmas can be until you strip it down to the bare bones and celebrate "the reason for the season," without all the bells and whistles of brainwashed consumerism.

But even though I'm spared the hassle and expense of Christmas shopping, I still have to go to town at least once a week for groceries and to run errands. So I still have to brave the shopping mobs and the snarky store employees.

You'd think, in this age of austerity and joblessness, people would be so thrilled  to have a job, any job, that they'd at least be able to fake cheerfulness when dealing with customers.  On my end of things, I do my best to be cheerful, with a smile ready for those I come in contact with. So it kind of hurts my feelings when I'm treated like a "nothing."

Today I HAD to go to town. Couldn't put it off another day. I had library books overdue, the truck payment past due, a few things we needed from the grocery store for the long deer hunting weekend ahead, and I had a "$10 off a $20 purchase" coupon from *** that expires today.  A good time to stock up on toilet paper, half off!

At ***, I had to get out my *** Savers Card and my debit card, but I forgot the coupon in my sweater pocket. After I'd been checked out (by a chirpy, cheerful young lady, I should add) and paid up, I realized too late that I'd forgotten to use my coupon. The checkout girl had to send me to Customer Service.

Oh, no! Not Customer Service! Customer service must be the worst job in the world. I can't ever remember having a nice person wait on me in Customer Service in any store. And today was no exception.

The unfriendly young lady seemed all put out when I explained that I'd forgotten to use my $10 off coupon. I apologized and she muttered, "I'll have to ring it all up again." There were four items in my cart. Gimmee a break!

After she'd worked through the process, she shoved my money at me with a "there you go."  I smiled and said, "Thank you for your help."  Not just an automatic thanks, but a sincere thank you. She just turned and walked away.

Yes, a "you're welcome" or "have a nice day" was expected. Even a "no problem," the younger generation's version of "you're welcome," would have been nice. But to just turn her back and walk away meant I wasn't welcome.  I was just one more annoying customer she had to deal with.

I know I shouldn't let rude people steal my sunshine. But I walked out of the store feeling like I'd been spit on.

I would write a letter of complaint to the manager.  But I had to do that recently when I was shorted 5 Vicodins of the 16 my dentist had prescribed for pain after a procedure. I would have just picked up the missing pills next time I was in there and went along my merry way, but the person who waited on me neither apologized for the inconvenience nor even said thank you!

So I made a big deal by writing a complaint to the pharmacy manager and enclosing all label info so she could track down the person who shorted me, just in case that person might be in the habit of shorting folks on "the good stuff." I mean come on!  If you can't count out 16 big pills correctly, you shouldn't be working behind a pharmacy counter, right? Anyway, if I write another letter to the manager, they're going to think I'm just some cranky, old troublemaker.

So....to get it off my chest, I've blogged the daylights out of it.  And now I feel better. :o)

Mad Mom

First published 11-15-11 in my blog Postcards from the Heartland:

NOTE: Originally I posted an essay I wrote a couple years ago, when I was just about at the end of my rope. It was dripping with maternal angst, which is amusing now, not so much back then.

 




But then I got to thinking: I shouldn't be airing dirty laundry. It's not like it wasn't funny...but all mothers go through spells of feeling unappreciated, I guess,  So I'm taking down this post, and I'd just like to say:

I LOVE YOU, MY FAMILY!

. . . WARTS AND ALL . . .

Tangled Up in Blue

First published 11-13-11 in my original blog, Postcards from the Heartland. 

"Tangled Up in Blue" 24"x24" on hardboard, collage

This is one of those paintings that just didn't work out at first, but turned out to be one of my favorites. I started it when I was still taking classes at LLCC (grad. 2006).  Basically, it was just different blocks of blue acrylic paint with some texture added. Blah! 

On my sad, last day of school I was carrying it out to my car and a fellow student, who knew I didn't like it, said, "Hey, I'll take that if you don't want it." But I decided to keep it and use it as a base for a collage.

It's a heavy piece, 24" square on birch plywood. The horizontal and vertical strips are cut from woven-plastic shelf-liner. The small squares on top of the strips are 1-inch squares of watercolor paper painted different shades of blue.  There's a sort of ruffled valance across the top: the elastic band from a pair of my husband's boxers --- with a butterfly perched on it in the upper right corner. The brown rock shapes were torn from a slick Jeep brochure. There's some bits of Japanese rice paper, a very special (to me, anyway) chopstick embedded in a pile of strings (which was something that unraveled in my clothes dryer???), and four corn dog sticks, which I use as paint stirrers. Can you find the little dragon on the bottom right corner? It's a raveling pulled from a favorite pair of old blue jeans.

AN “OH-NO” SENIOR MOMENT

First published 11-12-11 in my original blog, Postcards from the Heartland.

Last week I was at the grocery store, unloading my shopping cart onto the check-out conveyor belt, like I’ve done thousands of times in my long and illustrious career as an everyday American housewife.  

I was quite proud of myself. The cart was only about a third filled, so this quick stop for a few things wasn’t going to cost me an arm and a leg.

As I was waiting with my now empty cart, behind a woman who was taking way too long to write out a check, I started rummaging through my purse for my checkbook.  I wanted to be ready with my debit card when it was my turn to pay up.

Suddenly an uneasy-queasy feeling came over me.  I knew in an instant that I’d left my checkbook at home.  In my mind’s eye, I could see it lying there by my computer, where I’d accessed the calculator to strike a reasonably accurate balance.

Great day in the morning! I’d forgotten my checkbook! What a helpless, sinking feeling to ruin my day. Since I live ten miles out in the country, it wasn’t like I could quickly run home and get it.  I had maybe $2 in change in the coin keeper in my purse.  Before the checker could start ringing me up, I was putting my items back in the cart to return them to their proper shelves.

When my son worked at the grocery store, he told me the items people changed their minds about and put back on the shelves are called “orphans,” because they are rarely put back where they came from. It was common to find a bag of cookies sitting on the shelf with furniture polish or a package of steak tucked in among the loaves of bread.

Well, I wasn’t about to just start scattering orphans all over the store. And I wouldn’t think of simply abandoning my cart of groceries and sneaking out. That’s just not right! I mentally inventoried the contents of my cart and formulated a plan to put them all back exactly where I got them. And to do it in an organized manner, so I wouldn’t have to back-track all over the store.

The experience was humiliating. I felt like a petty criminal who had decided to go shopping with no money, got caught, and had to put all the stuff back. It only took half the time to put it back as it did to shop for it, but still, it seemed to take forever.

And all the while I was trying to figure out the logic of having my debit & credit cards, as well as any cash I may be holding, all tucked into my check book.  I mean, I may forget my checkbook at home, especially if I’ve been writing out bills or balancing the account.  But I’ll always have my purse with me. Doesn’t it make much more sense to carry cash & plastic in a special pocket in the purse, as far from the checkbook as possible? Then I would never face this humiliating annoyance again.

The trip to town wasn’t a total loss, though.  I had accomplished some other important errands before I went to the grocery store.  It’s just that on my way home, my face burned red, like I was being slapped all the way back home for my forgetfulness. 

I decided not to tell my family about my misadventure.  No need to worry them…

UPDATE 10-25-14: OK. MEDIC ALERT: This is probably my first panic attack ever, in Nov of 2011.  But I've never been back to town when I didn't have some way to pay for stuff at the store either. Learned my lesson well!