Judy Alter's Blog, page 299

Hello, world! I'm back

This is my whine: I’ve had walking pneumonia for two weeks, the antibiotics were making me sick, and it hurt to walk because of the fall on my knee. The weather was gloomy, cold and rainy, which didn’t help at all. Yesterday was a low point in my existence.
This is the cheerful part: I woke about three in the morning and thought, “I feel better.” And this morning I felt almost like myself. The sick feeling is almost gone, though I was cautious about eating all day and I still took a long nap, my knee is better if not healed, and I’m not coughing much. The sun is bright and the day much warmer. By the weekend we’ll be in the 80s and we can all begin to moan and groan about summer.
When you’re miserably sick, you can’t imagine ever feeling better. When it’s gloomy and rainy, you can’t imagine it being bright and sunny. And when things do change, it’s sort of like seeing the world with brand new eyes. It makes you appreciative and grateful.
I’m tired of being home, cancelling lunches and dinners with friends. I want to get out in the world and pick up the normal threads of my life. Starting with the grocery store tomorrow.
I have been reading a novel just for the heck of it—something I don’t often find time to do—and I’ve come to a conclusion: I do NOT like rhetorical questions in a cozy mystery. One is too many; lots are lots too many. Shhh—I’ll never tell what I’m reading.

A fall, a good big brother, and a treatment

In this family photo from last year, my brother is in the middle of the back row,with a gimme cap. I thought I had a photo of the two of us but can't find it.Osteopathic medicine runs in my family. When my brother and I were young, we could count 18 osteopathic physicians in the family, including uncles, cousins, his father (who died young) and mine. John become a D.O., as did his son and one of my nieces from New York. Today's generation proudly carries on the tradition.
John and I have swapped stories from our childhood. He said if he was sick in bed, he'd hear Dad coming up the stairs and think, "If I pretend to be asleep, he won't treat me." It never worked. I used to scream, wiggle, and protest, Dad would say, "People pay me good money to do this."
John came to treat me for my walking pneumonia today, and I conveniently managed to fall and badly bruise a knee last night, so he treated me for both. And both feel better tonight. John's treatments are nothing like Dad's--Dad was old school, crack and pop. He had hands like a giant from all his years of using them. John's treatment today focused mainly on my head and neck though he pumped my chest and told me to cough. His touch is gentle, and you don't realize he's doing anything, but his eyes are closed and he's concentrating. I can sure tell he loosened my sinuses.
The nicest part about it was that we had a good visit while my sister-in-law kept an appointment. My brother lives maybe an hour and a quarter away, and we talk on the phone frequently but we only see each other on family occasions, so this was a bonus. Of course tonight I can think of a dozen things I didn't tell him. All my life, I've known I was grateful to have a protective big brother--and to be born into an osteopathic family.

Politics, Politicians, and Pollyanna

My son Jamie shared a couple of You-Tube videos from the show "Newsroom" with me this morning, and we got into an interesting discussion of what's broken in America. Conclusion? The system. One clip showed a young girl asking why America is the greatest country in the world. The show star's long answer boiled down to "It's not the greatest country in the world, but it was and it could be again."
Set me thinking about politicians today. I guess I'm Pollyanna, but in an ideal world I think they would run for office because they wanted to be public servants. Therefore, they would put the public good ahead of their own success (that's sort of what I think physicians should do too, and I think maybe since the day of doctors earning big bucks seems to be passing, that sort of change is happening in medicine). But back to politics--let me use Texas Senator John Cornyn as an example, though I know it happens on both sides of the aisle (I may be Pollyanna, but I'm not that stupid!). Cornyn seemed a reasonable fellow when he was in office in Texas, but when he got to Congress, he lost any individual opinion, always voting the party line. Recently I read that he's moving closer to the extreme right wing because he's worried about his re-election. Therein lies my problem--the only reason I can see for becoming more conservative is that you really embrace those core beliefs. If you don't believe it, how can you say it?
I was also horrified to read that Speaker John Boehner publicly said he rejected the President's latest budget without reading it. To me that speaks of a deep bias against the President and not at all of a willingness to work together, to compromise for the sake of the common good--and all those people who are hurting because of the sequester.
I know a few politicians, past and present, who I think really had or have the public good in mind. Senator Ted Kennedy was one; Texas Representative Lon Burnam is another, though Lord knows he faces an uphill battle in the Texas House. I like to think U.S. Representative Marc Veasey is another, but I only know about him through my daughter and her husband. Secretary of Defense Chuck Hagel seems to be another. Can't make my mind up about Ron Paul--he had some good ideas but a lot that were pretty wild.
Jamie and I came to no conclusions because there is no simple fix. Term limits sound reasonable, to me, because they would keep legislators from getting too entrenched, but Jamie pointed out you'd have too many people who don't know what they're doing. We have one example of an out-of-control freshman legislator from Texas who may prove his point.
Maybe, as Medicare and Obama care have done with physicians, we should stop rewarding legislators so handsomely and making it so expensive to run that only the wealthy can afford to try. As we careen toward an oligarchy, maybe we should think about that.

Trivia from a mostly good day

Having my friend Elizabeth in the guest house is having unexpected benefits. In the twenty years I've lived in this house, my back yard has been a dog wasteland--with at one time three large dogs. Now I'm down to one fairly well behaved dog--she did drag a fern across the yard, not knowing what she had. But with Jordan's help, we've added  table and chairs, and Elizabeth has put out pots of flowers, handing ornamentation, and statues. This afternoon Jordan, Elizabeth, Jacob, and I had a happy hour out there--lovely day, perfect temperature, the sun a welcome relief after our cold, rainy days. It was a fine moment, and I just sat there and enjoyed it.
This morning I ventured out to the grocery, after having not been out of the house for three days. I always think my fears are worse than others, but Elizabeth said to me, "It's like you're on Mars, isn't it?" I did feel weird, and my confidence in my walking, always shaky, was at low ebb. I laughed at the post office, because when I got out of the car I took two hesitant small steps, using my cane, and then hit my stride, tucked the cane under my arm and walked confidently away. I know there was a woman watching me and I suspect she was greatly puzzled. But the trip to the post office and grocery wore me out--so tired when I came home. And couldn't nap, because I kept coughing.
At three I was out to pick up Jacob, and it was like the world was back to normal. After I gave him a snack, he went out and helped Elizabeth build a brick step outside her door--when it rains a deep puddle forms there, so now she can step inside without wet feet. I wait daily to see what new improvements she'll bring. Greg, who mows, thinks it's all a pain, but he's cheerful about it.
I've learned a Facebook lesson again that I've learned over and over--check before posting. Today I managed to post a picture of a man who was said to visit dog shelters looking for dogs he could use as bait--false; then I posted instructions for what to do if you have a heart attack--and was told they were not only wrong, they could be dangerous (I plan to ask the doctor about that). Then I shared a prayer for a certain Marine battalion under heavy fire in Afghanistan--only to learn that they've been home for two years. (I wondered why this hadn't been on the news.) I can hear my son-in-law shouting, "Snopes, Jude, snopes!" I promise to be more careful. Apparently I've also fallen for hoaxes of sick and dying children. Too soft a heart--but it's scary to think all this misinformation is out there on the web.
Now I'm off to fix something my mom always gave me when I was sick--stewed tomatoes with butter and crumbled crackers. Yum! Perfect comfort food for one who hasn't had an appetite. But, yay, I've lost several lbs. I know, I know--it will come back.

Is the sky falling?

Watching the evening news these days is a grim experience: a petty dictator in North Korea is stamping his foot and threatening nuclear attack; people die daily by the dozens in the Middle East; severe weather problems beset the entire globe; famine in Africa makes us weep for those who die of malnutrition; here at home, a partisan Congress is stalled on budget, gun control, the right to marry--major issues for many of us. The sequester has taken much-needed jobs from people and essential aid from the medically underserved and poverty stricken. It occurs to me as I worry that our grandparents and their parents probably thought the world was falling apart a hundred years ago--and it didn't so far.
Most of us feel powerless in the face of the enormity of the world's problems. I know I do. I have great admitation for people like Bill Gates and Warren Buffet, who do enormous charitable work throughout the world. I have chosen a few causes to support in my own small way--that means a small check occasionally.
Each of us has to choose what we can do, especially with limited resources. I've chosen to help lost or stray dogs and those about to be euthanized by posting about them on Facebook and sharing posts from others. It's a discouraging effort without much feedback, but there is a network of people who do this, many more active than I am. I do know of a few dogs who have happy homes because of my effort. If I could, I would bring so many of them home, but Sophie and I are settled in a comfortable routine--I'm afraid she shines as the only dog.
One friend asked why I devote so much time and effort to animals when there are so many hungry and homeless children. My answer is twofold: beyond food drives at my church or the food bank, I can do little to dent the problems of hungry children, either here at home or throughout the world, but I can make a difference for dogs. And we humans are responsible for those animals--we have bred them, let them reproduce, and they too have feelings and fears. Too many of us have been irresponsible pet owners. Maybe I can make a tiny bit of amends.
 

Housebound

I could get into this business of being sick--or semi-sick. As I wrote that, I realized that there are so many who are desperately ill that my light-hearted approach will seem heartless and, believe me, I don't mean it that way. But a today at home has been lovely. Walking pneumonia gave me all kinds of excuses for not doing things I didn't want to, like going out in a chilly rain. And it let me throw work to the winds and spend the morning leafing through my appalling collection of recipes, though that was kind of strange since I have no appetite. Still, several events loom on my culinary horizon and I was able to start picking possible recipes. This Sunday, I'll cook for Elizabeth and a friend--she has requested chili, and until today I'd have said the weather is too hot. But chili would be so good right now. She's brought gluten-free cornbread mix, and we'll have salad and guacamole with chips.
In mid-April, special friends are coming--the girl I grew up next door to and haven't seen in fifty years, with her husband, and we'll be joined for lunch by mutual friends from here in town. I want it to be a really special lunch, not overwhelming, light and spring-like, just the right dish. I'm working on it.
And then a few nights later, I'll cook the entree for a welcome-new-neighbor dinner for about twelve--vacillating between crockpot barbecue, chicken tetrazini, and a couple of other choices. I love going through recipes. One file I searched today is my "Entrees Never Tried" and as I went through I was heartless about discarding things I'd never cook. Reduced the file a great deal, a good thing since it was growing out of bounds. Too easy to snip something from a magazine and slide it in there. I have to think through whether or not I'd really cook that...and for who? (whom?)
Then there was napping, some sorting of papers on my desk, writing two guest blogs...oh, yes, I kept busy, didn't malinger in bed all day, though I did have a good nap. My biggest problem is that when I lie down, I start to cough. With 7-UP, cough drops, and some liquid that is supposed to help me sleep, it still takes a while. But, thank heaven, when I sleep, I do it soundly.
Tonight I made ham salad--so much ham left over--and ate a bit of leftover potato salad and fruit salad. They're both almost gone. Another good aspect to this: I've lost five pounds. But that, I know, will come back quickly.
And by tomorrow, I'll be ready to get back to the world. It's supposed to continue raining...oh, well.

Waltzing Mathilda...no, that's not right

Walking Pneumonia, not Waltzing Mathilda--that's what I have. An insult to me, who claims to never get sick. My mom had a philosophy: if you woke up not feeling well, you just got up and went about your day and pretty soon you felt a lot better. I applied that to my kids so much that one friend complained that they had to have a 105 fever before I let them stay home from school. But they are healthy people today! I remember once when Jamie was six or seven and given to dizzy spells that no one could diagnose, he told me he was too dizzy to get out of bed. "Nonsense," I said as I hauled him to his feet. "See? You're just fine." Then I let go and he crumped in a pile on the floor.
Well that's sort of what happened to me. For six days I kept telling myself this deep cough would get better; indeed I was improving. But this morning at five after a sleepless night I suddenly decided that was hogwash and it was time for the doctor to confirm my own diagnosis: walking pneumonia. I blustered through a long morning in the doctor's office, an x-ray clinic and finally a pharmacy, but I could feel I was losing it. I left the prescriptions at a pharmacy by Jordan's office so she could easily pick them up and went home to bed.
Jordan did pick up the medicine, 7-Up, cough drops, soup, saltines, etc. and came and tucked me in. Then she got Jacob from school, which I had until noon been prepared to do and discovered I had no more stamina for that than for running around the block. She takes good care of me, and I am most grateful.
Coming home at noon was a changing moment: I went from carrying on for the world to being sick and treating myself like an invalid, which I guess I'll do for the next couple of days. Slept all afternoon, got up for a couple of hours, and crept back to bed. Now I've been up an hour and a half, and I'm about to go back to bed, armed with cough drops, 7-Up, and a syrup that is supposed to help me sleep.
In a way, it's kind of nice. I can do this in-and-out-of-bed thing for a couple of days--reading, writing, sleeping. And yet I've ignored all the work that's piled on my desk in favor of reading a mystery. Tomorrow I may do a little menu planning--though I'm not much interested in food right now, and I may get back to the book I was almost finished editing and the guest blog I need to write.
Maybe there's something to giving in and occasionally admitting that you really don't feel well--as long as it doesn't become a habit.

One Early Easter Morning

As I dressed in the dark this morning, I began to think that I had been so preoccupied with the logistics of the day--sunrise service, Easter egg hunt and breakfast for six adults and two kids, then a respite and then mid-day dinner for eight--that I hadn't stopped to meditate on the significance of the day, to let the wonder of God's love sink in. The service was lovely, and the minister--a young man I didn't know--said jut the right words, said that some rejoiced that Jesus was risen but others were fearful, even doubting, which he said is okay. I very much needed to hear that message. The service was highlighted for me by the offertory--"One Early Easter Morning," which I've blogged about before. I sang it in choir at the age of 10, 12, I don't know. But it has bounced around in my head ever since, and I was so grateful to our music director for scheduling it. A quartet, with one acting as soloist, sang it a capalla. We had all groaned about sunrise and early getting up (5:30) but we decided it was inspirational and we'll do it again next year. It's lovely to go to church, outdoors in a courtyard, in the dark and watch the sky turn pink and then blue. As though God were reaching down to say, "It is true. He is Risen." (As our breakfasts guests left, the dad said, "He Lives!" and Jacob asked, "Who lives?" Oh well, he'll learn!).
Ultimately the day was mostly about kids. Jacob began the day at 5 a.m., waking his parents because he had a bonus morning, both the Easter bunny and the tooth fairy visited during the night. That tooth has been hanging for weeks, but he wouldn't let anyone touch it. A stray elbow in a bouncy house at a birthday party yesterday did the trick.
Jacob and his friend/sister, Eva, had a great time hunting eggs, and then we all had sausages, eggs, fruit, and hot cross buns--which I love but nobody else seemed to much like. Nice gathering, good way to start the day. And easy kitchen clean-up. After they left, I got a short nap, and then it was time to get ready for 3:00 p.m. dinner.
Most of the dinner was ready--a sliced ham waiting to be put in the oven, potato salad, fruit salad with just a little more cutting needed, green beans snapped and ready to roast--but the deviled eggs were still empty half eggs, although the filling was made, I was dragging my heels, hoping Jordan would stuff them. Well, now I know the trick--my ten-year-old granddaughter is a pro. I always spoon the filling in, recognizing that it doesn't looks as good. Edie cut a corner in a baggie and piped it in with the precision that characterizes everything she does. They looked beautiful. We had as always a noisy happy hour and a joyous dinner.
What's my lesson from this Easter? Well, I always wait to be blown away by the certainty of my faith, but much as I believe, little doubts creep in, sort of "What ifs?" in the back of my mind. Today I learned that those little doubts are okay and that's it's also okay for me to focus on family, friends, and food even, and maybe especially, on high holy days. And now I wish I could sing with the quartet the last stanza of "One Early Easter Morning," particularly approriate for a sunrise service:


At last the dawn came streamingAcross the Eatern sky.Thank God for Easter morningWhen Christ the Lord rides by.

Spring is here

My gardeners at workIt wasn't cold this morning for the first time, and tonight Elizabeth and I had the first dinner of the year on the front porch, so I'm sure spring is here. But the biggest sign: Greg, the neighbor who cares for my lawn and garden, took Jacob and me to the nursery shopping today. We got herbs, a hanging basket, another lantana--that on one side of the front steps is looking sad, fountain grass, sweet potato vines, parsley, a flowering blue plant whose name I can't remember, and a dusty miller. Jacob pointed to the dusty miller, and Greg said, "No, we're not getting that." Jacob asked why not, and Greg said, "Cause it's an ugly plant." But Jacob liked it, so we bought one for him and put it in a pot where it can't do much damage. We forgot sage (mine died) and a cherry tomato plant, which I really want. Jacob piped up and said he loves them, so I'll go back, maybe next weekend.
Then Greg put him to work planting, loosening old soil in pots, etc. Jacob loved it--so much better than an out-of-school morning spent watching TV. And my porch is beginning to look like spring again.
Elizabeth is gradually sprucing up the back yard, which I've pretty much left a dog yard all these years. She's added statues, including a Buddha, and bird feeders (she now fills the one I had too) and plans pots and hanging baskets. Let's hope Sophie behaves. We've also put a table (on extended loan from Jordan) and four chairs (from my storeroom) out there. Greg griped and moaned but admitted he can move them ever week to mow. I'm seriously considering a small deck at the back door.
Earlier in the day, Jacob and I went to get my hair cut. Out of the blue he asked, "Juju, when are you going to get married again?" Me: "I don't think I'm going to." Jacob: "Why not?" My first reply was inappropriate: "Well, I tried it once and it wasn't much fun." When he said "What?" I amended it to, "Don't you think I'm kind of old?" Matter-of-factly he said, "Yeah, you are old." Thanks, Jacob. Then later he picked up the stylus I used with my iPhone if I want to send a wordy text and said, "Can I take this home?" I said no, and he asked, "Can I have it when you die?" Little ghoul!
But it was a good day.

Easter baskets and the masculine ego

I guess guys develop that sense of masculinity at an early age--no I'm not going into a discussion of what our culture teaches boys vs. girls. Just a story about an Easter basket. A little after eight this morning, Jordan called in frantic mode. She'd forgotten to send Jacob's Easter basket with him. Did I have a stray one around the house (what grandmother doesn't?) and would I take it across the street to the school? I found it and called back. "It's pink. He isn't going to like that." (Actually it was kind of lilac.) She said it would have to do. In truth I didn't feel well this morning--I'd been awake since 2:30 with a deep, thick cough and I was mostly suffering from lack of sleep. But I got myself stirring and dutifully went across the street, Easter basket in hand, dreading handing it to Jacob. (I'd tried to pass the job off on Elizabeth when we met in the driveway but she declined.) In the school, I could see the kids all out in a courtyard two levels below me, and I had no idea how to get there. Fortunately a young mom came along--she turned out to be someone I'd known as a child, and she promised to deliver it, even with my warning about it being pink. Mission accomplished, I went on my way.
When I picked Jacob up at school, he had his Easter goodies in a plastic bag, looking like a poor, neglected kid whose parents didn't care. I asked the teacher if she got the basket, and she said it was still on her desk. Jacob said he'd never seen it, didn't know who it belonged to, wouldn't carry it. It was the pink that did it.
By then, I'd had a good two-hour nap and felt some better, but as soon as Jacob's mom picked him up, I was back in bed. Hoping to sleep soundsly tonight.