Gail Thornton's Blog: Gail Thornton's World, page 2

Thanksgiving Eve, 2015

Dear Friends,

These past few weeks have been some of the most difficult ones for me in a long time. Faced with almost being unable to walk at night without my leg braces, I have been contemplating going into assisted living.

This is a picture of my beloved Frank. He is the love of my life, my best friend, my teammate in life. He and I talked and talked about my situation, and have come up with a few solutions. I thought that this would be my last holidays at home. I thought I would have to leave my love. I can’t predict the future of my disability, but it is progressive.

I know that I must live in the moment, in the present. As much as I fear the future, I have the love and support of Frank and my sons and daughter-in-laws, my two sisters and my brother. When I live in the past I am unhappy. When I project to the future, I am unhappy. But when I live in the present, I feel the bountiful love and beauty that is my life.

I live in a gorgeous apartment out of which I can see the sunshine on the sheer granite cliff across the way dotted by huge oak trees. I have seen deer, owls, and hawks. A fox walking across the lawn in front of our patio door bode a good omen the night before our wedding last year. And the hummingbirds courted me all Summer long.

This is a special Thanksgiving for me. I can no longer cook a meal, but a neighborhood restaurant is providing us with a turkey dinner, delivered by volunteers. We are having two of my sons, and a daughter-in-law for dessert after they have their meal at their father’s. It will be a loving and fun time, full of smiles and laughter. And I will cherish each moment, knowing that one day in the future I will be in an institution.

I’m writing to encourage each and every one of you, whether you are alone on this holiday or surrounded by friends and loved ones, to cherish the moment. Live in the now that is your life, a gift to you only. It is a gift to do with as you please, to make choices, to rejoice in, to grow. Join with me in my joy of the love and the beauty that is this universe and natural world we live in.

There was a meme running around Facebook recently. It said something like, “We live on a blue planet revolving around a ball of fire in an endless universe, and you don’t believe in miracles?”

I’m not religious, but I am very spiritual. I do believe in miracles because I am one. I’ll write more about why this is another time. Just let it suffice to know that we are all miracles, and the answer to our prayers lie within.

On this Thanksgiving Eve, 2015, I am home. I am loved. I feel the gratitude deep within my heart for all of the blessings in my life. None of us can predict the future, but we all have the present moment to live.

And I am still walking.

With that, I’ll say,

Love,

Gail

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Been a Long Time Coming Home

Koi Necklace, by Gail

Dear Friends,

This has been a long year, and I have missed writing. Some of you may forget that you subscribed to my blog at all. I haven’t forgotten you. I’ve been on a journey. Most of it has to do with physical health, but I’ve had spiritual growth, too. All in all, I’m in a better place than I was the last time I posted.

December arrived with a diagnosis of breast cancer, again. I had a mastectomy in February and am gladly on the other side of the surgery and cancer-free once again. The general malaise I had can be chocked up to my body fighting the invader. For those of you who have had cancer, you understand the assault on security it causes and the face of your own mortality.

This Summer I was battling another of my physical conditions, post-polio syndrome. I haven’t written about my disability because who wants to read about a disability? I like to write about the love and beauty in the world. Anyway, I had an overall general decline in my abilities and it prevented me from writing and doing the things I love: writing and making jewelry.

I sell my jewelry in a shop on Etsy, and I have met some other wonderful artists and jewelry makers. It has opened up new friendships and bonds that will last for years to come. There is a link to my shop on this blog, if you’re curious. I’m not trying to sell you anything, I just love to share my design and artwork.

The Summer passed with daily observations and joy in the hummingbirds at my feeder. I can’t even express my love for the beautiful creatures. I tended to them lovingly, making their nectar every week and replenishing it before it got stale. In turn, I was delighted with their antics and sheer beauty, the wonder of the small glimpse they gave to me of their lives.

I was gifted with three granddaughters at once, when my son Jesse and his wife Ines adopted sisters. They are three, four, and five, and gorgeous, adorable, precious little people. They have been through so much in their young lives, I am overwhelmed for them. I have not met them yet, as they live far away, but they’ll visit in the Spring when another son, Ethan, and his girlfriend Andrea have their baby boy. Eric is my third child, and is single at the moment.

This post is entirely unlike my other offerings. I usually rise above the everyday to meet you in the stratosphere of poetry or daily missives on the beauty and the love that surrounds me. Sometimes I write memoir and prose. But I wanted to catch you up on my life, and in a way, give you the reasons for my absence from my blog.

I need to connect on a deep level with you.

With that, I’ll say:

Love,

Gail

Poem – Pure of Motive

It’s me, it’s you, it’s they.

A plate of pancakes for love.

Tinsel for warmth.

A cup of coffee for company.

A poem for peace.

A document for freedom.

An ex-patriot’s bias.

Entrapment in a taxi.

Siberian air from the window.

Back in the U.S.A.

2014 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

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Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 830 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 14 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Day Two – 12 Reasons to Gift your Loved ones with The Girl in the Iron Lung

Reason #2:

The Girl in the Iron Lung is a holiday story. In the voice of the little girl, you will follow her through sadness and triumph as she experiences the isolation of the holidays alone in a large machine doing the breathing for her. She is completely paralyzed and at the mercy of others, and sharing this story brings gratitude and joy into the hearts of the reader for the life that they have.

From my heart to yours,

Gail

Prose – Another Mountain to Climb

These days I am engrossed in my next big project: the writing of my next memoir.

The title? “Anatomy of a Nervous Breakdown.”

On the cusp of turning thirty in 1985, I suffered a complete nervous breakdown. This memoir is my journey of climbing a metaphorical mountain to recovery and health. There were many mitigating factors, but in the final analysis, I have no regrets about my life choices.

Set in a Victorian institution in the 1980’s, the book offers up huge doses of human frailty, growth and sublime comedy.

My philosophy for writing this book, which I am writing for myself, is that we all have our breaking point. If you’re religious, which I am not, reading it may be one of those “There but for the grace of God, go I” experiences. If indeed truth is stranger than fiction, this book is hitting its mark.

I am being extremely strict with myself about honesty. It would do me no good, assist in no healing, wouldn’t help others for me to fabricate anything within this book. Few of us are as honest with themselves as I am attempting to be. Revisiting this time in my life through the writing of it makes me wonder how I survived, both physically and emotionally. As I write, I am revisited with the pain and horror of my own flawed, distorted, and ill mind of those days. I am also revisiting the love I found in a locked ward. Who would expect through such a human tragedy would bloom hope and love and new life? I didn’t. But that’s what I found.

And I am finding it again. I belong to wonderful writer’s group made up of thirteen or so writers who put their hearts into their own writing to better themselves. They also offer critique and edits and feedback on each piece every person brings in. The side effects of this sharing are kindness, camaraderie, and love. Were it not for them, I wouldn’t have the courage to do what I am doing.

While I was writing my first memoir, “The Girl in the Iron Lung,” I kept a scrapbook unknown to anyone. The marked up pages of my chapters which I received back from the writers were full of comments. I cut out the comments and pasted them into a journal to help me keep writing, to find purpose in the pain of it, and to ward off the loneliness I felt with the memories of my past. I still have that journal and turn to it sometimes.

I think it’s time for me to start another journal. This one will be even more meaningful than the first. Rather than exposing the broken heart of a little girl, I am revealing the depth and fractures of the distorted mind of a young woman.

That woman was me.

 

Love,

Gail

 

 

 

 

Prose – Of Loss and Love

I’ve been absent from my blog for many months now.  I am well and fine. It all has to do with happiness in my life, leaving me content to live it rather than write about it.

It’s time to get back here now and reconnect with all of you.

I did suffer two great losses in the meantime. My loving friend and Frank’s brother died unexpectedly at too young an age and with too many sorrows to his name. We spent holidays and Saturdays together and his wry sense of humor when paired with Frank’s while watching horror flicks at his apartment over take out lunch is missed by me tremendously. The two of them had a comfortable familiarity of mindset with one liners and commentary liken to Mystery Science Theater routines. If you haven’t seen any of these cult classics, or if you have, remember Kevin for me in his straight man brilliance.

I also lost a friend of twenty years, a wonderful poet and DJ of free form radio. I met Bob in an AOL chatroom and although I never met him in person, we were close enough for him to have nicknamed me Sunflower after Allen Ginsberg’s poem “Howl.” He knew what I had been through and how I had evolved and risen above the ashes of two painful decades in life. I knew about him, and he was in every sense a true friend.

I think I probably wrote about my move last September into a two-bedroom apartment with the love of my life, Frank. He is the reason for my silent contentment and happiness to such a degree that I haven’t felt a need to talk or write about it, but have been living the happiest moments of my life on a daily basis. He accepts me for all that I am and for all that I am not. He takes care of me as I have never been taken care of before. He is the beacon of laughs and reason where I found none in the past. We had a relationship before the move, but since sharing a home, our love and commitment has grown to immense proportions. I only want for him to be himself and be happy. Life and love really does boil down to this.

There is more to the story of our lives. I’m leaving that for another time when the pictures come back so that I can share some with you.

For now, I spend my days taking care of the flowers on the patio, birdwatching, and at night listening to the bullfrog that’s made a home in the storm drain right outside. Frank and I share the quiet happiness of love and we talk about my cat Mooshi who talks more than the two of us put together.

It’s good to be back. I didn’t forget any of you, I was just listening to my heart and the wildlife in the woods.

Love,

Gail

 

 

 

 

Poem – On Hold to Paris

What is my natural state?

Wait a minute, wait five, wait ten.

The aperture opens, I blink.

In a flash, I switch direction.

I cry at the joy of music.

I smile at the finality of death.

In between, the body

of my mind flinches

at the exposure.

Just let me walk out the door this time.

I’ll take with me all which they carried.

A photograph, a medal, a lipstick.

No medium to conjure the spirits

but the drawing I left on the desk.

I left it with you to remind you

the night flight to Paris is due.

Prose – The Bright Side of the Moon

The last time I posted, I was bogged down in what I cannot do anymore, and losses which were out of my control.

I have those spells, particularly from November through January of each year. It isn’t seasonal depression, I love the winter, it’s more of an anniversary reaction for the time I spent in the iron lung so long ago.

As I could have predicted, my malaise has passed with January’s passing and I am now living on the bright side of the moon. Physical problems have receded into daily routines, and I am once again loving, laughing, and playing my days away.

It was a dramatic shift. After months of feeling like I weighed 2,000 pounds and couldn’t lift my head from the sofa side, I feel energetic and in control of what I am able and wanting to do each day and night. Over the course of one weekend, the compass turned 180 degrees.

I am happy.

But credit is due where noted. Frank came to my therapy session and the two men, through some magical act of osmosis became ancient tribal medicine men and healed me in a fortnight. Sure, I had something to do with it, but honestly I was falling deeper into the pit than I have in over ten years and suffering immensely. At the time of my last posting, I really couldn’t separate my emotional deadness from my physical obstacles. I think this may be true for many people who suffer chronic illness, with or without pain. Yes I have that too, but I have a new approach to pain as well, and am avoiding most of it by conserving my physical and emotional energy. I have that luxury over others who have true chronic pain syndromes. My heart goes out to you.

I began my recovery with Frank and Peter and went on to start doing small things against my tendency to isolate. I visited my new neighbor and stayed and talked. She seems unhappy, but it didn’t sway me and my forward motion to feel better. She’s had a lot of real life loss as well, and it helped to feel not so alone with it.

The next day I made a bracelet. I had had the materials for over a month, and was unable to do that which I find such pleasure in when I am in a level mood. It’s a genuine blue sapphire and fine silver bracelet. All of the silver is handmade either by the Karen Hill tribe in their family forges in Thailand or by Bali craftspeople. I seek out these people to buy from to support their efforts at self-sufficiency and creating beautiful works of art.

The next day I used materials I had had for three months, and created a glass and crystal light blue necklace with an Italian hand blown Murano butterfly heart pendant and large silver heart shaped clasp from Bali. I still have the matching bracelet to create.

I go on about this because right now this is my affirmation of life. Creating the jewelry gives me a purpose, an artistic outlet, and something about which to feel accomplished. It’s meditative, it’s spiritual, it’s the real deal for me.

I hope by reaching out to you, you find an affirmation, too. I recall when I was in the iron lung at age five, I learned to paint on a paper using my mouth to hold the brush. I know a little about finding purpose and self-expression in life in a movement toward joy.

Until then,

Gail

Losing Time

I had paralytic polio at the age of five in 1960. I recovered fully and went on to raise a family, climb mountains, and live a full and exciting life.

In 1991 I was diagnosed with post-polio syndrome and put back into leg braces and was told I would experience slow progressive weakness and fatigue. I have.

I use leg braces and a walker and have an power chair for being in the community.

I am a writer and a poet and have published books and created some beautiful jewelry as well.

I never expected to be homebound, though, and here I sit on that threshold, not just unable to tolerate the fatigue of going out, but coping with immense fatigue without any exertion at all.

My days are being stolen from me. I sleep an average of five to eight hours a day now, and am very weak when I am up.

I am frightened, I am angry, I wanted more time just like the rest of us.

We never know when time will be stolen from our wishes and plans for our days.

I implore you to take the risks you have been thinking about now, before something unseen comes along and takes your time or energy away.

That’s all for now,

Gail