This Is The Day

“This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Psalm 118:24

The above psalm is one of my favorites. In fact, it is one of my life verses, those few verses that really resonate in my soul and that I strive the most to live by.

July 27th was the day we chose to set out again, after spending a week at home with the boys. After a long, grueling week, finishing all the things we had left undone a month ago, we set out. Since our reservations were for Bushytail Campground in the Shasta-Trinity National Forest (and that’s such a long way from Portland), we decided to spend one night dry camping at a random rest stop along the way.

We tried to sleep, but sleep would not come easily, and we ended up leaving the rest stop early the next morning. We were both so full of excitement about our upcoming adventures. Crossing the Oregon/California border, in my mind, was the point where there was no turning back. We were actually on our journey.

Portland is no longer our home. It is where we hail from.

This realization came with many more realizations and with many tears last week as I said goodbye to Portland and all I love who live there.

When we finally crossed the California border, we sailed right through. The mountainous highway was heating up the Raven, but she was hanging in there. We stopped at the rest stop just inside California, to let her cool and also so that we could take a break and regroup. We still had too many miles left to go without a decent rest first.

Up to this point, I had been having much trepidation about the long drive to Bushytail, but I could not put my finger on any specific reason. I chalked it up to general anxiety about having to drive the truck by myself, following Ken in the Raven, the whole way. I do have the pleasure of Tinker Belle’s Company in the truck with me, and she is a great comfort, but she’s not a relief driver.

Concerning me driving: I am a perfectly capable driver, but I have these pain issues. Ken and I had many long talks about the need for me to drive. We also agreed that how far, or even whether, we drive would be dependent on me and how I felt that day. If I need to stop, we stop. No questions, arguments, or cajoling. We simply stop when I say stop. We carry walkie talkies to communicate as we drive. This is much better than trying to call him on the cell phone, which is illegal, as we all know. A walkie talkie is so much easier to use, anyway. When I need to say something, all I have to do is push a button and talk. If that fails, I flash my high beams.

After two hours of rest, we got back into our rigs and prepared to hit the road again. Click click. Click click. The Raven would not start.

My anxieties grew. Had we made the right decision? Five surgeries (Ken three, Trevor two) and a stint in the ICU (Ken) had kept us tied to Portland for the past three years. Was God telling us, again, that this wasn’t the time? Lord, please tell me what to do next.

We decided to let the Raven  have a few more hours to cool off, thinking that was the problem, and I resolved to live the psalm I quoted earlier. No matter what, I had to find the joy in even this situation, because whether I became angry or happy, it was all a choice within my power. We took the camp chairs, a blanket, some food and drinks, and a toy for Tink, and we settled ourselves beneath a large maple. And we laughed. We people watched. We saw deer as they came down out of the hills for water, as evening approached. We took a nice walk along the river. We played fetch with Tink. We had a wonderful evening.

All this joyousness despite the situation, yet I still had this underlying anxiety about Bushytail I could not shake.

We tried to start the Raven again. Nothing. We tried cross jumping from the house batteries. Nothing. We tried jumping from the truck. Still nothing. So we gave up, resolved to call AAA in the morning, preferring not to spoil any more of the Lord’s day (as it happened to be a Sunday) with any more of this trouble. Out of necessity, there would be a second night of dry camping.

But there was still our reservations to deal with. If we didn’t make it to Bushytail by evening, we would lose our space and the money we already shelled out for it. The decision was made to try to cancel. I called, and luckily, we were able to get most of our money back. They kept the first night’s charge, plus a cancelation fee.

I cannot explain it, but my anxiety evaporated after canceling our plans. Was this God’s way of saying He didn’t want us to go to Bushytail? I may never know. What I do know is that after the Raven was fixed, we had an equally long drive ahead of us, and I hadn’t an ounce of anxiety in my whole body.

Love and blessings,

Jenni

Providence

The weather has been mighty hot this past week. So painfully hot, especially with our high humidity. After we settled in to our spot here at Pheasant Ridge in Wilsonville, I ascertained that Ken had indeed hooked us up to electrical, and I switched on the AC. I waited patiently, knowing she’s an old system, she’s an old Raven, produced in 1996, the last year Firan was in business.

I waited patiently a little longer, and longer still, but the best she could do was tepid air. I so desired my sweaty body to put forth goose bumps in response to her chilly breath, but I was sadly disappointed.

Poor Tinker Belle was suffering more than we humans, though. Pugs are notorious for not tolerating the heat, or the cold for that matter. When a dog pants, she is quickly forcing air across her palate the entire length of her snout, and this helps cool her. Dogs cannot sweat. Being a brachycephalic breed (smashed face), Pugs are at a major disadvantage because they do not have a snout, nor a lengthy palate, to help in the cooling process.

Round about the time I became most worried about my little girl, I had been icing my leg. I had a major fall last week. One heck of a goose egg right away, and now a smaller goose egg (but still sizeable) and major bruising from my knee down.

Simply dampening Tinker was not cooling her. She gulped water until her belly bulged. I feared she might go into another seizure or have a heart attack. I asked Ken to hand her to me, and I laid her across my icepack. Surprisingly (or not) she chose immediately to stay on that icepack, and she stayed there for a few hours, until my homemade icepack finally melted.

With the rest of the week threatening to stay in the humid 90’s, we chose to take Tinker back home, where Trevor could care for her with our two other dogs and without me worrying about losing my precious pup to the heat.

Today we had to take the Raven in to have a new AC installed. The mobile repairman, who came out promptly the first day of our crisis, said that with its age, replacement was about our only option. This Raven, I love her, but she’s a greedy beast. Laurelhurst Heating and Air Conditioning in Portland did an awesome job, on time, and saved us money, to boot.

I love it when God’s divine intervention helps us. That is, when we actually listen. God’s providence put us close enough to home to resolve our problem with little stress. The Holy Spirit’s whispers also guided me not to purchase tickets for Friday’s rodeo event. I had no idea why, but my gut was telling me to leave Friday open, and so I purchased tickets for only four of the five days. And Friday just happened to be the only opening the repair shop had to install our new AC.

Be still and listen, and you too may hear the Whispers of the Holy Spirit gently guiding you.

Even though I know my son will take good care of my Tinker, I miss her terribly. So the part of Tinker Belle this week had to be played by my newest Pug stuffie, Rorie.

Blessings and joy to you,

Jenni

Here’s a special bonus: My Homemade Icepack Recipe

Pour a 16 ounce bottle of rubbing alcohol into a gallon sized Ziploc bag. Add 32 ounces of water to the rubbing alcohol in the Ziploc, seal securely, give it a little sloshing, and place within another Ziploc, just for good measure. Then stick it in the freezer until firm. It can be used over and over, just refreeze.

PRIORITIZE

If you only had twenty eight days until "hit-the-road" day, and you knew that at least half those days would be stolen by pain, how would you prioritize your time?

I have a house to go through, making decisions on what to keep, take, store, sell, or donate. Ah, but the good thing is, if we leave stuff behind, the boys (son Trevor and his best bud William) will say, “Score!” They will be taking over the lease on the duplex.

I have friends to say goodbye to, at least for a year, though we will still have email (though sporadic at times) and the good ole tellie.

I have financial and medical/medication issues to magically make "transportable."

I have a neighbor who wants me to finish up our cooking lessons before I jet out of here. She still needs my secrets on lemon meringue pie, yeast dough, and pad Thai.

I have two boys I worry about. I pray we have raised them well enough, Ken and I with Trevor, and William’s parents, that is. I know they are both 21 and I had a kid on the hip by that age, but they are boys and I worry. I pray I’ve imparted enough of my hard knocks wisdom (ha ha) to them to keep them out of trouble, to keep them in their jobs and in this duplex. They do listen. I will give them that. I will miss them dearly when we go. I cannot seem to convince them to move south with us. But I think mama is having trouble cutting the apron strings.

I have my doctor, finally, wanting to send me to a pain specialist, finally. Did I say finally? Only in order to see a pain specialist, I have to be physically available in one area for months, until we find resolve. Finally, he makes this decision, but I only have 28 days left in Portland, and we won’t make it to New Mexico until October.

Winter was not kind to me. Winters never are. I joked often that the week wasn’t complete until I had fallen. Then it was fallen twice in a week. Then it was daily falls. It isn’t funny any longer. I now walk fulltime with a cane.

I’ve added another diagnosis to my list, and we are contemplating yet another, if we can figure it out. Yipee. But if we do figure it out, maybe we could finally get a handle on why my pain has gotten so out of control this past year. It has been far worse than in a long time.

My father passed away on the first of Spring. With the passing of my father, it has been like a major chapter in my life closing. Emotionally painful, yes, and yet there is a release. Maybe this is why God kept us here in Portland for so very long. That and all the surgeries my guys went through. Ken three and Trevor two in the span of two years. It has been a very tough three years we’ve spent in a duplex only slated for one year.

When God closes a door, He opens a window. For a breath of fresh air? A change of scenery? Or to at least have an opportunity to empty the chamber pot. Excuse the humor being a bit crass. It has been a very tough few years, frankly. And a very tough day, to boot.

We will be leaving Portland, Oregon, on June 30, 2013, whether we are ready or not.

Ken has been feverishly remodeling the Raven to accommodate my needs and so that we have the most economical use of space possible. After travelling some over the past few summers, we really found out what would work best for us.

I am sorry I have not been around lately. As I mentioned, winter was very hard on me. The pain and the migraines were too much. I’m trying to find the quality in a life so full of pain, but it is difficult. Life goes on, even with the pain, and so we must get on the road. We must get on the road, especially if we plan on wintering down south this year.

It may be a month before I write again, but I will be back. Thank you for hanging in there. Thank you for all your prayers. I know there must be many souls out there praying for me, because I experience God’s miracles every day. Even in this life so full of pain. I am so grateful for all of you.

Our first destination is actually only about 50 miles away from home, but what a sendoff—spending the Fourth of July at the rodeo in St. Paul! Next will be Neskowin, to say goodbye to some friends. And then we travel in a generally southerly direction until we reach Mexico (at which time we will bounce off the border and stay put in New Mexico or Arizona for the winter).

The St. Paul Rodeo in St. Paul, Oregon, July 2-6, 2013.

See you then!

Living My Joy

One day, I shall sit in one of these red chairs, and I shall read aloud from my own published work.

Today I spent the day in my element, amongst likeminded people, talking words. Style. Prose. Genre. Today I attended Wordstock at the Oregon Convention Center. It was the first year I actually made it, having had a multitude of excuses over the past several years. Pain. Exhaustion. Depression. Anxiety. Fear. No one to go with.

Well, last night I was in severe pain, and I woke up in a great amount of pain, too. So we can scratch that excuse off the list. I made the conscious decision sometime during the night to not allow my pain to have that much power and authority in my day. It would be nice if I could keep that attitude for life, never wavering, but one day at a time is good, and at least for today the pain did not have me, even though I had pain.

I was determined to  go to Wordstock with or without pain. I did my best to sleep last night, and I ate a complete and balanced breakfast to keep my energy up. I would not let exhaustion control my day, either.

Emotionally, I have felt fairly well, other than my stress level being too high. No depression. Some normal sadness, but no major depression. This is a great thing. Anxiety seems to be creeping back into my life, but I am taking steps to deal. Being proactive and having a plan can make all the difference in the world when it comes to emotional stability. These, too, cannot be excuses. Absolutely cannot, as part of my proactive plan.

Even with my determination, my drive, sometimes I can be derailed, and all the positive talk and proactive efforts in the world cannot help me get out of bed on those mornings.

Talk about having to live in the moment. Taking one day at a time to the full extent of the meaning.

But now I am getting off on a painful tangent.

This morning I arrived at the Oregon Convention Center bright and early. I did not even let the timing of my first class (9 a.m.) deter me. I went alone, which was actually probably the best for me because I was able to get totally absorbed in every conversation and every class discussion, without worrying about where so-and-so was or if they were bored.

I had the most awesome day, and I was definitely in my element. What does being in my element look like?

• confident
• determined
• goal oriented
• willing to step outside my comfort zone
• stepping outside my comfort zone without even thinking about it
• constantly smiling
• patient with those around me
• extra loving and helpful, even to total strangers
• not concerned about what others might think
• willing and able to ask for what I need without anxiety or fear that they will say no
• joy fills my heart

It is an amazing gift that God has given me, this ability to live within my joy instead of constantly chasing it and always falling short.

Thank you, Lord, for this amazing day.

Dammit Anyway!

I picked up this cute Dammit Doll last weekend from a church rummage sale just down the street from our home. In fact I found a lot of cool stuff and books, but I won’t bore you with what I am reading these days (Hunger Games trilogy) (True Faced) (The Bible).

Maybe I could do a few book  and web reviews in another post, but not today.

The note around her neck reads,

When you want to climb the walls

or stand right up and shout

Here’s a little dammit doll

you cannot do without.

Just grab it firmly by the legs

and find a place to slam it

And as you whack the stuffing out,

yell DAMMIT! DAMMIT! DAMMIT!

It would come in really handy right about now, if only I had the strength to wield such a tool today.

This past week held several doctor’s appointments, and more than several medication changes. And if you know me personally or know Lyme disease in general, then you realize that medication changes bring a worsening of symptoms before things start to improve. Dammit, anyway. For the Lymie, the saying, “It is darkest before the dawn,” is lived out every time we make strives toward a healthier life. Even increasing activity/exercise in the Lymie’s life can cause an undue amount of pain and fatigue, until the Lymie’s body adjusts to the new level of activity, or totally craps out. It is no fun having your legs give out beneath you and being unable to get back up, until strength and control returns to you. Very frightening, indeed.

It becomes more and more difficult to push through these dark, painful times, even though I know the improvement will come. No matter how slowly the improvement seems to come, and it does seem to be at a snail’s pace, I can see the improvement, over the larger picture.

And now I find myself getting deeper and more philosophical than I had wanted to be this morning. (I need to save that for this afternoon, when I finish my study of Micah.) So, in getting back to a lighthearted mood, here’s my dammit list, plain and simple:

• Dammit. The basement flooded again. That’s what we get for living in a really old house with really old plumbing.
• Dammit. We cannot winter in Arizona with the other snowbirds. I believe the change of climate would do my SAD (seasonal affective disorder) great wonders, maybe even eradicate it.
• Dammit. I have so much to do, but I must take care of myself during this time, first and foremost, and either place all else on hold or delegate.
• Dammit. I didn’t lose more than four pounds over the last several months. Only four. I guess that little bit of walking I was doing every day did make a difference.
• Dammit. Finances.
• Dammit space issues/cramped quarters.
• Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
• Dammit anyway.

So, since I cannot swing the Dammit Doll without hurting myself worse, I shall have to let it all go. Let God take it and let God love me through this.

Lord, I release all my troubles to Your capable hands. Thank You for loving me even when I least deserve it, even when I say dammit. Thank You, Lord, for being my Savior. Amen.

P.S. To our beloveds in California: We may just have to fly down this year, maybe even for the holidays. How does that sound?

These Hands

A few days ago, these hands fed me Chinese food, with only the use of chopsticks.

Since my early years, these hands have been able to draw and paint and create. Their abilities have always amazed me.

Through these fingers, my words flow into the computer.

These hands have held and caressed and cherished and loved many babies and wonderful people throughout my lifetime.

Yet today, these hands struggle with holding a spoon.

These hands cannot grasp a pencil, let alone a paint brush.

And every reach for a letter on this keyboard sends shooting pain through my hands and wrists.

The above words bring tears to my eyes and frustration to my heart, when I think about all I could do, if God would just release me from this pain.

Yet if I think about it, again referencing the above list, maybe my pain serves the purpose of allowing me more time to carry out the most important thing on the list, for these hands can still hold and love others, even in their current state of pain.

Thank you, Lord, for enlightening me. For, I sat down here at this computer keyboard to whine and moan about my troubles, and You showed me Your goodness and guided my hands to type what I really needed to hear this morning. I love You and how You weave Your amazing truths into my small life. Amen.

Before a Blank Canvas

I find myself standing before the blank canvas of my future once again. Our plans have been erased, and the starkness, the emptiness stares back at me, mocking me. Bright and fresh, yet painful to look at, for how easily my colorful strokes were washed from its surface.

God must find our plans rather humorous, especially since He keeps allowing obstacles to get in our way.

We have set departure date after departure date, and things keep going awry. It has been an awful health year, with both my guys having surgeries in the past several months. Plus Ken’s diabetic crisis last winter. And then there’s the effect all this stress has had on my own health. It has definitely not been a good year for us in the health department.

And all the other stressors: Too many to number.

In the financial department, it’s pretty dismal as well. Cost of living goes up. Rent goes up. Live-in son loses job because of needing time off for surgery. And yet, being retired means Ken cannot just go work a few extra hours a week to help make ends meet. Fixed income really means fixed, unless we scramble in other ways. More to come on that subject in a later post.

Things are bound to improve. I must hope. I must remain in faith that God will bring about only good for us, even from the bad.

Being visual, I made up a calendar showing that there’s only about seven weeks until our most recent deadline would come to pass. And there is way more work to do than that short seven weeks will hold. Sure, two or three able-bodied adults could handle it all in short order, but we are a chronic chick and two dudes recovering from shoulder surgeries.

So, here is the new “plan” and please don’t let that be laughter I hear off in the distance.

We will be stuck here in damp, dismal Portland for yet another winter. Fun stuff. Not! Tentatively speaking, we will make a go of it again next spring. It cannot be helped, unless we suddenly win the lottery, but then again, we would actually have to play the lottery in  order to win it, wouldn’t we? There are no rich old spinster aunts hiding in our closets just waiting to leave us a bundle, either.

My son asked me a question this morning, “What is it you don’t like about winter here?”

It is not that I don’t “like” winter here in the Northwest, but winter does not “like” me. My  arthritis flares up something fierce. And my depression also worsens, with the lessening of the sunshine. Heck, we barely have enough sunshine in the summer to keep me afloat and depression-free, in this Great Northwest. But I am now taking mega-doses of vitamin D weekly and taking measures to ensure an easier, if not less painful winter, joint-wise.

There’s not much else I can do at this point.

Except keep asking God why He has us tied here, for so long. There must be something He wants us to accomplish before we hit the road. I just need to figure out what that is.

Lord, with my faith, I place our future plans in Your hands. I wait upon You, with patience, yet an eagerness to carry out Your works. Lord, please instill in me what it is You want me to do.

Amen.

One Down, One To Go

Another town and one more show.

I wish.

I am so ready to be on the road. My toes are itching to be digging in the sand, down at Neskowin or farther south. I would really love a chance to get away to California or even Texas right now, but life is still keeping us tied to Portland. For now.

We met with a surgeon in practice with Ken’s, for a second opinion on our son’s shoulder. I just didn’t like what the first surgeon was saying, only giving Trevor 50/50 odds for surgery outcome. The first surgeon was the one recommended by worker’s comp.

So, today, we heard about two options the first surgeon didn’t even mention, and that may be because he was young and inexperienced. Who knows?

Tonight’s task is prayer and discussion, so that we may make the wisest decision for Trevor’s future. It is never easy when your baby has to go through surgery, even if your “baby” is 20.

So, until both my guys are well on the mend, we are forced to bide our time here in Portland. Maybe while Trevor is recouping, we can get away to the beach, allowing him a bit of vacation away from home as well. He has complained that he hasn’t been away since his junior year. Unfortunately, that is part of adult life.

Whether we go to Neskowin or not in the coming months, we will have to wait and see. Only God knows.

I refuse to say, “When Pugs fly,” as to when we may eventually get out of here!

Tinker Belle as a tiny pup. (And yes, she got her name because, when young, she thought she could fly, climbing high and just jumping off things.)

Good Day

Good day doesn’t have to be a Friday

Doesn’t need to be your birthday

The next one then you won’t survive

Sing along hold my life

A good day is any day that you’re alive

Yes a good day is any day that you’re alive

Asked me mmmmm, you had to ask me

In the dreams you tell me

Tell them only you were tired

Sing along hold my life

A good day is any day that you’re alive

Yeah, a good day is any day that you’re alive

A bad day comes every once in a awhile your body says

Fourteen hundred shooting stars and (every time?)

A bad day comes every once in your body life

Goodbye

Hold my life one last time

A good day is any day that you’re alive

Yes a good day is any day that you’re alive

Yes a good day is any day that you’re alive

These are the days

Paul Westerberg, Good Day Lyrics

 

Any day I am alive is a good day, even the days when my head is splitting and my body is all but broken. Even the days when I can barely see our dreams any longer. Even the days when the bed is my only solace. Even these are good days. These past few weeks, with all their pain, these too have been good.

I wonder also whether our plans will work out, when Ken now has a torn tendon in his right shoulder. He cannot do all that needs to be done any more than I can. Will he need surgery? Will this cause him endless pain? Will he be able to drive the Raven? Will we be able to leave in May?

Keep the faith.

Keep the hope.

Believe in miracles.

Stay alive.

Life’s Little Obstacles

“Whether we’re prepared or not, life has a habit of thrusting situations upon us.”

Lucille Ball

 

So, it is probably no big news that someone who suffers from depression, anxiety, and a major illness (not that depression and anxiety aren’t major illnesses) would seek out counseling services. I am not ashamed to say that I need help from time to time. We should never be ashamed to ask for help when we need it.

We should also never be ashamed to take time for ourselves, to carve out of our day whatever it is we need to not only survive, but thrive.

Each one of us is valuable and deserving of our own compassion, our own goodness. I am worth the effort it will take to get my own “stuff” taken care of. And part of that “stuff” is getting my book finished.

My main excuses have been that I don’t have space. I don’t have the freedom, with Ken home all the time now, wanting my attention. I don’t have the time, with all the other things that need to be done so that we can get on the road. I don’t feel good. I am tired. Blah, blah, blah.

Yesterday, I confessed to my counselor my real reason for not finishing my book, which is so close to being finished. I fear it will fail. I fear no one will read it. I fear my message will not be heard, despite all my efforts.

My wise counselor asked one simple question, which put everything in perspective. (He has that habit.) If you could help just one person with your story, would it be worth it?

Yes, of course. If I could save one person from suffering the torture and abuse I have been through. If I could help one woman to find the courage to love herself enough to walk away. If I could help one person, of course it would be worth all my effort and all my tears bringing this book to fruition.

Yes, I need to finish my book. Now. Not someday.

So, I need to tackle some of those obstacles that are currently standing in my way.

Today, I took step one to create my own workspace in this small home of ours. The living room is not a viable work area for me because of the television. There isn’t an adequate space available in the tiny bedroom to set up a desk and chair, and I cannot comfortably work on the bed.

And of course, the Raven isn’t back yet. So I cannot work in it. I did talk to Trent today, though. It is going to cost more than I had hoped, but less than I had feared. So, I guess we will be okay, so long as there are no more surprises, like the catalytic converter I found out about today.

I have chosen the utility room in the basement. It may seem like an odd choice, being in the “dungeon” without windows, but it will give me a quiet space of my own. Since Trevor works during the afternoon, it is perfect because he won’t be making noise down there either. His bedroom is right next to the utility, after all. If I really want daylight, I can just open his door, and peek through to his window. There is a way to get around everything, if you try hard enough, even sharing space with the food larder and the washer and dryer.

My furry family album had to be put on hold for a while, too, because of my lack of space. I realized after starting that line of posts that the majority of pictures taken during Suzie’s younger years are not digitized yet. For some reason, when the stores started offering CDs when you got your pictures developed, I forgot to check that box at least half the time.

But never fear, I bought myself a Christmas gift to take care of such a problem: A negative scanner.

And as soon as Trevor gets the power cord for me and takes the scanner and a few boxes of photos downstairs, we will be back in business!

And look here, he did it already! What a sweetheart.