Wha?! Why?

So, for the past four nights, I have had very disturbing dreams. They are full of anger and full of people disappointing me. Three of them seemed to be continuations of the night before, as they all involved this basement we were moving into and how there was no food and no money for food, yet there was this amazing gourmet kitchen and plenty of fruit punch and ice (maybe I was thirsty?). And all these people from my past kept coming out of the woodwork and just moving in with us. By the end of the third night, there were at least twenty people in all living in this little basement, and I could not get rid of them. Nor could I get them off their butts to go get jobs or help buy food.

It is very disconcerting (and so not like me) to wake up wanting to beat the living tar out of somebody. With my habit of sleep walking, I told Ken he had better sleep with one eye open.

My dreams are usually very telling of some problem I am having in my awake world, but all this anger? I just don’t know where it is coming from. I used to have anger issues, but I worked through all that a while back. Yes, I do get angry, as anyone does, but the major issues are gone.

So, what to do with this dream-state anger? Its not like I’m angry while awake, though being angry in my sleep does affect the quality of my sleep.

Maybe its just that our plans have changed, and yes, I am upset about that a bit. But in a way it is a good thing because it gives us more time to get everything done here.

Maybe it is just my frustration rearing it’s ugly head about all that needs to be done and all that I cannot do myself because of this stupid illness. Who knows?

Maybe I should just do what I told my hubby I was going to do after watching Ingrid Bergman in “Goodbye, Again.”

Ingrid Bergman’s character was being used by her philandering lover and she just kept taking it and taking it. Then I thought she had wised up because she left him, but he came crawling back, saying that he could not live without her. They married and she thought with those vows would come his fidelity. But he immediately started his old tricks again, and she looked so dejected in the end as she applied face cream. I just wanted to scream at her. But then I told Ken that I was going to go take a shower and have a good cry, because the movie had really gotten to me.

So maybe I should just go have a good cry about our changed plans and quit being so stubborn and stoic about it all.

Hey, Where’s The Harley?

 

Ken has been trying to grow out the rest of his hair, so that he is party all the time instead of just party in the back. To accomplish this without having his hair looking a fright all the time, he has taken to wearing a dew rag. He is also getting a bit hairier elsewhere (watch your gutters, now). I mean he is letting his mustache and his goatee grow out, too. I think he wants handlebars by the time he is done.

Interesting . . .

Unfortunately, his attitude has changed as well. Why, the other day, he tried to throw me over for a wench. What nerve!

 

And people are beginning to think I picked up an old hippie along the way. Have you seen how many tie-dye shirts this guy has? It is unbelievable. And it is no wonder people stare when I take him in public.

Now he has his eye on a Harley Davidson three-wheeler. Next he will be wanting leather chaps and one of those helmets with the spike on top.

I am afraid, though, if he wants to pursue this new lifestyle (second childhood), he may need to get a less cute dog to ride his trike with.

Ain’t my baby adorable? (Both of them.)

 

Vroom! Vroom!

TELLING DREAMS

I am not one to normally remember my dreams. Usually in the mornings I have a fleeting sense I dreamt something but cannot remember what. Any dreams I do seem to remember tend to follow a theme, even if at first glance they do not seem to be connected at all. The theme continues, or the dreams will repeat themselves, until I figure out what they are trying to tell me. I know that not everyone puts stock in the meanings of dreams, and I usually don’t buy into the explanations that the dream dictionaries give, because everyone is different, and there are many nuances to each dream that no dictionary could possibly cover. Having said that, I do believe our dreams come from our subconscious minds. In our sleep we try to solve the day’s problems. Or we wrestle in our sleep with something we are totally unaware is bothering us in our waking world. Though, sometimes I am aware of a general nagging feeling but I cannot place it, until my dreams explain things for me.

Since we left a week ago on our maiden voyage in the Raven, I have been having bizarre dreams. Most of my recent dreams include my birth-family members, which is odd because I have not seen them since shortly after my mother passed away almost three years ago. It is a long story, which I will not divulge now. We have our differences of opinion. ‘Nuf said.

The first dream I remember this week involved my twin sister, a friend of hers, and me being honored at a charity benefit. I was upset because they were late in picking me up. The entertainment portion of the program was top notch, and I had helped arrange most of it, but I was missing it because of them. When we finally arrived, they chose to sit in the second row, where we were noticed by everyone as we sat down. It would not have been so bad if my sister and her friend had taken the inside seats and left the outer one for me (since I was last to sit), but they made me crawl over them. Then my sister kept pushing me and telling me to scoot over, but there was a large woman and her small son sharing the next seat. My sister would not stop pushing.

The next night my dream was brief and disconcerting. It was auditory instead of visual. I clearly heard my cat crying, meowing for help. It woke me out of a sound sleep and I later had to call my son to ask if Julius was okay.

The next night, I dreamt that the status quo for the neighborhood we lived in was to dress all little boys in pink. There was even a committee of spinsters and busybodies to discipline those who did not comply. I refused to dress my son in pink, not because boys cannot wear pink, but because he and I were not being given a choice in the matter.

Last night’s dream was totally off the wall. It had many parts. I had parked the Raven at our local Fred Meyer store, intending to go into the deli to get us some jalapeno poppers. For some reason, I wandered all over the store before making it to the deli, and when I did make it to the deli, there was only one popper left, so I did not buy any at all. In home goods, they were demoing wines and they kept pushing a glass of red wine at me, even though I explained that I cannot drink red wine because of the sulfites causing migraines. When we attempted to return to the Raven, I could not find it. The parking lot was full of motor homes, and someone had moved the Raven. From there, I was immediately at my mom’s house. She was going on and on about her boss and this disabled child he was sponsoring. At work, she said that he had declared it left-handed day because the boy was left-handed, and so she wanted to do the same at home. I was fine with it, since I am left-handed. There would be no adjustments I would have to make in order to comply. My siblings, however, were very upset. They thought it was unfair that I did not have to switch hands, too. My argument was that it was left-handed day, not switch-hands day. After that, mom demanded that I take my oldest sister to the dentist the next day. I adamantly refused, saying, “I will not take her and her screaming children anywhere!” My brother was trying to quiet me, but I said that I did not care who heard me. “I am not going to do it. Why wasn’t I asked instead of told?”

To surmise, it seems I may be having internal struggles with my nonconformist choices. Society says that you must have a sticks-and-bricks dwelling and, therefore, a permanent physical address. Society says you must maintain roots, hold down a 9-to-5 job, and do things as everyone else does them. I fear these conflicts with the “norm” threaten our plans. I worry about those I am leaving behind. I fear others may be jealous of our ability to live out our dreams. Even with my fears, it is good that even in my dreams, I am beginning to stand my ground. I am not the mealy-mouthed pushover I once was. In my dreams, I struggle to become the person I want to be, so that maybe my struggles in life will be less.

I have never really fit in anywhere, at any time in my life. I have always tried to do as I am told, even to my own detriment. Now I am standing up for myself. I am choosing to live my own life the way I choose. I was never meant to simply be a follower, though my upbringing and early life tried to keep me down. I am my own person, and at 43, it is high time I figured that out.

Wanted: Adrenaline

I haven’t yet gotten the hang of pacing myself, though that one not-so-easy skill would help immensely in my life. Instead, I go like gangbusters, pushing and pushing until I drop, and then I fight sleep, sometimes just giving up, for the next two days, with a full grump locked and loaded. Don’t even talk to me unless you come bearing gifts. Coffee is nice, but chocolate is even better.

Friday, I got up earlier than usual, rising at seven instead of my normal nine or ten. I was cranked up about our plans to go to the RV and Van Show at the Expo Center (a big disappointment, but more on that later). Being the proactive soul I am, I prepared a naturopathic liver detox treatment (aka castor pack) and settled in to my recliner with my cuddly purple afghan and Tinker Belle. I wanted to make sure my day went as smoothly as possible, and having a functioning liver is highly important in that regard. Less toxins in my system means a chance for more energy and less pain. A little meditation and prayer, and my morning was well on its way.

“Get up, baby. Why are you still asleep?” I was so jazzed about our plans that I could not contain my excitement. “I’m already showered, and my pills are all packed, and my backpack and raincoat are sitting by the door." (Raincoat? Wasn’t I just complaining about 90-degree weather a few days ago?) Breathe, girl. Wow. Do I get pumped about the silliest things, or what?

Breathe.

Slow down.

Pace yourself.

Okay. I am better now, at least for a minute. By the time Ken got up and we got ready to head out the door, it was ten. Where did three whole hours go? Despite our delay, we were finally on our way to catch the Max, Portland’s mass transit light rail system. I love Max. It is quick and dependable, especially when traffic is otherwise snarled and crawling.

 My energy was already fading. Not to be deterred, I smiled a big smile and marched my boots towards the Max, sipping my coffee and refusing to answer Ken who was asking how I was doing. Ask me no questions. Tell me no lies. He could tell my energy was dropping by the subtle changes in my expression and the slowing of my gait. But he knew I could not be stopped by anything he said. I was on a mission. My combat boots were at the ready from the moment my feet hit the floor that morning. Too bad I cannot put little boots and helmets on my adrenal glands; then maybe they could keep up with my battle plans. Adrenal insufficiency is the pits. It could suck the fun right out of my life, if I let it.

So, what is an adventure junkie suppose to do when she runs short on adrenaline?

Should I just close my eyes and let life pass me by? No!

Should I wallow in self-pity, and attempt to make everyone else pity me too? Definite No!

When faced by a seemingly insurmountable task, what is this adventure junkie suppose to do?

Take it one step at a time, and pack a semi-nutritious energy booster. What better for adrenal fatigue than a boost of protein with a little sugar as a catalyst? In hypoglycemia, sugar alone will lift you when you are running on empty, but in adrenal fatigue, a boost of protein with that sugar is vital. Don’t ask me about the science behind it. Right now I don’t know or care. I just know it works. When I am at home, I resort to a tablespoon of peanut butter to quickly get me through, but unless I find a vendor selling fast food packets of Skippy, I am S.O.L. while out and about. And I refuse to become D.O.A., thank you very much.

As I alluded to earlier, the RV show was a disappointment. If we were in the market to buy a rig, well, we would have been in seventh heaven. But we already have our rig. I was hoping for more small vendors of innovative RV products. I was hoping for mini seminars on how to live this lifestyle we have chosen. I was hoping to discover a wealth of ideas, tips, and tricks. The only demonstrations involved cooking, and I already know how to do that. If I can manage to feed a dozen people for two weeks from the tiny kitchen that was in our travel trailer, then I am sure I can manage dinner for two. Besides, if I need more space, isn’t that why we have picnic tables and campfires and a portable propane stove? Oh, and I forgot about the option of barbequing everything. Mmm. My mouth is watering already, thinking of all the possibilities.

Besides, you know I loves me a challenge.

Today’s challenge, then, is finding a solution for a lack of adrenaline.

And the answer is . . .

Replace it with a large dose of attitude!

Put on your combat boots, even if you cannot march. Okay, so maybe you don’t have combat boots. Maybe you are more of a running shoes type of person. That’s awesome, too.

Act like a kid, but remember the rules you learned at camp: Always go with a buddy. Holding hands may be optional, but that is my favorite part.

See things differently. Now, that could be putting on your spectacles, or it could be making a spectacle of yourself. I prefer the second option; it is way more fun to

·         Dance to the canned department store music.

·         And don’t forget to sing along.

·         Smooch passionately in the back of the elevator, whether traveling one floor or twenty.

·         Say, excuse me, sir, when you bump into a mannequin. Then compliment her on her dress before walking away.

·         Toss coins into a fountain from four stories up. If they didn’t want you to do it, then they would not have put escalators all around it.

·         Ask total strangers if they know the way to San Jose.

I am tempted to put one of those do not try this at home warnings on this page, but frankly, that would take all the fun out of it.

So, fly. Be free.

Even if you are having a bad hair day, spread your wings and soar.

And don’t forget to pack your attitude.

Lemons For Lemonade

This is in honor of Invisible Illness Week. Nearly half of us are affected by an invisible illness, and being invisible, most are unaware of our struggles. I had debated whether or not my blog was worthy of Invisible Illness Week, but then I thought, what better way to boost the morale of other chronically ill people than to show how I am living my life despite my illness.

I was watching the opening ceremony for this weekend’s NASCAR race. The Star Spangled Banner played, and I could only think of this one line: “Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.” How powerful, that one line in a poem from so long ago. Our flag still flies, no matter how many battles she has been through.

How often do we too easily give up, allowing our flags to fall? How often do we let life get the better of us? How often are we held hostage by the things we complain about, yet do nothing to change? We complain about the high cost of groceries, yet we don’t clip coupons and we certainly don’t plant a single tomato plant in our back yard, in an attempt to fend off those high costs. We complain about our houses being cluttered, yet we don’t lift a finger to rid ourselves of that unnecessary junk. We know we wronged a friend, no matter how inadvertently, but we don’t humble ourselves to mend that much needed relationship. Instead we tell ourselves that they should make the first move.

Forgiveness is a mighty powerful notion. Responsibility is another.

More personally, how often do we let our aches and pains keep us from what we enjoy? There are levels of pain, just as there are variations in the colors of the rainbow. When we are chronically ill, each day proves to be colorful, yet we must carry on. We must take charge of our lives and live each day to its fullest despite the pain. Each day with less pain is incredibly valuable. Notice that I did not say, “with no pain.”

For now, I can only manage to watch NASCAR from my recliner. The thrill of the race pounding within my veins. I’ve been known to be somewhat of a daredevil, back in the day. I fondly remember the days before becoming so ill when, late at night, I raced my Grand Prix down 205, just for the heck of it. My top of the line stereo system fascinated me, as the faster I sped, the louder it got. It is a wonder I never got caught, with my ‘80s rock blasting from my open windows and my blonde hair wildly flying. I miss those days, and I mourn the loss of my Grand Prix. It had to be sacrificed for my medical expenses, like so many of my other favorite possessions.

But it is a new day, even if I have the same old issues with pain and fatigue. My flag still flies.

There is a saying, if given lemons, make lemonade. I could mourn all my losses. My Pontiac. My home of 13 years. My sense of freedom granted me by having my own paycheck. My beautiful bedroom set, with the armoire which I coveted for years before acquiring. At least I can visit it, since I sold it to a friend. All the junk the materialistic me collected over the years. My truck, which is the next thing to go on the auction block. I could mourn all my losses, but in the long run, all these possessions mean nothing. Ten years from now, I may not even remember most of them, though my Pontiac still stings when I think of her.

Releasing all these things into the wind allows me to step forward into a life more fitting of my dreams. We cannot travel if overly encumbered. The house, though it broke my heart, I know we could not have maintained it during our travels, even if I didn’t have outrageous medical bills to contend with. We would have had to sell it one way or another. And we have eased ourselves into the sale of our very dependable truck. If we need one in the future, we can rent. Isn’t that why there’s a U-Haul industry?

So, if I can live without all these possessions, the things I just had to have at the time, is there not a way to live with my illness, and still accomplish my goals? Yes, with a shift in perception.

Those who do not suffer pain daily assume we do not have pain when they see us determinedly working towards our dreams and goals. We have a secret, and maybe that is part of the reason we become invisible. We learn to work through our pain. We learn to work through our fatigue. We learn to live despite our ailments, and we put on a good face. We are no different, really, than the marathon runner, who pushes through her pain to finish the race. We just have to push through more often than not.

I no longer envy the marathon runner. I was just not meant to be her, though I used to dream of running as I once had in my teens. I may be slow and no longer able to run, but God will still get me where I am going, one step at a time.

I no longer envy the mountain climber. Denali is just as beautiful to look upon as from. Just to stand in her glorious shadow, I know I will still feel the presence of God, as if I were at the summit. Besides, life is best lived in the valleys. That’s where Jesus walks with us. That is where Jesus carries us after we fall. We learn the lessons in life by getting to the summit (or our goal), rather than from the summit itself. Would you feel the same, having been dropped onto the summit by helicopter, as you would from climbing there yourself?

My adventuresome spirit will still be satisfied despite having Lyme disease. I can enjoy life from the passenger seat of the Raven, allowing my hubby the thrill of determining our course and speed. How I will get my necessary medical treatments while on the road has yet to be determined, but as with all other challenges, I know we will figure this one out, too.

My life may be different than what I had envisioned as a small child, dreaming of being a doctor or a teacher or a dancer. I could never make up my mind, anyway. But my life is mine. It is the only one I have. There must be a reason God gave me these challenges, and therefore, I must do the most I can with what I have been given.

Looking at the lemons, I have lost more than many could bear. Yet as I taste the lemonade, it is wonderfully sweet. I have a husband and a son who are my knights in shining armor when I need them. I have three Pugs and a cat who give me my daily dose of belly laughs and snuggles. I have the freedom to travel, given to me because of my illness rather than in spite of my illness. I have a circle of friends who are willing to rally around me even when I am at my worst. And I have all of you, and because of you, I know I am not alone in my hopes, dreams, and difficulties.

My flag still flies, though a little tattered from many battles. Does yours?

Our grandson with Tinker Belle, Suzie, and Max

Our grandson serenading Julius

Do Not Postpone Your Joy

What is joy? What is happiness? Are they the same? Not in my book.

What about joy and instant gratification? Are they the same? Certainly not.

Happiness has a tendency to be fleeting. By its own common usage, we assign happiness many times to a single day, such as happy birthday or happy anniversary. It comes and it goes. Many times it is used flippantly, not really addressing true happiness at all. I am happy the mail arrived. But I am sad it is all bills.

Instant gratification is undoubtedly defined by pleasure-seeking behavior. One’s need for instant gratification means that they cannot put off getting rewarded. They are not satisfied unless it happens now. I must have my spectacles within one hour, my pizza delivered within half an hour (without my butt leaving the sofa until it gets here), and anything and everything else via drive-thru, where I don’t even have to get my lazy rump out of the car. And then there is an offer of instant credit everywhere I go.

What happened to the anticipation we giddily danced about when we were children? Waiting forever for Christmas morning to arrive. Waiting literally years to be old enough to date or drive. Working our first job and waiting two weeks for that meager paycheck. It may have been small, but we earned it ourselves. Saving up those tiny paychecks to buy a name-brand pair of jeans or concert tickets, without the help of parents or credit cards.

Or the ultimate postponement for a woman, waiting 9 months for her baby to be born. Those last two weeks can be torture, especially when the baby is late. Though we may complain, God is in control of postponing that little bundle of joy.

Though many things should be postponed to maintain a healthy balance in life, joy should not.

Joy evokes a sense of passion for our desires. Joy is exceptionally pleasurable, not in the gaiety of getting our short-term wants met, but in the satisfaction of attaining our heart’s desires.

Joy is real and tangible and I can feel it bubble up inside me, spilling over into a smile or even an uncontrollable giggle. Joy is seeing my son getting excited about something he has done or wants to do. Joy is seeing my best characteristics coming out in my offspring. Joy is feeling the unconditional love poured over me by my little Tinker Belle, my assist dog, as she snuggles against my back to help relieve my pain. Yes, there can be joy in a painful situation. Joy and unconditional love go hand in hand. Joy is each step we take toward our mutual goal of traveling for five years. Joy is seeing my husband enjoy his retirement and actually seeing him truly relax for the first time in our 13-year marriage. Joy is knowing we made the right decision for him to retire even though it means less money and more rice and beans come dinner time. Ultimately, joy is knowing I am loved.

True, it seems we must postpone our joy at times. But even if your goals seem far away, always remember that there is immeasurable joy in each step along your journey.

I wish you joy. In whatever you choose.