I took another hiatus, after I had promised my hiatus was over. There are two reasons: 1) I was trying to get noshowmo.com back up, which has appeared harder than originally anticipated, and 2) I have been pretty busy with living life, so busy living it I haven’t had much time to write about it.
I’m working on it, though, and have a bunch of unfinished posts that will be up soon. Stay tuned.
The difference between getting off steroids and hormones, and being off steroids and hormones:
Exhibit A: May 19, 2008, hospital parking lot, free valet parking stand, 11:12 a.m.
Parking attendant (PA) #1: Hello, ma’am, how are you today?
Mo: Late.
PA #2: Howdy, ma’am, nice day, isn’t it?
Mo: (clenching teeth) I’m late.
PA #1: Which car is yours ma’am?
Mo: The Audi. You know, with the same symbol as on the car key I just gave you?
PA #2: We’ll be glad to take care of it for you, ma’am.
PA #1: You have a pleasant day.
Mo: (grunts, and walks into building, wiping tears)
Exhibit B: May 29, 2008, same hospital parking lot and valet parking stand, 11:54 a.m.
Mo: (walks out of building and hands ticket to parking attendants)
PA #1: Hmm, let’s see if we have this car.
PA #2: That’s the Audi, right?
PA #1: Yeah. Didn’t we sell that one?
Mo: (grinning) Uh-oh.
PA #2: Yeah, it just got off the auction block. Got a pretty good price, too.
Mo: (still grinning) Oh, no.
PA #1: Oh, wait, is that it right there?
PA #2: That is it! We pulled it up just for you.
Mo: Whew! I got lucky! Another five minutes and it would’ve been gone, huh? And you two would be off on some nice vacation.
PA #1: Yes, we would. You made it just in time.
PA #2: You have a pleasant day, ma’am.
Mo: You, too. (gets into car, still grinning)
Food allergies can be difficult to navigate, but try eating in a restaurant, where you don’t know what they put in things. Asking the server to ask the chef provides no guarantees, despite all good intentions on the part of staff. It’s still a guessing game at times.
Those of you who, like me, try to keep a gluten-free diet when and where you can, or especially those who must stay gluten-free at all times, you’d be wise to eat more Thai food. I’m lucky that I love Asian food, and those magnificent people from Thailand who decide to come here and open restaurants to prepare food for us make me feel even luckier.
My usual joint has a whole gluten-free section in its menu. They may not know me well enough to love me, yet, but it sure feels like it.
Today, I cheated on them and went to my second-favorite place for lunch. They had a Noodle Specials menu, which included, to my delight, “Cellophane noodles — healthier than wheat!” I ordered them, complete with the necessary chopsticks, and was not disappointed upon tasting the perfectly-prepared noodles in yummy, gooey sauce that were EXTRA healthy, just for me.
Gluten-free, dairy-free, soy-free, corn-free, added-sugar-free breakfast tart:
Rice cake
Spread with peanut butter
Topped with sliced strawberries.
People always comment on how hard it must be to eat such a restrictive diet plan. I don’t find it hard at all. I like being forced to be creative in finding tasty, healthy things to eat. Without having certain limitations, I never would have found some of the great combinations I’ve come up with. I promise to share my ideas, if you promise to give me some more.
How old are you? How old do you feel?
Yesterday, on a plane, I met Sally. I don’t normally talk to people on planes, only because when you’re sitting next to a stranger for hours on end and don’t want to continue talking, you can get trapped. On my way to Florida yesterday, Sally struck up a conversation with me about ten minutes before we were about to land. She was very nice, and I am not rude, so we talked for the last few minutes of the flight.
Sally was headed to Nashville to see her boyfriend. She was so excited, because she was going to spend ten whole days with him. She lives in Virginia, and he lives in Nashville, and their long-distance relationship requires them to commute. Then she said, in the conspiratorial way of a typical teenager, “ok, I just HAVE to tell you this.”
When she was 17 years old, Sally was lying out on Virginia Beach with friends. A nice 19-year-old boy came over to her and struck up a conversation. He was a Navy pilot, they fell in love, and dated for some time. But when he got transferred, they broke up.
They each went on to do other things and be with other people. Two years ago, however, they got back in touch, and realized the love was still there. Their lifestyles don’t permit either one to move to be closer to the other, so they have to settle for seeing each other when and where they can. Sally just went to Nashville last month, but she could not have been more animated or excited to be seeing him again if she were still 17.
Sally is now 81 years old. She reconnected with her first love 62 years after their first relationship ended. At 79, after marrying, having children and grandchildren, and losing a husband to cancer, Sally fell in love all over again and is happier than most people I know. I’m sure she reached a point, perhaps several times in those first 79 years, where she thought her best years were behind her, and her future would lie simply in watching the sunset of her life.
Your chronological age is just a number. The best years AREN’T behind you. At least, they don’t have to be. Don’t look back on the number of years you’ve lived and regret what you have done, or especially what you haven’t. If you look in the right places, and keep an open mind, the future will always hold the promise of new adventures, and opportunity for even greater happiness than you’ve seen yet.
It’s raining this morning. Long, slow, steady rain. I don’t mind. Rain brings water.
Water is life. We all know that. In science fiction movies, finding water on Mars or other planets is the first indicator of life. Our bodies are made up of 50% 80% 63% 98% some large percentage of water. We can live for more than a week without food, but only a few days without water. It helps our organs function, lubricates our joints, keeps our brain cells working . . . and hey, even tap water protects our teeth, thanks to added fluoride.
For many people, myself included, water has other healing properties, obtained by being in or near it as much as possible. I consider myself a good steward of the environment in almost all ways — except I take a warm bath in my claw-footed tub every night before going to bed. Too much water usage, I know, but I can’t afford the hot tub just yet, and there is something so comforting, so soothing about being immersed up to my shoulders in warmth.
Being near water is also healing to me, whether it be nearly still:
Running:
Or just crashing into the sand as gentle, salty waves.
This weekend, I will be generously taken in by loved ones to celebrate a milestone birthday on that very same beach, above, on the gulf coast of Florida. My accommodations are not only right on the beach, but include a pool as well. I’m not one to enjoy lying out in the sun doing nothing for hours on end, but I don’t have to. I’ll be swimming, floating, dancing in that water.
Find yourself some water. Get in it, near it, or at least drink more of it. It’s good for you.
Setbacks. They happen. To all of us. Things go along well, and then you hit a bump in the road. It’s supposed to be about the journey, right?
In the last few days, I’ve hit two faily large bumps — one emotional, one physical.
The last time I had an emotional firestorm like this one was several years ago. I can’t prove nuthin’, but I’ve never thought it was a coincidence that I started getting really sick right around the time my emotions were in crisis. Naturally, my first reaction to this most recent unpleasantness has been panic that I would get sick again. I realized, again with the help of people I love, that one does not necessarily follow the other. An emotional hiccup does not automatically cause physical illness, even in me. I also realized that after surviving my past, that which did not kill me has, in fact, made me stronger. I’m not going to run out and eat a bunch of wheat and corn, just so I can make myself sick again and retreat back into my shell.
Today, I hit the physical speed bump. Starting in two weeks, I’m going to have about 6 months of . . . let’s say . . . challenges. This has been building for several months, though, the issue I mentioned here as “yet-unresolved-but-resolvable.” I thought the resolution would be something uncomfortable, but short-lived and manageable. It’s now going to prove more difficult than I expected.
I think both of these setbacks are related, but not because one has caused the other. They are related because they are both here in front of me to let me use what I have learned. To give me the chance to show myself, with actual evidence, that I am strong and can overcome. This is my test.
Last time I got knocked down, it took a long time and much stumbling to get on my feet. I may get knocked down again, I might just fall, but this time I know how to get up again, and I will return to standing position. There is no other choice.
Do you have love in your life?
Love is essential to health. It comes in many forms.
Many people do not realize that love is not hard to find.
Here’s mine:
I get to see this every day.
True, unconditonal love. Though, he does get quite upset if I don’t get my running shoes on fast enough. So I hurry, for him.
Could YOU resist?
“Is there anything you want?” as if a sudden thought had struck him. “Do you want toys, books, dolls?”
“Might I,” quavered Mary, “might I have a bit of earth?”
In her eagerness she did not realize how queer the words would sound and that they were not the ones she had meant to say. Mr. Craven looked quite startled.
“Earth!” he repeated. “What do you mean?”
“To plant seeds in–to make things grow–to see them come alive,” Mary faltered.
He gazed at her a moment and then passed his hand quickly over his eyes.
“Do you–care about gardens so much,” he said slowly.
“I didn’t know about them in India,” said Mary. “I was always ill and tired and it was too hot.”
Wanna be healthy? Get your hands dirty. Frances Hodgson Burnett’s classic children’s tale, The Secret Garden, has a lot to teach. Mary, a spoiled, sickly child, is orphaned in India and sent to live in a huge, nearly-empty mansion with an equally sick cousin. She learns to spend time outside, finds a secret garden, and — SPOILER ALERT! — brings it back to life and health, along with herself and her cousin in the process.
Fiction?
Get thee outside, and plant thyself some plants. Don’t have a yard? Many, many plants grow perfectly well indoors. The added advantage of indoor plants is the natural air-cleaning properties many have. Grow some plants, flowers or herbs in pots. Better yet, start a window box.
I seem to have this unintentional annual tradition of starting a major house project every year before my annual trip to Houston (anyone remember the Bathroom Project of Aught Seven that took on a life of its own and almost buried me alive in painter’s tape?). This year, 3 days before I was to leave, I decided that after 4 years in my house it was time to plant some things in the front yard. I live in the city, with a postage-stamp sized front yard, and a backyard the size of a postcard. Still, there’s dirt.
Me being me, it couldn’t be half-assed, so in one day I planted 7 azaleas, 2 rhododenrons, 2 gardenias, 3 shasta daisies, 2 calla lilies, and 16 hostas. Me being me, this was too easy, so of course I had to plant rosebushes as well. Roses. The hardest thing to grow, and the most expensive, of course. Three bushes with no leaves or buds, just stems and thorns. I knew they were a longshot, but nothing ventured, right? Hmpf.
Within days, I started seeing new growth and blooms on the plants. Because I had toiled in the dirt, carefully selecting the form and pattern of the yard and which plants should live where, I felt invested in this small part of nature that it was now my responsibility to nurture.
I have contributed to part of the Earth.
Sure, I’m proud of myself, but anybody can plant some plants and water them. What I really feel is connected. Connected to nature — in the middle of my city block — and connected to life and living things. It sounds corny (it certainly feels corny to write), but it’s true. Running my hands through the earth and dirt to create and nurture and grow promotes my own nurturing and growth within myself.
And now I won’t ever have to complain about holiday price inflation for a dozen roses again.
