Sabbatical Reflections: U Jelly?

My hoity-toity hubby casually strolls past a luxury car carrying a loaf of day-old bread, for PBJ's

    We spy a unique eyeful in our Braum's parking lot. The mere sight of it evokes indulgence, excess, diamonds, chauffeurs, elegance and M.O.N.E.Y. It is shiny, taupe-colored, regal, and has a double-R on its trunk.

     Two questions enter our minds which are, unfortunately, never answered: What's a Rolls Royce doing in our modest city's Braum's parking lot? and, What do the owners look like?

     Think of all the worthwhile things that could be done with its price tag! To imagine being in the socio-economic level to even think about having the desire to own one is incomprehensible. At least one worthwhile thing can come from seeing that Rolly. This peanut-butter-&-jelly-raised GenJoneser can seize the prime opportunity to define 2010's then up-and-coming:  "U Jelly?"

     When my husband sets his loaf of bread into the car, I don't say, U Jelly? meaning, "Do we have jelly at home for your peanut butter sandwich?"

     The Urban Dictionary shortens the phrase, "I know you're jealous" to "U Jelly!" That lingo makes perfect sense. Envy is a form of envious. Why not jelly for jealous? It is a phrase that the possessor of a tantalizing object mischievously says to an envious buddy. The owner of that opulent Rolly earned the license plate: U Jelly! IF we were into Rolly's, we would have needed a tres bon mountain-size of God's grace. 

     News stories reveal race horse California Chrome's owner post-race losing his composure. His face is beet red following the 2014 Belmont Stakes. He disregards his wife's brief and desperate calming plea. He rants and raves "Unfair" to the media. His credible point is that horses should be required to run in all of the Triple Crown races; but, nevertheless, he is a sore loser. The gracious winner of the Belmont Stakes controlled himself, but he certainly could have tauntingly said: U Jelly! ... 

    Hmmmm. My "Sabbatical Reflections" identify with each aspect of the Belmont Stakes, depending on my mood, Vitamin B-12 levels, and downer allergy medication. Taking the birds-eye viewpoint, I see: Gracious. Mischievous. And sometimes the sore loser.

Father's Day

     A wise and highly successful father recently said:  "Never let your children win. A truly competitive father never lets his children win, because he loves them. Every time you give your children something that you did not have growing up, you take from them something you did have. So, always compete."

     After chewing on this tres bon advice, I add two footnotes: 1) Never say never or always, and 2) the preface words "A truly competitive father" are key regarding letting your children win. But, basically I tend to agree. Heed the resistant, knee-jerk notion, "I want to give or do this or that for my child because I wished my parents had done this for, or given that to, me."

     Review your strengths in light of insightful Deuteronomy 1. With potentially unneeded coddling or rescuing, would you possess your key strengths? Ninety-nine point nine percent (99.9%) of the Israelites seemed unfazed by God's Almighty Fatherhood.

Sabbatical Reflections: Rhythms & Swooshes

Reflections continue as I think about sabbatical times. A regular job earnestly eludes me, as well as definable purpose. What is an avid do-er to do besides do or re-direct myself? Blogging is my dinghy (a life raft, not to be construed with the word dingy). It is a productive and diverting outlet. The question jabs me: Who am I, naked, with all identities stripped?

I am: Invisible and striving Generation Jones, with a treasured and extended window of opportunity to notice delicate details that others might dismiss. I think about those tres bon delicacies, and I write about them. My signature is to imprint, journal, and piggyback or horseback ride off of the flavorful cuisine of sole relationships (which could be construed with soul).

One light-hearted and personal object lesson helps to demonstrate the 2 years of this sabbatical venture. It is the fidgety dance of two adorable, on-stage pre-schoolers during the recent baby dedication of their younger siblings. For a time they are admirably quiet, but then, that's when their squirmy instincts activate...

• Younger "Joey" stomps his feet, one by one, and milliseconds later, "Nellie" quietly stomps her feet, one by one. 
• Joey catches Nellie's eye and appears to notice her mischievous cue, Let's play the game "Simon Sees." He nonchalantly stomps one foot, just to make sure his read is accurate. 
• Bingo! Nellie stomps one foot, just like he did. The game is on to fill a few boring seconds! 
• Nellie teasingly swooshes the ruffles of her girly, fuchsia-colored dress, inevitably believing: Joey won't be able to mimic this!! 
• Joey takes just two milliseconds to figure a way to manly mime the ruffle swoosh. He grabs his boy attire for an ingenious shirt swoosh. 
• Next, what does antsy Nellie do?

Dogged, daring, diligent, dinghy
B.L.O.G.G.I.N.G.

Joey and Nellie's older sibling duty is finally rewarded with tres bon cake. Their fanciful, quiet game "Simon Sees" demonstrates the idea of mimicking non-verbal cues.

 I, too, have mimicked... the rhythms and cues of organization-STOMPS and grandchild-SWOOSHES. I see, and I blog. I feel like antsy Nellie and ask the mischievous question:

How have I kicked and stomped during this fidgety sabbatical?

The answer...dogged, daring, diligent, dinghy B.L.O.G.G.I.N.G., cuing off of sole experiences:  Worried? See-&-Blog. Fidgety? See-&-Blog. Happy? See-&-Blog. Creative spurt? See-&-Blog. Forlorn? See-&-Blog. Doubtful & questioning? See-&-Blog. Courage & direction -seeking? See-&-Blog, blog, blog!

The Bible's David, just prior to his successful slingshot Battle-to-the-Death with Goliath, responds to years of daring Shepherd Boy "Simon Sees" :

But David said to Saul, 'Your servant has been keeping his father’s sheep. When a lion or a bear came and carried off a sheep from the flock, I went after it, struck it and rescued the sheep from its mouth. When it turned on me, I seized it by its hair, struck it and killed it. Your servant has killed both the lion and the bear; ... [Generation Jones typewriter "carriage return" emphasis, mine].
...this uncircumcised Philistine [Goliath] will be like one of them, because he has defied the armies of the living God. The Lord who rescued me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will rescue me from the hand of this Philistine' 

(I Samuel 17: 34-37). 

[DAVID SEES. partnering with God & his soulful, sole-seasoned slingshot & stones: 
lion-. bear-. & GIANT- KILLS.]  [Generation Jones, 1990's sitcom, Tim-the-tool-man, growled, "AR, AR" expresses David's mindset during this quintessential nail-biting cliff-hanger].

 

Simon Sees. Adorably.
It's quick, so hold that sneeze.

Sabbatical Reflections: Soulo Survival

Soulo Survival (The 30-day Plank Challenge is below*)

Two years ago when I started my self-induced writing sabbatical, I was ecstatic. Health issues combined with department down-sizing and nail-biting consolidations in my 7-year job helped me to walk away from a scheduled work-day life breathing a sigh of relief.

After 20 years of career I was free to plan my days, however I pleased. I could sleep in until 7:00 a.m. for health renewal, or not. I could muse and clean-up from weekend happenings, or not. My days were open and free, and that pleased me just fine. I was embarking on a new, solo, experiment. Kind of like taking on the 30-day Plank Challenge, seeing IF I would daily plank, just because, with no accountability partner.

Freedom comes with constraints, too. For 2 years I've awakened, only because I choose to. Each morning, I stir, to the same four walls. It is a self-thing. By this I mean I motivate myself to accomplish goals that no one but my husband sees. It takes boldness to be alone. Especially in a striving, education-actualizing community. It takes courage to have zero.daily.identity... besides: housewife.

Answering someone's question: "What is your job?" with a dejecting, "I stay at home" is anything but an ego booster.

Patchy gray hairs stingingly punctuate that not only am I home, but that my grown children are long gone, and miles away, too. I have no children or grandchildren at my side. I have a very empty nest, and after 2 years this soulo experiment has an L-shaped bulls-eye forming in the middle of my forehead whispering: Loser.

It's like washing my cast iron pans with hot water only. I want to add dish soap to clean up the residue. But my daughter says soap isn't needed because it takes away the skillet's seasoning. Can only hot water with a little elbow grease fully remove germs and bacteria? Do the pans really produce more palatable, seasoned food? (Cast iron does add iron to simmering meals, which is a great thing!)

The big question is, can being just a housewife really be enough, or do I need to "soap-up" the title?

We'll see if more reflections develop. I'm free to blog, or not to blog. That freedom is either tres bon refreshing or stifling.

Sow your seed in the morning, and at evening let not your hands be idle,

for you do not know which will succeed, whether this or that, 

or whether both will do equally well (Ecclesiastes 11:6).

*The 30 Day Plank Challenge will send your core strength through the roof! Yes, all you have to do is HOLD the position shown above, nothing else! It looks pretty easy, but it isn't!

Day 1 - 20 seconds
Day 2 - 20 seconds
Day 3 - 30 seconds
Day 4 - 30 seconds
Day 5 - 40 seconds
Day 6 - REST
Day 7 - 45 seconds
Day 8 - 45 seconds
Day 9 - 60 seconds
Day 10 - 60 seconds
Day 11 - 60 seconds
Day 12 - 90 seconds
Day 13 - REST
Day 14 - 90 seconds
Day 15 - 90 seconds
Day 16 - 120 seconds
Day 17 - 120 seconds
Day 18 - 150 seconds
Day 19 - REST
Day 20 - 150 seconds
Day 21 - 150 seconds
Day 22 - 180 seconds
Day 23 - 180 seconds
Day 24 - 210 seconds
Day 25 - 210 seconds
Day 26 - REST
Day 27 - 240 seconds
Day 28 - 240 seconds
Day 29 - 270 seconds
Day 30 - PLANK FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE!!

Benefits of Plank Exercise:

*It strengthens your lower back
*It develops your core muscles – which include the abs, back, hips and the butt.
*Helps you to avoid injuries and encourage good posture
*Can be done anywhere
*Develops your abdominals by targeting the rectus abdominis

Dreams: Strawberry Fields

Dreams are incredibly fanciful. Floating in and out of one particular fuzzy happening and then to another. At one moment riding in a vehicle to the airport; the next taking no steps, but somehow arriving to a door. Perusing valuable garage sale items, and then rescuing a crawling girl who has fallen down a flight of stairs. And, during one riveting night's sleep, achieving the pinnacle aspiration of chatting with Icon Paul McCartney and Beloved Billy Graham. Experiencing The Beatles' stupor-sounding lyrics from the song, Strawberry Fields Forever: ♫Nothing is real. And nothing to get hung about.♫ Or floating on a Magic Carpet Ride (Steppenwolf).

"Strawberry Fields" fuzz, captured by our 3-year-old

Feelings are attached to dreams. Fears, happiness, heart desires, vulnerabilities, stresses. Sometimes dreams even come true. They might actually prenote or punctuate reality, about a future occurrence. In a slumbered state, the spirit somehow conveys deep information. A dream about a baby boy, bringing joy and warmth, 9 months later becomes reality.

God can especially speak through dreams. Well, unless, just the evening before, we've eaten an entire greasy pizza! (By the way, outdoor activity absorbs vitamin D which encourages dreaming.) But, yes, when walls are removed. When spirits are vulnerable and open. When we are uninterrupted. It is uncanny and almost spooky. We prayerfully seek wisdom or confirmation for a particular life-direction, and a dream awakens and inspires. Tres bon Strawberry Fields sometimes parallel real life.

“In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams" (Acts 2:17).

Visions: Kangaroos Eat Worms, Not Chocolate

Kangaroos Don't Like Chocolate

Johnny is quite Depp in the movie, Chocolat. The actor believably interacts with an imaginary kangaroo, chatting about chocolate, bugs, and he even takes on a pretend worm-eating challenge. It is winsome (although the entire movie might include some slightly questionable ideas). Johnny's character clearly demonstrates in the kangaroo scene that two can play the imagination game as he creatively enters into a young girl's roo-world.

Imagination and visions are strenuous exercises. They fuel thinking and open windows into the soul. As silver hair sets up home in my bouffant, do I dare to think that the Creator of my mind would want me to imagine? Nothing transcendent, but just a smidge?

Should I step back and be guarded? Lost in the middle? Does a little daydreaming, pushing the bounds (or bonds), remove the comfort of security? Is it safe to dream? In color, even? Kangaroos ardently prefer worms to tres bon chocolate, and pre-21st-Century white-shirt corporate America risk-takers believed...

...no one strenuously objects to beige.

White shirts were safe; beige was acceptably bold and dreaming. Today, in the dress-shirt world, we have colorful reality.

“In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams" (Acts 2:17).

The Heart: 2 Tickers & 1 Tea Time

My heart says of you, 'Seek his face!'...

Heart Ticker #1:  On a recent amusement park visit, a Mom and Dad with three young children are in a quandary at the elephant ride. Each young child must be accompanied by an adult. He (and none of his family) will be able to ride the longed-for, colorful, flying elephants because of too few adults. My husband observes as the poor little 3-year-old breaks into tears.

This sounds odd, but my wife is riding one of the elephants, solo. She would be glad to accompany your little boy, my husband says.

The family energetically agrees. It leads to my ride with a stranger. I let him choose the red elephant, although the purple one was my preference. I follow his lead and gladly enjoy his red elephant world. I let him press and release the magic flight button for us both. I say, Up, up, up! and then Down, down, down!

I learn his name, Tate, and that he recently had his third birthday. That is all as we enjoy his little world. We fly in circles on red Dumbo, and Tate presses the lever to go up, up, up and down, down, down.

Heart Ticker #2:  My youngest grandson is a bulldog physically. To wrestle a diaper onto his in-motion body takes courage and strength. Each evening he enjoys his bath-time by reaching for everything in sight. When he daringly stands, it is time for the towel-dry cycle. Maybe he can air dry and go naked tonight? Nnnaaa! The battle is on.

We head to his bedroom for the Sumo diaper wrestle. Tonight's strategy is to distract, be fast, and voila! I haul him to the rocker, take a few deep breaths, and successfully set one towel-dried, diapered and pj'd 10-month-old onto my welcoming lap.

He is finally somewhat still as I reach for the book Baby's Colors. On this particular long-distance visit, four evenings in a row I read this same book to him. Tonight when he sees the book, before I even begin to read, he turns to me with a delighted look on his face. As page one is opened, using expressive, high-pitched baby talk I read aloud, Baby!Sees!Red!!!

Again he turns to me, eyes wide, and his entire body giggles. With each page, he eagerly reacts the same as I enter into his exciting little world of red, yellow, blue, green, orange and pink.

Teapot Time:  I drink tea all day long, every day. It is no exception during my visits with long-distance grandchildren. My pot of tea steeps throughout the day. My grandson knows this and recently maximized on the idea with a thrift store purchase of a Fisher Price teapot with two tea cups. As he tips the pot, the realistic sound of pouring tea occurs. "DeDe, outside... tea!!"

A 3 1/2-year-old wants company and enters into my big adult world of tea time. He knows my love for it and draws me outside with him to the front porch step. Never mind that pretend tea time lasts only mere minutes. I embrace it. Then bug searching time begins. That's alright.

"DeDe, ...outside... tea!"

It melts me every time, and I respond. My grandson's heart seeks my face and he joins my tea time. I'm there. On the front step. Sipping tea with him, and then I watch and help him as he searches for roly polys and ants.

...Your face, Lord, I will seek (Psalm 27:4,7-8). 
And then, won't God, too, intuitively help me to uncover those most intriguing bugs?

This parallel sounds overly simplistic as I shift thoughts to ask: Do I initiate time with God and attempt to enter into His big world? or, Does my little world of endless requests take over? What partnering image ["teapot"] emerges for mutual "tea time" with THE One who loves and knows me better than any one ever could?

Guidance: How Do Ants Find Their Way Home Through City Sidewalks?

How do ants find their way home through city sidewalks? Is the morning sun able to peek through so many neck-cracking, sky-high buildings? Do carefree butterflies really fly into subways, like in the movie You've Got Mail? If a pedestrian falls in the city and no one sees, does one really fall? And the biggest question of all, is there a sure-fire way to see the tree [Chicago's Union Station Amtrak entrance] through a forest of sky scrapers and thousands of moving cars and pedestrians?

My photo, captured during a previous Downtown visit

I am lost. On Downtown Chicago's Madison Street. 8:45 a.m. Confused. Perplexed. Tethered to what feels like a 1,000-pound weight. This small-suburb-raised-girl has already made a few wrong decisions, losing precious time and energy lugging an ultra annoying but fortunately wheeled suitcase. People are everywhere, but no friendly face is in sight. Amtrak train #101 departs at 9:25 a.m. Time is ticking with about 30 minutes to spare.

Regrettably, my natural, first response is to feel keenly alone. Tears want to escape, but I stop the flow. Crying is unproductive. I move past natural to powerful... THINK!! No passersby will even look me in the eye, so I don't want to trust their directions. I need an assured, undeterred helper.

Despite feeling vulnerable and inordinately helpless, after taking a few deep breaths, like a jeopardized police person instinctively draws for a protecting pistol... I retrieve my trusty cell phone. I am only beginning to somewhat maximize its benefits and prayerfully ask: Who or what is available for certain direction, familiar with Downtown Chicago streets, and Amtrak in particular? I have no cushion time for backtrack lugging an elephant.

• My cell's Citymaps app? No (uncertain how to use it).
• My husband? No. 
• My children? No. 
• A friend? No, but how about....

... my city-savvy, home-base-employed, Big Brother Brian who lives just a block away in a high-rise. YES!! However, factoring in Brian's busy and bustling mile-high elevator, which leisurely cranks to his sky-high floor, and minimal cell waves... We are, at best, 15 precious minutes apart, possibly more. Thus, cell-phone ~to~ land-line communication will have to do. Oh, I pray he answers.

I fumble-finger, hunt-and-peck, to and through my cell phone's People list. I speed dial (probably not the "sexy" term these days) my selected Contact, and ring, ring, ring. Is he in the shower? 

By this time, with a distracted mind and noticeably glazed eyes, I am a sitting duck. The most vulnerable, biggest loser is in Chi-Town. It's amazing that no one has nabbed my purse. Hello, says the warm, non-stranger at the other end of the line. 

His voice is calming and familiar. I reply, Hi, Brian! 

How are you, Sis?

Isn't my brother's leading question inviting? He is begging for my helpless answer and receives an immediate and heavy earful. I respond, Fi.... actually I'm NOT fine. My voice begins to crack but holds steady... I'm lost in Downtown Chicago with a time-crunch 9:25 train to catch!!! Help!!!

If time wasn't a factor, Brian could in-person rescue this damsel in distress. Instead, he utilizes his computer as we communicate through the saving air waves. He asks for my street coordinates and works from there. We chat, only sparingly, about grandchildren and an upcoming birth as he on-line studies the city block layout. He says that he, too, and many are confused by the multi-block Union Station. The entrance to Amtrak in particular is foreign because he never travels it. 

With the help of computer technology, over the next fleeting minutes, Brian guides me, step-by-step, to and through my Amtrak destination, with mere minutes to spare. I thank him, and because of noise levels, with ever-gratitude, conclude our conversation. 

By this time, I am profusely sweating from the 5k workout. I head down the long, noisy walkway to Train #101. Amtrak security yells at still-lost me (glad they're not into tackling elderly DeDe's). They point to a passenger holding area. 

I arrive to elusive Train #101's crowded holding tank, admittedly not using the streamline method, but the steadiest. I do arrive, on time for my train, safe and tolerably oriented.

One last tres bon question ends this guidance blog: As long as unemployment drags on and free time permits... How many scary experiences to and from Chicago-land will it take to block direction-impaired DeDe from visiting her beloved family and grandchildren? My tentative answer is: How many ants are on Chicago's "mad" Madison Street? Who knows.

Lost / stranded reflections from this TOO, autrovert, direction-impaired, vulnerable traveler...

We spend precious hours fearing the inevitable
It would be wise to use that time adoring our families,

cherishing our friends, and living our lives

(Maya Angelou).

Guide me in your truth and teach me, 

for YOU ARE GOD MY SAVIOR,  [an every-day rescuer for the vulnerable]

and my hope is in you ALL DAY LONG  [emphases mine]

(Psalm 25:5).

Be Still. I Will Retrieve That Parasol

A long-distance trip to visit my only daughter and her two adorable boys is perfectly timed to overlap with Mother's Day, AND it teaches me a fundamental and important trust concept. 

It seems that most of my daughter visits are extended stays, for one intriguing reason or another. This time is no exception. A lengthy stay includes attending a Mother/Daughter banquet, for the second time ever, with Daughter "Rachel."

Stay-Day 9 is the evening of the banquet. After handling dirty diapers, slimy worms, and all things baby and boy, we enjoy having a girly estrogen event for which to prettify. Rachel chooses flowy and heels, with an up-do. I choose sparkle and flats, with a down-do. Rachel inherited intrinsic style and fashion flare; I diplomatically dabble. After her 4-year degree, she wanted, and we chose to invest in a year of cosmetology school for her. Some would think the money was wasted because she now shies away from being a beautician. I see it as a prep school investment that continues to pay back, in hair cuts for me.

My daughter has always been unusually timely, even now with two little crumb-snappers. Is it the nature of my obsessive genes, or is it nurture? As we timely arrive and prepare to shut the car doors, ominous nearby skies compel Rachel to reach for her just-in-case umbrella. My trusty cell phone weather app indicates a conclusive zero percent chance of rain, until 10 pm. I am the queen of just-in-case, but uncharacteristically say: "You don't need that umbrella. According to my phone, it won't rain."

Rachel gives me the look: "Oh sure, Mom. I believe you! Look at the dark clouds!"

She wisely chooses her battles and knows that after 9 vagabond days as well as one irrational Pseudo-DeDe mishap, Mom has earned a well-deserved control-fix. So, Rachel hesitantly leaves the umbrella in the car. I reassure her that no matter what: "If it's raining when the banquet is over, come floods or high water, I will retrieve the protective umbrella for us."

Would you guess it? A downpour of rain arrives just before dessert time and I'm squirming. It is a monsoon that we later learn floods the building's basement. I jokingly whisper: "Don't forget, Rach. No rain... 'til 10:00 p.m. Crazy!"

Dry skies expectations are waning, and I'm nervous. Being dressed up and drenched sounds unpleasant. Fortunately, 45 minutes of entertaining game-watching and a message distract all of our unsettled minds, for enriching focus. As the banquet closes and chatting time subsides, so does the storm. We stroll to the car under calm skies. Dessert-time moments of umbrella-regret were unnecessarily experienced. Retrieving the just-in-case parasol wasn't needed after all, but it was reachable. 

Our M/D banquet table-setting, princess-themed
"He raises the poor from the dust
 and lifts the needy from the ash heap;
 he seats them with princes
[or princesses??]..." (I Samuel 2:8).

In my day-to-day world I squirm, about looming changes as well as regrets about the past. God's Word repeatedly reminds me: Don't wallow in regrets and "if onlys." 
BE STILL to experience God's extreme magnificence. Especially when expectations wane. Focus on the GoOD things, which are like succulent, tres bon desserts. 

A simple Mother/Daughter banquet reinforces that I need to chill and refrain from putting God in a box. Flexibility will help me to fully engage in a season of character-defining instability:

I [God] will retrieve that parasol, IF you need it.

In other words, God has us conditionally covered... (conditionally meaning as we acknowledge our dependence on His saving Son, John 3:16 & I Samuel 2:8). Every day... no matter what, when, who, or how... no downpour at departure time or downpour. Tangible purpose or not. Nearby grandchildren or not. Dreams realized... feeling settled, safe and validated... or not. 

I will T.R.U.S.T.

These rambling ideas, as well as the next, are either deep or flighty-as-fairy-tales: Isn't it curious to see our soul's substance when deprived of the superfluous, fortified castle?  

Daughter Artwork

Mom's Artwork, Embellished

Mom Memories

The Never-Ending Winter Never Ends?

Remembering winter 2013-14. Tres Bon, it's over!!!                                    

Easter Bunny

Insomnia & Techniques for Relaxing Sleep

     What's the best-kept secret for going 8 days without sleeping? Sleep at night!

     For about a year, I tossed and turned with debilitating insomnia. Restful sleep was an unattainable treasure. Maybe hormones or stress were the culprits. I learned that insomnia is a vicious cycle, and to stop the cycle takes intentional work. 

     Sleep is required for renewal, health, beauty, and mental focus. To first take care of myself in this critical aspect, and be alert for my family's sake, is more satisfying than tres bon chocolate dessert. In the middle of a restless night, with job duties just hours away, feelings of desperation grow. Deep sleep seems ever elusive. Those with insomnia know this, all too well.   

     The suggestions below are harmless, use no addictive medications, and who knows? One might be helpful in one's search for relaxation. Items 1-7 definitely continue to help me, but each person's sleep challenges are different, and a visit to the doctor might be warranted.

1. No caffeine after 2:00 p.m. Even decaf tea and coffee contain enough caffeine to keep me awake if I drink it early evening.
2. Vitamin D-3 is a restful and needed supplement. About 45 minutes to an hour before bedtime, I take a sublingual tablet under the tongue for 5-10 minutes (and then I spit it out because of odd intolerance issues); you can most likely swallow it.
3. Allergies are night-time nasal irritants, so before bedtime spray ordinary, (non-addictive), nasal saline solution and blow your nose (yes, I do this) and sometimes include allergy medication, depending on the allergy symptoms.
4. Drink a small glass of milk before bedtime (almond milk works, too). And/or, earlier in the evening eat 1 to 2 tablespoons of protein-packed peanut butter (it helps with night-time blood sugar spikes).
5. Unexpected 2 a.m. mystery wide-awakening? It could be adrenaline-boomerang, causing wakeful inflammation. Try Ibuprofen or aspirin (with a couple of crackers to protect your stomach). OR, here's a link to something I've not yet tried, but it makes sense: Essential Oils natural sleep remedy
6. Wear a sleep mask. It blocks out any disturbing light

   

   Sleep mask re-enactment... ahhhh!

   sources (from alarm clocks or the hallway). Light interrupts sensitive menopausal body clocks.
7. Read a book on a tablet with the bedroom lights off. Set your tablet's theme to a dark background with white letters. The idea is to lower all lighting to softly communicate to your body "It's bed time." Bright lights and even the TV can interrupt the body clock.
8. This suggestion is a bit different and is an alternative to reading a book. I've not personally needed this measure, but did try it. A new approach to sleep therapy is geared to ASMR ("Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response, an uncommon neuro-physiological phenomenon which causes unique 'tingling' sensations under very specific circumstances" Wikipedia).
        Mainly what I decipher from this idea is that brain areas from childhood are unlocked. Possibly whispers of Mom rocking you to sleep relax areas of the mind. I did not feel hypnotized, but distracted. Maybe absolute boredom settles the brain enough for sleep!
        Viewing a vintage Bob Ross painting segment is ideal because his voice quality is mellow, and his crazy hair is quite distracting, too. The sound of paint brush strokes, combined with viewing nature slowly and gently unfolding, do the trick. Below is the 30-minute restful YouTube ASMR that I viewed and listened to with earphones on for the unusual ear-2-ear effect.
        The results? I did experience one, random and odd, rear-left brain tingle... so weird. I slept well; but, need to test it another time when a day's stress and adrenaline are higher. The video provides whispered Disney trivia to view at bedtime and includes The Jungle Book's unusual tie to The Beatles.      
   If the video hasn't loaded, click the Internet tab's reload symbol or click the blue link in the paragraph below.

     The link above works on my laptop computer, but not on my tablet. Here is an alternate way to hopefully link to the PG-rated YouTube video which I renamed: ASMR Disney Style . You may prefer to preview it during the day and skip the video's first and last 2 minutes.

     Wishing fairy tales with dreams-come-true AND sweet dreams. 

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.

He makes me lie down in green pastures,

he leads me beside quiet waters,

he refreshes my soul (Psalm 23). Tres Bon.

Profile Fail

The Domed

     A huge, mysterious and hidden border covers, and it also surrounds. It resembles an upside-down rounded fish bowl. Every so often a glimpse of the protective field appears. It is quite an extraordinary force field, and forever high.

     The domed roam, to acquire food and necessities, and are basically hostages. They are captive to a world which is outside of their control. Storms and other calamities are prevalent. The weak and odd have difficulty coping. Escape is only through the forever high sky.

     Powerful entities are located outside of the dome (or bowl). They can remove items or drop them inside. From time to time food treats, essentials and treasures are gifted, funded anonymously. An item drops into the lap of, or in the vicinity of, the grateful gift receiver. Gifts provide tres bon bread for sustenance, ointments for healing, and even helpful subliminal messages.

Hostage or worshipper?

     Alliances are critical. Even total opposites work together. It is necessary for survival against those desiring, at all cost, to "win." Close relationships are possible and extra beneficial inside the dome.

     This scenario somewhat resembles the Hunger Games' arena, (a survival-like stadium in the popular 2008 science fiction novel by the American writer Suzanne Collins, and a big-screen movie). But the dome I describe holds billions of people. We are in a dome, semi-hostage to work, our hungry stomachs, and daily routines. 

     I am a believer and a worshipper. From time to time, calamities and crises arise, yet so do blessings, and beauty, and love. The One in whom I believe selectively intervenes in the "dome" with gifts for special needs, and He cares, even about social obligations. 

     During one happy social event, precious and needed wedding wine embarrassingly runs out. Jesus miraculously turns water into liquid grapes or choicest wine (John 2). His first public miracle is thrown into His lap, at a love-feast. Jewish marriage ceremonies are festive, with the essence of love.

     That's when, quietly and behind-the-scenes, He steps in and orchestrates the rest. Down to the last perfectly amazing detail. Jesus resourcefully says to fill 6 empty 20-gallon stone water jars with water, and turns the contents into wine. Choicest wine. He is, after all, perfectly powerful, and perfectly loving. 

     I am no hostage to random events, like crises and "wine-fail." I attempt to acquiesce, to God's will, in the details of my comparably ordinary little world. I strive for a hope-filled mindset, desiring outcomes, gifts, and specifics to be played out His way. I am learning to trust His love.

     On another rapturous note. One day this swooning bride might be willingly scooped from this domed world, by that same Miracle-worker. The ultimate Bridegroom (Matthew 25).

♥ Domed, but not doomed ♥

Domed, the Poem

To see but not quite perceive

And hear, but with haziness

To experience, in a dome. But doomed? No.

Going through each day

With little deep understanding of why.

Seeking reason and to connect

Surviving, completing projects, and fanciful to-do's

Quite clueless as to why.
Abject? And then,

That's when...
Look high. Let's try
To sense extraordinary
♥ passion ♥
displayed in the
effervescent,
luminous
sky.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even.as.also.I.am.known (1 Corinthians 13:12).

Fright Factor & Living Dead

Rated PG-13, mainly for the "Fright Factor" photo below. 

     April 1, 2006, after 24 hours in the hospital, with regular nurse pokes and the overnight roomie-from-hell (moaning and flinging fluids, with just a meager curtain dangling between us), I survived my surgery and that scary night. I awoke with two less body parts intact (not to mention lots of pain). That was merely the continuation of a myriad of terror.

     "If this type of cancer returns, it will be voracious and most likely take your life" (frightening words from my oncologist).

     Keeping one of "the girls" was an option (I still miss them, to this day), but why not be balanced? It was only later I discovered, when meeting with the oncologist, it was the best decision of my life. Fortunately, "the girls" were expendable, and my sentinel node was cancer-free. Eight years later, April Fool, I'm still alive.

Frightening!!

     Forgive me for over-emphasizing my experiences, eons afterward. "Get over it," you might say. But, I spent 6 long years distancing myself as a breast cancer survivor and from the fright factor. 

     Maybe I was terrorized by the ominous, potentially boomeranging (HR2 Neu -positive) -effect. Maybe my childhood nighttime terrors were returning (PTSD). Rather than being a helpless, 6-year-young bystander, overhearing Dad's loud door-bangs and slurred accusations at Mom, I was the star and active participant of this 2006 scary movie. Maybe that is why nighttime was most frightening, especially pre-surgery.

    Just as in childhood, quietness was my ploy... not denial, but maybe, possibly, it was avoidance (a/k/a repression or muteness, spelled mildly different than denial). Quietness somewhat separated me from the "Big C." Like closing my eyes during a frightening, 24/7 movie scene. I was experiencing the movie, but invisibly.

     Terror didn't immobilize me. Being an active participant in decision-making was empowering. Physical activities like chopping off my own disintegrating hair, continuing moderate power-walks, as well as keeping my part-time job were all positive for me.

Bejeweled flusher! Today, no plunger needed

   
     Mentally visiting my
funeral was a divergent activity. Seeing my adult children's sorrow and pain caused literal heart palpitations. Yet, it was amazingly freeing to face physical mortality. I had one less fear to unsuccessfully plunge into the overflowing sewer of terror. 

     So, what about my voice? 
I was physically active and journaled cancer events, but few feelings were verbalized. Delving into slimy depths was rare. So, I now conclude this blog with these thought-provoking questions:

• Was I living dead?
• Was it safer for me to wait 8 years to openly share and fully embrace my fright?
• Are my current emotion-embracing writings distancing me from living dead?
• Why not label this blog LivingDead  8+8 -8? [No fright, only I will take the time to figure out that scary math and other confusing ideas].
• Did only doctors (and "warrior-dom") stand between me and Caspar the ghost, OR was Savior Jesus, for some undeserved reason, actually calling the shots (Acts 10:42)?
• Why is this unemployed empty-nester alive, kicking, and still a divergent rambler about alcoholism, cancer, grandchildren, and current events?
• Tres Bon?

Lost & Found, My Cancer Experiences Continue

I lost my hair, but found resourcefulness

     During the 12 months leading up to and following MY 2006 (March Madness through September Sanity) cancer battle, I lost
& found a plethora of treasures:

• I lost my treasured dog Emmitt a few months before the diagnosis, but eventually found 4 grand-dogs.
• I lost my dear 80+-year-old Dad just prior to cancer diagnosis, but found cherished memories of his hospital final breaths shared with my sister-in-law.
• I lost "the girls," but found my TOO identity.
• I lost my two children's 2006 birthdays (on April 3 & 20), but I found their birthdays again, in 2007 when they turned 24 and 27.
• I lost being an active part of my daughter's wedding plans, but found the ceremony beautifully orchestrated, on June 9, 2007.
• I lost my daughter to marriage, but found a too sterling son-in-law and superdad to our grandchildren.
• I lost my hair to chemo, but it grew back as I found quirky resourcefulness.
• I lost black-&-white certainty, that eating healthy + exercise + the "good person" (arrogance) card = no cancer; and, instead I'm still finding the helpless, deep-down reliance card, depending on Jesus.

2012 Costa Rica Flame of the Forest Tree

     Last, (drum roll, please) and maybe least, I was lost in chemo fog. And,
8 long years later, I now may be finding my brain again, but... 

...the brain morphed
& is
catching fire. Tres Bon.

April Fool! It's TWO's Day

     In 2006, 8 years ago today, after 24 hours in the hospital, with regular nurse pokes and the overnight "roomie-from-hell," I awoke with TWO less body parts intact (and lots of pain). Keeping the TWO might have meant the need for future life-saving surgeries. Fortunately, they were expendable parts, and my sentinel node was cancer-free. April Fool, I'm still alive. 

     Forgive me for over-emphasizing my experience, 8 years later ("Get over it," you might say). But, I spent 6 long years distancing myself as a cancer survivor and the terror-factor. Maybe I was afraid of the ominous, boomeranging (HR2 Neu -positive) cancer element, and quietness was my ploy to keep the big C from returning?

Camo is the New Silver

     During the past few years, my hair is accumulating more, and more, and more silver streaks a/k/a gray hair. I attempt to hide them by coloring my locks, which has worked, moderately. However, my skin tone is changing. Brown hair looks stark, and adding light streaks is not an option with our budget.

     I am experimenting with a new trick. Rather than hiding the silver I'm going au naturale, hair color-wise. However, to distract eyes from the gray, I go camo (not chemo... that for me was... sooo 8 years ago). I wear scarves, modest jewelry, and sometimes a big, bright purse. Psychologist Dr. Phil would ask, "So how's that working for you?" My answer is:

For now, why not try camo?

Varied colors are the new black (fashion-world-led)

50 is the new 40 (cosmetic-company-led)

Master's degrees are the new Bachelor's (higher-ed-led)

Double mastectomy is the new single (Angelina-led)
Tres bon bananas & applesauce are new recipe "fats" (health-led)
and, camouflage is my new silver.

A 90-year-old's bling camo

On the first Easter, the distraught Disciples and grieving Mary learned this:

The transfigured Jesus is the new Jesus.

"...but she did not realize that it was Jesus... Jesus said to her, 'Mary.' She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, 'Rabboni!' (which means Teacher)" (John 20). 

     During Mary's lowest moments, Jesus seemed to be gone. When she needed Jesus most, she couldn't see him. At the tomb, she couldn't recognize him. Grieving, weary, confused Mary discovered that Jesus was right there in front of her. 

     During my lowest, extended, physical and emotional crisis, it felt like God's presence was taken from me. When I needed Him most, He felt thousands of miles away. I'm grateful that He was actually there, and my feelings were wrong.

     Mary's clear mission was to tell the Disciples. It causes me to ponder, "What is my camo mission?" Good question, and food for thought. Tres Bon.

Olafic Thawt

     Olaf contentment thoughts continue even into spring. "Frozen's" scene in front of a melting-warm fireplace, dangerously drooping Olaf and his huge smile, is touching. He said friends are worth melting for. This knitted pole reminds me of snow persons, colorized, which of course segues to Olaf & one enchanting movie!

How Icy, Chilly, Snowy, Frigid, Cold & Frosty was the NEVER-ENDING Winter 2014?

     Drury University's art exhibit inspired polar vortex riddling, on the heels of the midwest's NEVER-ENDING, frigid winter 2013-14.

HOW ICY WAS WINTER 2014?
Squirrels & rabbits demanded artsy, sheltered asylum.

HOW CHILLY WAS THE POLAR VORTEX?
Tables needed blankets rather than cloths, & birds followed suit.

HOW SNOWY WAS THE WINTER?
Ice dancers flew to temperate Russia to skate on thin ice. 
(Pam RuBert quiltwork)

HOW FRIGID WAS THE WINTER?
Tree trunks sprouted (stylin') knitted wear.

HOW FROSTY WAS THE NEVER-ENDING WINTER 2014?
 Snow women knitted whimsical sweaters for warmth,
including funky-high, blossoming hair styles to welcome spring.

HOW COLD WAS THE WINTER?
Tree snakes wore full-length body scarves
(watch for colorful skin shedding this spring!)
& lighted structures embraced vivid attire.

     My friend Jane thinks the tree above with the circling knitted snake is the cutest so I captured this photo, for her. For some odd reason, a healing message is resonating inside of me more each day: "The Lord said to Moses: 'Make a snake and put it up on a pole; anyone who is bitten can look at it and live' " (Numbers 21:8).