Since the summer ended and school resumed, colds and flus have returned. Several members of my family have been ill on and off since September. I have been lucky so far or maybe I have a protective regimen.
Every morning I take L-lysine and zinc. When I have been exposed to a sickie, I take another one of each every 4 hours for 48 hrs. I use alcohol(91%) on my toothbrush before brushing. I wash my hands a bunch, especially after shopping and handling money. I do not touch my nose or eyes until I've washed my hands.
These habits seem to have kept me fluless for a couple years.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Back Home Again in Indiana
"Back Home Again in Indiana" is one of my favorite songs. It always comes to mind, when the weather here in central Texas turns chilly and damp - like today. It's gray, on/off drizzly, and in the 40s. The leaves of what few deciduous trees we have are on the ground or about to be blown to the ground.
Red, orange, and gold leaves aren't abundant like in the midwest, east, and northeast. Mostly they are green or brown, but in the hill country we are blessed with "real" trees: live oak, sycamore, maple, and another variety of oak with smaller leaves. These are the only trees that grow "tall." Few grow above a second-story house, which bugs me. In Indiana there aren't any scrub mesquite or palm trees, thank goodness. I really dislike those species. People who never leave Texas do not have a clue what real trees are like.
A few years ago my husband and I lived in the Santa Cruz mountains with the towering redwoods all around us. Now those are TREES and I was in heaven.
In Indiana most houses have basements. God, what glorious structures! They are cool in the summer and warm in the winter. We made the most of our basement with playhouses and rollerskates.
Most of Texas doesn't have basements because of either the shifting sand or the impermeable rock.
Although I'm not pleased with the topography and biology of Texas, the people of the lone star state are quite friendly and homespun - for the most part. Those who aren't are either California transplants or snooty Republicans...but that's another post.
Red, orange, and gold leaves aren't abundant like in the midwest, east, and northeast. Mostly they are green or brown, but in the hill country we are blessed with "real" trees: live oak, sycamore, maple, and another variety of oak with smaller leaves. These are the only trees that grow "tall." Few grow above a second-story house, which bugs me. In Indiana there aren't any scrub mesquite or palm trees, thank goodness. I really dislike those species. People who never leave Texas do not have a clue what real trees are like.
A few years ago my husband and I lived in the Santa Cruz mountains with the towering redwoods all around us. Now those are TREES and I was in heaven.
In Indiana most houses have basements. God, what glorious structures! They are cool in the summer and warm in the winter. We made the most of our basement with playhouses and rollerskates.
Most of Texas doesn't have basements because of either the shifting sand or the impermeable rock.
Although I'm not pleased with the topography and biology of Texas, the people of the lone star state are quite friendly and homespun - for the most part. Those who aren't are either California transplants or snooty Republicans...but that's another post.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Holiday humbug
Tomorrow's Thanksgiving and then will come Christmas/New Year's. These holidays used to be more meaningful when I lived away from family. Now that we have moved back to Texas and into the heart of the family, holidays just aren't special. We see my parents a couple times a week, sisters several times a month, grandchildren and children daily, weekly, or monthly. Every time it's like a mini-reunion. Geez! How much love can I take?
I'm not a conversationalist. I'm an observer and writer. I say something when I have something to say. Chit-chat bores me; however, several of my family members talk enough for both of us.
I keep Christmas for the grandkids. The rest of us don't need presents. Good grief! We can buy what we want or need. I don't have room for more stuff.
I'm thankful all year round. I don't need an appointed day dictated to me. Ugh!
Happy Holidays to you!
I'm not a conversationalist. I'm an observer and writer. I say something when I have something to say. Chit-chat bores me; however, several of my family members talk enough for both of us.
I keep Christmas for the grandkids. The rest of us don't need presents. Good grief! We can buy what we want or need. I don't have room for more stuff.
I'm thankful all year round. I don't need an appointed day dictated to me. Ugh!
Happy Holidays to you!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Dad's home
Mom and I brought Dad home from the rehab facility Friday morning. He can't drive for another couple weeks and is using a walker for stability. He's starting to pester me about playing golf again, but that is totally up to him. His heart is now strong, but his body is still weak. He needs to build up his muscle strength - not that he was particularly steady on his feet before.
He's looking good, considering he had open-heart surgery on Oct. 21st. It was touch and go there for a while, with up to 15 of us at a time in the waiting room crying. We just weren't prepared to lose him. The surgeon had little doubt about his survival, although he never told us why he was surprised that we were concerned. The fluctuating of his heartbeat/rate after surgery was to be expected. His heart had to remember what to do, after being stilled for almost 4 hours. Well, he may have expected the disregulation, but we sure didn't. We were totally shaken when the ACU(acute care unit) nurses working on him told us not to leave the hospital.
That's all behind us now. Dad is back to his bossy self again, but he has a good excuse to rule us from his roost.
He's looking good, considering he had open-heart surgery on Oct. 21st. It was touch and go there for a while, with up to 15 of us at a time in the waiting room crying. We just weren't prepared to lose him. The surgeon had little doubt about his survival, although he never told us why he was surprised that we were concerned. The fluctuating of his heartbeat/rate after surgery was to be expected. His heart had to remember what to do, after being stilled for almost 4 hours. Well, he may have expected the disregulation, but we sure didn't. We were totally shaken when the ACU(acute care unit) nurses working on him told us not to leave the hospital.
That's all behind us now. Dad is back to his bossy self again, but he has a good excuse to rule us from his roost.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Earmuffs
What's wrong with earmuffs? I'm the only one in my family who uses them. I can't help it; my ears are sensitive. So, when the temperature drops below 50 degrees, out come the earmuffs. They may look out of place on the golf course, but my ears love me. Public courses don't have enclosed carts, so my ears are snuggly as the cold air rushes by.
In the cold Indiana winters earmuffs were a necessity when I was a child. All the other children used them, including my younger siblings. I used them in Massachusetts, as a young mother. But now, I am viewed as a sweet eccentric for using them at my age here in central Texas.
I really don't care. My ears are mine to protect.
I do several things the rest of my family deem as quirky, but they are a part of my uniqueness. Everyone has quirks and their own identities. We are all unique.
That is why I hate fads. Too many millions become sheep as want to look alike. Women will style their hair so they look like the news commentators, even when their faces don't look good in that haircut. Even some of the commentators don't look good in those one-of-a-kind hairdos.
The same goes for men who shave their heads no matter what their skulls look like and lodge sunglasses on the back of their necks. And then there are the idiots who wear their pants at their crotches, so they have to waddle to keep their shorts/jeans up. Why? If they want their underwear to show, just wear underwear! At least you can be assured they won't be robbing you. They couldn't possibly run away. So let's just smile/smirk at them!
And, girls, girls - Goth? Puleeeeassse, you are begging for help, you are lost, you are hiding your true beauty.
Not to mention piercings and tattoos. I saw this one young woman in Austin with tiger-striped legs. I thought, poor girl. What are her children and grandchildren going to think?!
All of these things are attention-getters, pure and simple. You want to shock people? Screw the world, I'm different from the establishment?
Give me a break! Where is your uniqueness, your individuality? Go against the flow! Be happy with yourself. Stand up straight. You ARE special!
In the cold Indiana winters earmuffs were a necessity when I was a child. All the other children used them, including my younger siblings. I used them in Massachusetts, as a young mother. But now, I am viewed as a sweet eccentric for using them at my age here in central Texas.
I really don't care. My ears are mine to protect.
I do several things the rest of my family deem as quirky, but they are a part of my uniqueness. Everyone has quirks and their own identities. We are all unique.
That is why I hate fads. Too many millions become sheep as want to look alike. Women will style their hair so they look like the news commentators, even when their faces don't look good in that haircut. Even some of the commentators don't look good in those one-of-a-kind hairdos.
The same goes for men who shave their heads no matter what their skulls look like and lodge sunglasses on the back of their necks. And then there are the idiots who wear their pants at their crotches, so they have to waddle to keep their shorts/jeans up. Why? If they want their underwear to show, just wear underwear! At least you can be assured they won't be robbing you. They couldn't possibly run away. So let's just smile/smirk at them!
And, girls, girls - Goth? Puleeeeassse, you are begging for help, you are lost, you are hiding your true beauty.
Not to mention piercings and tattoos. I saw this one young woman in Austin with tiger-striped legs. I thought, poor girl. What are her children and grandchildren going to think?!
All of these things are attention-getters, pure and simple. You want to shock people? Screw the world, I'm different from the establishment?
Give me a break! Where is your uniqueness, your individuality? Go against the flow! Be happy with yourself. Stand up straight. You ARE special!
Monday, November 16, 2009
The smile
The photo on this blog is me at 14. We had just moved from Indianapolis to Corpus Christi a few weeks earlier, during hurricane Carla. I was not in high school, as I would have been in Indiana; Texas had junior high - grades 7, 8, and 9. I was never to be a freshman in high school.
However, I was more popular in 9th grade, attracting boys, which was totally different from back home in the Hoosier state. (Frankly, I have never considered Texas my home, no matter how many years I have lived here.) I went on my first date with some tall boy. We walked from my house the six blocks to the bowling alley. He never asked me out again because by some freak of nature I bowled 219.
Anyway, the lady next door complimented me one day. "You have the prettiest smile."
No one had ever complimented me before. Not about my all A's or my swimming medals or my writing. I have always remembered that first compliment, but it is a sad memory now.
My smile has become grotesquely warped. Parotid (salivary gland) cancer slowly paralyzed my seventh cranial nerve over a forty-year period. This was due to radiation treatments to my left ear, when I was nine, in an effort to stop my chronic ear infections. It worked, but the radiation mutated the parotid cells until they enveloped and strangled the nerve.
Back in the fifties radiation was a new and exciting cure for just about everything. Those of us who were treated with it have developed various cancers all over our bodies. They stopped these treatments on children in 1959, because the scientists finally realized there might be damaging side effects. Duh!
I was 27 when I first noticed a slight difference in my facial muscle. My mouth didn't seem to be symmetric as I was making faces for my new daughter. I looked in the mirror and didn't really notice any change in my smile. Five years later I went to an ophthamologist, because my left eye seemed to be bulging. He sent me to a neurologist, because he thought I had a tumor. The neurologist checked me out and gave me some exercises to do, just saying that I had a degenerative condition.
Over the next 18 years, I went to several doctors for answers. No one could explain what was happening. Bell's palsy usually only lasts 6 months.
Finally, when I was 50, I decided to have some reconstructive surgery done to try and correct my smile. Tests showed there was a slight nerve reaction and that a nerve transplant might work. However, during that surgery, a strange pulpy, gray mass was found. It was excised and sent to the lab. The doctor did not tell me the results until three days later. He could not reassure me that the smile would return. It was cancer, localized. No one had found it before; no one even considered that it might be cancer.
I went online and looked up salivary gland cancer on the American Cancer Society website. There, as plain as could be, was the number one cause of this cancer: childhood radiation treatments! I was furious, because I told every doctor I ever consulted that I had radiation treatments as a child.
Here's the kicker - I didn't need chemo, but the oncologist wanted to radiate me again to make sure that no microscopic cells could traverse the nerve into my brain. Because of that small possibility I let him and underwent 33 treatments, which was like receiving 5500 sunburns. Some of my hair fell out, my neck turned purple, and I completely lost hearing in my left ear. This last side effect I was not warned about.
Although this happened 10 years ago, I quit smiling for cameras fifteen years ago. I hate having my picture taken - and my family is one heck of a picture-taking group. I look like I have had a stroke or Bell's palsy. Kids are never shy about staring at me or asking me what's wrong. I just say my smile doesn't work anymore.
It still feels strange to be happy and laugh, then see a snapshot of me unguarded - I look like a freak.
However, I was more popular in 9th grade, attracting boys, which was totally different from back home in the Hoosier state. (Frankly, I have never considered Texas my home, no matter how many years I have lived here.) I went on my first date with some tall boy. We walked from my house the six blocks to the bowling alley. He never asked me out again because by some freak of nature I bowled 219.
Anyway, the lady next door complimented me one day. "You have the prettiest smile."
No one had ever complimented me before. Not about my all A's or my swimming medals or my writing. I have always remembered that first compliment, but it is a sad memory now.
My smile has become grotesquely warped. Parotid (salivary gland) cancer slowly paralyzed my seventh cranial nerve over a forty-year period. This was due to radiation treatments to my left ear, when I was nine, in an effort to stop my chronic ear infections. It worked, but the radiation mutated the parotid cells until they enveloped and strangled the nerve.
Back in the fifties radiation was a new and exciting cure for just about everything. Those of us who were treated with it have developed various cancers all over our bodies. They stopped these treatments on children in 1959, because the scientists finally realized there might be damaging side effects. Duh!
I was 27 when I first noticed a slight difference in my facial muscle. My mouth didn't seem to be symmetric as I was making faces for my new daughter. I looked in the mirror and didn't really notice any change in my smile. Five years later I went to an ophthamologist, because my left eye seemed to be bulging. He sent me to a neurologist, because he thought I had a tumor. The neurologist checked me out and gave me some exercises to do, just saying that I had a degenerative condition.
Over the next 18 years, I went to several doctors for answers. No one could explain what was happening. Bell's palsy usually only lasts 6 months.
Finally, when I was 50, I decided to have some reconstructive surgery done to try and correct my smile. Tests showed there was a slight nerve reaction and that a nerve transplant might work. However, during that surgery, a strange pulpy, gray mass was found. It was excised and sent to the lab. The doctor did not tell me the results until three days later. He could not reassure me that the smile would return. It was cancer, localized. No one had found it before; no one even considered that it might be cancer.
I went online and looked up salivary gland cancer on the American Cancer Society website. There, as plain as could be, was the number one cause of this cancer: childhood radiation treatments! I was furious, because I told every doctor I ever consulted that I had radiation treatments as a child.
Here's the kicker - I didn't need chemo, but the oncologist wanted to radiate me again to make sure that no microscopic cells could traverse the nerve into my brain. Because of that small possibility I let him and underwent 33 treatments, which was like receiving 5500 sunburns. Some of my hair fell out, my neck turned purple, and I completely lost hearing in my left ear. This last side effect I was not warned about.
Although this happened 10 years ago, I quit smiling for cameras fifteen years ago. I hate having my picture taken - and my family is one heck of a picture-taking group. I look like I have had a stroke or Bell's palsy. Kids are never shy about staring at me or asking me what's wrong. I just say my smile doesn't work anymore.
It still feels strange to be happy and laugh, then see a snapshot of me unguarded - I look like a freak.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Oops!
Just got back from San Antonio, where I took the grandkids to see their mother at the finish line of the marathon. We went out to celebrate the 13- mile run and her birthday, as well. (You don't really expect me to tell you which birthday, do you?)
So, I'm exhausted from the four miles we had to walk to/from the Alamodome, I unload the Costco stuff I bought on the way home, and think about a nap. Of course, the three glasses of iced tea I had at lunch has filled my bladder. As I head to the bathroom, I discover my skort zipper is down. Yikes! When did that happen? At the restaurant, I think, and I only went to Costco. My shirt covered the "oops," I hope, the whole time I was there.
This immediately brought to mind a couple other fashion disasters. Many years ago I dressed for work in the dark on a winter morning so as not to wake my husband. When I got to work, I saw that my sweater was inside out.
Several years ago I needed some new jeans. I found some, bought them, and put them on. When I got to the grocery store, I looked down and saw that the long, sticky size-label was still adhered to the thigh. Geez, talk about embarrassing!
A few months ago I was in a hurry for my niece's shower and pulled a pair of loafers out of the closet. After greeting everyone, I sat down and happen to see my feet, upon which were two different colored shoes. (That happens more than I like to think because, when I like the fit of shoes, I buy several pairs in different colors.)
So, I'm exhausted from the four miles we had to walk to/from the Alamodome, I unload the Costco stuff I bought on the way home, and think about a nap. Of course, the three glasses of iced tea I had at lunch has filled my bladder. As I head to the bathroom, I discover my skort zipper is down. Yikes! When did that happen? At the restaurant, I think, and I only went to Costco. My shirt covered the "oops," I hope, the whole time I was there.
This immediately brought to mind a couple other fashion disasters. Many years ago I dressed for work in the dark on a winter morning so as not to wake my husband. When I got to work, I saw that my sweater was inside out.
Several years ago I needed some new jeans. I found some, bought them, and put them on. When I got to the grocery store, I looked down and saw that the long, sticky size-label was still adhered to the thigh. Geez, talk about embarrassing!
A few months ago I was in a hurry for my niece's shower and pulled a pair of loafers out of the closet. After greeting everyone, I sat down and happen to see my feet, upon which were two different colored shoes. (That happens more than I like to think because, when I like the fit of shoes, I buy several pairs in different colors.)
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