Priorities in family, health and beauty...

My "little boy" is getting married!

I seem to keep putting off the completion of my eyebrow miniseries but really, it ended up having too many loose ends for me to publish it just yet.  I am, however, surprised that these posts appear to have a high readership and I'd like to thank you all.  However, there's so much I have for the subsequent eyebrow post(s) that I'm trying to cut it back a bit and chop it into smaller posts.  And, of course, what further complicates getting the series done - with no other posts breaking up the series - is that I keep getting sidetracked by other CFIDS/ME/fibro issues...or just life!


On Saturday I'm planning to get my hair done again and was (selfishly) disappointed that Lan's away.  I'm concerned that the new person won't be able to do my brows and lashes successfully and of all times to not get the person who knows you???  You see - and oh how much I'm afraid of jinxing myself (KNOCK ON WOOD!) - but I'm about to go on a HUGE trip, something I would never in a million years have imagined doing at this point in my life. 

There's been a hurt and sadness deeply rooted in the last few years.  I, at some point, really and truly suddenly realized, more or less out of the blue, that traveling will no longer be in the cards for me: that I'd never get to climb to the top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, that I'd never get to Alice Springs, nor would I be visiting St. Petersburg, or my cousins, for that matter, when the 2014 Olympics in Sochi start, so close to where my cousins live.  To show you how badly I do when traveling: hubby and I decided to do the simplest of vacations a few years back at a resort in Arizona that even had horse-back riding.  Well, it was a disastrous seven days, with me as sick as the proverbial dog, with one health problem after another: I broke out in angry red hives, I broke a tooth biting into my room service hamburger, and I've long ago suppressed all the other things that went wrong.


And yet, just as I had, in the last few weeks, resigned myself to the fact that there wouldn't be any more "exotic" vacations/trips for me, I was told by my middle child that he's getting married and soon AND in Kuala Lumpur.  And though he never expected me to be able to be there, worried about my health, I, in turn, couldn't imagine NOT being there.  So, in a frenzy, hubby spent a few days trying to locate my passport (remodeling strikes again!) as I tried to figure out which route to take, the dates involved, which airline(s) to use, how to swing it all financially. Finally, after a couple of days and nights of no sleep (what else is new, right?) my brain finally gave in, turned off the malfunctioning sleep switch and I was able to take a nap.  When I woke up, hubby had found the missing passport (it was exactly where I told him it would be!) and had booked a flight for me for my trip.  We both knew that every bit of damage done to me in this latest adventure of mine will well be worth it.  Besides, I would never be able to live with myself if I didn't do this.


And this SHOULD be quite interesting.  I'm traveling alone, since there are a few serious family crises/issues that need addressing (Murphy's Law!) plus hubby is not able to leave work at the moment.  Consequently, I'll have to rely on the airport people to meet me at each gate with a wheelchair and to get me to the connecting flight in time (with no time at duty-free shopping?  Just kill me right now!).  Hubby bought me business class tickets because we know that this will be a major shock to my system (I'll be running on adrenaline, which has not kicked in yet for the packing...). I'm just so weak and lethargic, my voice a croak, my muscles aching and so forth, but hopefully business class will make things go a bit more smoothly.


In general, CFIDS'ers shouldn't even be flying much at all and I have long wanted to post on this topic alone, but I'm still doing research.  Going by past experiences I know that this trip will keep me in bed for a couple of years since each time I've done this sort of insane thing, I've returned home with some new sort of nasty "thing" that no one could have foreseen and run down beyond comprehension.  But I don't really mind: it's always wonderful to spend time with my children, no matter where they may be in the world! (That sounds as sappy as an answer in a beauty contest!  Sorry!)


So, my boy is getting married and I cannot imagine not being there!  (I just had to repeat that because I'm still trying to get used to the idea!)


In order to get my engines revved up, yesterday and today I've been reading as much as possible on making travel easier, as well as "stalking" YouTube.  I'm following advice from Ruth the model, Sali Hughes of The Guardian, makeup artist Lisa Eldridge, as well as others: they are now my guides, my inspiration in all things packing and beauty.  And perhaps the best of their tips: how to do a great DIY beauty routine on long-haul flights!   Considering I have twelve time zones to get through, I have a feeling I'll be able to do several treatments.  But packing?  That is going to be a challenge since I freely admit to the universe: I am an awful packer.  My son immediately notified me that I can buy anything and everything I want/need in KL...having traveled with me too often and knowing just how much luggage I can lug around, often borrowing parts of others' suitcases. (Sadly, true!)


And there are so many things to take care of, as a person with a chronic illness.  Although I have an almost pathological fear of flying, for the first time ever, I'm actually looking forward to the flying part of the trip because I look forward to the DIY beauty routines.  I may even get adventurous and fool around with makeup, who knows? (Joke at my expense!)  Though I am a bookworm, I've never been able to read on a plane, not even the truly awful magazines my daughter seems to buy in bulk for travel, which take very few brain cells to comprehend. I feel as if I'm in a straitjacket when flying so I have high hopes for the DIY spa experience to make the time go by faster.  And I'm now carefully selecting/packing/agonizing over what should be in my carry-on (all meds, of course, but which skincare products, which cosmetics?), what is the proper size of the check-in bag and its weight, questions like "do I actually lock my suitcases since they need to be inspected along the way," yet it's scary not to lock them?  I'm also trying to figure out exactly what the restrictions for carry-ons in general are all about.  And I must not forget to pick up the letter from my doctor explaining to customs which medications I'm on and why, in order to not get thrown into a prison, never to be seen again. I also have to figure out how to give myself the HGH shots.  Eek!  I've never done the whole process myself: the few times I did the injections, the needles were already loaded. Plus I need to figure out how to carry my meds refrigerated for such a long time and distance. Finally, I have to make sure that I have enough meds to get me through the time away: some prescriptions will most likely end on a day I'm away, so we need to work with those concerned in order to insure that I have the doses needed.


So, getting back to hair, lashes and brows.  Although I don't have an appointment with Lan, I do have an appointment with someone else to do my brows and lashes.... And I truly need this: a) to deflect from my age spots (hyperpigmentation)  and b) I don't know how much makeup I'll be able to handle in KL - it must be murder wearing full warpaint in an area where the temps hover around the 100 degrees mark (we ARE at the equator, after all) with very high humidity to boot. I most certainly need those brows and lashes darkened in order to not scare any child unfortunate enough to cross my path.


I have a week before I'm off, so if anyone has any brilliant ideas to make this trip safer, easier, even feasible (!) please let me know.  The airlines change policies so often that it's hard to keep up. I worry about the water factor. I used to bring an entire carry-on with water and when I finished that, I'd then start asking the flight attendant for water. I actually had one refuse me water, saying I'd had two people's quotas!   So, there's a concern for you!  CFIDS/ME and water, after all, go hand in hand!


Another part of me fears a repeat of what happened at my daughter's college graduation.  Just as the class was coming in, accompanied by absolutely beautiful and stirring music -  I was being carried out because I kept sliding off the chair and "semi-passing out" (the HGH approval was moving very slowly though "the systems," the "t's" not yet crossed the "i" not yet dotted, so I was basically dying at that point and had to be hospitalized as soon as we got home).  I remember thinking the whole time, "at least it's just a graduation ceremony and not her wedding!"


Because of this fear, I'm arriving in Kuala Lumpur almost a week ahead of the wedding so that my long-haul plane ride will have been forgotten and my witty, charming self will shine through! ;)


If I can figure out how to blog from KL, I hope to give tips on traveling, or keep you up on events as they happen.  And I cannot believe I'll actually be in Communist China for layovers...in Shanghai and Beijing.  How I'd love to run out of the airport building and just take in the atmosphere for an hour or so, remembering very well when Nixon and Kissinger made the monumental steps of "opening" China.

Even when you're extremely sick with whatever kind of illness, it's difficult to give up those activities that you loved and learned as a child and have developed marvelous muscle memory for.  I love adventure, I love learning, I love people watching and I love my family.  It's difficult to come to terms with the fact that your can't do all the things you love any longer, just because of a lousy illness, or if doing them, doing them only in "heavy" moderation.  


But you know what?  Sometimes it just gets to be too much, all this hyper-vigilance over ourselves.  It gets to be a pain having to factor in what was eaten, what was said, monitoring anxiety levels, predicting pain levels, noticing every bit of minutiae which, as it so often turns out, is NOT minutiae at all but can often be the most important part/factor of your life, the one worth living for.  Because as I wrote in my previous post, I don't want to live in a cage, even if the cage is gilded.  To me, if the event is humongous enough and if it's well worth the price, I'll gladly pay later for all I've gone through.  And for me, my son's wedding is definitely worth the price, even halfway around the world.


Help???!!??


P.S.  I went back and made a few changes to the original post.  My brain was definitely way too fogged up this morning when I typed it out.  Apologies to all.



(Did you enjoy this post or find it helpful?  Subscribe to my blog and you'll never miss another post again! It's easy!  See the directions in the right-hand corner of this page.  And BTW: I'll never sell, share or rent your contact information.  I don't even know where to find that info, so that's a firm - and easy - promise!)

Self-tanning and bronzers à la CFIDS/ME/fibro-style...

Some of my self-tanning supplies for this year.

Now that we're explored the world of exfoliation, we're ready for that all-important "sun look."  I'm not sure about you, but since my skin is chicken-skin white, self-tanners really are a life-saver.   Normally, I don't do "the whole bit," but since this is my year of "making myself look human," I've decided that I really am going to go the self-tanner route and streaks be darned.  You see, I'm such a perfectionist that I can take all day just applying self-tanners. Granted, most of the day is spent trying to get my energy up to do it - and the rest of the day is taken up with giving myself a pep talk that I don't really need to do a perfect job.  But this year, I've told myself, I'm just going for it.  


Except there's been a bit of a kink in the system, just as it's started.  I put on two of the tanners I've been excited about and you'll hear the results in a moment.  Two or three days later when I was ready to reapply the self-tanners was the day that I'd had those unfortunate baby hives and when I went to take a bath in order to exfoliate the skin, I found that those pesky little hives had left the front of one leg abraded!  "Foiled again!" as Popeye might have said.  


So, yesterday was to be my day to do the whole exfoliation experience followed by self-tanners.  I'd written up (yesterday's) post and decided I needed to take a picture.  Everything was finally arranged downstairs in the new bathroom, pictures taken, but I wanted to take a few more with the window shutters open and as I stepped back out of the bathtub from adjusting the shutters, I fell.  Badly. I even shattered a tray that was standing outside the tub to bits, one I didn't think was even breakable - I must say I'm most talented!  I'm not quite sure what happened, although I do remember thinking, "NOT THE FACE! NOT THE FACE!" as I came crashing down and was rather badly banged up. The face is fine!...the rest of me, not so much.  I've become a bit accident-prone lately, and I don't like it!  Usually, I'm as agile as a monkey.  I have no idea what is happening to me.


All of which is to say that the products were tested only once this year and I'll have to rely on the experiences of last year as well.  I'll have to wait at least another week or two before I get to work on my "tan," but rest assured, what follows will be what I'll be using since it all is basically the same, year in and year out, with one notable exception.  


I've found it a good policy to basically go with Clarins since it appears to be fine with my skin and, really, I shouldn't do too much experimentation any longer since I've had a few disastrous results in the past. Often, I find, "don't fix it if it ain't broke!" is indeed the smart policy.  So, off we go with:

• Clarins "Delectable Self-Tanning Mousse with Mirabelle Oil."  I used this on my legs and they came out looking rather nicely.  

If anyone recalls, due to a flu I had a few years ago which lasted two years (yes, this is not a mistake, I had a whole full blown-out flu for two years: amazing what this CFIDS/ME/fibro can do to your system!) and was left with mottled legs as a souvenir.  Given that my legs have been one of my vanity points (i.e., one of the few things that I actually liked about my body - oh come on, we American women ALL hate our bodies!  It must happen in the hospital when we're born and then just gets worse over the years) I thought at first that the tanner would sort of disguise the "mottle-ness" or "mottled mess."  However, after the whole arm/hand thing and with my muscle tissue coming out in that bag of urine in the hospital as I lay dying (sorry, Billy Faulkner, for using your words), I now have these veins that are not going back into the body and I'm not quite sure how I'm going to get rid of them. Horseback riding lessons are one idea (my GP just gave me a huge lecture that it is time and, man, how I do not want to do it, at this point, but only because of timing considerations!!!) and I have an awful feeling that for many reasons that it's simply not going to happen. 

Anyway, I thought the self-tanners may help disguise...well, that with a lot of very long skirts?!  Anyone with ideas, please figure out my funky comments section and write in as I'm pretty desperate.

But, yes, from one application of the Clarins Mousse, I came out with a very nice tan on my legs that I could see would help me with my "disguise" plans.  

In previous years, I've also tried the following Clarins self-tanners and intend to do so again this year:

• Clarins "Self Tanning Instant Gel"
• Clarins "Self Tanning Milk with Sun Protection"

Both have done nice jobs and given that I already have them in stock, I'll be using them until I run out and then will most likely buy again.

But we have a surprise!

• Omorovicza's "Glam Glow self-tanner"....5 thumbs up!

I'd received a full-sized sample of Omorovizca's "Glam Glow self-tanner" when I bought one of their sample bags - when it was on sale a few weeks ago.  I was bold enough to ask if they had a substitute that I could have instead of the self-tanner but the substitute was so unattractive compared to the self-tanner (OK, it was a $20 value compared to a whopping $89 value for the self-tanner!  And OK, I was momentarily dizzied by the dollar in this instance - but I also knew I'd have a better chance of using the self-tanner than the substitute, which I guarantee you I would never have used!).  As soon as it came in I used it on my arms (we have 30 inches of scarring to somehow camouflage) and I loved the color and smell.  It just looked like my arms, but darker.  Best, it made my very white (read: untoned, flabby) arms, that is, from shoulder to shoulder, including the collar bone and décolleté SHINE! Even my daughter, who'd stopped by the house, remarked on it.  I GLOWED!   And it was nice.  I'm not sure that it will be "strong" enough for my legs, though I know I'll give the legs a layer of it after I've built up some color on them, thanks to the Clarins, plus I can't wait to see what'll happen to my legs with a bit of glow.  I just hope it's not neon veins!  BTW: only the best of ingredients are used.  Omorovicza tries to keep it as healthy and natural as possible, albeit remembering that they do want to give you a tan! 

Moving on, every summer I use the following periodically:

• Jergens Natural Glow Revitalizing Daily Moisturizer, Fair to Medium Skin
• Jergens Natureal Glow Firming Daily Moisturizer, Fair to Medium Skin

Now these are really and truly very nice products, but you need to apply them every day and there is nothing that I do every day, other than eat.  NOTHING!   I have CFIDS/ME/fibro, and that's the beginning of  my problems, so nothing else is a given.  Let's face it, even breathing every day if often difficult.  So, I've applied the Jergens now and then, but really, it's a lost cause for me and I'm not even sure I didn't throw them out when we were decluttering.  Let me tell you, I had quite the collection as each new kind of Jergens gradual tanner came out, and once my ever-optimistic middle child bought me the medium-dark skin one.  Sad.  He's just so darned optimistic, that dear child!

• Bare Essentuals "Faux Tan"  

Now, hubby was sent out to buy me a self-tanner last year, with no specific instructions, I'm the first to admit, at least not instructions specific enough for him.  He came home with the aforementioned "Faux Tan" and I wanted to cry.  I'd already had a bad experience with it a few years back. (Daughter to mom/me: "WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOURSELF????")  After looking at the happiness on hubby's face and hearing everything that the salesclerk told him (VERBATIM!), I tried the stuff on my legs again (on the principle that no one would see the disaster) and I still do NOT understand how this mess works!  I've read up on it, watched people on YouTube and people actually swear by it.  The saleswoman must have been telling the truth when she said she couldn't keep it in stock but I've had no luck with it. 

I HAVE read that you can now buy a brush to apply it with.  Are they insane?   Why would I want to fork out 50 bucks for a brush to use a self-tanner that MIGHT work if I do it ABSOLUTELY correctly and am, by the way, a Snookie-like pro with self-tanners, which I'm not?  And then the brush has to be washed, I would imagine?  I love brushes but, really, in this instance, my life is already difficult enough, so I'm not even going there...unless, I get very desperate about my legs....

But then I'll use the

• St. Tropez's "Tan Optimizer Applicator Mitt"  

Right!  OK.  I'd like to think that I'll use it, especially since I already own one.  I hate orange hands perhaps even more than streaks, so washing my hands is usually a huge ordeal. I do one leg and wash hands thoroughly, including using the all important nail brush.  After a while (at least 15-30 minutes because I'm now exhausted and need a rest) I do the other leg, wash hands and rest.  Same goes with the arms, shoulders, back of neck, etc.  Wash hands and rest.  Actually, you've/I've earned the rest by now!  Congratulations!

• St. Tropez's "Tan Optimiser"  ("Tan Removal")

This is what is giving me the confidence this year to go on and risk the streaks, orange hands and mishaps.  I've used this a bit and haven't had any problems with my hands.  Good!   A lot of anxiety not needed, a definite plus in my book.

Now, I do not tan my face.  That is a sacred area.  (See above account of accident last night to remember just how sacred the face is!)  

But thanks to Ruth, The Model, I've discovered: 

• Chanel's "Soleil Tan," a cream bronzer that you apply with your fingers, or with a brush if you really want a mess and have the energy to clean brushes.  I like the control I get with my fingers.  It is heaven!   Yes, this is just a cosmetic, which is all I'll use on my face, thank you very much!

I've found that bronzers can be tricky.  They can be muddy, they can be orange.  They can "over-stick" if your face is over-moisturized, they can do heaven-only-knows-what if your face is under-moisturized.  I own Guerlain and many other "best of" bronzers.  My daughter always thinks she's my mother and will start smudging off some of the bronzer I apply (I guess it's not the right amount or not in the right place to please the ever-critical "children.")

However, the Chanel goes on beautifully and because it melts into your skin - it is a cream - it works like a dream. It blends so well that it's almost mistake proof. Critical daughter had nothing to criticize the few times I've worn it!  I get no awful facial reaction to it, my face actually seems to LIKE whatever is in there.  So, that is it for bronzers for me.  

Oh, I'm sure I'll fool around with a few other products - it's my nature.  And I do have a few products lying around already that I really should give a try.  But really, I'm happy (or not happy in one instance) with the products I've listed and so there you have it. 

And finally, just to keep everyone safe, the best sunscreen ever:

•  La Mer's "The SPF 30 Protecting Fluid," bar none!

When I visited my son in Australia, I had at least five different sunblocks to choose from/foisted upon me, that is, by various members of my family as they all feared for me because they all tan while I only burn - and Townsville is in the tropics. (We also went during the height of their summer so we could spend time with said son!) I hated every single one of those sunscreens as much in the topics as I did anywhere else, not surprisingly.  

But I do remember being wonderfully shocked by the feel of the La Mer, especially since I was in the midst of trying them out one by one, constantly, no rhyme nor reason other than someone was always yelling, "MOOOOMMMM!!!!," horrified that I'd expire from melanoma right there in front of them.  After about thirty minutes by the pool one day (a record, trust me!) I fell in love with the La Mer (who knew?  I'd been using it for years whenever I got a nice lecture from Sylvia). For the rest of our time in Oz, I kept reapplying the La Mer, and was able to come home as pale as I left. To tell you the truth, because it is so pricey, I use it only on my face, shoulders, décolleté and arms.  I figure the rest of the body can use the less expensive sunblocks and since my legs aren't funny about having anything on them, it's basically a non-issue. Besides, if I did burn those legs, I'd kind of like it (again: remember, I'm a product of the '70's!)

And if you're in the sun: please remember to wear a hat!  The sun really does have a tendency to wipe "us" out, those with CFIDS/ME/fibro, and a hat with a wide brim is hard to beat.

If you want to be a bronze goddess this summer, these products may work for you.  Or, if like me, you just want to look a bit healthier, this just might be the ticket for you too.  Whatever, enjoy!   And if you can sneak a few minutes of sun for your Vitamin D without any cover, go for it, as long it's for just a right amount of time - I've heard ten minutes in the gentle morning sun, not the afternoon harsh 3PM sun - and it might be a good idea to carry a timer with you, as it is all too easy to misjudge how long you've been out in the sun. (Personally, I'm really hoping umbrellas in the sun, as in "parasols," come back into style!  Think about it: it's a nice idea, and we would get a bit of sun, just enough for that oh-so-necessary Vitamin D!)

Finally, my GP, who knows me all too well, has put me on Vitamin D capsules to take daily since, for the first time ever, my Vitamin D level has dropped significantly, to an unhealthy number.  Hmmmm...perhaps he doesn't know me as well as he thinks: I have hit my quota as to how many meds I can remember to take and supplements are a whole 'nother ball game in the memory department, one I will also get into at some point!

In the meanwhile: Happy Sunless Sunning! 


(Did you enjoy this post?  Please subscribe to my blog and you'll never miss anything.  It's easy: see the directions on the right hand corner of this page.  And BTW: I'll never sell, share or rent your contact information.  I don't even know where to find it, so it's a firm promise!) 

The mystery of why can't the bookworm read?

The boys loved putting on the "bobbies" hats when we had our own little mystery: who had robbed our flat while we were all sightseeing?

Good golly, great balls of fire!  I am NOT kidding when I say that I'm not sure how much longer I can "accept" this new Irene who doesn't read, who's not capable of reading because of problems with concentration.  I'm very much back in the POSITION of being able to read again, given that my daughter's health is, for the most part, on the upswing, and that I'm back in bed.  In fact, given how much I am recovering from the abuses my body and CFIDS/ME/fibro-addled brain experienced in the last two years, that is, between all the health crises in the family, I should be able to GLADLY escape to my book world, and certainly would have any other time in my life.  Heck, normally at any other moment in my life, I'm sure a crazy blood-thirsty gang of Viking would have had problems ripping a book away from me.  

This is a totally new me I don't recognize.  I don't like it at all and, frankly, I'm beginning to fear it.  Heavens, no matter how ill I've ever been, I've always been able to read.  Granted, I did get to the point in my deteriorating health where I was strict with myself and forced myself to read at all times, for fear of losing the ability to do so. And I reluctantly admit to reading some of the most awful junk on my really bad days (no titles from me on this count - I still have a bit of pride left!) when I had such extreme concentration problems.  Yes siree, I've read awful, flinching stuff when all is said and done, all in the name of keeping my brain from completely atrophying from this DD.

Forget the memory problems (pun: groan!).  I signed the terms to the surrender of that battle a long time ago and made extremely difficult concessions to the agreement, that of having to read a book in a day or in a single "sitting."

"Sitting"?  And how wrong is THAT word since I can basically only read lying down and only on my right side at that, in bed, no other way as long as I can remember?  Ha!  Given that I remember HOW much (?), I'm not sure how convincing that statement is.  But rest assured, it was my middle child, who's always had a knack for noticing the oddest things, who pointed it out to me back when he was about eight years old and he was absolutely right.  And I DO remember my mom being upset with me even when I was growing up, that I wasn't able to read from a sitting position.  I'm a bit of an odd duck, aren't I?

There's yet another reason that I'm afraid and upset about this inability to read.  Just as I've always used my "Russian-ness" as an identity that made me different from others as I was growing up and allowed me, I strongly feel, to avoid an "identity crisis" in college when EVERYONE was going through their "identity crises,"  (it WAS the 70's!) so, too, has "bookworm" been an integral part of my identity.

I've lost so much to this stinking disease, this CFIDS/ME and fibromyalgia, not to mention the migraines, the pain, the God-awful fatigue that makes you want to flow down the drain with the water as the bathtub empties.  I'm no longer able to garden like I love to, cook and bake like I yearn to, on a regular basis.  The couple of times I can do so a year, if I'm lucky, are an exception to the rule.  I long ago gave up on photography (or picture-taking!), swimming, visiting with friends.  I've not been to the movies since 1997 when "Titanic" swept the Oscar's, this a person as a member of a family that would often go to see three movies right in a row on a single Saturday or Sunday.  I no longer go to church. I cannot clean, iron...tasks I used to love to do because of the sense of accomplishment I always felt afterwards, if for nothing else.

As I torture myself trying to analyze what the heck is happening to me, I realize that in the last twenty years I've become more and more drawn to mysteries, and series at that, and have wondered why?  It took me a while to realize that the mystery aspect was enticing and appealing because it sharpened my deductive reasoning skills - a fancy way to say that I needed to think like a detective as I've tried to figure out my biggest mystery: what the heck was going on with, to and in my body, as well as my brain?

And why in the world the love of series?  Well, because it was so much easier to read a novel where I knew all the players and their histories and didn't have to kill off precious brain cells in trying to learn new people and places and their back stories.  There's not much I dislike more than beginning a book because it's just so hard to figure out what the heck is going on.  Lordy, even the font that changes from book to book throws me off my game.  All of this is so weird since that means that as I was reading 400 plus books a year in the last few years  (I kept a journal of titles, that's how I know!) that's an awful lot of unpleasant feelings at least once every single day. Was/am I a masochist? Coupled with how much time I would spend each day wandering the house trying to find a book to read, was in the "mood" to read (code word alert!), and given how much I was reading, I marvel at how quickly I must have been flying through those books!  And it's no wonder hubby had such mixed feelings about hitting up our libraries, hauling books home by the bagfuls, hoping he'd hit a home run with at least a couple of those books every few days.

A funny memory of my kids' childhoods.  At night when they would finally be ready for bed, once I got to the point where I couldn't always put them to bed anymore but hubby had to as often as not, the kids would run to my bed, attack and jump all over me vying for my attention, hyped up as usual from just being three rambunctious children, and demand to know what I was reading and how far along I was into the book. In the morning, when they would see that I'd had yet another sleepless night, they'd again invade my bed and want to know what I was NOW reading. Their biggest delight: if I had finished the book I was reading when they went to sleep, read another book as they slept and was into book #3 when they woke up.  OK, I never said my kids were NORMAL!

I'm trying every mind game I can think of and I still can't get into reading, this to a person who would walk down stairs reading, wash my hands in the sink while reading, brush my teeth while reading...the list goes on and on. In fact, I often tricked myself into doing a chore my body couldn't handle by reading and doing that chore at the same time.  I'm not saying I remembered anything I read while doing these things.  It was a bit like a roller coaster ride, fun while doing it but almost immediately forgotten.  And it got the job done.

Just as a smell can trigger the most deep-seeded memory and bring it it the foreground, I remember where I was or what my interests in life were back then, and I recall what crisis, happiness, indeed every twist and turn of our family's history at any given moment, all from just seeing a book cover.  Books are my history.

And the joke and anecdotes surrounding my reading are many. We were on our first trip to London, the entire family! The oldest was ten (trip first described in the post on 2/26).  We stopped at the bookstore at the airport (oh how I love to look at walls and tables at a bookstore and laugh when I see that I've read at least 75% of the books I see).  The gentleman remarked on how wonderful it was to see my kids zeroing in with excitement towards the books instead of the toys sold there too.

Before you get to "Oh, how sick can she be if she's flying to London, for heaven's sake!"  Wait!  

I held up a book that had caught my interest, but feeling very guilty about the bloody fortune we were spending on this vacation, plus so exhausted from the packing and planning, I was definitely not in peak shape even for my low standards.  I help up a book and asked the seller, "does this come in paperback?"  The man looked at hubby and hubby looked at clerk and I had no answer to my seemingly simple question.  I repeated, holding the book up even higher, a bit annoyed since my upper body strength has never been the greatest, I was exhausted, I was sure my makeup was rolling to my neck down from my face, I was sweating, I was becoming nauseated, my hair was getting wet from the exhaustion and all I wanted was an answer to a very easy question.  Griding my teeth behind what I'm sure was a very fake smile, I repeated, "DOES THIS BOOK COME IN PAPERBACK," a bit more slowly than called for.

The looks going back and forth were quickly getting on my nerves when hubby gingerly replied, "Uh, Irene...you ARE holding the book in paperback."

My brains was so slow that it took me a full minute of staring at the darn thing to finally understand what he meant.

Some days you just can't win.

In the meanwhile, I'll continue reading samples of books from my Kindle.  Something has to finally kick in. 

Reading, like I said, is me.

Visiting Kensington Palace on  Easter Monday, we discovered that Princess Diana had set up an  Easter Egg hunt for little children coming through that day, as well as a place in the basement where they could color and make all sorts of Easter arts and crafts projects.  What a lady!  

(Did you enjoy this post?  Please subscribe to my blog and you'll never miss anything.  It's easy: see the directions on the right hand corner of this page.  And BTW: I'll never sell, share or rent your contact information.  I don't even know where to find it, so it's a firm promise!) 

Laughing and crying about beauty and medical centers...

The wedding dress bought at B.Altman's, 1976.

Laughter. It's sort of what I've always been "famous" for in my family.  But it was on Friday, August 13, 2010 that started me on my path to laughter which would make a world of difference in our family's life. We'd always laughed, but never under such trying circumstances, an understatement.

You see, my daughter spent many weeks in hospitals in the past year and a half, starting on that dreaded Friday the 13th, with many long hospitalizations.  It was absolutely the worst time in our family's life, bar none.  Not to put a damper on things, but we almost lost her, more than once, and are still in a state of shock, all of us trying to recover from the nightmare(s). It was a relatively rare disease and though we were fortunate enough to have had some of the best doctors in the country on her case, finally in a hospital that's ranked number two in the country for her illness, even those doctors were stumped, the ones at the medical center she was suddenly transferred to one night during her third local hospital stay in three weeks.  They, the world's experts, had never seen anything quite like what was happening to our daughter. It become so horrid that on one particular day I remember about twelve doctors coming by with their teams of residents and fellows - during her fourth hospitalization there, perhaps?  It was such a madhouse that there was a backlog...the docs and their teams were lining up in the hallway, awaiting their turns. Never had I seen a sight like that before, or since, anywhere!

I can laugh about that day now, but at the time it was very frustrating, scary and maddening.  My daughter was so ill that she remembers almost none of this, but when she could talk to where we could actually understand her, she was definitely not the sweetest thing to come along.  She'd always been healthy and perhaps did not have the skills needed to endure the repeated tests every single day, twice daily, swollen arms and hands from so many "sticks," the weight loss of 45 pounds in just 25 days because she couldn't even swallow water.  On the other hand, who does have those skills?  Her pain threshold was supreme, something that her pain management people woefully did not get at all. Having been in the pain field as a patient and knowing more than a bit about it myself, as well as having access informally to very well-informed medical sources to check my supposed knowledge, it'll be a long time before I can forgive some of the docs involved in her case, as well as more than a bit of misinformation, on every one of her seven hospitalizations in that medical center alone.

But my reason for writing about this?  Well, I'm trying to make my posts shorter so I'll come back to other reasons in the future.  I'll just make one, (or two?), observation at the moment.  And that is...

First impressions, added with laughter and inside jokes, count!!!  I cannot believe the difference in "attitude" I received by staff, be they nurses, aides, "junior docs" or attendings, by the way I looked!  I realized this quite early on and it was maddening, but like everything else at the "medical center," it was trying to play the game - of Life! - to your best advantage and for extremely high stakes.

First of all, let me say that there was no one more surprised than myself that suddenly I had this energy to stay with my daughter every single day she was in the hospital, not leaving her side 24/7 unless another family member was there to spell me - her dad or one of her two wonderful brothers. It was a complete family affair, I'm proud to say.  If they weren't able to be there, I'd pick someone and put them on notice that I was making that person responsible for the minutes I was away.  In all of this insanity, my maternal instincts kicked in full-speed ahead and an extremely productive and dangerous lioness came out.... A crazy one at times.  I'm still angry with some of the physicians whom I had extreme arguments with...who will, most probably, forever be on my "poop" list.  I'm a mom...what can I say?  Worse, I'm a mom with an education, learning skills, an inability to be too cowered by authority and armed with excellent sources of medical information, often better than the ones at the medical center.  Unlike most, I was not scared of anyone or anything but my daughter's disease.

On the other end of the spectrum, there are the incredible physicians, and one surgeon in particular, who literally saved her life and then gave it back to her in a way that is enabling her, as well as the rest of the family, to have a life definitely worth living and enjoying.  I thank every guardian angel, human or otherwise, for having been there and who continue to help our entire family.  God's best idea: Guardian Angels - after daughters, that is.

But back to first impressions!

I've always known that the way you look affects the way people treat you.  It's a fact of life, sorry to say.  I first tested this at B. Altman's, one of my favorite 5th Avenue department stores, back in our "salad days" with my new hubby.  One afternoon I happened to be browsing, looking at coats specifically, and not one sales person came to ask if she could help.  Usually, you get eons of salespeople when you just want to be left alone to actually think.

Walking back to our apartment (the 50-cent bus fare was just too much for our budget) I started dissecting the no-sales-lady experience.  By the time I got home, I realized the problem.  I didn't look like a bum but I did look like a student who had no way of affording anything in the store.  Everything about me that day screamed "student": the pulled back hair in a barrette, the very little makeup, the jeans.  Understand, this was the mid-70's - a time when many restaurants in New York City wouldn't allow a lady wearing an elegant pantsuit to enter their premises, so imagine the impression of jeans in this very "establishment" store!

I was a bit heated about this and just couldn't let things lie.  The following day, I rolled my hair (no blow dryers available yet, nor any good hair products), put on my makeup very carefully and especially elegantly (though how elegant can a 24-year old be?), my nicest "outfit" with the buttery suede jacket and the beautiful brown high heeled boots I'd splurged on in Rome (yes, Italy...it was a chartered flight!) and faster than you can say "prego!" I had, at the very least, five sales ladies come up to me, immediately, in the very department I'd browsed the day before, each one trying to tempt me with other coats I might not have noticed.

That lesson has always remained with me.  I tend to have a weight problem due to this DD.  In my better times my weight is good.  I'm not thrilled with it, but I can live with it.  But I always say you can tell how I'm doing by my weight.  In my worse times, my weight starts getting up there.  And believe me: people, across the board, in every aspect of your life, treat you better when you're thin than when you're heavy...from the person at the supermarket to doctors.

So, when my precious daughter got so sick, you better believe I forced myself to dress in a friendly fashion, even going so far as wearing different cool boots or a cute handbag or fun watch which inevitably I'd get a reaction to, making the interaction that much more human and friendly, leading, of course, then to laughter, often breaking the tension.  And that was one of my prime reasons for being there.  I tried to make my daughter laugh as much as she could handle, even if it was at my expense or me playing the fool.

I learned to leave my daughter's side about every 24-48 hours when I started to get a bit ripe and in twenty minutes I could get to the hotel room, shower, do my hair, put on vast amounts of beauty products to get the new no-makeup look, pat just the tiniest bit of lovely scent on me and rush back to her room.  Twenty minutes!  I can't even wash my face in twenty minutes on a normal day, but my daughter dying gave me strength that I truly believe Clarence (remember, I recently named my guardian angel?) and God gave me all those weeks and months.

But I'd like to add that there were a few days when I looked far worse than anything any cat could drag in.  Those were the days that I was not noticed, totally ignored and not made a part of the discussion of what was happening.  Coincidence?  I think not.

So, my advice to all:  first, everyone who is ever in a hospital needs a health-advocate. This is PRIME!  Mistakes are made, staff gets overloaded, "junior docs" don't read charts, attending's can all too often be aloof, arrogant, or worse, clueless, especially in a place so large where the left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing.  You absolutely need someone there at all times to help your loved one get through the whole process - hopefully, alive!  (And yes, I do want to have a long and in-depth discussion with the CEO of the medical center - not to be too hyped up on myself, but I do think he could learn a few truths about what is really going on in that establishment. Much good, yes, but there is bad too: very bad.)

Secondly, I've forgiven B. Altman's for the way they treated me that day I wore jeans :). I mourn the day they had to close that wonderful institution.  After all, I even bought my wedding dress there...and it was a very classy experience, certainly too classy for this young girl on a very limited budget.

(And if anyone wants to experience a great read of B. Altman's in their heyday, there's a wonderful book by Adriana Trigiani, Lucia, Lucia!, a fun and sweet novel which describes New York in 1950, living down in "The Village," and working in the couture department of B. Altman's.  Any guys out there may want to give the book a pass, but it's a bit of magic for the gals out there.  Not too off-topic, am I?)

But the biggest advice I can give here: keep up your sense of humor. Each person, from the transport people who would wheel my baby in her bed down for tests, to the nurse's aide who got my daughter addicted to some sort of banana Popsicles, to the night receptionist who loved to joke with me about our mutual love of the smell of new leather, to the Ukrainian nurse who held my hands in those first days when I knew absolutely nothing about this illness - had never even heard of this darn thing - when we joked about whether Russians really couldn't understand Ukrainian or were they pulling our legs? (as we spoke in Russian and not in Ukrainian), to the EEG technician who talked to me about the Russian Orthodox church nearby (that I never, regretfully, got to) and then went through our six degrees of separation to see who we might both know in the nation-wide Russian-American community, to the Romanian aide who would try to get my daughter to do all that walking - and talking about the foods she taught her daughter to make, to the Romanian cleaning lady who told me that my smile was too beautiful to sacrifice for tears...everything was made more endurable with humor and laughter.

Well, that and a bit of mascara.

The THING About Waiting Rooms...

Legs in training....

Since I promised to bring survival tips for my hoped-for readers, here's one 
that may appear to be a bit unorthodox but a real winner for me.

Anyone with any sort of chronic illness is very susceptible to germs and viruses 
from everywhere.  Obviously.  Duh!   With CFIDS/CFS/ME, our immune systems are 
hinky, thus the "ID" in CFIDS, the "Immune Dysfunction" syndrome part.  Our 
immune systems are over-active and under-active, both at the same time, so very 
contradictory in an illness full of contradictions.

I need to meet about every month or so with my long-suffering GP, who of 
everyone I've ever seen in my plethora of doctors over the past 37 years, from 
New York City across the good old USA, has been the best and most successful 
help in my care.  We make a good team, actually, as we've together tackled 
research and question seemingly everything that comes our way.  Some years we're 
gung-ho about learning every new thing, other years we just throw up our hands, 
give up and go into survival mode.  A small-town GP, he's more than a bit 
understanding and has more patience than I could ever dredge up, which is not to 
say we agree on all, but just that he's one of the best things that's ever 
happened to me.  Oh, he does sometimes see me as a bit of sport and I just know 
the man often revs me up to hear what will come out of my mouth next.  But 
compassion when need be, it's there!

However, I hate the germs and viruses that I seem to bring home each and every 
time I see him...or my dentist for that matter.  With my dentist we've agreed 
any work that needs to be done can start around April, once flu season is over, 
but must end by September, before flu season begins.  And the best part, 
perhaps, is that he's enforced these parameters at times when I've thought to 
myself, "flu season be darned," crazily thinking I was just too careful.

I can't exactly not see my GP, however, for so long.  So after many years, which 
included two serious bouts of pneumonia, we've worked out a system that seems to 
be the answer to some of the problems of my funky immune system.  My 
long-suffering hubby goes to the office, as I stay behind in the car with a book 
or my Kindle, signs me in, takes care of whatever finances need to be addressed 
and actually SITS in the waiting room for the moment when my name is called.  He 
then quickly runs out to the car and we go in through a back door, thus avoiding 
as many sneezing and coughing people as possible.

How I wish we had some sort of system like that when the kids were little and 
you'd take your children in for a "well visit," only to bring home three kids 
laden with chicken pox or some of the other childhood illnesses lurking in the 
pediatrician's office!  But I digress....

To tell you the truth I am always tempted to take some sort of germ-killer in a 
can and spray it at all within my reach.  Despite many outrageous things I HAVE 
tried, Lycol'ing my way to an exam room is even too much for me, SO FAR.

Yes, I may sound like a diva, but here is an example of why this has become a 
necessity.  I came down with a common bug going around one winter and was sick 
as a dog for two solid years.  Just as I was in the home stretch something 
strange happened to my legs...they turned blotchy and mottled with lovely shades 
of purple and red.  They've stayed that way for the most part, unfortunately.  
They are of huge interest to my doctors...they seem to love looking at them and 
speculating as to how the heck THAT happened.  I'm not so easily amused.  And 
poor hubby - my legs were what he'd first fallen in love with, only later my 
sparkling personality!  <wink!>

So, if your immune system is really wacko and you know that a needed or required 
visit to your physician may cause you to come down with everything down to the 
seven plagues of Egypt, consider my strategy.  Granted, it may be difficult to find 
someone in your life who's willing to sit in a waiting room full of sniffles and 
sneezes but it's a heck of a lot harder to come down with a bug that can take 
months and months to rid yourself of.  Plus I find that with each "flare," we do 
get more permanent damage to our bodies.  Ask my legs.

Laughing from my sickbed about my profile....

One  bad day in the mid-80's: hubby's idea of lightening the mood, a gorilla-gram!  I love that I have a bracelet on even when sick.

If I had any idea whatsoever as to what the profile questions were about, I'd 
answer them, no problem!   I really don't mean to sound mysterious.

I'm a wife, a mom and, I hope, a good friend.  My "long-suffering" hubby and I 
have known each other for 37 years, meeting on, of all things, a blind date and 
falling in love at, just about, first sight.  My first reaction upon seeing the 
tall guy in front of me?  "S*^t!  THIS is what I've been waiting for all my 
life?" and proceeding to answer no more than "yes" and "no" for the entire 
evening.  We've been married for 36 years and have three fantastic kids, who 
love their mom and dad's story of how they met and tell everyone about it.  My 
best friend of all time and I have been BFF's for an unbelievable 41 years.  

For a long time I had no idea what the heck was "wrong" with me.  We kept making 
excuses for my seemingly sudden fatigue and brain fog and a host of other 
problems that were added to my "what's wrong with me?" list as the years went 
by.  Eventually, about fifteen years later, I was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue 
Immune Dysfunction Syndrome (CFIDS) from a severe flu I got in grad school in 
1975, commonly known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS), a term my fellow 
sufferers and I detest.  If anything, I prefer the British name for it, Myalgic 
Encephalopathy (ME).  The British ME shows that in England, at least, as well as 
Australia, they take this illness more seriously than we Americans do.

Over the years as I've become more and more sick I've worked hard on trying new 
tricks and ways of surviving this illness.  I've been extremely lucky in that my 
hubby and kids have been so supportive of me over the years - and fierce in 
their own fights to help make my life a bit easier to survive.  

But most of all, the thing that has helped our family stay together and fight 
this beast is our gift of laughter.  And it truly IS a gift.  We've had our 
"challenging" periods and were it not for laughter I just know we would not have 
survived this DD ("dreaded disease, "darn disease," etc., you get the drift).  

I have no idea if anyone is actually reading this blog.  It often feels a bit 
like when I catch myself talking to myself - a genetic thing, I tell myself, 
because I do remember my grandmother doing so!  But I certainly hope I develop a bit 
of a following because over these past 37 years I've been able to come up with 
various coping techniques and tips that may help those with CFIDS, Fibromyalgia, 
insomnia, and, indeed, anyone who suffers from chronic illness, be they totally 
bedridden, as basically I am now, or still struggling to hold down a job, or at 
least some semblance of a social life.  

So glad if you've been able to drop in and spend a bit of your time with me.  
Please leave comments if you're at all inclined to do so and/or subscribe.  I 
will answer any questions you may pose and will enjoy hearing from just about 
anyone...it'll be nice if and when I'm no longer talking to myself.

Laughing from my sickbed about skin care.....

Can you tell my BFF picked out this picture for me?  I can!

Color me lazy.  I suppose I've been blessed by good DNA when it comes to wrinkles and such because I've basically lived with little more than good old Dove soap as just about my only skincare.  Oh, I bought LaMer, a ridiculously expensive cream worth every penny for my face too, but I can't say that it's helped a HUGE amount - only because I don't use it on a regular basis.  It's wonderful, wonderful.  I love it.  And its more expensive, but even more effective "The Concentrate," has helped me out of a few jams over the years when need be.  

But the new beauty thing these days seems to be about skinCARE!  Who even cared about skincare until about the last five years - or even less?  No one!  Well, perhaps a few hippies in California, but really, did they even count?  We had makeup, by golly, and we used it liberally.  There was a time NO one saw me without my war paint on, not even my ob/gyn when I delivered three ten-pound screamers.

It's truly amazing how much "paint" can accomplish.  About a year ago, I had a regular appointment with my GP and found that after my shower/bathing ordeal, I actually had a bit of time and, better yet, energy on my hands.  What to do?  I really, really hate to sit around.  Lie around is one thing, but sitting around takes precious ENERGY.

Well, I thought, let's put on some foundation.  And trust me, I really do need foundation. My freckles, let's face it, are, at fifty-plus, not freckles but age spots!  And I have always hidden them... well, once I reached college and was out of sight of my old-fashioned and very strict mom.

So I thought to myself, let's shake the heck out of my long-suffering GP.  He'd not seen me look anywhere near "good" in over a year.  A girl remembers these things, you know.  A little later, bored by the extra time, I thought I'd put on some eyeliner too.  That's getting towards the "big guns" and a real pain because the hand's not too steady any longer.  In fact, if hubby is helping me get ready and sees the eyeliner in my hand, he know to flee.  Nothing puts me into as foul a mood as putting on eyeliner.  It used to be something that took no more than two minutes, if I were having a bad day.  Now, darn it, the eyesight is going too, so that makes it an even harder job to accomplish.  Magnifying mirror is not enough...worse mood.

After about two hours of paint, rest, paint, rest, I was looking pret-ty dern good.  That Nars illuminator with the Bare Escentuals Radiance worked beautifully together but I know I'll never be able to reproduce the successful combination...sigh.  

I had my appointment and as I was leaving, my doctor said, "you are looking really good today!"  I've never, ever been able to take a compliment graciously - mostly because I'm looking for some sort of hidden smirk behind the compliment.  After muttering something inane about how it took me two hours to achieve this look (how embarrassing is THAT statement?) I suddenly remembered that there WAS something I forgot to mention, a new, big pain.  Understand I live in pain every day, but this was new.  OK.  I get new stuff all the time too, but this actually got MY attention, somewhat of a miracle, trust me!

Well, I looked so good that the doctor poo-poo'ed it and pointed out how much stress we were under lately...true.  I didn't think that explained the "new pain" but...hey, the man's been right on an occasion or two (ha!).

That day I also decided that the two almost year-old prescriptions for glasses I'd been carrying around could be filled at the one-hour place at the mall.  Yes siree, get me out of my bed and the sky's the limit.  Often my daughter will say, "so, shall we now drive up to Babushka's?"... her grandmother who lives eight hours away. Cute kid!  Very funny kid.

I was in an absolutely wonderful mood.  I actually picked out two frames I loved, a first.  My son and I sat down where he gobbled down his dinner and then ate mine too.  Good time as we walked around.  

My luck!  I picked up the glasses and tried them on.  Both prescriptions were wrong...WAY wrong.  The man, who HAD thought that they were an odd prescription, tried to talk me into liking the new "vision."  I informed him that IF my son were playing at the Super Bowl and IF I wanted to see if his nose were running, only THEN would I need the new prescription.  I had thought the new eye doctor might have been a bit off when I saw her...OK, I actually wondered if she was nipping from a bottle, but never did I expect a bad prescription.  The reading glasses were off too.  The poor optometrist at the one-hour place was about to go home but he was roped into checking my eyes.  I really did not want to come back.  Who knew WHEN I'd put makeup on again, much less get out of bed for a day...carpe diem, as my disgustingly optimistic hubby would say.  Seize the day!

Two new pairs of glasses had to be grinded.  My son looked at me and said, "things never do go quite smoothly for you, mom, do they?" Oh, as I've said once before, out of the mouth of babes!  An hour later, I was on my way home, happy that I'd picked out new glass frames to go with eyes which had on makeup.  The last time had been without eye makeup and it was a most unfortunate move.

But the next day, I had a really bad pain that nothing would help.  I finally woke up that eternally optimistic hubby of mine who took one look at me and said, "OK...off to the ER!"  There we had many tests and it turned out that this new pain was gall bladder stones!  Appointments for further testing were made.

So, the moral of my story?  Well, there are several morals but I'll only point out a few.

Ladies, do NOT throw your doctor off by putting on war paint when going for an appointment. It really threw my GP off his game.  Wow!  Was HE ever shocked! 

Secondly?  DO wear your eye makeup when picking out new eyeglass frames.  I hated every minute of the four years I wore the pair where I wore no makeup picking out the frames.  Sad.

Thirdly, if you think there's something wrong about a doctor...look into it, for heaven's sake.  That woman was nuts!  NOT to mention blind.

Fourthly: skincare is here to stay, girls!  Forget the big guns and paint.  Yes, the no-makeup look takes a lot of work but don't let anyone fool you...it's a lot easier to achieve if your skin is good to begin with.  I know, it's very time-consuming, but what can I say?  Sometimes it's a real pain being a woman.

Finally, if you go to the ER, you may want to consider washing your face off with bleach and detergent...you WANT to look bad and not radiant from the latest wonderful blush you bought.  Church: wear it all.  Hospital?  If you want to be taken seriously, don't even THINK about hydrating your face!

Laughing from my sickbed with Oscar...

It's the day of the year that, I dare say, is just about a religious holiday in our home: Oscar Night! This is the day that probably has the most interesting memories tied up with it, more so than any other day of the year. Christmases come and go, with each tree looking more or less the same.  But Oscar night....oh my, now that's a totally different animal. 

When my vacation-phobic hubby announced that he had to be in London for some sort of business one particular year, I was NOT about to allow him to go alone!   I don't even know where to begin on how very wrong it would be for him to be in London, my absolutely most favorite place in the world, and me home with three crazy kids? Was he nuts????  Huh.  In his dreams was he going without me.  

Well, I finally talked him into a family vacation, offering to fly out with the three young kids on my own once his conference was over.  My children, the youngest seven years old at the time, the next eight and thus the oldest nine, turned on ME!   You see, though this was months in advance, they knew exactly which night the Oscar's would be on.  I looked at them askance, wondering if these kids were in fact children and not some sorts of aliens as my youngest turned away from me to a quick huddle of "the three" and heaven only knows what they said.  

Oh what turncoats!  They wanted it understood that they were not about to leave the good old US of A if it meant missing Oscar.  As I tried to overhear what was being said - this WAS my chance to go to England about to disappear, after all! -  I heard little murmurs of "VCR, but that wouldn't be live," muttered by someone.  Finally the seven year old turned to me and said, "Mom, you can call and find out if they're going to show the Oscar's in London.  I think they have movies there too?" Ahhhh....out of the mouth of babes!   With that he went off to call the airlines to find out which movies would be shown during the flights.  I had absolutely no idea you could call and find out about these sorts of things but my munchkins knew, and how to do it, too.  Oh, if ONLY I were exaggerating. 

Well, we rented a flat and it was a wonderful time that we had, including watching the Oscar's.  The kids and hubby would go out and I stayed in, blissfully reading in bed most of our two weeks in London.  And hubby, at the suggestion of the kids, "hired" a wheelchair for me.  Well, there was no going back after that!   The Brits were so wonderful about a wheelchair and we were given such a spectacular behind-the-scenes tour at Kensington Palace and special treats at Nottingham because of my embarrassingly uncooperative body that my kids thought they should drag out old mom in a wheelchair for everything! 

But I digress.  Back to Oscar. We had a cat, whom hubby called "the million dollar cat" because as a kitten she became extremely sick and instead of following our vet's advice and putting her to sleep, we sent her to Columbus' vet school for hospitalization and testing where her bills were, understandably, phenomenal.  Misty was our miracle cat whom we had for over 12 years, who needed chemo every day, which was almost the least of her problems. She was a very sweet cat and always wanted to be where the action was, wherever that might be, but never IN the action, just a bit off to the side.   Not on Oscar night, however!  On that night, the kids would pile into my king-sized bed with me, hubby in his usual wing chair next to the bed, and Misty, for one day a year only, would want to be with us, center stage, literally and appropriately. 

When my daughter went off to college, the day the Oscar's rolled around was the day that I truly felt my "empty nest syndrome" at its worst.  Only years later did I discover that my daughter also missed seeing the Oscar's in my bed.  She tried to make it home for the "holiday" but it just didn't work out. Monday morning classes and all.... 

Just a few years ago, I had hubby bring a table up to the bedroom and my oldest came over to watch with us.  I had just started into my Jonny Bowden's "150 Healthiest Foods" book, my latest food program...if the food wasn't in there, I wasn't eatin' it!  That night I had organic clementines for the first time, as well as organic high cocoa content dark chocolate, creamy French Brie.... Oh, that was a particularly good Oscar year. 

Looking back, I think one of the reasons that Oscar night was a biggie in our home was that that was one night when mom was a real mom and all of us piling into my bed in front of the TV wasn't "weird." I wasn't in a state of guilt or torment that I was in my usual long nightgown attire.  Some of Hollywood's finest appeared to be attired similarly, though just a tad more glamorously. 

We've not had a whole night of "us five" together for Oscar Night in a long time, but as we watch part of the show tonight, wherever "we  five" may be, I just know that the best part now is the memories of this most quirky night.  Last year my daughter ordered "petit fours," which I'd not had since prom night of 1970, and not a fan of them then.  But my daughter's petit fours were special. These had movie-themed decorations on each, which she'd ordered from somewhere for an ungodly amount of money...but when I tried them, they were bliss, melting in my mouth with layers and layers of delicate flavors revealing themselves slowly and richly. 

This year, we may not be together for the entire Oscar ceremony but I'm sure I'll send a play-by-play for a couple of hours via Facebook to the kid now living in Malaysia and I may be on the phone for parts of it with my daughter.  But it'll still be special, even as my hubby falls asleep next to me, denying he'd been snoozing.

Laughing from my sickbed starts...

In the past year and a half I’ve learned how to navigate the Internet, somewhat, finally!  It’s all due to my family’s latest effort to drag me, yes, kicking and screaming, into the 21^st century, this time with an iPad.

I call it the “idiot pad,” because surely it had to have been invented for those like me who absolutely fear computers. Or are constantly breaking them.  But more on that later.

I started, after a few months of leering at the iPad with disdain and suspicion, to fool around with the darn thing.

Oh yeah.  I missed a biggie here.  I’m basically a bedridden person.  So the idiot pad was perfect for me in that too.  I didn’t have to get out of bed to rediscover the world of the Internet.  Yes, I could get out of bed some days and try to communicate through computers which I feared and broke on a regular basis, but my brain was then so fogged up that it was a truly painful and awful experience for all.  In bed with my iPad, I could actually think!  And I love to think.  It’s actually one of my hobbies, sometimes to my family’s dismay.

But this blog is not going to be just about being sick.  Frankly, I try to hide my illness from the world, often successfully.  People tend to think I’m simply a hermit.

I, in turn, discovered Facebook.  Actually, if truth be told, I was forced to discover it, but that too is another story, for another time (hopefully!).  As I found friends from my past and formed a few new friendships, I now heard a new message from them.  For years and years people would say to me, you need to write a book!  Ugh!  I’m not up to it.  Now I was hearing, “you need to write a blog.”  Me: what’s a blog?  (I told you I was dragged into the 21^st century but you didn’t believe me, did you?)

Then after ordering books from Amazon on blogs – but never reading them – I thought, no blog!  I’m much too private a person for that.  I mean, I was upset when the number of people I’d friended on Facebook reached 13, then 20, then 25.  I kept having to up my “no more than” number.  I’m up to 40 now and that just about makes me break out in hives.

But I think the time has finally come to start a blog, or to at least try to start one and see where it goes.  I stumbled over one blog a couple of weeks ago, A Model Recommends, from a British model who’s just so sweet and funny, writing about beauty, skincare, all sorts of the fun things I do love.  In secret I’m a bit of a beauty products junkie, though not successfully since I….  Well, more on THAT later too!!  I thought to write to Ruth, our model, to see if she’d consider adding anything at all for those of us with, ahem, shall I say “slightly more mature skin?”  Well, I discovered, almost all on my own, that her mum had started a blog too!  What fun.

I then desperately wanted both of them as my buddies and that’s when I realized that if I didn’t want to become some sort of stalker crazy person, it may be best if I just go and try my own blog.  Even my hubby, who must win some sort of award for being a privacy nut, keeps saying I need to write a blog!  And I’d also just realized that you can learn everything and anything you want on YouTube, so inadequate computer skills were no longer a legitimate excuse.  (More on that later on too!)

And so I am going to try this new social experiment.

Most of all, I love to laugh and I love to make other people laugh.  No, not in a Billy Crystal or Joan Rivers way (can you tell I have the Oscar’s on my mind?) but in a funny next-door neighbor sort of way.  So, I do hope this blog will be funny or add a chuckle to your day.

And I love to read…in fact, I‘m a bookaholic but due to a few crises in the last couple of years I’ve, for the first time in my life, not been able to read.  But I am starting to regain that concentration, so there is hope.  I belonged to a small book club I co-started in our small town when my oldest was in 3^rd grade (she’s 32 now and is a teacher with her own self-contained autism classroom – forgive a mom for bragging!) and this was before anyone had even heard of a book club, even Oprah.   But we fell apart after about 15 years once retirement started in, as well as politics creeping in….

So, books, yes.  Politics, no – not in this blog.  Fun, yes, seriousness, yes, at times, as in how to live more easily with chronic illness, tips and so forth.   Books, a bit of history…how, even, to get more sleep, a biggie for all, I’m discovering, much to my dismay.

Beauty, yes!  Fashion, yes!  Gardening, yes!  Cooking, yes!  Travel.  Being a mom, a wife, a best friend, yes, yes, yes!  Even a bit…ok, perhaps a LOT, of musings.  Certainly ramblings, which I’m so famous for, will unfortunately, find their way into this too.

But most of all, all with a bit of laughter.  It helps cover a multitude of sins and helps ever so much to get us through whatever problems any of us are going through!  Such a cliché, I know, but there you have it….

So, kick up your feet and join me in what I hope will be my new adventure!

All best,

Upa